Thursday, January 31, 2013


I support legalization of weed. 
I am pro-choice.
I am against texting and driving.
I am pro drug testing to qualify for welfare.
I am pro amnesty for undocumented citizens in the country.
I dislike how nosy the US is in other countries affairs. 
I can't stand Oprah.
Pro gay rights. 
Don't think banning guns will solve crime.
Don't think is the breed, but the owner.

And I can give you the reasons why to all of the statements above, and several of you can disagree, and that's okay with me; but some others will be upset, and try to tell me otherwise. We forget that as humans, we all are going to have different opinions, and we forget to learn how to let things go; stand up for your beliefs, yes, but you cannot push them down people's throats. Isn't this the land of the free?
I believe that alcohol and other drugs do more harm than marijuana; how many accidents are caused by drunk drivers? There are real criminals out in the streets. Leave the potheads alone.
I believe that you are the only one to decide what to do with your own vagina.
Phones have taken over our lives. They are a huge influence on society nowadays, and very distracting; it's dangerous to people driving, and those walking in busy streets.
And don't get me started on food stamps and unemployment!
Taxes taken out of illegal immigrants are not claimed for obvious reasons, so where does that money go? I'll tell you that some percentage of it goes to pay for prisons. To support real criminals! Are you fucking kidding me!? When someone has killed or raped or stole, the government pretty much pays them for food, leisure, and health care just to stay incarcerated; but God forbids someone crosses the border illegally and gets minimum wage jobs!
And why are our troops risking their lives somewhere else when this country has its own issues to work on?

And I just don't like Oprah. No reason whatsoever. I just think she is very obnoxious and overrated.

The biggest issue, I would say is LGBTQ civil rights. I'll put it this way, "First they came for the Jews..."
Are we really going to repeat history and have a group of people ripped off their equality and freedom? Didn't we learn from our ancestors who slaved blacks, regarded women as nothing but, segregated or cleansed cultures? Don't we know better!? 

And the last two in this list at the top go hand in hand: guns don't kill people. PEOPLE KILL PEOPLE. So shouldn't we worry about bringing up children who knows better than us? Our knowledge comes from our parents, good or bad, we take in what we go through, and it's our job to make ourselves better so our future generation won't repeat the mistakes we did. We learn from our parents, and we'll be parents soon, so let's be good teachers. Show tolerance, love, unity, respect, common sense, hard work, education, responsibility, honesty, family values. It's us who will make the difference. I had a dog that was very dangerous, and she wasn't a pitbull; it was how I raised her. 

Are you getting my message!?

Tuesday, January 29, 2013

Los Caminos De La Vida

Ha pasado una década desde aquella templada tarde que dije adiós a ciertos amigos en México, una decisión que no me arrepiento haber tomado, pero si que tomaría en consideración mis actos y las consecuencias. Sin embargo, yo creo que todo pasa por una razón, y hoy que puedo ver el resultado, yo les debo una explicación a todos ustedes; es por eso que les dedico esta nota.

No voy a gastar tiempo en detalles que ahora no valen la pena recordar, ya sea por mi edad o por peras o manzanas, o porque pensé que ya no tenia yo un motivo para quedarme en el pueblo, decidí tomar la oferta que mi abuelita me dio, y que me brinco la frontera para el Norte, a juntar los dolares, a vivir el dichoso sueno Americano. Pero que va! Que me toca la de perder. En resumen, esta de la chingada por acá, igual que lo es por allá; la diferencia para mi fue que ya no había marcha atrás. Si ustedes me conocen bien, yo fui criado por mi abuelita, y pues siendo ella una ancianita, yo tuve que morderme los huevos y aguantar lo que este país me daba -lo cual no era mucho.
Todo lo que he vivido aquí me ha dado una lección que hoy tomo mucho en cuenta para cualquier cosa que tengo que hacer, pues no importa que pequeño arranque, siempre viene con su pago, bueno o malo. Y el escarmiento de esta aventura ha sido muy grande.
Cuando empece a trabajar, supe que no haría nada sin Ingles, así que con el apoyo de mi madre, que me meto a la escuela para terminar la Preparatoria. Durante esos cinco anos de escuela, si hice cinco buenos amigos que mantengo a la actualidad, son muchos. La cultura aquí es tan diferente, obviamente, que fue un tanto difícil adaptarme, pero una vez que logre ese objetivo, tome muy malas decisiones. Yo se que cuando somos jóvenes nos creemos capaz de dominar al mundo; la triste verdad es que el mundo es nuestro amo, y nosotros sus esclavos. No argumento. Simplemente así es.
Poco a poco empece a contactar a todos ustedes que ahora leen esto, por medio de Facebook, y me alegra saber de sus vidas ahora; han pasado tantas cosas en la mía también y quiero compartirlas con ustedes. Por ejemplo, y quizá el proposito mas grande de esta nota es el decirles (o mas bien, confirmarles) que soy gay. Esto no es nuevo, ni para mi ni para ustedes; es una característica que todos sabíamos pero que no decíamos -o al menos no enfrente de mi, jaja
Tengo una pareja, se llama Mitch, y hemos estado juntos por un ano y seis meses. Pueden ver fotos de el en mi Facebook, o en esta pagina, al lado de esta nota. Mi familia me apoya en todo lo que decidido, y no podría yo ser mas feliz. Mi razón de confesarles esta parte de mi vida es porque quiero darles el mensaje que no importa lo que nos suceda, siempre habrá una solución, solamente no te rindas, porque todo saldrá bien, y tendrás un final feliz. Y la vida sigue adelante. Te traerá risas y lagrimas, con el paso del tiempo, pero es parte del contrato cuando nacemos. Nos tenemos uno al otro, y esto es mi segundo mensaje: cuenten conmigo, pues en lo que pueda yo ayudar, aqui estaré.

Ahora espero en el momento en que pueda regresar a mi Mexico querido, con papeles o sin papeles, en el 2016 por alla llegare. Quiero ver a todos, conocer a su nueva familia que han formado. Quiero caminar por las calles que no he visto en un buen tiempo. Quiero recordar buenas memorias que tenemos. Quiero comer nuestra comida autentica. Quiero ver a la poca familia que me queda allá. Quiero visitar la catedral. Quiero visitar la tumba de mi querida abuelita. Algún día. No perdamos la fe, y continuemos esforzándonos por lo mejor.
Con afecto, abrazos. Y los veo pronto.

Monday, January 21, 2013

Between Somewhere & Nothing

A few months ago I wrote a short story* that made me think, and reconsider my life. My priorities. My passion for writing. My purpose in life. And I still can't stop thinking about it.

The reason why I started writing a blog is simple, I enjoy writing. It's my passion in life, to tell stories, to give life to characters that live in paper and ink, characters that vibrate one line after another. I used to write a lot often. I kept a journal for ten years, if not longer than that. But then, something happened and I lost the interest for it; I don't know why, and it's no the point to find out what it was. 
I posted some short stories that I had written before, and I got some good reviews, but it wasn't a consistent thing to do, the sharing of my writing on that website. 
Recently, I was encouraged to continue writing. To even keep a personal blog which I already had, but it came to an end when I read some of the dumb posts that I had up there. Yet, the flame was still alive, and I started this blog. I want to rediscover the love for writing. I want to share my life with you through writing, if you allow me. I believe we all have a story to tell, and I would love for you to hear me out; maybe there's no one reading this, but one, and that's myself -And that's the main reason why I'm doing this, to find myself again. To find my voice and my direction, because I feel like I'm lost. 

Is it normal for a person my age to be confused, as if I were a teenager? I mean, I know what I am made of, I've been tested, and my roots stand still. But the course of my branches is wavering.

I enjoy the jobs that I have, they pay the bills, but I do not want to stay there. I want to do more, to move up, to make a change, to shake it up. I want to go to school, but I don't want to suffer financially; many times was I in the verge of eviction, and one time I shared a small back porch with my family and all our belongings, and I refuse to go through that again. However, it seems like this society programmed us for either failure or success, but what is success? I don't want a career. It's boring. I don't want a job that I'll dread going in to. But there aren't other acceptable options out there. No college degree, most of the time, equals to defeat; not that college is THE only option, yet the more education some people get, the more ignorant they become with all that self-righteous crap their heads fill up with.
I don't know. There are many things that confuse me and that I want to explore, but some of them I simply cannot meet ends for several reasons, and I guess, more than anything, it makes me resentful towards those taking for granted the privilege of an education.

Some day, I tell you, I will get there. I'm taking a detour, but I'll catch up. 

Don't Let Me Get Me (Part Two)

I was aware of what eating disorders were, and of their consequences. But I also came to enjoy the gratifying sensation that empowered me to have control over my life, or so I thought. Then reality came to slap me right out of that illusion; I wasn't calling the shots -my bulimia was.

I have faced my demons, and I am not scared of them anymore. The inner struggle lives on to the minute I type this blog. I do not purge any longer; it has been a while since the last time I did, but I can't say that it hasn't crossed my mind. It's a voice I haven't been able to shut completely out; it's a never ending fight against the mirror, but I just learned to live with it. It's not healthy, but there isn't much I can do now. I'm a strong bitch, if you must know what my opinion is regarding that subject.
It wasn't until my fourteenth birthday that I got help. I spent two years purging, on and off, breaking mirrors in my house with my bare hands, trying to find something to induce the vomit when my fingers stopped doing the trick, fighting with family members and friends that cared about my well being, and throwing low blows to alienate them all. When I said that there was no one that hated me the most more than myself, I meant it. The drastic change would be obvious to the naked eye, but no one cared to stop and watch my decay because to them, I wasn't any different -I was still being the egocentric bitch that I always was.
How I was rescued on time is something that I can only tell you, but cannot explain in detail. Some people in the background just didn't give up on me and stuck around to get me back on my feet when I needed someone there. I was lucky. I was blessed when they decided to stay even when I tried to kick them out.
I guess the moral of this story, and to conclude this chapter of my life, is that "NO ONE IS FREE TO DO WHATEVER THEY WANT WHENEVER THEY WANT; NOT IF SOMEONE CARES ABOUT THEM." That's what certain someone told me once when I considered quitting high school, an anecdote that I might tell you some day.

So friends, I'm still alive for a reason, and while I'm at it, if I see you doing something that may be hurtful to yourself or others, count on me to call you out and bug you until you realize that I care and that I am here no matter what. We may not always be together, or hang out all the time, or talk all the time, but I owe you that much  for the memories that we made.

Thursday, January 17, 2013

Ten Years Later

For seven months, last year, I wasn't able to work. Being an independent person, and the fact that my partner and I had barely been dating for three months, it was hard for me to let him take the responsibility to pay the house bills; he was more than happy to help me through that rough time, and I cannot thank him enough for standing by my side. Today, we have been together for a year and four months, and I couldn't have been any happier; unless we could marry without having to go to another state. My point is, my past is the foundation of my present, and I am a better man for him, for my family, and for myself nonetheless.

I wouldn't change a thing I lived because, good or bad, it made me who I am now. If I hadn't gone through that, I probably wouldn't have learned the lesson I got out of it. A decade in the USA doesn't sound too long, but when you measure it in memories and good friendships, I sure know that it has been an eternity. Yourself can tell how different you were in 2002 from today. The laughs, the tears, the fun, the fears, etc.
People are right when they say that we never know what we have until it's gone. When I left Mexico, I thought I didn't have any reasons to stay anymore; my family was moving here, I was going through the usual teenage drama phase and I isolated myself to the point that I truly believed to be on my own. No fifteen year old wants to be alone, no matter how much we hate the world; it's human nature to be linked to someone, and after a year or so, it hit me how big of a decision I had made. Today, I try to reach out and stay in touch with those I left behind. It's been a minute, maybe a few years in reality, but we still reminisce on the times we spent together. We laugh and we exchange stories. We catch up on recent events in our lives. Yes, ten years is a pretty lengthy distance in between.

So hold dearly those that you love. Make sure that they know how much you appreciate them. From your siblings, to your parents, to your friends, to your significant other. Be there for one another. We have NO DAY BUT TODAY.

Don't Let Me Get Me (Part One)

I am in my mid twenties. A grown man, and I still struggle with the person in the mirror staring back at me.

I thought that I was over it, that it was left behind in the memory box of my thirteen birthday, along with my dairies and photographs that speak volumes about who I really am: not the asshole I pretend to be, but the scared little boy seeking for understanding. I guess some of us take a little longer to grow out of the box that others put us into because we allowed them to begin with.
As a child I was expected to be nothing but perfection, or it felt like it anyway. My grandmother raised me which isn't out of the ordinary, growing up in a small town in Mexico is typical for this to happen; parents leave their children to seek better jobs in the USA. I come from a big family that went through a lot of hardship after Grandpa died; they pretty much had to raise one another while working to put food on the table. My generation didn't have to work in the fields like our parents did, we are the lucky ones. Especially myself, the orphan that Grandma took in. How I ended up under Grandma's care is a whole different, and irrelevant to this, story. Point being, I was the one enjoying the good life and I better take advantage of it, I was suggested by some family members.
At nine years old, I didn't know what had happened in the past that put a scarlet letter on my back, but I was  constantly reminded that I was the spoiled brat. Such memories have no longer effect on me as I am an adult, and I honestly don't give a damn. However, at that impressionable age, I did take it to heart. It hurt. It scarred me for the following ten years.
Not only was I trying to understand my upbringing, but at the same time, I started to notice that I didn't look at girls the way other boys did; it was very confusing and I had no one to go to. People whispering in my ear the reasons why I was left with Grandma, people calling me names because I had more female friends, people telling me how smart I was and that I had to keep up the good work, people physically attacking me and harassing me for some odd reason I couldn't see myself. "Keep it cool," I told myself, "You have to stick it out a little bit longer; you have no choice."
And I did it. I stopped eating in order to keep control over my life; how could I deserve a meal when I didn't achieve more than I could have? I didn't say a word about the feelings I developed for a boy at age eleven, even though I wanted to scream that I liked him just the way my classmates began to like the opposite sex. I got tired to be pushed around too many times, and I pushed back, and I became the bully. I kept the good grades that I was expected to get. And I overlooked my past which I keep doing to the present day.

I did what I thought everyone wanted me to do, and I was hoping to be happy, but it never happened. Instead, I hated myself more than anyone ever did. So, influenced by the media and convinced that I deserved the punishment, I started purging in my twelve birthday.