Searching for intuition

I’m really good at introspection (likely why I live more so in my head then in the real world)… That being said, there’s a few things I’m not so good at. In particular, I feel like a total novice when it comes to things like street smarts, art of romance, and nunchuck skills. I’m certain that my lack of expertise in these areas can all be attributed to my formative years...


I grew up in Washington Heights/Inwood… On a street that has had it’s own scandalous past (and present) – filled with plenty of bad boy lotharios, LL Cool J’s ‘round the way girls, quite a few baby-mama/baby-daddy dramas, dealin’ & wheelin’ hustlers, and the “searchin’ for that elusive pale numbers-playin’” quasi-gamblers (and they come in all shapes, sizes and classes). There was plenty to learn on this street… True, this kind of education wouldn’t get you a degree but it’s the kind of learning that’s quite vital to NYC survival.

Yet somehow, someway, despite it being all around me, I skipped that part of life learning. I, who never skipped class or played hookie (‘til college that is), somehow managed not to partake in some of the most crucial learning a person could ever get. Instead of hanging out at the local bodega or in front of my building, I was safely ensconced in my opera pink room playing with Barbies (pageants & fashion designing galore – until I was nearly 15), or reading (an assortment of YM, Seventeen & Sassy magazines, books by Sidney Sheldon, Christopher Pike, Stephen King, and tons of Harlequin romance novels), or watching lots of educational TV shows (The Facts of Life, Different World, MTV’s Real World, Shirley Temple movies, Midnight Blue/Robin Byrd – Umm, all I can say is that I too had raging hormones!).

I went to a private elementary school (1st to 8th grade) just a block away (thank God for the uniform ‘cause I didn’t have much cool threads to wear). I was nerdy without being a super nerd. Had friends that were boys but no boyfriends. And I played a heck of a lot Barbie during that time. I was a dedicated school girl that only suspected at some of the things the “cool kids” were doing but was essentially clueless at the burgeoning attractions/flirtations between boys and girls. I was the girl that tore a schoolmate’s shirt (I was trying to slap him but my aim was off) in 5th grade and then proceeded to have a teary meltdown – all this as a result of him grabbing my butt during an apparently sexualized version of “tag” taking place in our schoolyard. Oh, God… I was a mess. I just didn’t get it. Sure I liked boys but I was kind of scared of them too. I didn’t know how to respond to boys or how to fight back. I didn’t seem to have (or ever learned how to have) that intuition that the other girls in my class seemed to naturally have… And so I graduated from 8th grade at the age of 14 as clueless and kiss-less as a girl could be.

My teenage years took place mostly at an all-girls high school in the Bronx and a few summers in Santo Domingo, DR. At a time when many young adults start their sexual awakening and explorations, I chose to go to a school where there would be NO BOYS AT ALL (did I already mention I was clueless?). My interactions with boys were limited to rides to and from school on the Bx12 bus and the occasional dance at an all-boys school. I never learned how to ride a bike or roller skate – I was too scared of falling, getting hurt or dirty, and looking like an idiot. I just wasn’t a tough chick even though I could give off a lot of ‘tude. For a while I did excel at creating some very abstract neon artwork on my nails (Pollock would have been jealous indeed!). My dance skills, although limited, allowed me to keep up (and get low) with the Reggae dancing boys. And boy-oh-boy, I was a MASTER at the Catholic School girl arts of applying red lipstick, straightening hair and rolling up one’s school skirt as high is it could go without revealing the world as I walked down the streets. Passing flirtations in DR and heavy petting (never beyond second base) with a couple of high school boys was as far as I went. Let’s be real – I was a prude in heat – so good at playing hard to get that I never got any at all. As far as I could tell it was a combination of a deeply rooted guilty Catholic conscience, fear, embarrassment, and severe inhibitions that kept me from participating any further.

And so it continued onto college… I went to a fashion college in NYC. I might as well have stayed at my all girls’ school. I didn’t learn how to toughen up, how to fight or how to seduce anybody… Instead I learned about the high cost of designer gear (which of course I was too poor to afford), the cattiness and cutthroat business of fashion, and that’s about it. Oh, I had male friends… Straight ones at that, but they were all platonic relationships. I began to immerse myself further into the art world (a mostly cerebral pursuit) and farther away from fashion… Short skirts & sheer linen dresses soon evolved into overalls, suede vans, used clothing and brightly colored chunks of hair. It was a world so different from the schema I’d grown used to… Who knew that taking the 1-train from 200th street to 27th street could lead to such a change of lifestyle, wants, mores??? And so my hidden desire to be the edgy sexy girl that could fight like a ninja but seduce the boys like a geisha went to the wayside. You don’t go to fashion school to learn about the hard knocks and I was too firmly wrapped up in my own personal fears to allow myself much sexual freedom even when faced with promising encounters.

Fast-forward over a decade later and it’s apparent that my intuition is still off… Sure, my life experiences have evolved but I’m not your mainstream female (or what my perception of one is). Once upon a time there was much going on but I didn’t know what it was that I was missing. Now I’m fully aware of what I am missing and I’m STILL missing it.

So how does one get street smart? Is there a class I can take? And how can I learn about romance, seduction – the language spoken between men and women? I read a lot of online articles but I’m still not getting it right. As for nunchuck skills, I’m not particularly physically adroit and have never really developed a taste for violence, so I’m ok with not knowing how to use those.

Is it too late to learn something that you should have somehow been born knowing? Does this 30-something idiosyncratic woman still have a shot at figuring this out?

Remembering Father's Day...

Since my dad passed away 6 years ago, I haven't really acknowledged Father's Day... There just didn't seem to be a point to celebrate father's day without having my papi right by my side here on earth.

What I’m slowly starting to remember is that for nearly 27 years of my life I was fortunate enough to have my father's loving presence in my life. Although life wasn't always easy, and we didn't see eye-to-eye on an innumerable amount of things, I always knew deep down that my father loved me very much... That I was his little girl no matter how much older I became (and man, have I become old). I learned a lot from my father. In many ways, he helped to shape me into who I am today - and who I’m not.

I've also begun to remember that my father wasn't the only father figure in my life... Uncles, brothers, cousins, neighbors, friends... I've been on the receiving end of much unconditional love and support from these men. They too deserve my praises... Whilst my father's spirit continues to radiate love and protect me from a different plane, the men that are here in my life in this moment continue to provide me the hugs, the encouragement, the guidance that I - strong, independent-minded, intelligent adult female that I view myself as - still need.

Even though the idea of Father's Day without my dad still saddens me, I’m thankful for regaining this much-needed perspective.

Recognizing all the father figures that have brought continuous love, support and positivity to this world. May God bless each of them every day and provide them the strength to be the best fathers and men they can be, now and always. And for those of us that no longer have our fathers by our sides, or perhaps never had them at all, well, this silly video pretty much says it all…



Special shout outs to the extra special hombres that have played key roles in my life and upbringing: Tio Tite, Tio Luis, Tio Pancho, Tio Tomas, Tio Juan, Curtis, Tio Watson, Abuelo Nicolas, Abuelo Papolin, Harold, Jaimito, Claudio, Lucho, Kuki, Reuben... So blessed to have had you in some way, shape or form in my life.

I love you papi.

Feminine Wiles

I wish I had me some feminine wiles.
You know the kind...
The ones that leaves the boys asking, "who's that girl?"
Batting lashes,
Swish of the hips,
Pursed lips,
A coquettish wink...
I want to be that woman.
I want to be able to spin a web that entraps her man... To spin the kind of web he doesn't want to escape from.
I want to cast spells...
To cast a love spell without an antidote, the kind he doesn't ever want to be freed of.
I want to be a seductress...
That kind that seduces her man ‘til he can't remember his own name.
I want the tools to make him love me...
I want those feminine wiles that will help me to capture and keep his attention.
I want him to live, eat, breathe me...
I want to have the same power over him that he already has over me...
I need every thing I can get to make this an even playing field...
I want a fighting chance.

Ownership

I've come to realize that what I thought was mine was never mine at all.
The experiences we shared were not unique.
The moments that seemed so intimate and sincere are being easily replicated with someone else as your co-star.
Nothing that occurred between us was sacred... Nothing at all.
How naive I can be, to believe that I was different... That somehow I was special to you.
But now I realize that you were never ever mine...
Those moments between us were never ever ours...
You made them into community property.
You mass-produce those moments so that each woman in your life has a matching set.
I don't want what everyone else has...
I don't want moments that are repeatable...
I don't want to be a temporary stand in.
I wanted to be "the one" but it's clear I was only one of many.
You were my "one" until you made it obvious that you were never mine at all.
And now I cling to tainted memories that are being re-lived by you with someone else...
It pains me to know that I am forgettable... That your time with can be duplicated... That your loving words to me, your glances, your touch can all be reenacted in the same tone with the same feeling to someone who's not me.
Incredibly, I continue to long to be "her"... To share with you moments that are ours alone.

1/16/10 - 1 train downtown

A night of quiet introspection...

The past few days have been like a discordant medley of strange roller coaster rides with each upside down movement changing the surroundings resulting in emotional upheaval on a daily basis. Sharing moments I'd given up believing that I would ever share again. Unsure of how to proceed, unsure if anything has really changed. Feeling the need to analyze the words, the actions, and the inner workings of a mind that has always managed to baffle me even as it provided me insight. Truth is that my soul is a tad too weary at the moment to piece together these puzzle pieces that seem to be shrouded more so in mystery than in plain talk. I'm just not up for it tonight... Can't figure it out to then somehow attempt to merge this into what I already knew and felt about everything that has transpired up to this point. Music shall have to be the balm for this ruffled soul of mine...

What difference does it make? - The Smiths


15 Steps - Radiohead


Oh Comely - Neutral Milk Hotel


Maligno - Aterciopelados


Falling Softly - Glen Hansard & Markéta Irglová


Lucky - Radiohead


Elephant Gun - Beirut


Puedo Escribir - Sixpence None the Richer


I KNow It's Over - The Smiths


Exit Music (for a film) - Radiohead


Me gustas cuando callas - Pablo Neruda
Not a song but a lovely recitation found on youtube


Naci en Alamo - Remedios Silva Pisa
(from the Vengo soundtrack)

Both the warden and the prisoner

I've built myself a sturdy prison
So well fortified that I myself cannot escape from it
So deeply entrenched in its' bowels that others can no longer see past it's unyielding concrete facade

I'm stifled... Breathing in the same air each and every day
Eager for escape
Except I've misplaced the only key
Shackled by my own misguidance...
By my own fears

People have begun to pass me by
Oblivious to the dreary place that I've become
Dismissed as a blight in an otherwise beautiful world
They only see this cold exterior

I've become invisible
Unable to be seen, there is a woman that still lives deep inside this gloomy interior
There is no welcoming feel to this place
It's as far away from home as it could possibly be

In this inky darkness, I dream...
I concoct a different actuality
Like being free and without care
Of something so basic as breathing fresh air
Imagining myself as a human being without this self-imposed criminal past
An intact feminine being who knows her self-worth

Longing to be heard
To no longer be dismissed
Having a voice as melodic, as appealing as the others
Wanting to be a home, an inviting attractive place
A nest in which to nurture a future... happiness... and (dare I wish it?) love...

I imagine breaking free from this cold hard place
Of being someone worthy of my own appreciation
Of no longer starving for external acceptance while languishing in this self-imposed internment
Musing on shedding the scars and the vicious cycles
The ones that keep bringing me back to this dark and lonely cell deep within myself

6/8/10
NJ Path & 1 Train


Lava rocks and silica rich waters around the Blue Lagoon in Iceland
- Photo taken December 2008

Blame it on the al-al-al-al-alcohol

"I'd like to say that it was your desire for me that made you kiss me...
I'd like to attribute it to a deep feeling of need...
More than anything I would love for it have occurred due to a love so deeply ignited all those years ago that you too had never been able to extinguish it's flames....
Alas, it was none of these things... Instead only the alcohol is to blame."


Mi gente, what do you think... Does alcohol act as a truth serum or some form of liquid courage? Does it give people the ability to say and do things they've always wanted to say/do? Does it heighten genuine emotion? Can it make people profess feelings of love and need that they were previously unable to divulge?

Or is it like those silly t-shirt sayings: "the more I drink the better you look"? Does alcohol lower your standards? Does it make you do things you'd never want to do in a sober state? Make you feel things you don't actually feel?

I've always wondered about this... If it happens while you've been drinking can it still be considered real/true?

Case Study: ME... Looking back at my own random tipsy escapades, it's clear that there have been instances when I was more revealing of my emotions/thoughts after drinking then when I was sober. I've also been known to forget that I don't have any dance skills to speak of and just dance-dance-dance as if I do. Despite that, I don't recall ever doing anything that goes against my character - I've never professed my love for someone that I didn't love, or come on to someone I wasn't already attracted to...

So how does one interpret someone else's actions/words if done or said after having a few drinks? Are they valid? Or should they simply be dismissed? The left side of my brain screams "You know the answer to these silly questions!" but my heart still wants to believe that there is something genuine in these liquid encounters.

Nostalgia

Nostalgia explodes in waves... Thoughts & words scrawled on scraps of paper... Capturing feelings or maybe just moments forever frozen... Like found art, what would have been dismissed by the masses is embraced by two as a glorious dialogue full of prose and jokes and earnestness and friendship and possibly more. It's soooo cool to find someone to vibe off of too... Who strikes that creative nerve and suddenly disjointed words become deep intense moments to be enjoyed and lingered over and over and over and... Yeah it's weird but moving but sweet but crass but more… More than I even know how to say or put into words, those very same words that stirred this whole connection and what more can be said? Nothing more indeed... Enjoy the silence and words and moments and life and and and and....

Out of fear, prayer

As I sat there pondering eventualities too difficult to grasp, a maelstrom of thoughts swirled through my head. A prayer of sorts was borne - stitched together from errant thoughts, fear (so much fear), and hope...

Knowledge is power so I arm myself with it. Hope fuels positivity so I embrace it. Faith provides confidence so I trust that all will happen as He wills it. Initiative drives action so I won't stop fighting. And LOVE - it isn't a choice, it just is... LOVE is what will carry me through.

6/5/10 - Double Tree Hotel


Self-explanatory........

Viewing the streets of Madrid through the eyes of Duchamp

No matter where I go or what I do, art seeps into everything I see and hear... Surely Marcel Duchamp composed this assemblage just so I could see that his spirit is alive and well. The muted building lights casted a golden glow, bathing these articles of "basura" into gilded tributes to the mundane and discarded. To see art where there appears to be none is one of the most beautiful qualities one can have.

"There is no art in turning a goddess into a witch, a virgin into a whore, but the opposite operation, to give dignity to what has been scorned, to make the degraded desirable, that calls for art or for character."
~ Johann Wolfgang Von Goethe

Photo taken as I walked alone along the streets of Madrid one late night in November '07.

Broken

You broke it
And it can't be fixed
What's done is done
Except I'm the lonely one
My heart still jumps when you're close
My eyes still seek you out
My lips quiver, eager to break the silence
Eager to beckon you in
But those times are over
A new era has begun
You're the USSR
And it's a cold battle we find ourselves in
I've armed myself with angry songs
I tap into sage words
Words that remind me of what's real
That remind me of what never was
I've invoked an impenetrable force field
To help protect me against you
I'm arming myself against myself...
Trying to douse the raging fires of a love that burns so deeply within me that it proves treacherous to my resolve, to my well-being
You tricked me with words delivered with surgical precision
My fanciful mind and blinded heart aided you like trustworthy traitors
Yet your actions never lied
They were beacons of honesty in a world painted dark by the lies that flowed from your lips
With time your actions morphed into shrapnel, each cutting deeply with it's undeniable truth
Ultimately your own actions defeated your efforts
But it's all too late
The body count is in
A tally of one lacerated heart, a crushed soul, and nearly destroyed pride lie between us
My heart... My soul....... My pride
Perhaps I can resucitate them one last time
Perhaps I can walk away with my head held high enough to accept defeat without conceding to it
I'm the walking wounded
I'm broken,
But I'm still a fighter
I'll find a way to piece myself back together

1/15/10 - 7 train to qns

The downfall of memories: ephemeral moments

At times I'm caught off guard with sudden bursts of realization that life is full of ephemeral moments. Monumental episodes come and go made up of simple words that resonate... or deep revealing eye contact that speaks volumes... or physical touch like a surprise kiss in the middle of a crowded street. Little things that carry powerfully resounding consequences, pivotal moments in time yet there are no statues to mark their occurrence, no markers or memorials to give proof to their fleeting existence... Life-changing moments that are in the end subject to the whim of our minds... our hearts. Their only tangible evidence being that indelible mark left on your soul or that tug on your heart which can fade with time so that when you pass by that same crowded street corner weeks or months or even years later you're struck by a wave of fleeting recognition sadly mistaken for an instance of déjà vu... Making meaningful episodes in one’s life easily dismissed as if they were only mind hiccups with no substance. Moments that can sometimes feel as if they were imagined or dreamt… All because there is nothing to document their existence, nothing to make them official, no ability to touch or see or hear them in order to give credence to the transient events of our lives. Leaving us to exclaim, if we remember, “See, this did happen. It was real. I did not imagine this!” except you have absolutely nothing to show for it... Leaving you with the feeling that maybe, just maybe you imagined it all.

1/1/2010 - 1 train @ Times Sq

Should I, or shouldn't I?

To blog, or not to blog?

That's the question I've been asking myself for some time now. This is my first attempt at blogging although by no means the first time I'm writing down my thoughts and inner dialogues. My BlackBerry note pad, countless cocktail napkins, and scraps of paper littered throughout my bag can attest to that. I'm making a concious decision to stop living life inside my head by letting out my inner thoughts and engaging the world in conversation and action.

So, what are my intentions for this blog? Bueno, to start this shall be a smorgasbord of thoughts, stories, accounts and opinions that tap into old memories, hobbies, heartbreak, prayers, new experiences, travels, love of art, newfound wisdom, pursuit of inner peace, and ever changing personal fads... A chronicle of one woman's internal revolution and evolution.

peace & love,
*michelle