I met someone and…

He has me entranced. Something about his ways. He’s sweet and vague.  Keeping me on my toes and always interested in what I’m thinking and why. I caught him looking at me more then once and smiling. He observes me and reads me in a way that not very many other men have done. 

All at once I’m nervous. He knows too much and I’m vulnerable. I don’t want to give him too much but he has a way of drawing it out of me.


Hormones, loneliness and hugs

There are days when I wake up sad. I mourn all of the things I don’t have and lament on my past regrets. I lie in bed crying over lost moments and opportunities. All I really need is a good hug though.  The loving kind that’s strong and hearty. The kind that lingers and is chocked to the brim with understanding love.

Futbol and my father.

Right about now my father would be drunk and dancing on the ceiling. But he’s not because he’s dead.

Right about now he’d be celebrating by listening to his favorite concerto and toasting to the glory that is Costa Rica, but he’s not.

I’m not a big sports buff but this is world cup, something my father loved and it makes me miss him even more. Not to mention it was his birthday in June and father’s day came and went and I didn’t get to kiss him on the cheek and tell him I loved him.

I can only remember him now in the things he loved doing.


It’s hard meeting someone new and right out the gate they know you. They’ve read every minute detail of your speech, dress and manner. They know your movements before you do.

It’s uncomfortable and upsetting especially when you don’t know where things are headed. It’s like walking through a maze of thorns blindfolded. You only hope that they will guide you through unscathed and intact.

Let’s stay together

Can I share one of the few things I really love? Al Green’s music. That voice, those lyrics, the horns. Music that makes me feel every shade possible from sadness to sexiness. I mean what woman wouldn’t want a man to utterly worship them, to eagerly say ” I can turn a river to a raging fire” but “I can’t get next to you”.


“Let’s stay together” has fueled every last attempt to save a ailing relationship. It makes me believe, to be optimistic sometimes foolishly so.

I want the kind of man Al is in his songs, I want him aching for me. I want him heartbroken and tired of being alone.

My mother, myself.

Most of the time I’m conscious of movements that remind me of my mother. At those moments I try to stop, isolate myself and regroup because if there is one thing I’d like not to resemble it’s my mother. It’s been a goal of mine for several years and especially in the last 4. You see I think she’s borderline bipolar. I won’t say off the bat she is because I don’t think I’m qualified to, but most people would agree.

Sometimes I wonder how she became this person and I dive into her past. Trying to explain how each shattered piece of glass that is her psyche came to be. You can blame it on a horrid childhood or a selfish withholding greedy mother. I can try to excuse her mood swings, irrationality,  paranoia and micro management on being misused, abused and generally spit on by her family and the people she’s encountered in life.

The thing that keeps me from becoming depressed about it all is the one majorly significant difference between us and that is, I won’t let the way people treat me become the reason I change. I cannot assume people will all be the same. That one jerk is interchangeable with the next. I will not let bitterness and anger slowly poison my soul like it has hers.