a little angry letter

I want to scream, cry, tear at the fabric, bite the flesh that hurts me. I am fighting blind against enemies unknown, but familiar and all around me.

How is it that I feel so out of contol? Why is this feeling strangely familiar?

Not being told the things I should know. Being made a competitor in a game I don't want to play. No, your life is not harder than mine. No, the reason why I can manage to live day by day is not because I am privileged or lazy. I have no demons to play with. And that drives you fucking nuts.

I've had a hard day today, and the difference between me and you is that I wrote this little angry letter. And you? You just throw it all away. Soon there will be no one left to listen to you.

He's pumped! I'm pumped! We're pumped!

Go Rafa, go Rafa, it's your birthday, you're going to be No. 1, hopefully get the GOLD, go Rafa!

Looooooooooooooove him!

Time Passes

Time is so short
and I’m sure
There must be something
more -

- Coldplay

When I turned 10, I was visiting Israel for the first time since I moved there, left there.... My grandmother bought me a yellow shirt and skirt set. The skirt was ruffled and the outfit had little black polka dots. I thought it was the best thing ever, and I remember thinking, even then, what an amazing thing she did, a woman over 70, going into a neighborhood boutique, buying this outfit for her youngest granddaughter. It must have been expensive, but I was 10. How did I know about things like that? I still think of her often. Thinking of that summer and seeing her face clearly hurts like hell. I can't believe how much I miss her. Why didn't I tell her I loved her more?

When I turned 20, I was psychotic. I broke up with my boyfriend of more than a year -- an eternity when I was 20 -- and I was on Paxil and smoking cloves -- and basically I wasn't me. I sorted myself out pretty quickly after that. I came to the realization that I wasn't a baby anymore. How destructive I could be. My footprint on life, on others, was firmly planted, and no matter how I tried to un-do things, they couldn't be undone.

I'm turning 30 in just over a week from now. Who knows what the day will entail, what I will be feeling, who I will be missing or pissing off... I'm not really excited about turning 30. Part of me doesn't want to be an adult, ever! But a lot of me wants to change, to fit into my skin. To like people again and not be so afraid of them. To like cleaning floors. To be a mother. To be a really great wife. To go to a Coldplay concert. Life doesn't end at 30, I know. Life continues.

Yay, California!

Picture courtesy of NY Times -- Photo: Monica Almeida

Little Blue Flower: Preface

Exile -- Ellen Bryant Voigt

The widow refuses sleep, for sleep pretends
that it can bring him back.
In this way,
the will is set against the appetite.
Even the empty hand moves to the mouth.
Apart from you, I turn a corner in the city and find,
for a moment, the old climate, the little blue flower everywhere.

Clarity

"The will to blog is a complicated thing, somewhere between inspiration and compulsion. It can feel almost like a biological impulse. You see something, or an idea occurs to you, and you have to share it with the Internet as soon as possible. What I didn’t realize was that those ideas and that urgency — and the sense of self-importance that made me think anyone would be interested in hearing what went on in my head — could just disappear." -- Emily Gould

WHATEV!

Uploaded on Flickr on May 21, 2007 by Slice

I would love to jump on the bandwagon and proclaim like everyone else that the best pizza in the world is Brooklyn's own Di Fara, which is a stone throw's away from where I grew up, in my old neighborhood of Midwood.

But I can't. After 20 years of of refusing to step foot into the pizzeria again (a bad experience with an extra cheese slice which led me to see my pizza slice in reverse), I finally decided to give in to the madness and go there for a Friday night meal with most of my familia. (Rafa, sis, Roman, Liam and Mia.) Roman is adamant that this is the BEST PIZZA EVER! Well I have to say to Roman, and to everyone else that thinks the same way, WHATEV!!!

This pizza is NOT the best pizza ever. It's not even close to being the best OK pizza ever. It's gross! The pie is too salty with parmesan cheese, too oily with all that olive oil smeared on the top, too much trouble to bother with having to wait close to an hour and a half for a pie. I'll say it again, I DON'T GET IT! There are so many amazing Brooklyn joints for pizza; why single this one out, especially when it's not even that good. Ah, I give up!