An Island

Every man is an island or so they say. Iʼm probably the best representation of this
expression. Iʼve often times isolated myself in order to protect myself from being hurt.
This has been increasingly noticeable since coming back to Argentina.

But what I don´t understand is why am I sometimes so quick to get upset with those who I love most. Iʼm upset with my little brother, and my mother right now. Iʼm
pissed that he gets to enjoy life a little better than I do. Iʼm angry that at times he is soo
selfish and lazy and gets away with it. Iʼm angry that my mom doesnʼt hold him to any
standard, and she keeps supporting him, and paying everything for him during our
vacation, and sends him things that he sells to buy better things with. He sold a laptop I
bought him with the condition of a high GPA when he was in Fresno, but then wanted to move to Argentina, for the second time, and I gave it to him. I feel betrayed by that. Not by the lucrative
business transaction, but because I thought that he needed it. That... in essence he
needed me. I donʼt know why Iʼm so angry. I donʼt know why I shut my self down, and I
just want to be alone, and be angry.

Why am I Angry? because I donʼt know how to love. I know how to be affectionate. I
know how to show that I care by buying things, but when it boils down to it, I donʼt know
how to love. I know what love looks like. I know what love tastes like. I know how to act
when love someone, but that sense of security that you get with loved ones, that
sense that they love you no matter what, that sense that their love goes beyond their
affections, that! That I donʼt know how that feels. Iʼve not allowed
myself to feel that for as long as I can remember.

Iʼve been pretty self reliant for a long period of my life. I think I was sixteen when I
started working, paying rent (to my mom), and buying my own things, in addition to
going to school that is. If you looked at me now, not much has changed. Yes, Iʼve gotten
some help from my mother (she sometimes buys my books), but I could have
gotten by with out it. I didnʼt NEED the help, but I appreciated it.
I want to need the help of my loved ones. I want to need them. I want to feel so close to
them that iʼll stop whatever Iʼm doing to pick up the phone when my mom calls, and at
least tell her I love her. I want to appreciate her more, and I want to get along with my
brother better. I want to be a good brother, and a good son. Not a better brother and a
better son because that implies that I some how already know how to be those things
and I donʼt. I know how to portray myself, and I know what to say, and what not to say.
But Iʼm tired of this, Iʼm tired that I have to worry about worrying them about me, I want
them to worry about me. I want them to know that I donʼt have my shit together as much
as I like them to think because I feel as though they have bigger things to worry about.
But darn it, they should worry about me! I want to get to know them, and I want to show
them who I truly am. Not who Iʼve pretended to be. Iʼm done with that.

Yes, every man is an island, but it is up to us to build the bridges that connect us. And what better way to build those bridges than to go on a fun adventure day with my lil bro. Cayaking and horse riding tomorrow.

Going Home

I arrived to Argentina a little less than a week ago. We landed last Sunday afternoon to be exact. So far, I've seen some improvements, and Buenos Aires is a pretty as it has always been. I only stayed in that city for a few hours however. Enough to notice the cultural change that has shaped that city, and the influence of the United States in my hometown. Case in point my mom and her longing for alfajores de maicena. They go really well with a cortado (an expresso shot with just a little bit of milk), and they traditionally Argentine. On Sunday, and while we were waiting for the bus that brought us to where I am today we went to a coffee shop and asked for both an alfajor, and a cortado. Well, the server informed us that he could provide us witht he cortado, but that he didn't have any alfajores de maicena, or any alfajores for that matter. That if we wanted we could a brouni (browny) or a chiscaque (cheesecake). WHAT?!?!

Yup, we traveled over 16 hours simply to get a fucking browny!

More updates soon.

Improbable

I exhaled today. I’m currently sitting at SFO, waiting for my flight to LA. Learning from previews experiences of missing flights I got up at six thirty this morning to be able to get here a few hours before my flight. The ride on BART here consisted of me constantly checking my boarding ticket that I printed at home. I checked the date: 11/28/08. Good. I checked the airport: SFO. I checked the time of the flight: 10:05AM. Perfect. Maybe I had confused the AM with the PM flight time. Maybe I went to SFO but the flight was out of OAK. Maybe the flight was tomorrow, and I mistakenly came to the airport today. The ride on BART was emblematic of how I got to where I am today.

This semester has been by far one of the most difficult times of my life. I was homeless. I took a full load at school. I became a pharmacy technician. Getting here consisted of making “To Do Lists” over and over again. Double and triple checking everything that I needed to do. There were days that started at five in the morning, and days that ended at three in the morning and not because I was out with my friends. I’ve never worked this hard for anything in my life.

But now that most of what I needed to do is done. Now that most of the tasks in the list have been checked I’m able to exhale. And I exhaled. I exhaled and I cried a little. I exhaled all the pressure that had been building up inside of me in attempting to get here. I cried because I realized that I got here. That I achieved something. That I’m going back home for the first time in eight years, and because I’m leaving behind not just my friends for a month, but also what seemed elusive until this morning; I’m leaving behind my home: San Francisco. I exhaled today. I exhaled and I cried a little.