No qualifiers.

In bullfighting the toro (bull) enters the ring from a specific entrance. Right outside of this entrance el matador (the bullfighter) waits for the bull. He is usually waiting by either kneeling or squatting behind a red flag/cape. As soon as the bull enters, the first thing the bull sees is the red cape, and the matador hiding behind it. Instantly a connection is made. Red cape equals matador; to get to him, he must go through the cape.

For the remainder of the show, and the bull's life, the bull keeps purposely searching for the matador behind this red cape. The matador's role is to always gracefully move and avoid being horned by the bull. He must calculate, and asses the distance of the horns, of the bull, from his own body. The closer the distance, the more exciting the show. This elegant dance continues regardless of the futile efforts of the bull to hurt him. The bull is never in control. He just goes through the motions and attempts to fulfill its only goal: to kill the matador.

This translates to more than just bullfighting. There are certain rules that you have to follow in order to achieve what you want to achieve. Like the bull, there is always a red cape that you have to strive for to get to the matador. This form of thinking isn't foreign to anyone that has done anything with their lives. For example, if you want to lose weight, you cut down your calories, and you work out. Easy. If you want to gain weight, do the opposite. Much easier.

Unfortunately for us, the rules are not always as clear cut as we'd like them to be. Usually, at least in terms of fulfilling our goals, the matador isn't always behind the red cape. Accepting this, realizing this, understanding this had been a challenge for me. A challenge that none other than my absent father addressed when I sat and shared a cup of coffee with him in Buenos Aires this past December.

Sitting across from me was this older looking guy to whom I had no affection. No love. It had been twelve years since I had seen him. After my parent's divorce he simply stopped fulfilling all of his responsibilities- financial and emotional. This had been, up until this cup of coffee, my biggest source of insecurity. He didn't do what he was supposed to do. I was the matador, and he was the bull, and he never strived to get me.

After receiving our coffees, he stirred his and began to say:
"There are many things that I want to say to you, as I'm sure there are even more that you want to say to me. But when shit hits the fan everyone gets dirty, regardless of who threw the feces to the fan or who turned the fan on. I think that we've lost enough time already. I think that we should put the past behind us and accept that life is."

He stopped to take a sip, and let what he had just said sink in.

"Life is. No qualifier. No comparison. Life is, and you try to make the best of it. And sometimes, when you look back, you realize that you've made mistakes."

This has been my philosophy lately. It has freed me from always being the bull, and sometimes thinking that I'm the matador. I've stopped trying to control everything, and stopped trying to allow others to control me. My only task is to live life as it is. Without if's and but's, simply fulfilling the only task I have been assigned: to live it; to live life as it is. To play my hand with the cards I got, and not with the cards that I wished I had. To live life with no comparisons, with no qualifiers. To live...

The Curse of the Vet

“We tell ourselves stories in order to live.” – Joan Didion.


When I was four or five years old I had a pet turtle named Manuelita. I loved this turtle. I fed her lettuce and carrots, and all those things that cartoons teach you that these animals eat. One day Manuelita got sick. She got so sick, in fact, that my mom had to take her to the vet. After a few days of her absence I asked my mom what was happening with Manuelita: “Well, she is really sick, so she is in Intensive Care, she’ll be back soon,” was my mom’s response. Satisfied with her answer and thinking that my mom would never lie to me I figured Manuelita would eventually return.

I think that I was seven when my dad bought me a hamster. I actually don’t remember his name, but for some reason I’m thinking it was Federico. I had a buddy from school who also had a hamster. We would meet up and talk about our hamsters after class. My hamster wasn’t very nice. He would bite me, and pee on me, and he would always get dirty in his cage. I didn’t understand him very much. My buddy told me that Fede acted this way because he was a male hamster, and that female hamsters, like the one he owned, were much nicer to humans. He told me that female hamsters were more likely to allow humans to pet them except when they had baby hamsters.

During one of Fede’s tantrums he got very dirty. Not knowing any better I grabbed Fede and gave him a bath. While I was giving him a bath he fell asleep. At first, I thought that it was incredibly adorable to have Fede, whom would normally be biting me, fall asleep in my hands, but after a few minutes of me trying to wake him up and he not waking up I started to freak out. I told my mom what was happening and she told me that she would take him to the vet. A few days went by and Fede still hadn’t returned from the vet so I asked my mom what was happening. She told me that he was very sick and that he would eventually return once he felt better. I figured that since she was my mom she knew better than I did, though I had my suspicions.

I’ve been talking to this guy since November. We’ve hang out a number of times, but most of our interaction has been through either text, and or AIM. I enjoy talking to him. He makes me laugh, and is mostly informed about things that interest me, which makes him that much more attractive. The problem one would say with this guy is that he is, and I’m fully aware to this fact, emotionally unavailable to me. I know this, not only because he told me so, but because I have this uncanny ability to only attract, and be attracted to, this sort of guys.

I’m okay with the fact that nothing will come out of this. In fact, I’m happy to be making a new friend. Yet when we talk, we still flirt, we still sometimes, though sporadically, sleep together.

Needless to say Manuelita was never released from the ICU, and Fede never woke up from his nap. But a part of me remains hopeful that, as my mother said, they would return. I’m okay with the fact that I’ll never see my pets again. But, I can’t help but remain a bit optimistic about the whole situation. There was never any finality to it. Perhaps this is the same reason why, even though it has nothing to do with who he is, I still talk to this dude, and the many other dudes with whom I was in the same situation. I can’t help but be an optimist about the given hopelessness of it all. I still have hope though all sings point to no. I still, and will probably always see some light in the darkness. I like that about me. I like the fact that though I’ve been disappointed a number of times I remain hopeful. I don’t lose myself in the disappointments. Rather I focus on the fact that eventually it will all work out. Manuelita will eventually get released. Fede will eventually wake up. Until then, I’ll just tell myself stories in order to live.