lists

i often battle with the question of how much i am willing to expose about myself. mom says "nothing!" and my critics say "everything!”. these are wise instructions from reliable sources, but considering them makes me nervous, and pushes a mysterious ball into my throat and behind my earlobes. the truth is i want to be honest.

so, here is a list of things around me, right now, that are real:

1. toni's feet
2. the broken cable with a band-aid on it so no-one gets an electric shock
3. an enormous rubber ball that no one understands why it is here
4. my painting "oh boys", or "el negro que le pegan", according to Albert
5. the shit between the tiles, and in the crevice between the oven and the sink

a list of things i find disagreeable bordering on disgusting but i will not specify which:

1. when my bellybutton gets touched by anyone, even one touching someone else's or his/her own. if you touch mine i will punch you.

2. anyone speaking in monotone, even if it is a linguistic or cultural norm.

3. when people take about 3 bites to finish a spoonful of ice cream or pudding, leaving some on the spoon while lapping it over with their upper lip.

4. dry mouth - listening to people speak with it or having it, knowing that others are suffering

5. my own indecision

6. every girl who has ever slept with my boyfriend, except his last girlfriend who most likely taught him how to be a great boyfriend and is a very good person.

7. the anatomy of celephapods, shellfish and mollusks

8. sarcasm with the aim of embarrassing or proving the target wrong

9. the curtains, carpet and color of my old room in my mother’s house

10. smoking and the smell of smoke

11. when someone prepares my tea or any other hot beverage for me

things I want to be able to do:

1. not get furious when I think someone is unfair, mean or untrustworthy. And not get frustrated when told to “chill out”

2. be able to pay for my plane tickets to new york in full, frequently, and also take my mother on vacation.


3. find a good sandwich in spain complete with everything a sandwich should have: meat, vegetables, good bread and about 6-8 condiments – and be able to personalize it at a restaurant.

on smells and writing

My youtube searches are triggered by dreams of grandeur that seek inspiration in video creations by illogical people. And then 45 minutes later my thoughts on a moment have passed. They (the majority of older people who suppose their life experience to have brought them a reasonable share of wisdom, which I do not contest) always say that one only needs to start in order to complete. This is logical.

So after searching my boyfriend’s computer for pictures of his ex-girlfriends, I have a conundrum: how do I return to the smells? If I had written in the moment, perhaps I would have adequately described how the city smells like an agreeable mix of coffee and tuna: tuna as a mid-morning snack sandwich neither sweet enough for breakfast nor substantial enough to be considered lunch, and coffee as a repeated and uncountable whim. Coffee – slowly being replaced by the international influence of tea. A man yawns on the subway with bad breath and I get up, the whole time shooting him a mean, dirty look. On the way out, the smell is interrupted by the cologne that Brian Eidelman wore in high school. Finding people who look like Ryan, Monika, and my boxy and masculine (yet beautiful) neighbor growing up makes me forget that I am a mutant here. “¡Oof, que blanca!” says the gypsy man as I pass on my bike. And then, that guy on the Rambla who challenged me to keep looking at him by looking straight at me. I’m sure everyone looks away. I can’t. I started it and am eventually gazing. Vitiligo with horrible burn scars... My pscoriasis lesions begin to itch and I apart my eyes. I look back and he’s looking down. He passes me, and smells like nothing.