thoughts about it

Although these thoughts are quite irrelevant to the literature—the core of my ideas are central to the theme of the class. I am not too sure if this biological or per social stratifications, but my associations look like me. My friends, my lovers, my coworkers, brown like me. There is an immediate sense of familiarity, being together thus becomes a breeze. Conversations then become intriguing-politics at the center of our thoughts.

I was asked to challenge my insecurities, and place myself in male-dominated spaces. It couldn’t be that difficult; I consciously chose a group of brown men with a historically progressive record. I was late of course. Walked into what was already a hot topic. There was only one seat available, all the way in the front. I am still unsure why guys like to sit in the back, my professor once disgustingly suggested that “they like to stare at girls’ thongs from the back of the classroom.” Desperate, I know. As I was taking my seat one guy added to the on-going conversation, “For those of you who are not graduating yet—take advantage! Because once you graduate, you will not have so many women available.” Did my father think that way of women before he married my mother? Was my mother one of the options on the menu? Because of my still heterosexist thinking, I wondered about that guy’s mother, “was she also on the menu? Did his dad choose her out of the many options?”  Sometime during the meeting, I was asked to introduce myself. Without finishing my complete introduction, some guy interrupted as soon as I said I was a women’s studies major—“he can give us pointers!” They laughed. My body stood uncomfortable.   

                Also, not too long ago my ex-boyfriend called my straight  best female friend/roommate a “bitch” for challenged his male privilege. In privacy, he expressed his inability to speak his mind (note: a male’s mind) in the apartment.  

lo mire en ti

Do you remember the day when we first met?

Was it sunny or cold?

I wish I could remember.

But all that comes to my head is how beautiful you looked.

el dolor de perder

You lost me at your whim, when you decided to flee my crying calls.

I have no idea how to start this. I do not even have the energy to write. I’d rather be on a flight, fleeing from this pain. I took an aspirin, but I knew it would not work. This pain is not one that can be ameliorated with drugs. There is only one person in the world who can make it right. But he lost me at his whim, when he decided to ignore my crying calls.

I say my goodbyes, knowing that all I want to do is be with you.

august 25, 2010

I really wish you would fucking care. But your actions these past two weeks have shown me otherwise. You partying and drinking like there is no tomorrow—it speaks highly of your character. Of what you have become. That is not a conscious activist, this is a person with some serious issues with a title to brag. Don’t you realize that alcohol has infiltrated and fucked with our communities? Don’t you realize alcohol has killed so many people? Now, I am not against drinking—but this is called binge drinking. Weed, like alcohol, was placed in hotpockets of activism to curtail the challenge that students posses. Now you are part of the plan. It is now a problem.

Don’t you realize who you are hurting? You are hurting the people you love the most. Don’t you realize that if you say you love me, you would be more careful with your actions as to not hurt me? partying, drinking, and ignoring me do not help your cause. It only aggravates those that are trying to help. You are not making yourself look any cooler or cuter if all you are doing is fucking with your life! You are being selfish and therefore disrespectful. Yet, you expect me to respect you?

Don’t you realize that when you fuck someone everyone knows, people will talk. Guess what? People are talking! Saying you did this with this guy, you did that with that guy. How do you think that makes me feel? That a week after you break up with me, you are already messing with other guys. Wait, but it didn’t take a whole week. Because according to speculation, rumors, and your texts—it happened the night you broke up with me. Don’t you have any respect or dignity? And you say you hate sluts. You are becoming one. Now, you know I’m not against people having sex with whomever they want whenever they want—but I know you verbally expressed you would never do that. You are doing that right now. Sucking his dick, licking his ass, eating him out, kissing his lips. You have become the slut you have always hated.

Further, the inconsiderate sexual desires and physical actions with other guys expands way before you breaking up with me.I am not sure why you would even lie to your own friends about this, perhaps you were just bragging and trying to make yourself look cool—but cheating is never cool. Why do I go to a conference to present my research, you know for program that paid for your rent at the apartment, and you cheat on me with some guy you meet that weekend in Santa Barbara?

While all these are just rumors--I have nothing else to believe or rely on because you have REFUSED to talk to me. By you refusing, you are admitting your own fault.

And you say you want a break to find yourself? How are you finding yourself in the midst of alcohol and sexual desires? Is that what you have become? Is that what you are fighting for? Is that why you wanted all those positions of power? To become this? How are you bettering your community? how are you bettering the lives of all those people that are depending on your leadership? Let me ask you what you asked leaders prior to you: “WHAT ARE YOU DOING TO MAKE A DIFFERENCE?” Remember that line? You would ask everyone that. Partying does not save the world. Fucking does not change the system. You acting like a fool is a sign that the system is working—to keep you fucked over!

You call yourself a leader, and say you represent a community beyond oppress. You blame for not understanding your struggle because ill never be in your shoes. One you deny the fact that I was in your shoes, and while I got out of that situation by strategic luck, now you are just alienating me from you. You are asking me to check my privilege, but at the same time, you are refusing to engage in dialogue with me. you are loosing your closest allies. But I don’t do this because of you, I will continue to fight for what I believe in. But you, you are no longer that tokenized model. Why? Because the fame, the power, as gotten to your head.

How many underprivileged students do you know who party every fucking day for the past two weeks? How many underprivileged students do you know who do not have to worry about finding a job? how many underprivileged students would not want a summer of not working or anything? you give the subaltern a voice, and he is no longer a subaltern. That is what has happened to you. You no longer speak from that community, because you have demonstrated that you are no longer a part of it. Now you are speaking on behalf of that community—because you have access to resources, power, knowledge, fame, and even less personal surviving responsibilities.

I am tired of keeping my voice silenced at the expense of protecting my community. We went through this once before. Mujeres and queers had to keep the dirty laundry at home, don’t expose it because you will make us look bad. I am tired of being that good self-sacrificing joto, so Raza can grow and move forward. But Raza cannot move forward and grow if we continue to protect our leaders who continue to abide by heteropatriarchal norms. Brown men, and now the few queer brown men in power, need to be held accountable for their masochist, misogynistic behavior.   

Note, this is supposed to be a revolution for and from love. But when you hurt the ones that love you the most, it becomes less about love and more about power and control. When you use the master’s tools, the ones that allow men to sleep with whomever they want, without feeling remorse or guilt, then you are downgrading the feminist intervention of love to the movement. You continue to uphold man’s traditional values, and deny the feminine aura of love a chance. We cannot and should not have men who abide by traditional repressive male values to lead. We tried it once before.

Then there are the many that say that the personal should be left at home, and should not interfear with the revolution, with the work we are trying to do at the community. While idealistic, the reality is that if we allow men who abide by these ideologies, without holding them accountable, they will remain unchallenged, and their ideologies will continue to permeate our communities. We already live in a world that locks love, but when we allow our leaders to perpetuate at the destruction of love, we cannot stay still and expect for change to happen, because nothing new will change. We can no longer allow the master’s tools of sexuality and power lead our communities. We will only see our defeat in the end. 

something, someone, somewhere (Dec 2, 2008)

No one ever touched me like you did: with that tender touch, with that genuine affection, with that sincere love. I will for sure miss the sex, our bodies next to each other, the passion steaming with radiating heat, our hearts beating at an indescribable rate, the pulse of the thrust, the moan yielding for sincerity, the screams demanding more. But there was more to you, than just that. There was that smile hidden in your face, the rough spots in your soft hands, the warmth of your body, and your eyes stealing a glimpse of me.

But with such beauty, came hardships. Stubborn by nature, not able to defy the values I established before I laid eyes on you. I could not let go of the thorn that was pricking at your heart, so you chose to walk the other direction. I cant blame you for thinking with your head, but that jealousy that eroded was untamed like a wild beast at the local zoo. In spite of what I did, who I did, when I did it, it was you who I whispered sweet things to. It was you who I missed, it was you who I wanted, but it was also you who I hurt.

I can't proclaim tears running down my face, for the rage infuriate me. The same jealousy that drove me to love you drove you to hate me. For here I am at a loss of words, but not just yet, because all I have left to say is that I love you and always will. It is undoubtedly love, with special conditions. Love that shines brighter than lust and jealousy, but dimmer than reality. For my reality is no longer you.

Nov 26, 2008

It is an association I have disassociated myself from. A love that is no longer lovable. But it is a connection quite unbreakable, a bond that cannot be treacherous by the actions of commitment. This rage, undesirable, cannot speak from secrecy of true love. Instead there are thoughts pondering, yielding to actions of vengeance that cannot be foretold. Has it been shattered, or perhaps reached a different momentum, one hidden in the shadows of our endeavors of amour. To seek unprecedented answers in the comatose idealism is quite feckless. The game is ruined, but the life is vibrant. The horizons have yet to be obsolete, thus they shine brighter than the second before.  

Sept 13, 2008

"he shattered the stone i called a heart"

Who would have thought that what I thought would be  a crummy summer, has turned out to be a very memorable one. From the heart aches and the annoying texts I sent out to my three chicas about how love should not be tampered with, to this very moment where for once he and I share genuine feelings for each other. Yes it is true. You can call him my boyfriend or simply my friend with quotation marks around that term—but what truly matters is the trust and the foundation we have established. He is the guy who has "shattered the stone I used to call a heart," according to my closest friends. Though it saddens me that in few days the proximity and closeness will be tampered, as I establish my new home in San Diego, we both know that we won't allow this onus be the conclusion to our story. I am oh so thrilled that I am starting a new chapter in my life, with someone who actually cares—and with someone I care for back.

If you've met him—you'll realize, that I am indeed a blessed guy. He is such a great person, his aura and charm has captivated me. I would tell you all some more, but this is between him and I.

image of love (March 13, 2008)

I stare at myself in the mirror. I see nothing but flaws.

Skin too white, tummy too perceptible, an existing chest, a face hidden in misery.

It is the love I share for myself. A love crushed after countless dismissals.

It's a vivid image, trying to whip off the midst, of a perfect sentiment.

I wish you could see what I see. But it's a shattered mirror.

Because your heart, my dear, belongs to someone else.

Your mirror sees someone else. It worships what we cannot have, what seems unbearable.

its like  a chase, a race, a competition, a battle for love.

I want to claim myself victor, but  I know you do too.

Lets settle this together, lets agree on this, that our love will never be what you and I want.

Because our love is nothing without you and I in it.

march 13, 2008

sex is pathetic.
love is meaningless.
relationships are a burden.
live in, live out.

march 3, 2008

you cant stop me! 

so apperantly i have been swept into the bad influences in life.
i have become the nightmare that my parents once feared.
the slightest act of indifference is a sign for scolding.
its not like i purposely ask to fuck up in life, but apperantly that is what it seems like to them.
i suppose that our opposing views on some issues (mostly family/domestic) can be the fine point that yields to a family clash.
but its okay though, this only drives me to work even harder to prove them all wrong.

Feb 21, 2008

It feels like you are lost in translation, that you missed your cue of some sort. You wish you knew what to do, to follow your instinct –they say, but it's broken as of now. I suppose you could just leave it, and see what comes out of it, but you're anxious and you cannot wait. You want to know now. I wish I could tell someone, but it's one of those mysterious secrets that no one knows about but you and your heart and mind.

I suppose I'll just let it be.

Ciao yall!

jan 23, 2008

a love.

"I love him," he said. He really did.

He loved him from who and what he was.

His flaws, invisible.

His beauty, pure.

His body, unblemished.

His skin, chill-spinning.

His spirit, enchanting.

His soul, perfection.

But he couldn't, he wouldn't. There was no way.

He snuck out, saw him. Fell in love.

Love at first sight, lust at first word.

Fell asleep, and never woke up.

He loved him. He really did.

But he couldn't, he wouldn't. There was no way.

He never woke up, he dreamt of him.

His body, next to his.

His heart pounded at this beat. Synchronized.

It was majestic, the love that is.

But he failed, he tried.

But he failed, miserably.

"I love him," he said. He really did.

And of course he did, he never woke up.

Jan 22, 2008

Troublemaker

You were just there at the wrong time in life. Maybe you were not prone; you didn't have immunity to your vicious poison. The harm has been done, the mirror has been shattered. Can you picture me picking up every piece of glass, broken skin, blood flowing, tears held. I am strong, like a woman holding everything back, letting everything meander through my head in pain. An unbearable pain that I must bear, don't blame yourself blame the trouble you have created. Open wound, dry skin, callous spirit, broken heart. On my knees, you wish it was that time again, but it is not, never. Begging for an answer, pleading some justification, some response, you are useless.  

I hate the fact that you cower behind your manhood. Admit your failure, your mistakes, do not hesitate to admit that you have flawed. Womanizer, abuser, bigot, sexist, please feckless.

It all happened so quickly, I grew so rapidly. From one blow to the other, and look at yourself now. Stuck in the middle, of your vicious poison, I told you so, you are not prone. No I will not continue to pick up the shattered glass. For look at your broken callous spirit, it darkens every second, it confides in your evil actions, oh you trouble maker, look at all the trouble you have caused.

Jan 21, 2008

speaking of.... 

 

 

It's hard to tell you, when you are not around, like malevolent thoughts hindering sanctified angels. A pure heart, of gold, of platinum, easily robed taken as if it were Da Vinci's masterpiece from the Louvre. I beg to differ, not so easy, it takes talent and mind. But I wish you were here, maybe things would be smoother. Once, I looked into the sky to see the sun shinning its ray, as if it were making love with my fair skin, warmth and modest. The rain pours abuses my face, tears my head, whimpers my body. Strangely enough, you know not of what I speak of, for you not know I speak of you.

Its okay, I can sum it all up: listen carefully, for once its over the voices will be gone.

Jan 20, 2008

an artistic creation

I feel like writing, like painting on a canvas. No plot, no characters, just meanings. So its strange, are we all artists? How do we, as individuals set the line to what and who is and what is not? Lets be raw, lets be strange, lets share the moment together. I could call it love, or affection, or simply an idealistic naiveness (so that is not a word, but it's the power that makes it true). I am not sure, but I have a clear mind. I wish the answers were true, but they say they can only unveil progressively. Oh chucks, I say. But I wonder, if you, do too, feel this way. Hidden in the midst, crying in the rain, the devil inside of us flaming away. Call me stupid, I call myself curious. Lets find out, if I tell you will you tell me. Ill whisper it in your ears, ill shout it in your room, ill write it in your arm, ill wave it good bye.

But hey, what can I say, ill see your still there, wishing you were here.

Don't worry, this is just an artistic creation … can you feel it?

Dec 17, 2007

'tis a lie

This mark of superficiality is existent parallel with a pragmatic love. Believe me, I am not at fault for what is now, what is the present. I am stuck in a time zone that is not today's, I am dwelling on what once was. I wish I had what I did have, what I could easily grasp. Now I cannot seem to forget, as I am constantly reminded, relentlessly seeking.  I promised I would try to forget, yet I keep on tumbling on the same. I wish I could turn back time to stop myself from tripping on that pitch hole, but if so, I would have never known. It is a crucial time, no doubt about that, a time to mature, and to forget. To ameliorate the thought that it was once here, but never forget. I have taken the first step, the second step is shaky, the third is unknown.

Life is, as they say, a bliss—I say is nothing close to that, but very much like it.

November 18, 2007

Confessions

The dire conscious of feeling observed, the chase for lust, the sensation of necessity. All these curtailed desires have been ostracized by the socialization we face. Its rather hypocritical to deny these accusations when the facts, the real facts, the annotations clearly state otherwise. As we remember what we are grateful for, we forget what we have taken for granted. We thank others for what we don't have, but what we need—whereas we forget to recognize the burdens we have placed on others. The ostracized efforts of pain, tears, and rage...:namespace prefix = o ns = "urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:office" />

We seem to fail at exploiting these false characteristics we honor.  But the courage that remains in the victims, the fearless strength, is by far superior to these sham grandiosities.

I know life has a lot in stored, and I am not letting these shortcomings prevent me from succeeding. It's a simple intricate mind game.