Hot Thai Booties

There's something non-sexual to be said about waking up and not knowing anyone in the room. While the gutter driven people out there might fantasize about gang bang scenarios where the close-up shots are prevalent... my thoughts are elsewhere. Surprisingly.

I'm talking about 2 hours of engaging conversation, lovely seventh grade dancing where you leave room for jesus, the holy spirit (or moses). I'm talking about soft, silk ties and the encounter of awkwardness with overactive hormones - and the sarcasm that follows.

Wake up in a room except the room is your world. And me being me that defines itself to everything in my proximity that revolves around my powerfully gravitational ego. Physicists talk about multiverses. The plebe speaks about the universe revolving around every individual. Presto! Now all we need is a whole bunch of knitting grandmas to get the string bit going and the whole equation is nearly solved.

There is nothing permanent about the structures we've managed to put together in the last 5,000 years. No archetype has been left untouched, no function unrefined. What makes us think that the same would apply in that brief blink of time that is our life?

For me it is hope.
For some it is faith.

I had a conversation today (as opposed to most days where I have several - and if by now my sometimes laconic style hasn't tired you dear reader, well, hold on to your seats because it's about to get bumpy). My friend compared my gender to lost puppies coming back after they are shoo-ed away time after time. Suckers for punishment in other words. She then went on to describe how complicated women are.

I was shackled last night.

Today was a reminder that I wish I could write heartfelt stories meant to be slammed into the quiet walls of a crowded room with sentiment and passion. A warm reminder of how I miss the stage. A dark memory that tells me that I can't talk about spaceships and I cant talk about an oppressed childhood but I can certainly talk about warm tortillas over a log fire with a thick wool blanket and the morning mist over the maize crops. These are my truths and I've been obsessing with them.

I wear a proud badge that spells minority in the US but it spells citizen elsewhere.

A girl sang an explanation: soy 100 por ciento boricua. I take boricua and replace it with myself. An explanation for my deranged emotional pattern of implosion. An explanation for my sometimes mispronounced o's and i's. It means a different perspective and I hope a cultured vision of the world. The third world gives you the worm's eye view of the world.

We are all human beings. I'm exhausted of being human.

I'm looking for the moment I see my parents exchange when they look at each other briefly with meaningful glances of understanding and love. It's not a twinkle. It's not a glow. It's unadulterated emotion. The kind rwandan children choirs or the crack of an old man's voice as he tells you his story or the view from the top of Bellavista evoke.

I'm still here trying to look past the glitz and glam. The razzle dazzle. The pizzazz of average human life.

And all I see is hot. thai. booties.