i often wonder where i’ll end up, after this, after my time here. i think i am too inlove (i’ve always believed that should be one word) with water to return to the northwest. for all of its beauty the water cannot be swum through, the ocean never exceeding 56 degrees, the lakes often frigid until late summer (and then they freeze over again in october), the rivers either pouring out of icy glaciers or excessively polluted. i have to be some place where i can swim in the ocean or in a big lake that is devoid of a land-mass on the horizon. i need to have some place where i can lose myself in the water, in the waves, in the undulating current dragged on by the moon. what is the point of the listening to the waves if i cannot be a part of them? the equatorial seas certainly are spoiling me rotten; swimming in the ocean here is more akin to taking a salty bath…
today i went to buy a jug of water at the corner and had to laugh out loud when i reached my gate, in the midst of fumbling for my keys. i had this sudden picture of my life…but it was like a picture with sounds and movements, voices, hair in between my teeth, garbled conversations in spanish, heavy electric gates slamming shut in the night after loosely emitted laughter, beers at plastic tables below the buzzing fluorescent lights of a tienda, rattling skeletons of third-world busses blaring choppy carribean music. this is my LIFE! how did i get here? and how glorious a difference it is! glorious can be good OR bad by the way, and for me it has certainly been both since my arrival here.
and ohhh i’m such a sucker for tragedies. romance and love stories disgust me, make my eyes roll back into my temporal lobe and my lips to curl and a most-unpleasant downward angle. but give me some sad and twisted story full of pain and longing and finish it off with some tragic departure or death and i’m a much happier girl (see: como agua para chocolate, en excellent mexican love tragedy). even if the tragedy has to happen to me. i suppose i just don’t believe in happy endings. if it’s happy, there is no ending, if there’s an ending, it’s going to feel like trash. and sometimes, i think it’s the very best things in our life that end sadly, tragically. they have to end; if they continue, they’ll no longer be the best, and some things ought to preserved in their pristine state, before time and reality render them tarnished (and thus normal or average). it certainly does create more sadness, but sadness is not a bad thing, despite what society tells us. sadness reminds us that we are alive, and capable of doing and experiencing and feeling….so, so much.
i know that i have to go back, that i want to go back. but i also know i am going to feel like dying when i get on that plane. and i guess…that just makes every day and every experience and every adventure i have here all the more beautiful. and as i am a sucker for tragedy, i’m perhaps an even more susceptible sucker for beauty, and honestly, i do believe, that the two go hand in hand; there is so much beauty in sadness. and while i’m not exactly sure why, i have a feeling this is the reason all of my drawings look the way they do, the reason why all of my stories and poems write themselves (i write them) into the shapes they become. some day i’ll have an answer, that i’m certain of (and it very well may be the only thing i am certain of).
alright, that’s enough from the corn factory for the rest of the month.
PS: bought one of those little italian espresso makers for eight dollars. it’s incredibly delish. and i have to ask myself…whyyyyy was i drinking coffee strained through a nasty canvas sack for so long?