FML part 1

Why do we never use an image of us crying as a profile picture in Facebook or whatever?

I talked to one of my most special friends two days ago, and of all she said to me there was one bit that lingered in my ears like a voiceless echo, like that last taste of the strongest wine you've ever laid your tonsils in: if you feel it, then write about it.
Cheeseless or not I am sad, and sad am I; the saddest I've been in my whole life perhaps...

Hegel said that one must act (creatively so) in order to see what one is made of, hence our doings; marked as footprints on this earth, reflect like fuming mirrors the very essence of our beings. Our spirit hints its existence filtering itself through our actions, and printing them into organic ways of life for all eternity (if one is lucky). That is why I am in art school, even though I forget this from time to time.
On that note; I shall thus write about the things that make me want to stop living in this God forsaken city... then I shall read my writings and try to understand the whyness of the why I feel this way. And above all, sharing is important; because one can also be crazy and therefore ask 5 people the time before deciding it's 42 past 8.

Anywhoo...
I hate talking to people on the street, it's like I want to be a part of everything that goes on about but playing the part of the "live camera". I feel if I intervene with the characters then I spoil the moment, and everything turns too real to handle. Ironically I'm socially retarded (yes, I talk a lot and have loads of friends in my social networks, but I'm still a loser when it comes to communicating in spoken language).
This morning I did my daily routines, mantras and all and suddenly, when I was trudging down the stairs (thing which I do NOT do, because I use the elevator), after greeting the building keeper (having left a milk carton for the school girls in 4B to use for their annual carton-recollection contest) I realised I needed some freakin' change to get on the freakin' bus! (halt! as some of you might remember, I am car-less for another week due to an unfortunate encounter with a city road beast, hence all the public transportation usage).

You see, these new buses that drive along the Perférico highway charge 4.50 pesos. But the drivers don't handle the money, so if you go there and insert a 5 peso coin in the green slot, and then expect to get some change back they'll sarcastically, I mean "politely" point out to the shiny sign above your head that reads "don't talk to the driver". I mean WHAT IS THIS? ANIMAL FARM ON WHEELS? wtf. So anyways, I decided to buy us a lolly pop to get some change, right? So I got in the store that's nearest to my building and said hello and stuff, trying to mind my own business and then I bought one of those small milk cartons that make you shit easier (with this cold weather, its hard enough as it is). Go All Bran! I paid with a large bill and was given two smaller ones and ONE PESO.
I was gutted, so asked if I could get smaller and physical bits of that abstract representation of how MUCH we are worth in this life AKA "money" (I fucking hate it) and the dude behind the counter smiled and said "no can do, missy" with that face that reads "fuck off, I'm not gonna help you because you're a woman and look smaller and dumber than you really are". So I played it cool and said, "oh, then I want a lollypop" and handed him a 20 peso bill.

------

That was it, he was furious. He snapped at me with a "oh no you didn't" sort of attitude and told me to buzz off, that if I wanted the freakin' lollipop then I could have it and then pay for it later. I tried to explain I needed change for the bus ride, but he just wandered off to someplace behind the coke fridge, smothering hate thoughts into amorphous mumblings.

I felt bad, I felt terrible; like if it was all my fault, I'm oh so insensitive for other people's interests. I always feel like shit when other people treat me so. And all I'm trying to do is get over with the stuff that needs to be done in order to get to school and back alive. It would seem simple enough as, but not in my world it isn't.

I counted my change, coin by coin this time as I walked to the bus stop, only to realise I DID have enough money to get on the COPESA... all that jazz for less than no cigar. I added STUPID to the number of thoughts wandering in my mind and hopped on the green and yellow bastard that takes me to Tepepan.

And to think I didn't even NEED that fucking milk carton, I had already packed my lunch and all. It's just that those bus drivers treat civilians like shit on toast, and it just doesn't feel right giving them that extra $.50 if they're gonna be all rude and mean... it ain't just.

Change is everything when you're a student. Like that clever sign on that clever movie that that clever hobo was carrying that said "keep your money, I want CHANGE". Holy smokes!

Then I got off where I was supposed to, after being stared at for being a girl who happens to be just an extra white to be using public transportation... who ever said we're all the same, I used to think that way...
I walked on and suddenly another blood rush to my brain: I needed YET MORE change to get on the second bus that takes me to school. Shit on a bucket! So I grabbed some more strength and decided to take my chances on this guy who was selling cookies and peanuts and grabbing chips with his probably unwashed hands and stuffing them into little plastic bags to be sold after. My OCD triggered, but I approached and said "Hey there, good morning. One question; could I have two 10 peso coins if I gave you this 20 peso bill?".
Funny enough he said "huh?" so I repeated the question, word by word. He smiled and said "dear, if you give me that bill then I'll have to give you TWO 20 peso coins, not one hahahahaha" and he continued to laugh while I apologised for something I had not said and walked on with TWO coins of that value I just wrote about.

A guy poked me in the eye on the way out of that second bus, and I yelled "STUPID" without being able to control myself... gosh. The funny thing is that when I complain about it at school, my friends tell me off with stuff like "it is what it is, if you don't realise it then that's YOUR problem".

I love this freaking city... makes me want to cry until I die, and then maybe take my own picture and post it on FB, not.

CAMBIODEPIE!!!!!

Ando acá, en lugar de haciendo tarea, redactando otra reseñita del último concierto al que he asistido.
Siempre pasa ¿no? que nosotros los responsables (JA!) dejamos lo que nos gusta para el final... pues ¡MIERDA con eso! porque voy a escribir en vez de leer a Deleuze... y luego me sentiré popo por la culpa.
Me acuerdo de la primera vez que escuché a Switchfoot; fue justo por ahí cuando descubrí a Guster más o menos. Escuché de Guster "Careful" y me enamoré a la tercera escuchada, mientras que de Switchfoot vi el video de "On Fire" en vivo y a la quinta vez ya me la había aprendido de memoria :)

He de alegar que me sé cada una de sus inmundas cancioncillas al grado que tenían a mis padres hasta el coco-nut-o por ponerlas repetidamente en las largas travesías por coche.

"Ya pon otra cosa!"
"Nel, no me dejas manejar; entonces yo escojo la música"
"PERO TIENES 13 AÑOS!!!"
"Your loss"

Es curioso cómo al pasar el tiempo uno va mutando en cuanto a lo que le llama y llena; me he reconciliado con los champis (finalmente) y tolero un poco más los mariscos (yuck!). Pero musicalmente hablando desde entonces empecé a inclinarme por rumbos más "indie-buena-onda-wey" tanto por osmosis de mis amiguines enapos/TEC (que son lo mismo pero con distinta salsa) versión DF. Ahora un yeasayer por un previo Five For Fighting (lo sé, QUÉ PENA WEEE). Sin embargo, creo que guardo con cariño mis gustos de mocosa como guardo mis peluches: intactos y bonitos! Gustosos son los recuerdos de la infancia; me gustaba pensar que nunca me iría a traicionar a mi misma en cuanto a preferencias... creo que me debo una disculpa (a mis previos "yo" en plural). I've grown a little.

SWITCHFOOT MÉXICO-------------------------------------------------


Después de un nefasto breakup con el único novio que he tenido de la vida de vivir (2 años después) me lancé a Querétaro a ahogar mis penas en bonitos atardeceres y shots de mezcal con los pueblerinos que tanto amo (me, being one of 'em still)... fue un fin de BEERFEST (o BEARFEST, para algunos) increíble. Me curé al 70%.
De regreso fue que de MILAGRO DEL SEÑOR (cabe resaltar la ironía, puesto que SWFT es una banda de rock cristiano) nos tuvimos que desviar del camino para llegar a mi depa en plena lluvia, después de un ride a un amiguino a su casa-de-él en Polanco; acabamos en Insurgentes mentándole la madre al tráfico cuando de pronto vi un letrero magnífico... que anunciaba la llegada del grupo que llevo hablando desde el comienzo de este escritillo... creí que era obra de mi cansancio-cruda, pero NO! Al llegar a mi guarida solitaria prendí la chompu y en el interné ahí estaba: la confirmación de mi bendita revelación, patrocinada por la divina providencia (google); switchfoot vendría el 12 de septiembre!!!!!!! HOLY JESUS... SURFING ON A GUITAR!!!
Me apuré a anunciarlo en todos los medios electrónico-cibernéticos que tuviera al alcance, pero la respuesta fue agobiante; a nadie le importó un caraxo. Recibí cosas como:
"Mi madre es nazi", "Quién??? SuichHoot-er?", "Pff qué ilusa por creer que me gustan esas ma%$das", "vivo lejos", "si estuviera más rota sería un pantalón de Abercrombie" et al.

Así que sería yo sola y triste en mi desgracia... pero HO! porque Morra (qrotana ex-kennedy) asintió en todos los aspectos a mi súbita petición de servirme de acompañante al evento a pesar de vivir en Sacramento California (wtf??). Y ¡Vaya, que estaba igual de emocionada que yo! Así que le creí en su debraye de "me voy ahora mismo en coche" (right) y compré mi boleto decididamente vía mi querida madre y su tarjeta de crédito (jeje). It was ON!

Esperé el tiempo debido... comiéndome las uñas como rata enlatada y finalmente desperté el 12 con un aire de nueva persona. Me lavé los dientes y procedí a llevar a cabo mis quehaceres de ñora dominguera. Tic-toc-tic-toc-ticccccccccc AAAAAAAA ver la tele no me quitaba la emoción.
Pero bueno, FastForward a las 5:30------> YA! Salí desenfrenada con el coche y un mapita dibujado con Sharpie rumbo al salón José Cuervo.
Llegué perfecto por obra del Siñior trapero que me dio instrucciones y VOILÁ! embutí mi carrito de fricción entre un trailer macabro y un ficus asesino.

Me formé como los otros cien mil ilusos FANSSS rodeando la cuadra (me sorprendí por la cantidad de gente presente a dicha hora) y le mandé un mensajito a la norteña esperada. Llegó! y hacía años que no la veía, por lo que nos costó reconocernos 2 segundos más de lo normal. Luego luego nos involucramos en múltiples pláticas sobre y como en los viejos tiempos mientras se acercaba la hora del CHOW.
Entramos... yo me hacía pipí de la emoción... pero como siempre, te hacen aguantar vara mientras los señoritos del "ESTAFF" preparan el maldito escenario pegando cables en el piso y vocalizando el típico "1,2,3 probando probando" (me acordé de Nan recitando el himno nacional en el micrófono en nuestra obra de generación back in the day jajajaja).
Finalmente abrió pista un grupo extrañísimo llamado "el color invisible" y con 5 rolas de tutti-frutti ante lo cual el público se mantuvo inmóvil y nefasteado. Ha de ser horrible tener que tratar de ambientar a gente mala copa que espera a alguien más... y peor aún si son legionarios de Jesús Cristo ("J. C." que suena como Jay Z) auspiciados por el Opus Dei (o como sea que funcionan esos gremios locos). En lo que mi oídos se erosionaban ante las cumbias techno-surf de los dudes vestidos de luchadores me puse a analizar los alrededores y me acordé de la vez que había ido al previo "Salón 21" con Lori para ver a Bloc Party... good times-> cuando de pronto mi vista se centró en un señor vestido de figura religiosa en las lejanías del backstage porque ERA un señor-pastor vigilando a la multitud (WTF!!!! sentí que me observaba detenidamente susurrando telepáticamente "pecadooooraaaaa").
Le conté a Morra y reimos entre suspiros de miedo absoluto por ateas ambas dos.

Luego... otra hora después... bajaron un gran letrero en blanco con letras negras que anunciaba la llegada del gran grupo que ha compuesto tantas canciones utilizadas en chick flicks (entre ellas "A Walk to Remember" con MANDY MOORE... gsus) y salieron al escenario los sensuales hermanos Foreman y Chad Butler (el baterista) que también es sensual y el dude de los teclados que es nuevo y otro también que era repuesto del otro que tampoco sé cómo se llama :) WOOOOOOOOOOOW!!!! Estaba gritando más fuerte que la escuincla de al lado. Es grato cómo se rompe la barrera de realidad/ficción de imagen cuando VES en vivo por primera VEZ a la gente a quien has admirado por alguna u otra cuestión. Jon Foreman fue mi ídolo de ratos gachos de adolescencia guacareada, sus canciones simples y altamente positivas me dieron un gran toque de vitalidad y gracias a todo ello crecí a ser la Xallita que brinca como grillo en éxtasis cuando hay fiestas locas con los amigos de verdad. Rock on!
Abrieron con "Needle and Haystack" como era de esperarse y pisé mil veces a la ñora (wtf?) que me quería robar mi lugar en primera fila, hasta que dejó de joder. COÑO, POS ES MI GRUPO FAVORITO DE QUINCEAÑERA, NO IBA A DEJAR QUE UNA SENIL MALA COPA ME ARRUINARA EL MEJOR MOMENTO DE MI VIDA (ja, exagero, pero u get the picture).

Siguieron con Stars, Meant to Live, Oh! Gravity, Hello Hurricane, Gone, Only Hope (me acordé de nuestras primeras pedas de XV años bailando el waltz a esa rola), ON FIRE!!! (casi lloro con esa), This is Your Life, Mess of Me, Awakening, Free y de Encore nos deleitaron con The Sound y finalmente DARE YOU TO MOVE (ja, super busted porque esa sí que es girly as).

Nunca había visto a un vocalista crear tan buena atmósfera de concierto con tan sólo sonreir y mostrar excelente vibra a todos; nos tenía abrumados por lo bien que toca la guitarra mientras se avienta del escalón de la batería hacia las vigas metálicas del techo (o como se llamen) y cae en el clímax de la rola... fucking multitask dude... neta qué pedo, seguro toma clases de parkour y yoga en drogas finas.
Nos alentó a ser mejores personas, nos habló en español, nos hipnotizó con palabras mágicas sobre lo buena que es levantarte cuando estás hecho mierda y abrazó a la multitud del lado en el que yo NO estaba (fucker) para pedir que cantaran con él el verso que va así:

Cause everything inside looks like
Everything I hate
You are the hope I have for change
You are the only chance I’ll take
----
This is your life, is it everything you dreamed that it would be
When the world was younger and you had everything to lose

AAAA.... me dan ganas de llorar nada más de escribir estas tonterías (I'm a hormonal wimp, and proud!). Pero bueno, en realidad me resulta imposible describir la felicidad que nació en mi desde ese momento... me acordé de los padre que me sentía cada día al despertar y tener millones de posibilidades entretejidas en cada respiro que daba a lo largo del día. Switchfoot es mi cura para vivir en el DF y tolerar a gente estúpida que me podría arruinar la existencia. Pero sí se puede; tomo muy en serio eso de poner la otra mejilla (ha, toda cristiana de clóset) y aunque no vaya a favor de la iglesia como institución idiota, creo que es importante seguir lo que uno cree y estar orgulloso de ello, mi religión va de acuerdo a las sonrisas en los peores momentos y cómo sí se puede levantarte aunque un trailer te haya hecho papaya la cabeza. (Bueno, no literalmente).
Gosh!

Salí con tanta emoción que dejé que Morra fumara en mi coche jajajaja, le di ride a Taxqueña y recuperé esa sonrisa interna que me caracterizab aún en los tiempos que estudiaba historia, ya viviendo en esta ciudad tan difícil... aquí no se ven las estrellas... los dejo con esto:

Maybe I've been the problem, maybe I'm the one to blame
But even when I turn it off and blame myself, the outcome feels the same
I've been thinkin maybe I've been partly cloudy, maybe I'm the chance of rain
Maybe I'm overcast, and maybe all my lucks washed down the drain

I've been thinking 'bout everyone, everyone you look so lonely

But when I look at the stars,
when I look at the stars,
when I look at the stars I see someone else

When I look at the stars,
the stars, I feel like MYSELF.

FIN. Los amo (quien sea que haya leído esta cosa).

comma

So once I met this boy
He had sunshine all over his untidy brown hair
Brown irises as well; my rabbit holes,
Nothing more, that there's nothing more,
And nothing was,
I tried to burn a smile over his elastic silence,
A seismograph on top of a jelly bean jar,
A rocket hammock, a door without a lock,
His twizzler like embrace, and my legs uncooked cinnamon branches,
And then an army of unused pencil cases,
A snail and a bull's eye and a blue pillow stain,
A ticket to the apple's seed, a trip to the coast on the back of a dragonfly,
As I grew younger and brighter everything was painted vanilla,
I was to be protected under his polka dot gaze,
A red cloak to shield me from all the vultures in the sky,
And the evil Eye, and the evil I...

I am forever a tiny clover in a field of untrimmed grass, in a field of broken glass

New Cork, better than Old Cork

I'd never been to New York before... I had only this mental image of the place in my mind due to all the symbolic references that lie inserted in endless pieces of Literature, Cinema, Theatre, TV, and the media as a whole... almost like an ever-present subtle whisper in the wind.
Virtually everyone I know has either spent a week there or just landed on one of the two larger airports; La Guardia + JFK (a more than 6 hour wait counts as a check mark!). Major convo starter, I'd say!
Physically knowing NYC opens you up to a whole new world. Matrix like; NOW you get that local joke that's been floating around in all those social gatherings and artsy-posh events. It's like finally getting the hang of double meanings in adult conversations (hehehe).
Fortunately I had already had my own very little training in the subject (city-handling-wise) due to the exercise of spending several hours in front of the "tele", visually slurping shows such as "Sex AND the City", "Friends", "Seinfeld", "Gossip Girl" (not really... but some, yeah, busted!), Woody Allen flicks, and just recently "New York, I love You" (Oh! for all those great looking men conveniently crammed in a single movie).
All of sudden those words I'd only heard of came to life, in a blast of information going straight to my brain: Broadway, 5th Av., SoHo, NoHo, China Town, Little Italy, The HighLine, Brooklyn... And so I was introduced to one of the planet's most actively evolving cities in the ART world.

Heck yes! Because this was no ordinary trip, no sirey! Me and my mate Dan are very very keen art students with a psychosomatic crave for anything that has the word CREATIVE involved in it. "HECTIC as!" Some would say, and they would be correct.
HENCE, we ate those museums like hot dogs at a Nathan's Hot Dog Eating Contest (*reference #1. See what I'm talking about? This happens in Coney Island, either google it up or just reminisce your head off!). MoMa was first, sweet and FREE thanks to some tips we got from a friend studying in Poughkeepsie (shit, that was hard to write, imagine spelling it drunk!). I cannot believe how much art these guys have got bottled up in a single building in downtown NY! My eyes were sore in the end, but not sore enough to detain myself from wandering around the gift shop hehehe.
Next on the menu was The Frick Collection, where our friendly "acquaintance" worked as an intern. Good stuff! Then we visited the Neue Gallery where we both stood open mouthed before no other than Gustav Klimt's "Adele (Bloch-Bauer)", and even better; I saw my very first EGON SCHIELE!!! (I still cannot get over that moment... the 15 bucks were totally worth it).
The day after we went to the Guggenheim where we saw a couple of works of Julie Mehretu, and the "Haunted" exhibit with Warhol, González-Torres, Abramovic, Rauschenberg, Sherman, and plenty more. Kasimir Malevich was there as well, in spirit and in work; for an entire floor of the museum was dedicated to his early paintings, which was cooooool.
After that we took two entire days to roam about senselessly through the infinite corridors inside the MET. Holy Kaw! I definitely could not process the whole content of what we saw those in such a limited amount of time... no human being could possibly ever! I mean, they say if you contemplate each piece for about 5 minutes you'd take up to 5 years looking at them all! I mean 'CMON!
What I reckon is that the museum is made for people who, after having visited the rudely humongous museum, will therefore have no further need for traveling outside the US. Period. (Although, I know this is BS, the experience of GETTING to places can never be replaced with incarcerated objects). CRAZY.
Anyways, The Noguchi Sculpture Garden was mind-blowing, the New Museum flabbergasting, the Brooklyn Museum was nice (Kiki Smith was there!), The PS.S1 MoMa incredible, and the Natural History was absolute CRAP! (one of the worst museums I've been to, absolute caca).
We walked everywhere during the day, and ate with as little money as we could spend (having taken trail mix for a very repetitive lunch until we went NUTS with the sun dried berries and all the almonds haha). And at night time we went out with our newly made friends (Poughkeepsie's very best). Flashback to:
THE FIRST NIGHT--> we showered thoroughly (the heat was intense!), changed from sweaty to dry clothes and met with "M-E" at one of NY's most popular streets (Bleeker... I think). We ended up hanging out with a bunch of very Jewish guys at this darkish bar with a wooden Apache statue greeting us at the door (the 7 dollar pitch was worth it, tho'). After a few drinks their "leader" ("A") decided we should move to his granny's apartment near Central Park, just for kicks... and so we did! Being all hyped by the feeling of adventure and... I dunno why else really, well besides the booze in our blood, which dictated our actions for the night.
When we arrived we found ourselves sitting down in old fashioned couches surrounded by old fashioned furniture and old fashioned family pictures... granma's lodge indeed!
"A" opened a drawer and brought out two peculiar bottles of what looked like ancient, and dangerous looking liquor; Amaretto and some sort of peach alcohol. We played drunken games and enjoyed ourselves thoroughly.
On our way back to the subway we were accompanied by a Spanish speaking dude with whom we shared a friendly chit chat while dodging random people lying on the street (this was 3:30am). It was then we confirmed the fact that NY does not ever sleep! People were already opening up their shops, riding the bus wearing their jogging gear... I mean, amazing...

TO BE CONTINUED...

De la Patada (en buenos términos)

Hacía años luz que no pateaba un balón... bueno quizá para regresarlo a algún juego ajeno en respuesta física a un "bolita por favor" o si se me hubiese cruzado en el camino (a lo cual vendrían a mi cabeza millones de flashbacks de la prepa con sabor extra-nostálgico y probablemente me hubieran dado ganas de llorar en pleno cruce de terreno baldío), pero mejor pongámoslo así; hacía un BUEN de tiempo que no jugaba un partido de fútbol como es debido.
Resulta que se decidió hacer un reencuentro tipo Magneto pero del equipo de las ex-kennedy contra las que ahora portan la camiseta actualizada de dicha escuela... esto de la fiebre del mundial se expande hacia todas partes y no deja de encantarme.
Me llegó la invitación por Facebook al partido "kennedys vs ex-kennedys" hace unos días y no pude ocultar mi felicidad absoluta ante dicho anuncio. Chequé mi agenda (absolutamente vacía) y sonreí groseramente mientras buscaba mis tacos viejos y oxidados y mis espinilleras de cuando tenía 18 años...

Llegando la fecha indicada me presenté ante la reja tan azul de mi ex escuela con el uniforme y todo (lo cual me había costado mucho encontrar, puesto que ahora mis cosas se han exiliado al cuartito-bodega del piso de abajo... ya que "ya no vivo" en mi casa según el idiota de mi hermano) para lo cual me abrió un guardia excesivamente agradable (he llegado a considerar que la restante bondad de la humanidad se concentra exclusivamente en provincia, puesto que debo admitir que me he acostumbrado a los malos tratos de la gente capitalina). El buen guardia me deseó buena suerte y me dirigí a la verdísima cancha de fut que con tanto cariño guarda memorias increíbles de aquellas épocas mías: de cuando el mundo no me mostraba sus horrendos... colmillos todavía.

Llevaba calcetas largas y una bebida deportiva que tuve que comprar en el "Otzo" porque me he dado cuenta de que ya no se guardan botellas de agua en casa, desde que dejamos de hacer deporte con regularidad (sniff sniff a las 3 horas de tennis y/o 2 de fut diarias de toda mi juventud). Ahora mi hermano sólo va al gym para ponerse trunks-hulk-ish para cuando llegue el apocalipsis y nos ataquen los narcos y consecuentemente los mate a golpes (según su muy divertida teoría de salvación).

Reconocí algunas caras, puesto que ya somos varias generaciones las que nos hemos graduado desde el 2006, saludé y empezamos a calentar. Pero los coaches de siempre seguían ahí; Lalo, Soria, Ray, Miss Myriam y hasta Lanch nos habían ido a apoyar! De hecho Lalo se vio solidario y se ocupó de alinearnos y darnos tips de apoyo moral ante nuestra decrepitud e ineficiencia física.

Empezó el partido. OUCH! Hacía épocas geológicas enteras que no tenía que correr como si mi vida dependiera de ello. Ahora respeto más a las gacelas de Nat Geo y a la maldita selección mexicana... pta madre sentía que tenía anclas en los tobillos.

No daba ni una, mis pases eran demasiado cortos y el balón se sentía como de acero inoxidable forjado con plomo y relleno de una bola de boliche... mis pies pedían piedad ante el esfuerzo repentino que les estaba exigiendo. Ya nadie me quería pasar la bola a esta abuela pedazo de lela jeje. Sin embargo, Carlita y Lili siguen jugando en el equipo del TEC y vaya que mostraron que no se iban a dejar vencer tan fácilmente! Pararon como 70 llegadas del equipo juvenil sin pensarlo mucho. Ver dicho entusiasmo en algunas integrantes de mi propio equipo me elevó los ánimos en crescendo y finalmente logré elevar mi ritmo a un nivel respetable y empecé a driblar con coherencia futbolística.
Era la gloria reivindicada! Enhorabuena! Tomé consciencia de mis instintos olvidando mi mente racional y me dejé llevar por la intuición del momento que tanto me hacía casi desmayarme por el esfuerzo en cada partido, ya fuese de tennis o fútbol. El sudor se convirtió en vestigio de algo hermoso y salino refrescando mi cara, el viento nos acariciaba las frentes como susurrando "sí se puede, sólo diviértete". Vaya que extrañaba ver a mis padres en la tribuna gritando como si realmente fuera importante lo que estaba pasando dentro del perímetro de pasto... ahora entiendo la importancia del juego fuera de las clases teóricas de Schiller; es SERIO esto del fútbol.

Hubo tiempo de tomar agua entre los 45 minutos de cada sesión (estamos ruquitas y necesitamos hidratarnos con regularidad, peor que planta de jungla) y mis pies empezaban a sentir el dolor de unas horrendas y nacientes ampollas en las plantas... pero todo lo valía.

Jugamos el segundo tiempo y parecía que seríamos acribilladas por el tierno (de juventud) equipo antagónico, ya que llegaron otras 24,000 veces a nuestra portería, sólo para ser rechazadas por la diosa de portera que teníamos; Lilí es mi ídola.
Pero en una de esas se despejó un balón incógnito y bien dirigido hacia Ada, nuestra delantera estrella, quien en vez de mandarlo a los cielos (como lo suele hacer por potencia de chutazo que tiene la condenada) lo metió a la portería... casual y así llevábamos la ventaja en el marcador.
Inesperadamente...
Yo tuve 2 que 3 oportunidades, pero la verdad creo que di mejores pases que trallazos... mis piernas ya no aguantan tanto. Pero la labor de esquivar monigotas (porque HOLY CRAB están ENORMES estas chicas! parece que las nuevas generaciones le entran con singular alegría a la carne de McD's con extra-hormonas de todo tipo) la hice con eficacia y sutileza, de hecho me eché unas recepciones de balones mandados hasta la ionósfera que caían en mis taquitos con buen toque y hasta Soria me regañó por no cagarla en eso :). Ergo, por esfuercitos por el estilo fue que empezamos a llegar más a su portería, contrarrestando el resto del partido que parecía más bien un "gol-para" en nuestra contra jejeje.

Y FINITO! Sonó el silbato del árbitro y se dio por terminada la cosa.... muertas estábamos pero victoriosas! y nos tenían Pizza para celebrar en las banquitas :) ya se me había olvidado lo divertido que era pertenecer a un equipo así, en medio de los cerros queretanos, nuestro propio oasis lúdico cuasi onírico. Otro lindo recuerdo para la colección. Gracias niñas!

Camboya

La experiencia del viajar solo es difícil de expresar y compartir, es necesario vivirla uno mismo para entender de qué carajos estoy hablando. Quizá para aquellas personas que no están tan desajustadas como yo, el mundo les resulte unos cuantos decibeles menos desafiante. Pero por ahí dicen ellos (los que tanto les gusta hablar) que para que haya una aventura digna de ser contada debe de haber una gran cantidad de percances y desfortunios que le ocurran al protagonista de la historia... directamente proporcional, gracias Campbell!

Habiendo acabado el mentado cursito que me eché en nada más y nada menos que las Tailandias (en plural todo suena mejor) decidí que sería interesante cerrar la odisea con broche de oro (guay not?), entonces compré con el resto de mis ahorros "lo que viene siendo" un boleto de avión a Siem Reap en Camboya; la ciudad en donde se encuentra uno de los sitios arqueológicos más importantes del mundo: Angkor Wat.
Era mi sueño visitar los vestigios de tal civilización, habiendo aprendido un poco en clases de historia, y con lo ñoña que soy, la idea de adentrarme cual Lara Croft/Indiana Jones versión turista mexicana "de petatiux".

Tomé un Tuk-Tuk desde Ban Phe hasta el aeropuerto de Bangkok y no hice mas que nostalgiarme la existencia con kleenex escuchando canciones extremadamente cursis en el transcurso (favor de compadecerme y no juzgarme en ese aspecto si lloro con "Take a Bow" de Rihanna) puesto que soy de esas malditas personas a las cuales las despedidas las vuelven de consistencia peluchosa y moquienta.
Llegando esperé mi debido tiempo tirada en una banca de plástico como de McDonald's con mis cosas desparramadas sobre mis pies (estorbándole a las familias ricas gringas que pasaban por ahí). Cuando llegó mi hora me formé en la fila correspondiente como niña buena y me aproximé al mostrador, sólo para escuchar:

-Sorry miss, I cannot let you board your plane because you have an S type visa; which means you cannot enter the country once you've left unless you get ANOTHER stamp.

WTF????? Todo el desmadre que me había costado ENTRAR al mentado país se desenrollaba en una secuela del terror totalmente inadvertida frente a mis elaboradas pestañas mexicanas. ¿Ahora no me dejarán salir? ¿QUÉ CARAJOS?
Como venadito en éxtasis sufrí un recorrido fotográfico mental en el cual abandonaba mi sueño de ir a Angkor y esperaba en vez mis dos días restantes en Asia aburrida como torta en un hotel de por ahí mientras llegaba el día de mi salida de regreso a México... NO!!!

-You will have to go to the Mexican embassy downtown and make them call the Thai embassy in Mexico for you to change your VISA. This will have to be tomorrow now, because it is already late and everything is closed for the day. Here is a map and the telephone number.

¡Era L.A. all over again! ¡Qué bonito ciclo narrativo! Pero pensé: Bridget Jones my milky arse! Y entonces le dije:

-But I've got this other ticket for my flight back home miss. Same day, departing 3 hours after I return from Cambodia. If I do like as you say, then I'll miss it! Isn't there anything I can do about it?

-Oh! Lemme see! Oh! so you're just connecting flights? Oh!! Well then things change. I thought you were staying here longer after returning. But if you don't leave the airport then there's no problem. Just tell the woman at the Siem Reap counter to check your bags all the way to Mexico. Have a good flight!

Me trepé al avión con la cara rojo camarón entomatado y no separé la naríz de la ventanilla hasta que aterrizamos... puta madre, estaba tan enojada como cansada, por lo que opté por neutralizar mis emociones y esperar el siguiente paso. Viva la discriminación por nacionalidad!

Llegando quedé bastante impresionada por la calidad arquitectónica del aeropuerto camboyano; coqueto coqueto indeed! Recogí maletas, pasé por los detectores de metal y pagué mis cuotas. Saliendo al delicioso calorcito nocturno me topé con cientos de locales montados en motocicletas al acecho por turistas indefensos llenos de maletas. Yo fui presa fácil aparentemente.

-Ride with me
-NO! WITH MEEEE-
-Ride hotel miss?

Me atacaron por doquier... pero mi instinto de citadina exportada me dijo que eligiera al de rostro menos asesino (ja, viva el sentido común). Me sentí juez de American Idol versión "quién tiene la cara más noble y menos de tevoyamataryviolardespuésdemuerta". Pagué mis 2 dólares por el aventón y me trepé con el chofer cara-de-niñito.

No hay como tener el viento en la cara, en una noche joven con una luna espectacular guiándote el camino. Tenía un audífono puesto en una oreja y con la otra prestaba atención a las breves narraciones de mi compañero de viajes. "Leik" me llevó a un hotel que le pareció óptimo para mi arribo súbito, puesto que le había contado (yo) que quería estar lo más cerca posible de las ruinas.

Me recibió un tal "Lucky"; un personaje increíblemente dibujable, es más, creo que me lo saqué del inconsciente... algún día escribiré una historia basándome en él. Y me guió al cuarto después de haberme despedido de Leik; acordamos que él sería mi guía a las ruinas también por un precio razonable -Tomorrow at 9 o'clock then-
Subí unas amplias escaleras de madera en un edificio extrañisimo, viejo y amarillo nápoles, con pasillos de imitación de mármol y extranjeros por doquier (yo incluida)

The reminiscing flavour inside a huge Mexican chocolate mug

There isn't much, that I feel I need, a solid soul, and the blood I bleed.

So time has taken giant strides since that amazing January... I can't get it out of my mind... it felt like finally peeking through the tiniest of cracks and grasping one single glance of what's outside the cave only to realize nothing is what it seems. There's a hole in the wall.
It was far more strong than a shot of heroin, like an everlasting slushie that's flavoured with the greatest moment in your life, it was more than making eye contact with your soul mate for the first time, simply more than just fine.

It's singing along to one song, for ever.

ADIEU

I thought I was never going to make it to Angkor: I had this strange feeling all along that it wasn't meant to be... even though I had in hand (well electronically speaking) my very own plane ticket to Siem Reap, bought with the help of my witty Texan friend at Amir's pueblo palace one sizzling weekend during TEFL days.
That final Friday I did not wake up, because I did not ever go to sleep in the first place... instead I stapled the Tuesday night remnants together with the unwelcoming Friday morning vestiges by taking one last cold bath in what had been my room for the month. I was barefoot, and so was my state of being. I picked up the last of my stuff and found an Australian coin I kept for good luck.
Taking a long breath I slid downstairs to get some water. I found our teacher there, and she gave me a string with bells and rocks attached to it. I wasn't paying much attention, I was high on not sleeping but I took it as an exchange for the fish I'd given her the night before: sort of a Polynesian temporary friendly swap thing in my tiredly-drunken mind. It's funny how girlie I get on goodbyes... I can go all "Crossroads" Britney Spears whenever the moment asks for it.
I returned upstairs when hearing Dave's motorbike engine outside the building and sat down on my usual spot, greeting the others with a cunning smile, for we had completed the task: we were qualified teachers at last! (and that rhymes, yes it does). I wore the turquoise necklace Lina had given me one day out of the green-blue for no reason whatsoever... it made me feel like a million bucks.
The diplomas were handed out in a sort of quickie ceremony: no wine served (like Lina had suggested the day before), no balloons or emotional sermons... that's the way it is with these guys; they see armies of trainees pass on through the same thresholds each and every single month, graduation parade non stop. No wonder they don't remember anyone, it's sad and funny at the same time. But that's what the group picture's for, so we went outside and had it taken: All of us looking fairly nostalgic except for Hollie who was happily relaxed all dread-lock-less, and of course JJ who was annoyed as usual.
After wards we mounted the van for one last time as Tao, our driver, said something like "wait, surprise for you". And so we waited, all dressed up and shared a casual chit chat for what seemed to be our final moment together. Surprise: We got backpacks! Yay for the ugliness!
We bid farewell to the staff members, to the TV room with the blue leather seats where we shared a mouth full of stupid ass movies. We waved g'bye to the balcony where Lester smoked like a Chinese factory chimney, to the Geckos and the children and the Mini Shop at the far end of the street where we bought our 10Baht red bulls and chocolate milk cartons. We said goodbye to our young Brit teacher, who finally seemed to have fallen for us right at the end, too bad for the tardiness.
And so we arrived at the taxi-station port thing where I was dropped off by my very handsome Egyptian friend and Lina (hahaha who is beautiful as well). I greeted the lady-boy behind the counter and presented my (not-lost-indeed-thank-Buddha) ticket for Suvarnabhumi airport in BKK. I got on yet another van, this time filled with strangers, and gave Amir my famous puppy stare behind the inked screen of the chunky gray vehicle.
I was so sad... inconsolable... devastated... hecha mierda.

But I was going to Angkor Wat, one of my biggest dreams since I first started fancying History lessons. Thank you Maureen Cornell at the JFK "We like bananas, we like 'em BIG!".

Two black dimensionally reduced canine pups were looking out just over the horizon...
Wishfully was the way they sighed and blew away some sporadic saliva bubbles that danced, once in the air, with yellowy joy... air-waving towards the nothingness that separated the two hairy friends from their true dream: The island.
That same piece of floating Utopian land that had made them lose their meaty marbles ever since they took the rusty old road to the market for the first time (with their ma's) now looked as near and real to them as the chicken drumstick pup#1 had sneakily fetched from the butcher's choppin' table last Thursday night (meaning: VERY NEAR INDEED).

The elder dogs called it "The Magic Crystal Island". Only uncle Jacob the cripple had once been there (having one day sneaked inside one of those gigantic blue woody monsters hanging 'round the docks). But no one believes uncle Jacob's story of the Island after the accident. They say he was hit by a wooden wheeled whale pulled by a wooden wheeled tractor while crossing the street. One eyed Puck says that the impact caused uncle Jacob's brain to gush out of his head through colorful sprinkles that were sprayed through his ear-holes all the way to the heavens and above... so now the floating remains gotta wait for the body to pass on so that they can be reunited again.

Lobster Killers and a Bunny Rat bit

No huge intro this time; well, just this: I've had an enormous amount of pine-kernel-nut-thing ice cream and I'm remembering a little more about a pair of certain individuals that I've yet to impregnate (not in a baby making form tho') into a written sort of creative manifestation. Here we go!

There ain't no real secret to the whole lobster killin' deed: it's just a matter o' wenchin' tight and reelin' even better for a long while. Then you gotta get a grip of it's sea-shelled-pawies until it goes leernish and slodgy. Thazzal!

Eggroll and Swampee trudged along the orange coastline, barefoot and singing to the midnight sunshine. Their shadows cast a rainbow projection on the tree-fold ceiling, and a couple of dobblers swung past, spraying them with yellow spit.
Eggroll waved furiously! But then remembered he actually fancied those fair coloured expectorated bubbles. The whole experience reminded him of when he was nearer to the ground and lived elsewhere (he had just recently moved to the place he lived nowadays) and that made him smile wider than ever... oh that other place where he grew down.

Swampee wasn't paying attention at all, he just bounced from pear to pear not thinking about the string theory or the chaos one either; Swampee hated particles and waves... especially on Sundays.

And so both carried on, yellow dotted and zig-zagging along the wavy road because of the many chewsters they found lying about (it's not very polite to stand on nature without a previous warning, or apology). They did so until the familiar fence appeared (that fence loved his little fence daughter, brother and wife), it creaked and let them into the pond zone. They strode and strode a little more because green was their fate for that evening.
Having laid down their expensive equipment, Swampee and Eggroll dismounted their imaginary kebabs and sat down to go through the plan once more before the big move.

-So now, listen good u mongrel. We have to be real silent, ya? These things have supersonic noses and can hear even better when they feel endangered. I is our duty to prevent that, get it buster?

-Of course I get it you retarded douchecouch! I MADE that plan a month ago, and you just read it on the way here! C'mon, we're already roaring our rear-ends outta the big catch... lezz move it!

They advanced, tiptoeing and flying once in a while (whenever wanting to believe they were capable of doing so... this happened gradually and on other days sporadically). And they also tiptoed some other 100 miles until achieving absolute exhaustion. After regaining consciousness they decided to drain cans of beans and therefore used the solids to create a beautifully decorated pan for cooking stones; they ate mud and fell asleep for an entire hour without breathing.

-Time's up donk king! Wakey fast 'coz the moon's about to shoot the sun for having stayed on top more than what's good for him.- Said Swampee

-I've been awake for more than 15 minutes slagger muser! Get on with the tying of the rope! We must finish the net before we get tired again and collapse involuntarily. Damn you narcolepsy it ain't funny!- Replied Eggroll

And that's how they used to address each other before the lobster killing, they did the same role every single time! Until they had it perfected right down to the last miserable line. Except for this time, because they had an extra character to deal with.

-Who's that that stares at my pong without my permission. It is very impolite to trespass into one's property without so much as bringing cake! It is even more impolite than stepping on nature!- Said a very acute voice behind some plastic bushes.

-Well it's us... the dinnies... But HEY who are YOU?! We've been coming here ever since we've had 2 tails, and nobody had we encountered on the befores!- Replied Eggroll, stuttering slightly.

-He he, you speak funny when you're nervous- Added Swampee, trying not to whisper as much, coz it annoys the plastic bushes.

-Shut it hazelbutt! I'm trying to clarify this present misunderstanding and you are acting like a black hole in a planet spiraling round an orbit that goes right after Saturn.-Muttered the other, and turned to the stranger- We're very sorry to disturb your apparent territorial belongings. We were just looking for some jilly willy lobsters to kill... it's not much fun, but there's overpopulation and they taste better than mud.-

-Very well... you may pass. But first let us have some tea and biscuits I stole from the last couple of visitors that stayed for supper and ended up locked in my basement. Shall we?-Said the gigantic and black bunny rat bit imposing his notorious presence right in front of them.

They both took their canes and ran away. No lobster killing for that day.

Beerdee + a small shell

It strikes me how some of the nicest things in life are not only for free, but they hit you in the arse when least expected; like a 2000mph piano would on a "Dead Like Me" character (that was a toilet, tho'. Wasn't it?)
It so happened that I got 2 know (a little better) yet another wonderfully-baffling gal right at the end of the TEFL thing. It always goes that way with me; feeling like I've seen it all and then BOOM, there it is and then PUFF it's long gone and lost forever. I'm an expert at finding and evaporating kindred spirits, it's kinda like my THANG, yo!.

Anyway, this is my attempt of putting into incoherent words another slice of that cheesecake of what absolutely did not happen then and there, a little more or less than a month ago. Back to Ban Phe it is!

------------------------------------------------------

So I was bouncing from wire to wire like I usually do on Sunday evenings...
That's a lie. It was the first time I did that wire-dancing thing. I'm never allowed out of my cage unless... nothing! 'coz I'm never allowed out at all. But this time the Gods smiled at me, for the old lady fell asleep in her old rocking chair for quite a long time... and started creaking. And so my cheeks blushed hot red for the excitement revolving 'round an opportunity I had dreamed about for as long as I've been a critter, (which I'm not, coz I'm just a tiny yellow little freakin' canary). Nevertheless: I COULD FINALLY ESCAPE!.
So I sucked all the air I had in my little feathery chest and I "plupped!" my way out of 'em golden bars. And there I was: free to soar like those other birds I usually watch from my window.
Fuckers.

Anyway, I bounced away on the wires as if playing the cello with my very orangy feet, celebrating my victorious-machiavellic getaway with euphoric little pricklings of the rubber that covers those electric strings of death; or so I've learned thanks to the endless afternoon sessions of watching the Discovery Channel with the "prune":
-And that's why I never let you out, my dear! You'd die on those wires, like a roasted chicken!-
I hate that idiotic TV room, I'd much rather have a white wall to stare at for the rest of my days. Well not really. I'd prefer to live on an awesomely bushy canopy, from a bird's-foot trefoil. That'd be pretty damn sweet!

As I whistled away from branch to branch, surfing board to surfing board, and bald headedness to bald headedness, I tried eating strips of clouds but failed (at least they don't taste like those seeds I'm forced to chew up on. I mean; would it kill to have some cashew nuts or banana muffin crumbs once in a while? Gosh!). BUT THEN I caught a glimpse of something that struck me as odd.
A flickering light peeped, oh so invitingly, right out of a door slot on the left of a sign that read "Fern's Bar". A bar... wonder what that is. I don't even know how I was able to read that, being a bird and all... hmmm strange.

I approached, madly driven by the shiny intermittence of sporadic little twinkles... I go crazy for anything that rhymes with "light", and "bright" does! heeeeeee... (drools).
As I opened up my beak to swallow the fancy glimmering ray of whateverness, I was suddenly plunked (literally) by something that would certainly fit in the category of the unexpected. Certainly so.

SMACK!!!!!
-Oi! leave that thing alone! It's mine!- Some creature cried out to me, after having rudely hit my head with what I now realised was a very splintery chop stick.

-What the f...eather was that all about? I mean, there have got to be better ways of calling one's attention, you know- I said as I rubbed my forehead with one wing, and drew away any signs of teary leftovers on my face with the other.

-Crikey! I'm sorry, I did not realise a chop stick could be as deadly! Merked you dead good didn't I? You mardy.mardarse.mard. Thought you were going for my dinner- Was what I got for an answer.

-No! Ouch! Congrats, I guess- I replied, continuing the rubbing of the damaged area.

-Well, what a way to introduce oneself, I'd say, mighty fine! My name's &%$&#% by the way. What's yours?-
(&%$&#% is my textual translation of a sound that no human can interpret, known and understood only by flying beings).

As my eyes recovered focus I finally could see with whom I was sharing the strangest conversation: she was a deep blue and green coloured parrot with a burning red-orange beak. Quite stunning for a bird that's not necessarily a peacock.

- Well &%$&#%, it's nice and weird to meet you. I dunno my name, but She calls me Sandy. By "she" I mean the lady that has me for a pet trapped inside a golden cage. And feeds me shit at it- I listened to myself word out, resentfully.

-Feeds you shit? I eat anything I want. The owner (that man over there that looks kind of Russian) gives me anything going from a Veggie Kebab to a Strawberry-Hazelnut tart. I only need to look pretty standing here in my very own corner, and learn some human words from time to time. When I learn enough phrases I can go about teaching others like myself, maybe in other bars or in other beaches... depending on the weather-

Her eyes gleamed against the remnants of sunlight while she gave me this snippet version of her Bio. I was amused, but my head stung still, so I took ages in finding a suitable response.

-Well, lucky you! I just managed to get some air out of that house-arrest anti-home I've been living my whole life in and already I've experienced a near death encounter. With a chopstick! Gee it's been a ball, but I probably should get going in a few minutes anyways; my owner ought to wake up any minute now and she better find me there when that happens.- I said, and began to walk away.

-Wait! That's it? You're gonna return to your hell-hole life just like that? What about chance and destiny and the Flying Spaghetti Monster, and being free? You're a disappointment to your species! Go on then, I don't give a darn. Ta ta!- She spat at me (not literally tho') with a sarcastic tone.

So that's how I found myself in the bellybutton of one of those crossroad-chic flick movie scenes where you have to decide whether or not you should be a chicken (HA!), and return home OR be a bad ass canary with enough free will on your yellow plumage to take a leap of faith into the unknown.
But then I noticed something strange on her feet; they were tied up with some sort of discreet yet perceivable string with little bells attached on each end.

-What's that for?- I asked, raising an eyebrow.

-Oh! Never mind that... it's just for precaution. I tend to fancy flying away every so often, and the owner does not like it. He says I should stay with him and learn drunken words to entertain the world.- Her expression darkened after explaining this to me.

I got closer, laid a wing on her shoulder and bit the string until it snapped. I tied what was left on my own leg, and stepped away with what was now a new tinkling bracelet.

-It's not gonna be like this forever, you know? Some of us need to figure out what kinds of chirps n' chants we'd like to sing to the moon before the night blanket falls and covers the Earth. We are but a blink of the sun, yet our eyelash battings will get to brush over a million sunrises and another million sunsets or so. I'm awful thankful for our little encounter. Perhaps we'll run into each other some other time, or perhaps not. Let us see with our eyes closed and our faces to the skies.-

I don't know how I got so fucking poetic out of the blue. But I took flight right away and left the parrot to her own turbulent thoughts... I think I heard her yell something like:
"Alis volat propiis!" But then again, she might have just burped a little.

I have a strong feeling we shall meet again.

The turquoise necklace, and a heavy hearted hedgehog

Anamnesis... I rode my bike today. Woke up in this random bed with a random person next to me (that I soon recognized to be Mayra, my animation class teammate), doodled my way into the shower, got some pants on and toothpaste in my mouth, spat, and drove away above the wistful shades of the familiar trees that decorate my daily pathway to Uni in Xochimilco, Mexico City.
The Postal Service lulled my direction as the tires enveloped the perimeter of the gray streets (Iphone was on and kicking), right there and then I plunged into the sea of memories that give meaning to the soundtrack of my life.

I was 6 years old and could not find my brother. There was only his purple hat to be seen lying motionless on top of a very peculiar heap of snow... then I heard his voice. Inside it.-------------------------------

Anyways, I pushed that bubble away as I passed over a bumpy part of the road, and landed on another thought; a slightly more recent one. I find it curious how these two, like the rest of my memories, have the same visual quality in my mind (HD) no matter how long it's been since they happened. I've a hard time remembering dates, names, faces or numbers (especially birthdays) but BOY can I remember SCENES, and savour them-songs and conversations like Grenouille did with smells.
----------------------------------------------------

Lester was the most silent of the clan. He usually just sneaked (or "snuck" if you prefer) out of our highly uncomfortably-tensed conversations (regarding religious differences amongst Arabs and stupid Texans) just to smoke, and he did some more smoking after that, and then smoked way more as a dessert for the previous smokings.
It was as if he'd chosen to sublime himself away from reality and hence had managed to evaporate completely into a state of absolute peace. I was scared he'd spontaneously combust or some random shit. He looked as though he had chili peppers down his pants, but at the same time he was so chilled it drove me nuts. Jittery-calmed bastErd.

I knew right away there was something more to him underneath the cloud of fuming gases that surrounded his persona in place of a shadow. I was bound to meet the red dragon on his back.
I made him this story:
------------------------------
And so I came to find this rather bucolic character that made me think of one of the stories dad used to read to me and my brother right after tucking us in our comfiest beddy-bed: "The Mock Turtle". This other creature was cute, and small, and had spiny/pointy things covering the whole of his body except for the belly and the face, and the paw-hands of course. And the feet!
I was looking for my shell underneath the old oak tree and had found this hedgehog staring at his feet instead. I asked him:

-Hi there! What's the matter? If you fix your eyes that hard upon whatever, then you're bound to grow some roots outta them! Joe told me so- I said, trying to look as though I knew exactly what I meant by that.

-Oh, hello. Well it so happens that I've forgotten the... hmm I've forgotten again. I think I'm going to sit here for a while and burn little twigs. The smell eases my mind- Answered he, with a slightly melancholic tone to it.

I was confused, but I decided to push the chit-chat a little further to see what else I could find about this amusing being I'd just chanced upon. Hedgehogs can be as cuddly as they can be piercing, depending on how much rice with eggs they've eaten that day, so I've been told. This one looked pretty full.

-So, what's your name?- I muttered, again.

-I don't remember. You see, I drank this tree's milk an old owl gave me so that I could erase all my memories.- He took a long time to think each word before saying the whole thing out loud. But I was very interested at that point.

-Right. So, how can you remember you ever did that?- I asked, rubbing my chin as grownups do when thinking real hard.

-I wrote a note to myself on my feet with Indian ink. See?-

I read the note on his feet; it explained what he had just said. So I believed him. And the letters were pretty.

-Yikes! Well... I get it. But I cannot imagine what it would be like to forget everything! I love remembering... like that one time I was supposed to fill a WHOLE basket with strawberries we were picking from the backyard so that mum could make jelly. But me and Joe ate every single one before we'd made it back to the cottage. I took the blame and was grounded and wasn't allowed to eat sweets for a week.- I said, proud of my brief anecdote.

-That's quite a nasty memory! Wouldn't you rather not have it at all?- Replied the hedgehog, pushing the dirt with a burnt stick.

-Dunno, maybe you're right! But how am I supposed to learn from my mistakes if I do not remember them?- I added, promptly.

-That's a good question, but I cannot seem to provide you with the right answer for it.- He said as he looked away.

-Maybe I can help you remember.- I suggested, smiling.

-No! Then it would all have been pointless... HERE little one.- He stood up and handed me a notebook made out of green leaves and adobe. -I grant you the permission to read through my written memories. But you have to promise not to tell me anything about it after you finish, I'm never to go through the contents of those pages ever again. Swear you won't tell.-

I swore with my hand on my heart and meant it truly. I then read the pages carefully, and after closing the notebook I felt like the saddest girl in the world.
I soon realized I was crying without wanting to, but I sneezed and turned to clean my face discreetly with the red tissue Gran gave me when I left home.

I didn't know what to do or say or not do or not say, so I did nothing for a while. We just sat there, looking at the fallen pieces of bark the oak tree had scattered after changing skins. We listened to each others' recycling of air.
Then the hedgehog lit up another twig, and I watched him puff it slowly. I broke the silence with another question.

-And what do you do nowadays to feel good?- I said, and waited for an answer.

-Well, I've been taking good care of this little dandelion ever since it grew out from the ground.- He showed me the flower.- That was before I lost my memory. He whispers new things from time to time, you know? And I listen... He told me once that I had fallen in love with a beautiful cloud but she was blown away to China. That's where, my dandelion tells me, all clouds are sent by the winds whenever they are covetted by earthly creatures like myself. I will forget about this anyway.- He stopped.

-Well, clouds do tend to change spots all the time, sometimes without even wanting to. Guess it's way better to love something that shares the same ground as you do. Don't you agree?- I said, not really thinking about what I was saying but most likely just feeling it out.

-Right, like my dandelion.- The hedgehog softly replied.

-Like that, yes.- I added, glad to know we were coming to an agreement.

-Maybe someday, when he's old enough I can blow his seeds so they can fly and chase clouds like I supposedly once did. Maybe he can finally learn how to catch one, maybe even a star!- He said as a spoken sigh.

-Yeah, maybe he will.-

I took off right after the sun went down to sleep because it was too late for a little girl like me to be wandering off without supervision.
From that day on, every time I come across one of those spiky-soft flowers I think of how valuable it is to keep track of the all the different kinds of individuals you randomly meet. Most have stories like these; the ones that make your insides want to grow out of your body like branches of an oak tree.

Sometimes I too want to catch a cloud of my own.

For Lina (and Amir)

There once was a Lioness who had everything she could ever dream of. She drank cloud tasting gum drops, slept on golden sheets sowed by precious little elves from the mountains, and could get any type of alcoholic beverage at the snap of her fingers... she even had her own island near Fiji, and her own shopping mall.
Oh! the parties she had. Oh! the endless fun in the land of the plentiful.

Little did she know, for she was to meet a kaleidoscopic dragonfly that came from a far away place known as the British Isles (why not?); she hesitated for exactly two seconds, but then decided to chase after it, senselessly drawn by the pretty pretty colours on its wings... They were soooo very pretty indeed.

So the Lioness and the dragonfly jumped over ponds of marshmallow lillies and ran thru forests of cherry pies and jelly beans holding hands (well paw and wing, sort of, you know); not caring about anything but the togertherness of the idea of being together (???). They were in a state of pure joy and joyness, even better than going to candy mountain with Charlie the Unicorn.

However! one day she discovered they had walked for so long she did not recognize any of her surroundings anymore... Her mother had told her never to cross the yellow sign that said "Lioness, do not cross this yellow sign". She had crossed it, obviously. Blinded by the pure excitement of chasing a brightly brittle bug that she had now come to love, and she was loved back as well.
But then she looked around and sneered distastefully at the dirty looking scenery... she was miles away from home, and this new place looked like it could use some Windex. But then again she also wanted to live with this dragonfly and bask in the sunlight for every single day from that moment on. She was free for the first time in her life, and would not give that feeling away for all the mountain elves in the world (there aren't many nowadays, you know).

She was puzzled indeed... What was she to do?

Then, all of a sudden this huge Elephant appeared out of the blue (and yellow), and shared a bucket full of a strange smelling liquor with her. They used different straws of course.
The elephant came from a jungle that interestingly enough was adjacent to her own kingdom. So they babbled away drinking and crying like old Texan friends on rocking chairs out on the porch. Soon the Lioness learned of the elephant's misfortunes; he too was a king who had lost his way searching for better and better tasting grass... when he raised his head to look at the Sun he realized he was utterly and totally lost. He wept for his two children back home, who were named basically the same but in different wording.

They drank heaps and heaps of buckets that they refilled with their own tears and ocean water and booze until their bellies were so full they could not look at each other in the face any longer.
That's when the Lioness had an epiphany...

I don't remember the rest of the story, but I know the Lioness lived happily ever after, and got married, and had children that spoke better Spanish than she did. And she looked beautiful because she was truly happy, all thanks to her persevering sense of truth. Oh! and also because of some Mexican squirrel she met on the way that convinced her to try harder and keep on smiling no matter the pickle... that as well.

THE END

A silver fish for an anchored necklace

THE END.

Here I am, decomposing and restructuring chaotic feelings that "vulture" mercilessly round and round my confused little scalp... it's as if the whole trip was dreamt and nothing more; it's Asia no more.
I've two friends in the hospital, a huge animation project due next week and a sudden feel for french vanilla tea (since I can't seem to muster enough sleep I've had to come up with an alternative to coffee), that and cheese.

Oh! and all of a sudden I realize I'm way more hyperactive whenever speaking English than I am in any other language. I pity those who can't speak "Mexican" then: they get the most pungent side of me. Jumpy Xalli.

Funny, when I look at the postcards I bought at the very shabby looking shop in Koh Samet (where the lady was quite nasty indeed) I suddenly become swallowed by a torrent of flashbacks that pixelate(sic) the 4 walls of this studio into a somewhat befuddled composition of greens and yellows. And so I'm driven back to the old Thai pueblo:

"See you at 7 downstairs in the guesthouse"
This is how our good friend Amir bade us farewell every single day at 5 o'clock, right after wrapping up our heavy load of Lesson Planning endless sheets and sheets and shit-that-was-long. The burden of being a teacher trainee; rookie textual scourging! shpaaaa!
Weary and longing for shorts we all nodded, mentally absent, and emitted a brief "hhuuuaaauuhhh" to him in reply... Chewbacca-like, and not necessarily meaning we would actually go and succumb to his request. But most times we did take the 15 minute trudge under the unforgiving Thai sun towards the TAWANINN after class. We did it just for kicks and knowing we would be welcomed by a smiling Egyptian with a huge heart (and a keen Thai stalker woman who chucked rocks at his window, and left hieroglyphic love notes in his room; very much like a Shakespearean scene directed by Tarantino). He always opened up the door wearing his PJ's looking as if he'd been sleeping for a straight century and dreaming of magic carpets (hahaha not really).

We just sat there on his balcony, siping away our tiredness out of a stolen red bucket filled with a dodgy and marvelous tasting whiskey/rum and average coke. Oh, the 10 baht bottles of Redbull!

But on that last Thursday we spent together there was something different in the taste of the pavement, in the smell of the motionless trees stuck on the earth, in the fluency dictated by each of our corporal movements... Everything was so beautiful it killed me! But I wasn't going to show it, no sir, not tonight; and so I squeezed every single second belonging to that fruitful evening and did not sleep for a single bit. I thought that if I stretched time by being awake I would manage to freeze the vivacity of the actual sequence of events that came to happen as purely as possible; Distilling them into perpetually fresh memories for and from the wallpaper of my conscience. I'm an artist and I'm crazy and this is what I remember:

Our last lesson turned out to be just right in spite of the unexpected impediments; no one fucked up (not real bad anyways) with the structural process, even though the heat was intense! And we appeared more like melting icicles than very professional English teachers. But the high school Thai kids were supportive, and giggled at Lina's disastrous attempts of drawing a map of China; the result resembled what we thought out to be a monkey tumor!!! So the three of us (JJ, Rebecca and myself) were suppressing euphoric explosions of laughter at the back of the room. Hilarious. At least she did not sketch a giant beach ball and tried to persuade the students it was "THE WORLD".

We wore our pink patrol uniforms (the King's T shirt with a bright and pupil-killing version of a pink color), so we looked cutely retarded I suppose. And we kicked ass! We so did kick it that our supervisor for the session (Rebecca) doodled away with passion and admiration all over our report sheets... out of pure love for our work, that AND boredom. Oh, behold the young and the restless!
I don't think JJ's ever hated the warmer as much as that day (he came first and had to cope through both our apparently never-ending introductions), but we all survived the day. And so we boarded our glorious ship (Tao's minibus) along with the other three trainees (Lester, Hollie, and Amir) towards our home-for-the-month: the grayest TEFL building of 'em all.

Back in the classroom Dave (the BAWSE) told us to finish filling up our manuals and deliver them at 2 o' clock in the afternoon... after that we were FREE like soaring butterflies on a November skyline. DRINKING TIME!

And so my waking found its end, only to be found amongst the dirtiest selves, my friend...

Wake up, smell the coffee (or lack thereof), grab some appropriate pants and walk out into the gloomy corridor... slide down the same staircase that welcomes you every single day with a promise of nothingness and a smell of reddy orange to it.

Stride along the staff offices and wave a sleepy hi to the people behind the screens (kinda reminding you of that Orwell scene... but you swiftly blow the bubble-thought away).

Go out the door, careful not to lay a single step on the threshold (keeps up the spirits... literally speaking) and add an extra layer to your barefoot soles... solely stabilizing the lower part of your body-canvas that drags along the very bottom of your soul.
Get 'em flipflops on (those blue rubber bastards that bear tiny bits of your footy personality, they are in fact falling apart day by day).

Now you're out on the street, take a few more steps and turn 30 degrees to the right to give a subtle nod to the guard. R-E-S-P-E-C-T.
Say goodbye to the TEFL school building: three stories to an old novelistic compound of degrading grays and corinthian columnata (random architecture indeed, for a place like this).
Geckos slither from corner to corner and chase after bugs with an ethereal, inconspicuous air, melting away into the scenery as you move along. Mimesis... biology drives you nuts.

The ground has changed alright, sandy-wet little rocks erode into smaller and smaller pieces as you hear the crushing sounds that your shoes emit whenever applying a downward force upon them (do they complain whatsoever? fancy them having dreams of shrinking, I do sometimes).

You're humming that ol' song that's been superglued to your brain since last Saturday, but you don't mind. It's become the soundtrack of your life here in the land of the unforgiving (or was it unforgetting?) elephant people: Thailand.

"She wants to know, does everyone feel this way... when it rains in Asia..."

The ocean faces your left side as you turn to your right, freeing yourself from the spacially-psychological-sandwiching of various laundry shops, small restaurants and motorbike-renting spots on both sides of the narrow highway taking you to godknowswhere if you dare exploring more than what's legal (whatever that means).

You dodge several maniacal motorbike-drivers (these being 7-8 year olds or in better cases old women petting their dogs and not watching the road! casually). Your hear the doppler fading of the goose-like honking the locals tend to give to any foreign looking pedestrian, as you stare into the unusual writings of the several signs that decorate some of the adjacent shops. You have absolutely no idea of what those strange symbols mean, perhaps they say something like "foreign people suck". Guess you'll have to learn Thai to find out next chapter.

The palm trees oscillate from side to side as if dancing to the singing of the tidal waves, the same ones that incessantly brush the shoreline's long hair... You suddenly feel like running, so you grab hold of your headphones, place each ear piece on the corresponding orifice and begin to quicken your pace.

You feel the air thrust itself against the freckles on your face, as if trying to rub them off the very skin they've been drawn in (but they're fastened strong enough). A dog barks and howls as you pass by, but you pay no attention (even though the creep has already got on all 4's in a menacing gesture). You run past and clear the sweat off your forehead.

There goes the looney man with a bad arm that often enough pretends he is being crushed by one of those boats lying on one side of the road... He waves at you, and so does the sea at the other end... Waving away you proceed.

You enter the woody opening opposite to the shoreline that invites you in with a sign that says "forest trial" (literally so) and so a trial it is; treading through that trail of course.

Your feet gather up heat while the trees stare at your shady silhouette, never again to be seen on that exact moment in time.
The song that encloses the illuminated the setting is by the Friendly Fires (strangely adhoc) and your mood is lifted up a single notch; the perfect measure for a power jog around the huge block.

The sun waves goodbye as well, peacefully drowning into the horizon and giving way to the darkness that adds that extra mellow feel-flavour to the wrappings of each and every single day.


And this was supposed to be just an average walkabout. It never fucking is...

Ban Phe...

How to describe the place?
It is as difficult as it could be easy... depending on the weather... but anyhow, this is my version:
Ban Phe is like Acapulco, as in the PUEBLO, but submerged in a mixture of noodle soup, heaven blasting sunsets, stray dogs, and of course: a touch of whiskey looking liquor.

This place is like a wonderland of drowning shadows and everlasting blazes of light. One could burn it down or stretch it up until turning it into a completely different thing that paradoxically ends up being exactly what is started out to be. That's the way it is meant to charm you as well as puzzle your crack up. One cannot escape the place's ever evolving nature... it's insane and addictive.

Fortunately for me, a little pueblo-mexican who happens to own a cow named Cecilia (not really), it is never a hard time to cope with a spontaneous lapse of the seriously slow passing of time throughout the space continuum: meaning I don't get bored easily, and this specific geographical spot has got me visually tangled, intertwined and twisted along with its vocal chords, decomposing along with its gastric juices until further notice (or the end of the TEFL course). And I love it.

The mighty Asian sea on one side of the road, and on the other a Big Friendly Giant of greens and browns that covers up wonders that not only elephants dream of... garbage and gold altogether in a single plastic bucket of Sangsom rum.

And so the gateway to Koh Samet opens its jaws to the world of the Ban; the apparently sane slice of reality in which we choose to merge as if being part of fractalic wallpaper patterns.

It was then, that and here that I opened up my eyes.

CHAPTER 3: Ban Phe, Thailand

January 1st, Don Mueang National Airport, Bangkok Thailand.

That had done it! No more airplanes for this young lady! I was up to my nostrils of having to move my arse up 7 planes a day to get from one place to another. Thankfully, I had no other choice but to take a bus from Bangkok to Ban Phe for the simplest of reasons: there was no actual airport in Ban Phe! cheers. So it was land traveling time... bring it on!

I took another one of those eccentrically-electric pink cabs (this time asking for the freakin' meter-thing, not to get ripped off or anything) and the nice and chubby Thai driver (who spoke fluent English, by the way) took me all the way to the big bus station in Ekamai.

He drove like a maniac throughout all the possible shortcuts a city like Bangkok had to offer, but I didn't mind. Quite on the other hand: I actually enjoyed the speedy sightseeing of a place that somewhat reminded me of a noodle-museum (I know, random reference) my family and I once visited in downtown Tokyo... what I mean is that nowadays civilized Thailand probably resembles what Japan used to look like 50 years AGO. That's how it goes.

I got out the 4-wheeled gay machine, paid accordingly to what the numbers suggested on the green screen, next to the GPS and approached the info desk. I bought an expensive ticket to Ban Phe (thanks to a Japanese looking girl who translated the whole convo) and looked for the bus on aisle 30-something and a half.

I hopped on the bus, and put my huge backpack on the seat right next to me so that I'd improvise a nice and deformed pillow. And so the last of the first of all journeys began...
It was like a slideshow of shadowed scenes moving pacingly from the right to the left side of my window pane as I stared, peacefully motionless and comforted by the conscious feeling that reminded me that I was alright, I was alright afterall.

LITTLE DID I KNOW

After a series of wobbly hours I found myself in the midst of a SILENT bus... which meant it had already come to a total stop and also happened to be COMPLETELY EMPTY: utterly and totally vacant of earthly life (including the driver).
I suddenly panicked as the Jaws soundtrack began to crawl its way up from the back of my mind... but then something happened: the driver came back!
I ran towards this man and cried to him something like "are we in Ban Phe, mister?" "Where the hell is this place?!!!".
He freaked out a little (as he probably didn't expect to see any human remainders left inside the huge vehicle), but then laughed that kind of laugh every one does when they see me in a pickle.
"Yes, this Ban Phe hehe", "bus station"
I showed him the written address I was supposed to arrive at but he did not seem to recognize the place at all, not even the references... shite on a turtle!
So I said thanks and turned around to look for someone else I could interrogate thoroughly no matter the level of English of the person: I was ready to do or act out whatever I needed to get other Asian folk to "understand the words that are coming out of my mouth" like Jackie Chan once said in Rush Hour II.

I was in the middle of nowhere, in the middle of the night, in the middle of Jesus' bellybutton, and I was scared shitless.

Then suddenly a young lady approached my Texas-chainsaw-massacre personal scene and offered some help: she took me to the nearest 7/11 (those things seem to roam about in every single corner of this country). There she asked for the address I'd given her and she got an answer!!
We got into her white little car along with her boyfriend and some other dudess, and ho! after 5 minutes of driving through no man's land in southern Thailand I found myself in front of the "SIAM ENGLISH INTERNATIONAL TEFL SCHOOL". Holy baloney! it did exist after all!

The guard was nice enough to point out my name out from a piece of paper he had lying around (random) and he gave me a key to one of the rooms. I took off my shoes and got inside, thanking the nice lady from a distance with a good old thumbs-up signal... she'd saved my life (again, someone always does).

WTF WTF! WTF!!!!!!

As I opened the door... one of the scariest moments of my life began to materialize in front of me: the room was hideous, awful, horrible... depressingly unwelcoming. The accomodation included a not so-friendly looking cockroach crawling across a little puddle that went all the way from the bathroom to the balcony door, and a closet full of spiderwebs as a side dish to the visual horrorshow buffet.

"What the hell did you just sign up for, little Xalli?"

I was so tired I just chased the animals out of the room with a stick, put my humongous bag on the bed and fell asleep almost automatically, as a means of mental defense mechanism, I suppose.

The next day I woke up to find a desolated floor that kind of reminded me of "The Shining" hotel (for you to get a picture of the situation). So I went downstairs and politely complained about the room to the staff dudes (I got changed to the second floor, where the room was smaller but WAY CLEANER and with fair enough functioning of the rest-room facilities).
After that I entered the room where my first TEFL course class had already started: I was looking at a group of people that looked as different as can get, but I did not have the chance of analyzing them properly due to the fact that the teacher was addressing my persona, underlining the fact that I was the last trainee to have entered the class... thankfully on time. Anyhow the light spot was on me, the Mexican, as usual.

We had a nice little session of meeting and greeting and so forth blah blah's and I found out I'd just met guys from Egypt, Jordan, USA, UK and the Philippines (to add up to the spice of nationalities, why not?). It was awesome!

To be continued...

CHAPTER 2: Seoul Airpot (Incheon)-Phuket Island

I woke up two hours later just to find this very exotic looking Korean flight attendant: she asked me what kind of meal I'd like to have, it was either a chicken omelette (typical) or a Korean dish. I chose the Korean one, because the lady at my left gave me the "ooo you better choose the Korean dish" kinda look: being a little person and all I can get easily intimidated by Korean old ladies, so I gave in.

Incheon airport is one of the most amazing places you can land in, I thought I was kind of dreaming when I got there, and in a way I still was (freakin' time zone changes jetlagging my arse off). So I stared at the vast tofu/ginseng shops with pure amazement. I guess that's why people kept looking at me as if I had come from another country, I mean, planet.

I slept a bit and wandered off as my senses allowed, either zombie walking through the enormous gates or just dozing away into light naps at the free wi-fi internet cafe. I dreamt of Korean elves and sugar canes, it was freakin' Yoko Ono-fluxus shit.

Anyways, we boarded the plane a thousand hours later just as I started to consciously digest the size of the whole thing: I was on my way to Bangkok (I kinda hate that name, gives me the giggles when breaking apart the word). REAL STUFF, AYE?

I will skip the flight part, which isn't that interesting really so let us diverge into the stream of facts that followed my arrival:

I got there, arms, legs, sarcasm and all and I picked up my bag at the spot I was supposed to (it's either that or I picked someone else's bag that had the exact same things I packed back home... yaw reckon) and I got into a cab, a PINK CAB.
The driver didn't speak very good english (what are the odds?) so I had a hard time pointing at the map of the hostel my dad so caringly downloaded for me (awww) AND THE MAN STILL DIDN'T KNOW WHERE TO GO! so he smiled one of those goofy "I've no clue what you're getting at but I'm taking your money anyway" sort of smiles and drove on into the darkness of the big and bright city that's named after I don't know what. Bang cock.

Just then he called one of his mates and stopped the car so that I could get into his mates' cab instead (why not?) because his "frwwend" so happened to be going somewhere where my hostel was... riiight.
I got suspicious and lifted my left eyebrow just a little (the powerful one), but I carried on.
The other driver was much nicer and spoke better "eangleijhh". AND better YET! he turned on the music and JASON MRAZ was on (I know, pathetic) so I sang along "butterfly" in my head the rest of the way to the place I was to stay... for the night (rhymin' alrighto).

I arrived, payed the dude (humming Jason still lalala) and stepped into the hostel that was named "I don't remember how" or something like that.

GOOD NIGHT BANGKOK

Next day I woke up to the annoying stings of silent ninja mosquito bites and took three showers in a row (the heat was intense, man!). I greeted the owner and checked out.
Next thing I knew I was on my way to Phuket island (took a taxi and then a plane, obviously, I cannot teleport yet, but I still try hard every single time).

Hello-one of the most touristic sites in Thailand!!! yessir I'd like the mac n' cheese please!
So Phuket island is the gateway to a smaller and even more touristic island called Phi phi, which is where some dudes filmed the movie "the Beach" (followed by a sequel called "the... bitch") with Leo di Caprio (sigh sigh... NOT).

I got off the plane (again, I was getting used to that) and dragged my stuff as well as my self-esteem towards the nearest bus that would take me to Phuket town. I called my bro and HE PICKED UP!!! (as usually people do when their phones ring) I was soo hyped to hear his voice :):):) (I'm such a gay-tard, I know).

So I arrived at this Seven-Eleven sort of building (it WAS actually a 7/11) and saw this strangely familiar looking Thai boy that turned out to be my brother hahahaha. Guess the climate does get to you after a while... I hugged the bugger and then followed him into my soon-to-be hotel for the night.

We talked a while about the same stuff we always do... it was as if nothing had happened since the last time I'd seen the bastard, but it so happened that this time we were half way round the world from our very own Juriquilla, Mexico. Casual.

I met his roomie Mike from Canada and his neighbours (they took the TEFL course there and had extra good opinions about it, which made me smile even when I wasn't supposed to) and they were all awesome human beings who cared about my bro and certainly looked after him. There was also this Irish guy who kept saying that I was supposed to have a moustache because I was mexican or some shite, so I laughed and cried a little on the inside as well. Boohoo cliches.

We went to the movies and had a couple of beers in-town and we talked about life and death and green curry. I had missed my brother so much, and I realized the size of it just then, teary eyed and the whole show. But I was glad to see him working hard and partying like an animal, like a kid his age is supposed to. Only that this dude was living in heaven, seriously... Phuket is one of the most beautiful places I've ever seen, WITH ELEPHANTS all over the freakin' place.

The next day we went to have a real Thai breakfast at a local restaurant, and I said my goodbyes with a nostalgic feel to it. I felt at home with those guys for some reason... it's hard to explain, but they had become a family of random people from all over the world sharing their everyday lives just for the fun of it.

I got on the plane (shit, it never ends!!) that headed its way towards Bang, the huge cock city and began to actually taste the beginning of my own little adventure. I was nearing the final destination of the trip: a very small town called Ban Phe, in the middle or rural Thailand. J-E-S-U-S DE V-E-R-A-C-R-U-Z.