Current Status: Re-imagining life.

Life got to a point in which everything got very absurd, so I sold my belongings, donated the revenue to the poor and followed Jesus...almost.

It's been quite a while since I've been feeling stuck. It's gotta be that I'm too ambitious. I mean, there's a whole bunch of new oportunities/challenges presenting themselves, but somehowI don't feel like I'm moving. One of these days, I woke up almost accepting that I was going to be this old man who had lived a lot, got almost nothing material, and sat down in his porch, watching the absurdity of the world and waiting for his death. Maybe that's what awaits me, and so be it. However, I, like a hopeless dreamer, cannot help thinking there's gotta be more to life and setting new goals. Who knows, maybe 26 is not too old to ditch the world and have a fresh start. Truth is I've been toying with the idea of living a year in France in my 29's. Why not? I've been taking my master's courses alright, but I wish to take a sabbatical next year, do not study, and just take a trip to Europe. I want to be thirty and disappear in Asia, one year in Japan just having sake in red lantern eatieries on the street and saying "watashi wa iopparai ya arimasen" even though I'm completely drunk and passed out beyond translation. Blame Eat, Pray, Love, but I wish to spend six months in Bali just listening to inner me and living a chillax life in Thailand. I want to think I can still re imagine myself, even in the eve of decay and flunking my courses.

And just as a side note, I wrote most of this drunk (how little this has changed.) I'm sober now and I think this makes the world of sense.

Puppet complex

Apart from my cocky attitude and my deeply rooted opposition towards religion, one thing is meant to stick with me for the entirety of my days: existencialism. I truly ignore if this happens only to me or if it is rather a disease of humanity, but at least once a year I stop all of the sudden and wonder: Wait! just what the hell are you doing and why???? The why is the most important part. Life seems ok until you feel the strings in your limbs, all pulling, one at the time and then all at once. You swiftly recognize how tangled you are and try desperatedly to free yourself. When did you allow everyone to tell you what do to, where to go? How come you stood this all this time?

This year has been tough in the sense that I rarely feel free to do what pleases me. I love my job, but as enjoyable as tasks might be, it is still eight hours a day of following guidelines.One string is pulling my left hand. I couldn't be more excited about the subjects I'm taking at University, but it translates into 6 hours of class a week and the universe knows how many extra hours of reading and writing afterwards. There's another string pulling my right wrist. It's nice to be surrounded by friends, but it becomes exhausting explaining to every single person who wants to hang out that you need a couple of nights just for yourself. My left knee feels fasten on the side. Insert all the family celebrations in the picture and how important is for you to attend not to come across as a bad son\brother\uncle\whatever other category I fit into. My right ankle is totally trapped. That's a lot to take for someone who wants, just for two days, that the world stops moving so fast and that what determines what to do in the next minute is always an imposition rather than a wish. 

Seriously, am I the only one who screams inside for a minute of instrospection, an hour of solitude, a day of introspection, a week of calmness? When one is blinded by what needs to be done, the true self can very easily suffer asphixia and die slowly. Above all, I'm afraid of yielding again without questioning. I don't want to tame the inner horse that, even after laboring in the fields, waits for the night to run freely and stomp on the saddle until is dust.

Stupid Rachel and Ross

I had long avoided the last episode of Friends for one very simple reason. I didn't want it to end.
Yesterday, I guess I was kind of bored, and a marathon of this T.V. show was on Warner Channel Latin America, so I thought "what the heck" and watch it until the end. How much I regret this.

There are plenty of things I hated about the last episode. Some, like the fact I rarely watch again any tv show after seeing the ending, concern only me. Some others, like how much I hate Ross and Rachel beign together, might be more relatable to you.

Once in university, a professor said that Friends represented all that we wanted in life. She said "how many of you are going for a coffee later with your friends to talk about your private lives and adventures?" That was an appalling slap on my face because that was exactly what my plan was. For a long time, I was so proud of my life being as light as a season of Friends and always having that comforting closure by the end of each season. Time went on and just like in the T.V. show, the bonds between our group of friends grew stronger. One thing was missing from my life -- because yeah, I'm a Rachel kind of guy-- love. Ross is far from being prince charming, but hey! aren't his feelings for Rachel truthful and can't they work their differences out? I didn't get too excited about true love because RACHEL IS GOING TO PARIS! I repeated to myself. That's how it ends. I move on with my life and love is going to be just part of it, not the center.

Rachel and Ross. Their comes and goes in real life would have made them grow apart. Seriously, out there no one gets you out of a plane. But don't you hate how things always get back on track for the two of them and in a rather Disney Studios ending they keep selling us the idea that true love exists? My last break up took my heart out of my chest and pumelled it against the ground, and took something I once deeply loved to a hateful place of no return. I was through beleiving in happy endings, and once again became aware of how selfish people are... until I saw this and now I can't help but to hope I'll see my life becoming a fairy tale.

Don't you hate that? Stupid Rachel and Ross. It's all their fault.

Pity f*ck and kharma

This is a random thought I had while blowing my nose, so I don't think it deserves a lot of attention. Still, it's been a long time since I last blogged so I thought it would be cool to write about something anyway.

My thoughts were suddenly drawn to the idea of a Pity fuck as ways of balancing kharma and attone misdeeds. The scenario does not come out of the blue. In the superb and almost biblical for the queer community Queer as Folk TV show (US version,)the character Ted Schmidtz once sleeps with a very hunky guy who randomly hits on him on a bar. He's dazzled by and terrified with the idea of this "so-very-out-of-his-league guy" showing any interest in him, and spite of his damaged, low self-esteem, he goes all the way with the guy, because nobody in his right mind would let an opportunity like that just go. It turns out the stud was no other that balancing his kharma and counterweighing a year of awesome sex life with one pity fuck: picking somebody average and sleeping with him to give him the sex experience the poor thing wouldn't be able to have by his own means.

When Ted finds out he's been the subject of this other guy's extremely egotism, he's destroyed. How can he not be? He felt attractive for a night, he gained some confidence about himself, he probably thought he had something special and rare that people could see. Next day, he ilussion is shattered, and the fact that he's been pitied only rubs all his insecurities on his faces with a huge red stamp on them that say "It's true." You're ugly. It's true! You're lame and uninteresting, fact! It takes Ted some time and support from his friends to regain a bit of his previous yet feeble confidence.

Alright, I don't know any jerks who go around sleeping with people because they feel sorry for them (or so I hope,) but I do know a great deal of people toying with the idea of spending a night with someone because "they are nice." Ain't that the same, I wonder. Some of us get attention from people we're not really attracted to, play around with the people we actually like, but then after a break up, moment of weakness, or some shitty state of mind, we "come down from our pedestal and mingle with the mortals." We give pitty fucks. We do not get pitty fucks.

Or do we? I'm not sure! My self steem is terrified by the idea of someone sleeping with me out of boredom or compassion. The last time a guy hooked up with me with no apparent reasons other than "we're not fucking anyone else tonight anyway", I just couldn't keep myself aroused -- the thought of a possible pity fuck too strong to let me enjoy myself.

Let's get back to the victims of this act of malicious compassion. You sleep with someone because you're sorry for them. How do you respond to their question: What did you like about me? I'm sure it's one of the first things you'll hear come out of their mouths right after you kiss them for the first time. How do you respond to them when they're excited telling you how happy they are because they've felt attracted to you for some time now, and they never thought this moment could come true and all that? Like poor Ted, they might be dealing with self-steem issues that by no means improve because you slept with them. From their perspective, it is not that you gave them a present. It's more like you've used them and after the sex you decided they were discardable. Let us not take it too far. Plenty of kisses during a night are enough to give that person the feeling that they're special to you; in that respect, my friends, an awful lot of you have sinned.

I'm not changing the world with this post or anything. I just want to ask openly, guys, are we that messed up? Is it my idea or are we actually spreading pity instead of truthfulness or affection? No one needs my pity. I, for sure, do not need anyone to look at me and feel sorry.