To Belong or not to belong?

My friend Luis used to tag along with me everywhere because he liked going to different settings he wouldn’t know in life otherwise. Many times, even if he wasn’t sure how the event will end, he agreed on going with me or joining me. That’s how I got him into trouble that time we were kick out from a gated community for rich people because I took a swim in the middle of the night. We also ended up dancing on the stage of Teatro Giratablas, among the volunteers who worked at the international festival of arts this year. Luis often recalls with some pride these and many other settings he’s been once, just by chance or fortune; places where he shouldn’t simply be, a paradox in time and space. I didn’t acknowledge that to him at the moment, but that was really adventurous of him.

I, even if I have traveled some, played very safe until this last year. I always knew where I was going, for how long, all calculated. Although I cannot take any credit for it, life and work have given me that one time of being in places where I clearly do not belong. Italy, right now, is fully of those.  Since my bosses over here are taking my apprenticeship even more seriously than I am, they have taken me along a lot of places I clearly do not belong. I’ve been attending meetings with politicians, lawmakers, heads of foundations, and more recently, commissions of professors of the University of Cagliari. I’ve shaken hands with lots of people I was never meant to. I have been introduced as a colleague from Costa Rica when I never studied Politics, Human Relations, or anything related. I, who have somehow made a way in the global NGO world, keep on being pushed to a world I don’t belong. It took me some getting used to, but I’m loving it. There were instances before when I didn’t fit in and enjoyed: filming a commercial because no one else wanted the green man role, translating for an impromptu real state meeting in Panama, that time my family got lost in a guided tour on a Peruvian Naval Ship and we ended up using the captain’s private toilet (it seems to run deeper in the Lopez Aguilera .) All this shall pass, and I’ll be left behind with the picture of me taking a coffee on the legislators café, 3^rd of 4^th floor of the Sardinian local government, laughing a bit to myself because I am immature like that and enjoy the irony of being out of place when only I, a simple language laureate, get to sit on all these tables I was never supposed to sit on on first place.

I’ve been giving some insider privilege I don’t fully finish to comprehend. I am a paradox over here, and I continue to be so. It took me by surprise that the president of the organization asked me in confidence why I had come here if my profile really didn’t fit what a volunteer/intern does. He sees me a bit of a paradox. I clearly do not belong to the world of meetings where words fix the world, but I’m there anyway. My suspicion is that he takes me as the good kind of paradox. Still, the prospect of not fitting right in took me aback. From all the places I don’t belong, I was surprised work, such an essential part of what I do in my new life, is a place I have to yet learn how to belong.

When I go to the streets, I get the same feeling of not belonging; just the frustrating type. Of course I don’t speak Italian natively, and my attempts to do it so remain poor. This morning, I said “permesso” (excuse me) to two girls who blocked my way on the side way. It might be that I came too close and spoke too gravely, but I never expected them to jump.  This is just the first of so many awkward situations I’ve been exposed to recently. I have redefined awkward pretty much. The signs of not belonging continue every time I phrase does not come out as it should have and with every social convention I step on, unaware or simply too feed up to care about for the day.

See how complicated the matter has become. Under a different approach, though, I can see the places where I belong. I came with some volunteers who have embraced me (in the extent that one can embrace a stranger.) With them, working and cohabitating, I’ve felt I’ve belong. We speak the same language of feeling disoriented and a similar broken Italian that has made us team up somehow.  The universe got crazy enough to make me landing with people who are actually interesting in writing and creating art. I’m being constantly challenged by other people talking about their stories, and I can’t stay idle (oh, and this weekend alone, I’m attending a Queer Film festival and a Fantasy Book convention: hard not to want to belong in there.)  I left a pen pal in Costa Rica, and mailing with him ignites my creativity and helps me exploring my feelings in a carefree way. It seems I belong or rather was meant to experience this at this time. My flatmates eat healthily and speak of exercise, which goes with the changes I wanted to implement in my life for good. The cold is an issue to stay close to the sea all the times, but that color blue washes away any of my worries. It hypnotizes me and makes me feel good. This proximity to the sea, beautifully juxtaposed to old stone towers and churches uphill stand as my newest source of inspiration. … 2 out of 10 times, a conversation flows wonderfully in Italian, and I’m even able to make Sardinians laugh. The whole world could tell me I was out of place at that moment, that I wouldn’t believe it.  It’s going to be a month since I came here soon, and there’s a war between the experiences that make me feel that I don’t belong in a negative way and those who reconcile myself with the choice of coming here. I’m starting to miss home now, but that’s when the world gets complicated. In the simplicity of the smell of the sea and the sound of the seagulls and people speaking an euphonic language, I’m more than content.  Maybe in the future I’ll look back to this and decide I didn’t really belong, but the bets are on that being one nice memory of not belonging, like being kicked out of a gated community, drenched and half-dressed but having the best time. 

A Glimpse of Cagliari

“Once my father gave me a necklace with a ship’s steering Wheel. It was one trinklet, he must have got it in a Chinese shop. It was some cheap pendant, but twenty five years later, I discovered it was a metaphor, so I felt compelled to write a song about it.”

I don’t even know what I’m doing in this underground club of independent artist, but I’m here, listening to all in Italian and trying to understand how this guy just sang a song about poo that ended up with a message about human feelings.

Such are the sights of Cagliari. My friend Claudia was telling me the story of this guy who stands at the exit of the docs when the tourist season is at its best. He just stays there and asks for money for him and his pets, a bunch of kittens now laying on his feet on a box, kittens that are cuddling with about three times their number of white mice, all of them sleeping in perfect harmony. Claudia tells me the trick: the animals are drugged enough to be sleepy, still the guys pulls the trick on many tourists who believed he was a kind soul that solved the enmity of two species with love.

Such are the stories of Cagliary. Here, I can speak to a security guard to get entrance to an exportation dock, and he allows it by just trusting me. Here I lost my phone and got it back from the bar staff a few days after. Here I go to class with two classmates from Pakistan who later go their parents’ shop to help out in the family business. I’m in a city in which my bubble speaks English all day, but when they go to sleep the rest of the world keeps on going in a romance language.

Such is the magic the foreigner gets in Cagliari. However, what we get is the rumor of it. This beautiful city, far from being a stage of elaborated and simple everyday plays as I first thought of it, has a beautiful spirit that comes from its everything. I’ve fallen not only in an old city one third castle-one third fortress-one third chaos. I’m tangled now in a beautiful lifestyle that weaves itself around food,  drink, chatter, and wonderful social conventions that demand to be followed.

I’m tempted to go outside and eat it all at once. I have discovered, though, that unless I care to implement a few changes in my life, that spirit will hardly bruise me.

To mention:

-Learning Italian has become a must. The language carries far more culture that what one would think. Italians are very comfortable in their Italian self – and I can see why. More specifically, Sardinians enjoy their Sardinian flesh and have a hard time leaving it. To successfully integrate with them one should then shed its own skin and identity and mimic others. One has to adapt its sense of humor and the topics of conversation – as well as the scale of priority certain stages of life have, to the socio-cultural context. Sure there are some curious souls that speak English or Spanish to you there and there, but they are to be taken as extremely curious individuals, never as people who are seeking for an identity in foreign values. Being Sardinian requires no further search to be anyone else in life, so it seems.

- Fitness is important. I’m already making note of working out and closing my mouth because the body difference of people around here it’s not even funny anymore. I feel is extremely unfair they have these free complete dinners in bars and all this gastronomy and yet they seem to have developed a genetic immunity for fat around the waist line. That, sadly, does not apply to foreign me.  They are naturally blessed with health, and God has to be a bastard with favorite people on Earth.

-I should refrain from just having an 8 hour shift, plus 2 hours classes and still think I’m presentable for a club. Not grooming properly only puts me 3 hours and a salary of cosmetic and hair products behind the average Italian. My current stipend money does not really allow me to catch up, so an effort seems to be only in place.

-I should never underestimate the generosity of the people over here. To give over here is natural. They make it seem like is nothing. I find myself constantly overwhelmed and in debt with these giving people that exercise a hosting spirit that I once knew in the old Costa Rica. I’m sure this welcoming spirit still exists in essence in remote corners of the country, saved for a few explorers if compared to our tourists; well, over here it remains immaculate.

I would be a liar if I said I haven't almost felt blue sometimes this week, but I’ve easily got distracted by the constant highs the discovery of new places and experiences give me. I’ve been in an overall high that I’ve found hard to get across. It’s easier to look at Abi, the Indonesian guy who came with us, who seems to be in a constant and more notorious high, even in his more notorious lows. Stil, this city whispers to me. This city is my current lover.  I just realized today that my only fear for the future is finding out that I’ve signed up for a limbo: Quitting to many experiences I could have lived in Costa Rica just to discover after ten months that nearly one loop around the sun is not enough to enjoy the scent of this surreal and wonderfully conflictive island in the heart of the Mediterranean.

The story goes on. 

Closing One Huge Chapter

It is not until I'm now sitting at the airport, waiting to board the plane to my new life that I truly realize how much I've enjoyed my life in Costa Rica. In my former apartment, I truly had a home. I lived with my best friend, spent much time socializing with awesome friends and acquaintances. In the last days, I was even dating someone crazy enough to want to spend time with me knowing I was leaving. My family was being more than over supportive, and my 6 month old niece smiled at me and played with my hair like I was her new favorite person in the world. However, I think it is all very romantic because I'm leaving. Once I told everyone I had decided to go to Italy for 10 months, life became this romantic tale that ends today, the moment I step on that plane.

It does not matter what little could change on the surface: life is not going to be the same when I come back. I'm ten months apart from it, exposed to new stimuli daily, and there's no way my new environment does not leave a scratch on me. I should confess, I want Cagliari to leave me scarred, not in the same way London did, but hungrier for life, even more adventurous and far more human. I am going to Italy and allowing the Mediterranean and its lifestyle to make love to me, and refine my appreciation of life itself. Other than learning Italian, seeking to spend as much time as possible at the beach, and a few previously arranged trips, I do not have this new part of my life scripted. I believe is much better that way. My friends tell me I'll get fatter for eating all the wonderful food. It might be so. My friends also say I will come back showing off my Italian. I hope I learn better than to flaunt my new romance tongue, but I do hope I acquired good communication and writing skills. My friends say I'll fall in love, only if the guy has a yacht and a beach house, I joke, My friends say I'll be really different when I come back, if I come back at all. There they are partially wrong, as I know now no matter where I am, I haven't given up in Costa Rica and the people I called mine just yet. Life will show itself to me. The lady at the Italian embassy in Costa Rica told me I couldn't go wrong with this experience, and I want to cling to that. 

I don't want to go to my new life carrying regrets, though. What I’ve done to myself is forgiven, but I’m concerned to the cracks I never got to fix as a result of my interactions with others. I want to confess the things that still bother me about the last chapters (the loose ends sort of) and truly get a blank slate. These are situations that should have been addressed privately, but I'm a fool, and I'll just confess them in public, hoping that they reach the right ears (eyes?) sometime.

-Once I told someone that The Kill were opening Pink's concert, but when I got there, it turns out it was the Kin opening for Pink. I had read the name wrong, but I had posted on her FB wall that I was going to see them both and think of her. She probably found out that the Kill never opened for Pink and must think I'm an idiot now. I never got to clarify the situation out of embarrassment. Sorry, Ale. I've learned to double check info now before being overly enthusiastic now.

-I created this event for meeting up with people I only had met briefly socially, and there was this guy who said he was up for it. We met in a workshop for publishing books, and at the time he seemed pretty congenial. From all the list, he was the one I never called, and I even missed his birthday. Once I saw him in a bar, and I attempted to say hello to him, but he - no surprise- turn his head to pretend he hadn't seemed me and even looked annoyed by my presence. It hit me I had been a douche with him, and I never got to say sorry because I thought at the moment I'll just let it pass. But it haunted me a little, until today. Sorry, Diego. Truly good people aren't always treated fairly, but I'm trying to be more aware of others around me now.

-Kiara, I'm sorry I'm going to miss your first words and your first steps. Maybe I can make it up to you by teaching you your first words in a foreign language and guiding you in your first steps in a foreign country?

-Karo, I owe you that takoyaki. I honestly don't know where you get those in San José. Next time around. Brian, I'm sorry I wasn't the friend you expected in your tough times. We need to learn how to start anew, but I'm willing.

-I'm sorry for not spending more time with the last bunch of volunteers who arrived in the country. They are very likeable people, but my head was somewhere else, and they found me wishing for freedom. I hope one day they understand it wasn't that I didn't like them or my job. They arrived when my heart was somewhere else and my gaze upon the future, I'm hippie like that.

-Tell Kevin I cared for him more than I never told him, fucked up games and all. He should have kept my Disneyland mug. Tell the other Isaac I wish I had told him how attractive I thought he was and how I made a fool of myself by playing all cocky that night we spent together. I can only watch him from distance now thinking I'll turn to stone waiting for a second time that it won't happen.  Don't tell Jonathan and Manuel anything. I still have to learn that attraction is not always reciprocal, and they probably had to deal with me more than they never wanted. Tell Alo he was the right person by my side at the end, and how I hate that I could have spent more time with him than I did, but I was just trying not to get too attached to someone who has handsome and cute, and probably insane for seeing me growing fat and saying only he still thought I was one hot guy.

-Luis, I'm sorry I left some material stuff behind knowing you'll get rid of them for me. Expect a big time apology (food) when I'm back.

As for the rest, I think I've made my peace with everybody else, and look forward meeting new people in a more socially responsible way. The lights go off on this stage, and the curtain is falling. I'll take a nap some thousand meters above the ground, and reach a destination far away to open yet another chapter of my life, hoping I mess up a little less, and get a step closer to the person I aspire to become.

-

It's the music, people.

I'm having a second Maroon 5 moment here. When they played at the Festival Imperial in Costa Rica a little more than two years ago, I had to hear way too often "It's because of Adam Levine, right? It's because he's hot." I had the energy then to explain that I've liked the music back then. I might not be a connoisseur of “good” music, but I live the music that I like with intensity. Back then, the songs about break ups, infatuation, sexual games, and suffering for that other person made a lot of sense. But I like guys so I automatically fall into the category of fan girls with posters in their room and half-learned lyrics. Eh, no. I sang every song and that was it. Pure appreciation of art.

This week, it's Thirty Seconds to Mars. The band, not Jared and his undeniable impressive physical presence. Very objectively, I can see why people would assume it is about the guy. It's about the music, though. I genuinely like 30 Seconds to Mars to the point that I'm willing to give some background on the band's musical influence in my life and some Thirty Seconds to Mars for Dummies along the way.

 The world knew Jared Leto for his acting, more notably Requiem for a Dream. He announced that he was going to make a band; that music had always been a bigger dream that acting and that he had used acting as a platform for a bigger project. The skeptics that surface were many as so very often the Hollywood dreams are delusional. It turns out Jared had already been working on his music while acting, and in 2002, 30 Seconds to Mars was being presented to the world with a homologous album. That one didn't steer the music business. Jared, Shannon, Tomo, and a fourth one no one remembers would have to wait until their next album to draw some attention.

I feel 30 Seconds to Mars was a little too similar to other pseudo-emo rock bands back in 2004. The first market was the kids listening to somewhat dark, fast paced variety of rock with deeply angsty lyrics. When From Yesterday,  the single from the album A Beautiful Lie, became widely known, My Chemical Romance had best represented the Emo movement with I'm Not Ok. Thirty Seconds to Mars was another in the list of these bands of deeply emotional songs with aggressive sounds. By that time we were all like "so Jared Leto can actually sing," and while us the dificult were trying to see the reason for his hairstyle and his obsesion with black, pink, and teal, the music was catching. My friend Javier and I would listen to their singles from A Beautiful Lie and enjoy them nodding and chanting. I sensed a certain undertone in the band's music that got me wondering what they would do next. They were not singing only "feel like crap and purge." Somewhere in those lyrics, they were saying we're deeply rebelious. What's not to like about that.

It is 2010 that changes everything, both for the band and for my admiration for them. With their third album released in December 2009 called This is War, they consolidated their position in the music industry. The album came not only selling big but with really good reviews from the critics. Billboard favored it particularly for coherence, balance, and the great production that was even conceptual (an album with war in the title had an "army" of people singing the most powerful lines of the songs or making remarkable extra vocals and the percussion resembled war drums.) I remember delaying listening to the whole album because there were more important things going on in my life (from my perspective, of course) and it wasn't until I settled in London that I gave the album an ear. By that time, the band was already huge and it was only me having a late discovery of their success.

This is War is what ultimately bought me as a member of the Echelon (their fan base.) If I had to rescue two albums from that time, one would be Hands All Over by Maroon 5; the other would be This is War. The song This is War particularly fit my reality in London. I was having a lot of fun in the nights and days off alright, but getting up every morning to go to work in the middle of the first winter of my life felt like war. Sticking to a volunteer's work that wasn't very dignifying and being half accepted in London as not an immigrant felt like war. I was broken more times than I'd like to accept, but picturing the whole time as many campaigns I needed to survive was what ultimately helped me keeping myself together. This time around, the brainwash was extremely positive. Then Kings of Queens was that mood lifting song when I was sitting on the second floor of the bus from Wimbledon to Brixton, feeling blue and lonely and demoralized to a certain extent because my only other human contact that day were this couple of Indians who looked at me as if I was shit. I needed to remember I was a king back home (or just me, outside the working context) where family and friends knew me. The song brought back that feeling of self-worth. Then Hurricane confronted me with my many moral dilemmas. More often than any other time after adolescence, I was harboring dark thoughts at that time, partly influenced by the poorly lit space of my room in Brixton as the sky went from gray to black in a seemingly everlasting loop. "Would you kill to prove you're right" may be too strong for describing what I felt, but I was questioning myself for seeing this guy in a wheelchair and still feel no sympathy, more like extreme contempt. How can you hate on a disabled person and not come out as a disgrace of a human being? In a twisted way, I accepted through Hurricane that the health condition of this person I hated had nothing to do with who I was; some people's worst disability is their lack of empathy, and this guy scored big time on the scale of complete indifference to others (and I didn't have to kill to prove I was right on that one.) Closer to the Edge is just madness and a genuine rush! This is War is one of my favorite albums of all time, and it only feels wrong that I'm being questioned for it. It was a manifesto that I needed to come out alive and victor of the socially and culturally violent times I was living. 

By the time 30 Seconds to Mars released their latest album Love, Lust, Faith+ Dreams, the band needed no introduction. People, at least in the West, knew Jared Leto had a band and that he was a consolidated performer. Professionally, he had earned every credit as a performer and as an actor at this point. His band's new album was bringing back some elements from This is War (Conquistador follows the idea of an ideological war, just that the singer and the fan base are no longer simple warriors in this war, they have become conquerors.) Up in the Air delights my senses, and that's the only explanation I can give for my devotion to the song. I feel Jared took a risk making too many references to his personal struggle for making dreams come true in City of Angels, but he ultimately managed to translate his own experiences into universal and relatable feelings. This album feels more like a compound anthem for the achievement of the long desired wishes. He tells his fan base "I've made it and so will you if you keep on fighting for your dreams." Do or Die comes across as a challenge: the time is now so take chances. I like this positive vibe evolving from the original super angsty band. What makes the band consistent is that they have not disconnected from their original dark charm that can give you highs and just as easily sink you deep in the darkest of thoughts. Somehow, their music focuses more now on energy of creation than destruction. For a dramatic effect, this is the album I was listening to the time I went to Turkey in 2013 and the riots were on. It evoked so many intense feelings on the dreams of humanity and the will of people to fight for what they believe is right.

It's all about the music, and Jared can go shirtless as many times as he wants, that I won't give a damn (well, maybe but not for too long.) The screaming fans will be there, sure, and I'll end up hating half of the Costa Rican Echelon by time the concert  ends (some people were there when I swore death and antrax letters to the Costa Rican head fan base of Evanescence,) but I will enjoy this day as I have felt 30 Seconds to Mars' music for far too long. I will rest my case, until the next time I find myself enjoying the music of a ridiculously good-looking lead singer, that is.

Lately (in short paragraphs)

This week is worth telling for a few events that might seem important only to me.

Worldwide:
-Leo Di Caprio's speech before the UN was just what I needed to hear to believe I was not going nuts with the whole environment first discourse. I guess I had foreseen humanity to collapse and the earth to partially become a wasteland. Leo -my new favorite famous person- delivered a wake up call confrontational enough to make world leaders aware we know they are destroying our happy and more and more of us are not happy about it. This week also the Rockefeller family backed from oil prodruction to give the earth a break. Amazing changes on this matter are going on, and maybe after all humanity does know that surviving means to search again for that link to the earth we lost sight of for the last couple of centuries.

- Emma Watson delivered this one awesome speech this week that has generated all sort of reactions from love to the most uncalled comtempt. I am embracing my feminism as a consequence.I listened to it and just nodded. Everything this woman says makes sense. I'm also so fed up of women being looked down at, being told stuff on the street. Wonderful people that I love and admire in my life are women, and I'm tired to see them fighting for their position in society. The macho culture is all bullshit, and it hurts gay people with its constant bullying, straight men with all these absurd standars of what they should and should not be, and it has suppressed and threatened women for far too long.

-We hear about ISIS and Ebola a lot these days. I don't understand why the terror. I feel the world has faced tougher times. While I understand why addressing these topics in public is important, I still feel we can choose if we live in a world of anxiety.

Personally:
-I broke up with Twitter. Sure I still go back and tweet something  random or check on the twitter users who have consistently interacted with me in a constructive or fun way all these years. But I truly feel I'm over it. It really annoys me that because of all the thoughts I've poured in this network, some people even presume they know me in real life. After being labeled and tagged stuff that I do not feel is true to who I am, I realized it is all my fault for sharing too much with people who might be looking for ways of bringing others down to feel better about themselves or just to gossip for the fun of it. I'm done with my devotion to the "dark_ikarus" account, and value my privacy way more now. The energy I put into tweeting all these years is going somewhere else where it can actually achieve something. I sound awfully vague at the moment, but I'm sure time will give me the chance to prove my point.

-I received tons of love from my friends, and it turns out the rest of the world does not mean a thing. I'm done with trying to impress acquaintances and complying to their demands. I am so drained of being a subject of criticism so that today, more than ever, I enjoy the company of those who really know how constructive, caring, thoughtful, and smart I am. They have not heard about my worth: they understand it and give me just about the credit I deserve for being through the pretty tough stuff I've undergone in life and come out of it with a smile and with the drive to be better.

-I lost some weight. I reached a point in which I was pretty butch in the wrong places and that undermined my self-confidence a great deal. By just trying to take care of myself a little, I'm slimming down again. This time there's no rush (my sole motivation to look better immediately would be impressing this one guy I'm really into,maybe ) "I'm all about that bass" at the moment and loving this flesh. I will look super hot next summer in Italy without letting that get to my head. This is a victory I'll have in time. Right now, having pizza and beer with my best friends and not to burden them with my calorie count makes more sense. Still, I really need the motivation that comes from the little victories on my weight right now.

Overall, I start listening to all these voices that echo my own toughts and I think there's a future to me. This expectation is particularly valuable in a present that more often than not comes through as oppressive and limiting. There's a prospect of a future with more space for my way of thinking (and I'm not saying it's better, it just holds certain ideals.) and for me to feel more comfortable in my existence. That ray of hope, people, has no price.

This one is about my life

I live in terrifying times. I've been singing the last Taylor Swift song all day long and I didn't go out on a Friday night just because I want to be responsible and not to show up to work all exhausted on Saturday.

Not quite, really. These are exciting times for me -apart from not going out on Friday nights as often. If anyone minds an update on my life, I'm going into an adventure. The current me thinks of himself too young to settle, so for a while I had been thinking of saving a whole year, ask a 3 month break from work and fly to Japan through Europe to fulfill what I liked to call in my head "the big leap." Japan has always been on my mind, and I would hate to die before having seen temples and sakura trees live, explore the Hip Hop scene of Tokyo, and consume as much anime and videogame culture as I can. I am very fond of my European friends and miss people in many countries over there that a stop only seemed mandatory. However "The Big Leap" was never meant to be. Life had other plans.

In my short professional life, the most exciting program I've come to encounter is the European Volunteer Service. I think it is fantastic that part of the wealth that is concentrated in Europe gets invested on sponsoring youth to travel and learn a new language and new skills to improve their chances of finding jobs. That's why we, the humanitarians in the NGO world, write the applications to get funding. The focus is economic on paper. The truth is that each project sends young people into quests and adventures of learning and self-discovery around the globe. Many of these people only dreamed of traveling to an exciting new place and live among the locals for a long period of time. The program makes that possible, and I most of the volunteers who have benefited from it feel affection for the different organizations behind the logistics of their experience. No one ever returns the same after doing their EVS. It is a truly life changing experience, and after joining many projects that enabled multiple people to participate, I get to see it from inside.

I am leaving a stable job to check living in Europe for a second time off my bucket list, but I get to continue doing what I do, sort off. Starting on November and for ten months, I will live in Cagliari, Italy and engage in different office tasks at the organization in there. I am also planning to learn all that I can about Erasmus + (the new EVS) to promote further inclusion of Costa Rican youth in the rest of Europe and European youth in Costa Rica. I am also learning more theory of youth work and acquiring a foreign language. Most of people think of Rome or Venice when they hear "living in Italy" but Cagliari is all I know and I liked the people there far better than the romans at the airport of Rome, so I am completely content with living there. More than just liking the location, I got to know an organization and if I may be bold, I liked the way they work and I fell in love with their passion. I am being offered a challenge that is a reward in experience on itself. That's the equivalent of being pimped for the races if I were a car.

But I'd lied terribly if I said I'm doing it all for professional purposes. The advantage of having lived in Europe already is that I more or less know how to travel on a budget -I am lucky that people continue to advise me on how to improve it. That allows me to organize many trips and being able to afford them. I'm almost fixed to celebrate New Year's Eve in Austria and come back to the coziness of Vienna and the warmest company in the world I have outside San José. London's on my mind for Pride next year, and the north of England calls me. I am excited to return to Edinburgh and visit Glasgow for the first time. Someone told me the cheapest way to fly to Iceland is from Glasgow, and I am going to find out. I still have not climbed to the top of the Tibidabo and I missed the singing fountain in Barcelona, plus there are rumours that I am expected by a gorgeous lady there so flying there only makes sense. In ten months I should at least see a couple of other Italian cities.

And Cagliari, I am already in a relationship with that city. From the taste of the cappuccino by the old auditorium to the panini of the cantina in Marina to the feeling of salt in your skin and the sound of seagulls. I am in love with the color of the Thyrrenian Sea, that turquoise that evaporates my fear of not seeing the bottom and allows me to swim freely. I feel like Sardinia is underrated and overlooked, and I would feel like home in a city that fights off the underdog status, just like myself. Sardinia is Phoenician and Viking, Italian and broken. Sardinia is full of youth honestly making an effort to be something in life: in such places you come across an immense amount of talent. I already think of the city with names and faces. I want to absorb all that and to be able to make memories of that one summer by the sea. I intend to become fluent in Italian and thus check one more thing off the bucket list.

At the moment, it is also annoying how much I am doing in Costa Rica. Work consumes an awful lot of time, but the countdown already started, and that makes the wait exciting and full of plans. I am gathering as many memories from my people to keep me warm in winter and I am taking the sun and the rain and the green and the life and all that is good in the tropics. I am in love with my family because I've also fallen in love with their struggle. I am going to miss my mom and my sister, the women of my life. I can't take enough mental pictures of my baby niece, to whom I am devoted. I am terribly going to miss my apartment. This place holds the happiest memories of my life in San Pedro and gave birth to a true brotherhood with my roommate. While taking to a friend yesterday and finally opening up about what was going on for me, he told me the chance of acquiring a brand new life was huge regardless and that people that cared about me would like to hear it and feel happy for me. I ended up writing this entry.

Love life is not a topic right now. If I manage to stay smart, it will remain that way.

Where does all this traveling leave my writing plans? Hemingway taught me traveling and writing were highly compatible, and I know in my heart that I should not rush something that will happen for me in the most exiting way eventually. I do not doubt my words now. Where does this leave Japan? Some time in the future. I have roots in Costa Rica now, and I will always want to come back, Nevertheless, I have a new adventure ahead of me, and I have come to accept that I'll seek to go beyond my current frontiers until the day I die.

Thanks for getting excited for and with me. I am fully aware that I stand here in life for the effort I've put into things and for the people that insist in making my stay on this planet truly awesome.

Life should be more like Instagram

I also discovered the perfect coffee yesterday. I doubt anybody cares how good that coffee was. Unaware, I poured the right amount of hot water into the fabric filter and there with the right amount of ground coffee and the right amount of everything, I made a coffee that felt like no other before. 

If life would be more like Instagram, I would have taken a picture of this coffee and share it with the world. Based on the quality of the picture, on the angle used (for cup of coffee, I would use above and centered), whether people like the technical aspects of the picture or feel glad for the fact that I just had one awesome coffee... based on that, people would honor me with their "like." If an instagramer likes a picture, he or she takes the time to pay attention to it and hits the like button. If the picture failed to make any impression, the instagramer would simply scroll down to the next, more remote and preferably better, photo that they like. We're the good kind of snobs. Instagram works with a very innocent system of likes mostly. People can't be mean collectively with this system. Life has a lot of moments where people are mean collectively.

Life has a lot of words. People so often misuse words. Twitter, for example, is a lot of words, spat as frequently as you like. That, sometimes, could be a lot of ugly. I insist Twitter in Costa Rica is a whole different experience than in any country. Twitter serves as a diary of the everyday for many of us (us because I've fallen into the trap quite a few times and continue to do so). There we connect to a collective consciusness of the people we follow and the people that follow us back. If at least there's a group of active 30 users at the moment, whatever you write goes there and reaches 30 people instantly. Others may read that later and have a reaction, but these hypothetical group of 30 people got it first hand and may have a reaction that goes from approval, sympathy, admiration, repulsion, disapproval, or indifference (for providing a humble array of emotions,) and it is all happening in real time. The active user of twitter in Costa Rica, at least, engages in a virtual agora. In this pool or words, a lot it is said. That lot can make a lot of garbage and a lot of damage. "It's just twitter, is not the real world" we often excuse ourselves. "Words are wind". Words are beautiful and words have the greatest power, but we often misuse them. Life, just like Twitter, has a lot of people judging us on a word basis, and that's a really harsh world. I, in fact, tweeted that I just had the most amazing coffee. No one celebrated. It is not a something that deserves celebration, I'm aware, but that's what I was experienced at the moment. I have read two tweets after that, mocking the people that often tweet about their coffee. I'm not going to be paranoid and believe they tweeted against the people that tweet their coffee times because they wanted to make fun of me specifically, but how can I be sure it was not? One thing is for sure: that's a lot of contempt directed at someone or something. Whether it was part of my life or not, I came across it and I may feel it was personal. It could tarnish any good experience: any perception we imprint in others—which is a shade of the same problem. If someone has been actively reading the timeline one of those nights when I get drunk and tweet the most irrelevant, nonsensical stuff because I found it funny, they are entitled to think I am one jackass. I don't think anyone following me on instagram would feel something as strong as loathe for me. In the Twitter world, hating someone you don't even know in person is always a possibility. Haters have words, a great lot of them and they are yours and so easily to hate on. On instagram, a hater does not have a lot of material, or not as often. Haters won't be around instagram much when Facebook and Twitter generously satisfy their need for loathe. In real life, people can become haters easily. 

Whether we like it or not, the technological era is full of likes that elicit a certain reaction. If we share it, we are fishing for likes and for Facebook algorithms to keep our post on top of the feed. Likes are stimuli to our brain, and affect our emotions. I've noticed people at large are moved by likes. If someone's gets liked, they feel encouragement. If someone posts a certain content that no one minds, this person is very likely to drop posting the same content. The lack of likes discourages. If we have the idea we have an audience and we like it, we immediately start acting it out for that audience. Anyone denying that the amount of attention we get has a direct impact on what kind of content we decide to publish has not realized the psychological trap of the social media. Likes are not evil. It is alright to encourage people (and even celebrating their skill in something as hard as denouncing and as controversial as dark humor). A like is a little pat in the back. In instagram, if you don't get the like, you at least still have the picture. The like is not the reason, the picture is the reason, and the like is just someone agreeing on the image you captured. I believe so because people join instagram on first place because they like pictures. That much all instagramers should have in common. There, you snap and the image is yours-- the moment is yours. People on Instagram would be so busy appreciating artistic depiction of moments and creating theirs that would have less time to focus on negative feelings. In real life, people have an awful amount of time to dedicate to negativity. 

Maybe Instagram means obsession and social pressure for some people too (#toomanyhastagspeople) and Instagram could end up being just as sickening as any other social medium. This is not the instagram I know, though. The instagram I know allows me to connect to people through purely artistic manifestations. The instagram that I know only pushes you to make an effort to take a good picture or a better picture next time. The instagram I know tickles the everyday person with the curiosity for capturing a moment, a place, beauty (or ugliness so aesthetically perfect that it becomes a concept and therefore beauty) in an artistic way. I don't know. I am very fond of my instagramers, and that's more than I can say for a lot of people I know in "real life." 

The guy in the red adidas.

You’ve chosen to ignore that I think you sensuously. And I like you to believe that I’m not aware. Is in in the effort you put your apparent lack of interest that I see the evidence that you have not allowed yourself to even think of me the way that makes the heart tickle. One would even think you just want me to go away --until you play me, and let me come upstairs and get drunk of you, and take a picture of your naked body against the light of the lamppost outside, and kiss goodbye in the threshold of your door. Only then, I’ve dared to think there’s already a story.

 You serve me every day with stone cold indifference, yet you were happy I remembered your birthday, and told me you were happy for me and my future plans. I would have thought you really wished me to go from the neglection that came after a period of cold feet – until you play me, and make me talk about stars to kiss me right after and get me drunk of you, but for one night only. 

I’ve come to believe that deep inside you know I think you sensuously, and you have the conviction that I savored every inch and wish you so intensively it made your heart tickle. It is in the intensity you devote to believe I am not worth any of your attentions that I see you would naturally feel comfortable gravitating around me if you didn’t talk yourself against it. Contempt knows no hesitation, yet I’ve seen many cracks and oh so tiny but oh so often.  Hope comes not from your long tundra gaze but from the tiny volcanic fire lock in the minuscule part of the iris that serves as the channel to your soul. I’m next to close to give up soon, unless you play me, and remind me of the drink I owe you, and allow me to see how your laughter brightens up your face, and look me like someone you also desire, and wish to test if the kissing was actually good or your senses were deceived. It’s all happening because, even though it has a story rather long and lacking romance,  one night you played me, and you let me come upstairs and even called my name in a moment of pleasure, and got me drunk of you. However, you also drank of me and you never thought it would mean something, but it did.

You may not like me after all, but you like the way I think you sensuously. It is in this contradiction that I find an excuse to keep on hoping you will stop treating me like an enemy and find a temporary accomplice, but it is also in this confusion that I know you could just lock yourself away from me, and in the most inglorious way finally ask me to fuck off.

This is Costa Rica

What's been happening for the country is huge.

For a while, I had been extra critical of Costa Rica being displayed in the happy planet index because, let's be honest, we all know this is not the Scandinavian utopia they want us to believe it is. The previous government sold the idea we were an exceptional country to mask the fact that we were a boat sinking- so accurately portrayed as such in the objective media. Then we managed to kick Liberación Nacional out, the underdog president won, and there was a wind of change. It started out pretty romantically.

This Sunday changed my idea of everything. I started the day by joining a Pride with a group of straight friends mostly and we had a fucking blast. I no longer have to dream of joining a Pride in London or San Francisco because I can have a similar experience in my city. I have this group of extra supportive people around, and they are willing to attend this event to make a stand for tolerance, understanding, and difference. As a gay man, this is already a victory in life, and it means a lot more than seeing all those super hot guys I am sure attended pride in the big metropolises of the world. This was only half of my Sunday though. Things were about to improve.

Costa Rica won against Greece, as the world is aware. These guys wearing the white t-shirt with the red stripe defied all odds and waited until the very last moment to give a victory that unleashed chaos in a country. It is hard to explain. You have to be here to understand what it is to see the red tide of people swarming.

We have never been good at soccer, or at anything to be honest. We, as a nation, have done decently and clinged too much to historical turning points that gave us something.
-1821, and the first time we assemblied an army to fight the expansionism of the south of United States.
-1949, the abolishment of the army and the birth of the second republic.
-1990, The world cup in Italy where the Costa Rican soccer team made it to the second round, the furthest we had even been.

And there are the things we just happened to have, like being ridiculously gifted by nature. We speak of the Caribbean and the Pacific as part of us, and we're extra cocky of hosting 5% of the world's total biodiversity-though we are not as involved in preservation as we should. Creationists really feast on the idea that there's a good up there, and that he likes us, as natural disasters usually treat us kindly and do not strike as hard as in other places. We've been spared a lot of pain, and for that we owe the university some degree of gratitude.

Awesome as we are, we mean very little to the world. We live under the long shadow of Europe and the more recently under the grace of the United States.We keep on fighting our way into Latin America because most of people in the region resent we try to fit in when we have not shared the struggles that have endured.  As we have seen in this World Cup, most people couldn't even find Costa Rica in a map. Is it South America? Is it Puerto Rico? We seem to have accepted that as a small country, we should not pretend to be too much and be content with the little protagonism we get.

The discourse is changing, though. The lesson La Sele has taugh us is that part of the Costa Rican spirit is giving it all. The words of the national anthem make a little more sense now: "Cuando alguno pretenda tu gloria manchar, verás a tu pueblo valiente y viril." Whenever someone intends to taint your glory, you'll see your people rising valiantly and with virility. At this moment, so much is expected from us that being mediocre - the most common criticism to Costa Ricans, no longer seems like a choice. We have one path and it is ahead. It is happening in soccer only at the time, but I believe the optimism can spread and become a new national value.

I have the feeling this is the start of something beatiful. I mean, a team of fellow Costa Ricans is giving it all for the world to watch and everybody is rooting for us! The team is standing there as pure virtue and a representation of all we cheer for: bravery, courage, PASSION. Passion is definitely a cultural value we should cling to. I could picture Costa Ricans giving their best just because so much is expected from them. I cannot wait to go to other countries and introduce myself as a Costa Rican because I like giving my best, and now this attitude is trending.

The lesson goes beyond soccer. I do not like soccer that much and may not see another game for a while after the world cup is over. I'm mostly elated because of the opportunity this is giving to Costa Ricans of becoming the happiest planet of earth on a solid basis. This is Costa Rica in 2014, and it rocks.

A different meaning for pride.

In case you missed it (because I'm sure my very conservative family did not), I posted this picture online yesterday:

What goes behind making something rather personal and shaming for the world to see available for everyone to judge and have an opinion? It took insomnia, a sketchbook, pens, the recurrent image of my last hook up, and a point that I needed to make. I should be proud of myself.

Pride time is here again. I'm suscribed to the news coming from Out Magazine on Facebook plus other minor gay media publishers, so everyday this week has been a parade of articles about how pride is being celebrated or planned around the world. I have been out for quite some time now, so the whole event becomes another holiday just like Halloween or New Years Eve. Attending my first Pride was that act of liberation that burned all the bridges to my past where I would find only condemnation for being who I am and who I have not chosen to be. All of that is long forgotten. Ever since coming out, each year stands as another oportunity to increase the visibility of the gay community in my country. The celebration however, started missing a more personal feeling. What does Pride really mean to me? Why should I be proud?

Though I project myself as a very shameless person (not really caring about getting drunk in public, uploading rather questionable photos of myself, yet another victim of the selfie phenomenon, talking about hook ups in a rather positive tone,and so on ) I do care a lot for respect. I believe that most of the times someone has felt disrespected by me, that's because that person clearly intended to step on one of my rights and I simply did not allow them to make that move. Being perceived as mean, rude or arrogant does drag me down and makes me wonder if I should be ashamed of myself for the things I am doing wrong. Being in front of a large group of people and in a position of authority often exposes me to really hard criticism  and constant judgement of the things I am "doing wrong", the things I should be ashamed of. I tell myself that at least I can go back to "just be gay" and just "be with the gays" in our alternative reality for the world to go back to its course . Sure the gays will treat me a little better.

Within the gay community, I have been rather ashamed of myself for not completely fit the mold though. When I came out, I found this rainbow world so open to take me in and shelter me from the hate out there. It turns out that's only a stage, and the gay world didn't take long to become a battleground of lots of people disapproving how masculine I am at times and how femenine I can be some others. People judging me for being super gay and others for not being gay enough were at hand. I'm sure super cool gay guys don't waste time uploading a poorly executed sketch. "Why would he do that now that he was kind of becoming cool again?" I can hear someone say. Wait, so this world of rainbow flags also had its standards of shame?

Shame for not being fit. Shame for being nerdy. Shame for being promiscuous. Shame for what you post on your social media. Shame for your tweets. Shame for your lack of achievements.

Shame on you. Shame on you. SHAME ON YOU.

Why should I attend pride after all? Well, because I actually am proud of myself. Being gay is just that part that the heteronormative world finds hard to accept. That's fine. Not being the kind of gay that is culturaly encouraged earns me criticism within the gay scene. That's fine. Being a dreamer is the kind of thing people too grounded hate about me. That's fine. The fact that I am so determined to live one awesome life generates a lot of criticism. That's fine. Not for one second I should be ashamed of being gay, and being my "own kind of gay", and being a dreamer and aiming high in life because this is who I am.

As it turns out, coming out is not the only battle for pride one is going to have in life. Now I'm in a point of my life in which I have to stand proud not because of who I am inclined to love but for who I am and for whom I want to become. Pride is fought over and earned every day and in every aspect of life. While we move around people and social interaction proves a must in our lives, we will always have to stand up for ourselves. I am an out gay man, so I do belong to this diverse -and many times disfunctional- community. It is my right to be acknowledged as a person what is worth demonstating in today's event. The many other battles are to be fought elsewhere.

When I hit the streets today to stand for pride, at least I'll know what the concept means to me.

P.S. Topic aside, I keep on writing Pride Disguised as Shame, the short story anthology I meant to publish last year. I'm making it even more beautiful so that when I present it to the world, it fills me with pride.

Vow to Adventure

I don’t need a lot of approval where I am going. The realization of it has both given me the wonderful light armor that I need to go far with the wind and left me vulnerable to take a few arrows in the process. I’ve decided what my next move in life is, and that has left me blind to what happens and what will happen for the next few months. I understand my drive might be mistaken for arrogance, and my methods for irrational behavior, but I hope that the outcome reveals that there was not much of that but maybe just the will of work in dreams. We all need a healthy amount of ambition.

The way I’ve understood struggle in life more recently comes from the one truth I found on my own. I believe that one wages wars with oneself the moment the heart chooses a path but the mind refuses to go with it. Unhappiness comes from dreading the distance that the heart takes: the separation from it. Happiness comes only when the mind figures out going against the heart is a lost cause and decides to walk with it providing counsel.

Overall, we live in a world of fear that has made us addicted to comfort. How often do we hear praise to bravery and where have we put it in our scale of values? I feel the constant need of testing my limits. I get in trouble a great deal as well. I come out of it with valuable lessons and with a satisfaction that no other thing in this world gives me. I understand now this is not a curse but a blessing. I accept the rest of my life will be ruled by adventure, and I do not fear the occasional losses.  I don’t know how this is possible, but not those who die have lived.

My grandpa told me once the story of the most significant climb of his life.  He made it all the way to the top of the mountain to see what was on the other side. The sight of the flatlands expanding to the north until the eye could no longer reach left him so speechless that he decided right in that moment that he was going to go to distance and as far as he could. He lived in a world with no buses, and no maps, and fewer people that could possibly assist him if a tragedy befell him, yet he ventured into the nothing and lived one of the greatest trips he cherishes. “Much better to travel under your own heart’s command and not under other people’s desires” he would hint later when he told me how after the civil war, his squad was forced to exile in that same north he had visited once. His story was so imbued with the passion of discovery that the time and the years to come failed miserably in fading away for my brain; if anything, the fire for adventure became hotter and brighter. I’ve seen the weight of the past in my grandfather’s eyes when he speaks of his misdeeds, but when he talks about that climb that change it all, I have seen pride and not even for an instant regret.

I have received much love from people. That’s why it took me long hours to plan what I would tell them when I looked them in the eye. It wounds me when they feel that aspiring for more is rejecting the current support they provide. I hope I can prove to them one day that I aspire to rise so that they can rise with me. There’s also that satisfaction one gets from having spoken your mind. It feels glorious to live by your own standards. I believe the ones that matter understand that.

I speak of many things that seem to be forgotten. I speak of magic. I speak of virtue. I speak of adventure. I dwell in a world long gone where bravery actually matters and where adventure is valued above all. When I voice my thoughts I lose some respect earned by the results of the things I have done well in life. Such blows hit right in my confidence, but I can take them. I don’t need a lot of approval where I am going, see? When one walks ahead, all those voices and reprimands stay behind while one keeps on pressing forward, eyes fixed on the rising sun.

Him and the elements

I wonder if he noticed that I've been exploring him with all the elements. 

I started out with water, but he was a rock, and I knew it would take me some time to dig a hole into his life. I wasn't part of his solid world, so I started to pour a single drop everytime with the hope my feelings would dig a hole and reach his. I was wind, because once I doubted water would be any good, and then I fled. I came back, to stir his surroundings, to make some noise, to carry sounds from afar in one attempt to impress, and the storm I was causing kept him interested, but I barely erode his surface. Then I went back to be water, and kept on pouring one drop at the time. Then my heartbeat went faster, and the drops with it. I saw the cracks in the boulder, and my drops were streams and then rivers. The water went flamable; here's where the physics made no sense and you risk to think magic does. I was fire and he was fire. We burnt the time wasted. We immolated the ghost of our pasts, and we consumed every last bit of oxygen until we were forced to gasp for air and wonder "what now?" 

Life came to a stop. And then I wanted to be earth. I wanted to be a soil where he could grow his thoughts into a beautiful trees. I was willing to be a hill where he, in the form of wind, could blow freely and play. I wanted to be earth because I wanted him to build the platform that will launch him to see the stars from close. 

The thing is, he was a rock before, and I had no idea he could switch his element as well. Now that I've discovered it, I want to be wind when he wants to be wind, but I want to be earth to offer him a place to come back to. I've seen with some satisfaction how I draw back and become earth slowly to see what he wishes to do, what element he wants to turn into. That's when he, in his ethereal form, comes back and decides to be ground with me for a little while. "What now?" He asks, so I suggest he reads a poem by Jorge Luis Borges and plants his own garden. "I'm here to help you water it" I offer. And I mean it, so I know I'll have to be rain to keep his garden fresh, and I'll have to be wind to blow away some of his clouds that may threatened the growth of his plants. I never thought I could be earth, so maybe by turning into all the elements, I not only explored me, but discovered the most fertile side about myself. A flower just bloomed in my garden too, and it is way too beautiful not to want passionatedly to take care of it. 

I hope he does not mind I drew inspiration from him. I hope he doesn't mind I've been exploring him with all the elements. I still want to see how his garden grows, and I desperatedly need that my wind caughts the scent of his first bloom.

Sort of dating

Since my last break up, my status has often been "sort of dating". It was like, after coming out of two intense monogamous relationships, I was done with the idea of sticking to one person. Sure I've tried, but just when I am about to succumb to my predominantly old fashioned loving style, something takes commitment out of the picture, quite dramatically. Among my excuses, I work too much and barely have any time for myself. Last year I was often out of the country, so no one wanted the prospect of me cheating on them with a foreigner. That saved us all some serious drama. One guy told me I lived too intensively. He could make a case of someone who loved fast because my lifestyle puts things to end just as easily. Then I met the "we don't commit until we are sure we’ve found the right one" generation. As a result of two years of comes and goes, I find myself totally convinced that monogamous relationships are only one shade in the spectrum of how we choose to love.

In an attempt of coming to terms with myself, I accepted "sort of dating" was my current status. I’m sort of dating someone.  We're not a couple but we're not strangers, and we most definitely do not base our interactions on sex to call ourselves friends with benefits. The pre-existing categories of our human interaction do not describe us. However, whenever we are together, we'd like to think we are a couple. We are there to spend quality time, support each other, discuss dreams and aspirations and have wonderful physical connection. We share our food and drinks, and we have Access to each other’s belongings really easily. There isn't a selfish secret agenda,but there aren't any promises other than the openly stated. Such are the terms in which we have learned to come to the other.

I'm going to burst the bubble of this idyllic dating model. Sort of dating is complicated because your availability highly depends on how close you feel with the other person at the moment. I've had truly monogamous times perfectly alternated with some very carefree times .During this ambivalent stages, I struggle trying not to take personal that he's not there to catch me when I fall plus all the other expectations built around the couple's archetype. That's a need I may have to ask friends to cover. Or what about sucking it up? Or what happens when you feel emotionally closer to other person? You take the risk of playing along and create a two week to one date (whatever is suitable for the occasion) getaway with someone else. It all happens, and if the people you just invited to your life temporarily do not leave a stronger impression, you go back to your sort of dating comfort zone and nothing has really happened. There’s always the risk of making a bad choice and leaving a real opportunity go. There’s always the risk of not going back to the sort of dating state.By society's standards, I should be some ruthless libertine for even considering sort of dating morally right. On how life works, I'm happy to find that the own social constructions I make are equally valid as those others have shaped for us. People can find mine offensive, yes. People can react skeptically; that's also a possibility. My consolation is that I no longer feel I have to justify (beyond this entry, that is) how my way of loving is truthful to my principles and how real it feels for me.

Can sort of dating lead to actual dating? If the time is right and the stars are aligned, I do not see why not. In the meantime, if I happen to be to be single it does not mean I'm available just as if I happen to be sort of dating does not mean I can't explore my possibilities. If I have an encounter with someone else while sort of dating, it would not mean I've stopped caring for my sort of date. We're clear on redefining our relationship the moment the current arrangement threats on hurting any of us. Middle finger to all traditional models and the way we’re taught to understand and judge the world. I’m 27, sort of dating, and life has never felt this down to earth. 

Applied Economics of Socialization and the Many Combat Suits I Wear

The past couple of weeks, incredibly hectic for me socially speaking, have taught me a big lesson. Social life can be a drug with horrible side effects. I've seen at least three people a day (socially), sometimes more, for fifteen days. That's a lot of coffee, beer, popcorn, name it. That part is alright. The part of interacting with many that is not ok is how much of their energy they leave you and take from you. One could easily lose oneself in a constant transaction of energy with others. Some take stuff from your life, some others leave stuff in your life. Some is incredibly positive, some is not. You become a bank of stories, memories, feelings, attitudes. You earn bonuses, and you give loans. Socialization ends up not being that different than the Economy.

I have invested tons socially, and I've made my profit. This period of time led me to make one big decision. I'm going back to the shadows. For a while, I have enjoyed a certain popularity even I am not able to understand. Social media has also given me a spot. I have piled up likes on Facebook and followers on twitter, and it gets addictive though I really don't have an idea of what to do with them. I know many people in San José because I think I project that I like to be around people. Or so it had been for a while. It turns out, this overtly social persona is earning me a whole lot of frustration. Maybe I'm a bank that is facing a financial crisis - though I wouldn't fill in for bankrupcy just yet. I know a lot of people, but not a lot of people know me. Sure, they recognize my face and have a certain notion they like me, but very few people wants to see deeper than that. Believe it or not, that hurts.Fit the mold, and the moment you don't, no one's interested in your company. Use the right strategy to attract investment and remain popular and current.  It ends up being kind of like when in a videogame you wear a certain armor for certain missions because you know you start with a boost that gives you advantages.
-Isaac the party animal: Most succesful combat suit. Drink like crazy, dance around, smile, encourage people to do the same. Make the night memorable. Give them a reason to laugh or something to talk about. Create an environment that lifts all the worries they've had all day. This suit is incompatible with the intellectual suit and little compatible with. At the end of the day, it is always easier to reduce Isaac to an alcoholic.
-Isaac the coordinator: (also known as Isaac the reliable) The suit I have to wear for my job, when I present myself as a responsible, hardworking person. Everybody has high expectations of the performance of this suit, so you better work accordingly.  People would think I love being a workaholic, but the truth is, when the day is over, I want to forget about work just as anybody else does. This suit is incompatible with any suit that shows you have a life.
-Isaac the family guy: Act wisely, support your family, listen to each one of the members. Encourage them in their hopes and dreams, help them if you can. This suit works perfectly as long as I remain asexual, not defying traditional values and as acting like my life is less important because I'm not getting married, starting a family, or going back to university any time soon.
-Isaac the sympathetic: More than a suit, it is a shade you can implement with other suits. I'm the one listening all the time. I appreciate that people talk to me about their problems, but I'm not a garbage can where you throw your crap and leave. "Thanks for listening, Isaac" is rarely followed by a "how have you been?". I'm a little tired of people just talking and the moment you take your turn to talk, their body language tells you right in your face they couldn't care less about what you are about to say.
-Isaac the misunderstood artist: "Whatever idea he has, it's fine, you wouldn't understand so don't even try. Let him be. It'll pass. We've seen sketches, and drafts, but we haven't seen any finished painting or book. Let him be with his blog and his 70 views per post. That's ought to make him happy"
There might be more "combat suits" I have. I'm just really tired of speaking of myself in third person singular at this point.

Have I profited in the social business? Yes, a lot is earned, but then a lot is spent to keep the social machine running. Those suits are expensive.The expenses are often personal. Some times you're just exposing your brand to criticism, but no one is buying the product. So, what about just be without trying to hard? Well, for how long do people hold a position of popularity without constantly working on their social skills and making social expenses? It's simply impossible. To win big, you have to bet big. Some days you come home with a ridiculous amount of "popularity points" earned. Some others, you lost big time. That's the game I no longer want to play.

So here I am at a point of my life where I'm officially declaring that my company is out of business. Allow other people to be popular and be seen on the scene while I keep my peace. Smart business people should keep in mind the principles of comparative advantage apply, and I should not invest more in a business in which other people are incredibly better if that's delaying the promising business where I most likely thrive: I'd like to think that's creating as an artist, as a writer.

Enjoy your parties and your trips. I'll be home rethinking the economics of my life.

From Today On, Star Wars is a Cute Topic For Me.

Today, I had a cute day. Hanging out with my nephews is the cutest time of my life, like cute, extra cute, rainbows, and chocolate mountains, toy cars and heartily laughs. They bring out the best version of me, and they even manage to stop my swearing, which I can't even hide in front of my mother.
I try not to impose any of my hobbies on them but rather encourage them to pursue their interest - I'm becoming a big man with some understanding on children. If they want to watch Pixar's Cars or repeat to me the many brands and models of their collection cars (they're rather mechanically oriented, you see?) I manage to fake good ten minutes of interest, and then I suggest switchin to something that is more of my liking: make them fly on the air, pushing their rideable toy car or drawing. I love drawing, and I'm becoming more of the story-telling uncle to my own surprise.
You can imagine my amazement when my 9 year old nephew sat with me and asked me to play Angry Birds Star Wars. My nephews (the three of them gamers, proudly) have always resourced to me whenever they´re stuck on a level or just showed me how good they do. That's generation X's supremacy still: "You know, kids, we still played tag on the streets with packs of friends and managed to conquer the videogames for the first time. Videogames are our thing, and you'll never be better than us." So we sat down and played, because those 3 stars on the rating weren't going to unlock themselves.
The conversation swiftly changes from the mechanics of the videogame to the content of it. I, an expert in the first Angry Birds but a  newbie in the Star Wars themed version, make a casual observation. I tell little Danny "Cool! This stage is Tatoiune, where Anakin is from". "Who's Anaking?" He asked. "Oh, but he's who started it all. He's not in the game, though. Luke is. And this yellow bird right here with the gun, that's Han Solo, the driver of the Milennial Falcon, the ship you see in the cutscenes" I find hard to control my geek side at this point, and my nephew doesn't seem to be bothered by my "I act like I never lost my virginity" nerd state, so I carry on. "Don't you know who this robot is?" and I point RD-D2 in the gallery. He went there because he wanted me to explain the list of characters. "No. He's an egg-robot" he replies. "Well, he's an egg robot here because all in this game needs to fit with Angry Birds, but in real life, (yes, I said "in real life) he's a robot that helps the characters a lot". My nephew is a bright kid for this kind of things. He knows how to deal with grown ups and our big words. "This guy makes a funny sound" and he presses the Chewbacca icon on the screen. "In the movie version, he's not an egg. He's tall and full of fur, and he is Han Solo's best buddy." At the mention of Han Solo, Danny points the yellow bird and makes it sound with a click of the mouse. I nod with satisfaction. "And this..." and I point Darth Vader with my finger. "Oh, you don't need to tell me who he is. I know. He's the bad guy". "He's the bad guy" I concur, and before I realized the heart to heart I just had with my nephew over Star Wars, he starts clicking the green pig's different icons in the gallery very fast and he tells me "I call this the piggie rap". I can't help start clicking other icons and see how many raps we can create with the characters. The game turns into a completely different thing, and we start mixing sounds and making music. That part was extra fun too.
So, there will come the day when I see with horror how the Death Star destroy's Alderaan before Prince Leia's eyes, and I will feel deeply disgusted by the sole existence of Jabba the Hut. Not today, though. Today Star Wars is the cutest thing.

On How We Try To Change The World

This week shall be forgotten soon, and most will never recall what they felt. We've seen Venezuelans rebeling against their government, and Kiev up in flames one more time. I wish I could say I've been moved by major events, but I have a weak spot for little stories that happen in the margins of what I should be supposed to pay attention to. I want to document very briefly what I think happened and deserved to be remembered forever: what made my very humanity tremble.

The Sochi Winter Olympics has been particularly infamous games because the spirit of human unity, deeply engrained in the philosophy of the games, has been tainted by the homophobic agenda of the Russian government, most disgraceful host. Putin has firstly condemned homosexuality and often link it with child molesting and negative values. He has encouraged hate, fueled ignorance, and completely neglected the rights of the Russian queer community. On top of the bullying against his own people, he threatened the gay Olympians with a message that easily translates into "you're welcome in our country, but your sexuality is none". Act straight or face the consequences, such a welcoming message.

This week, a video of the singers/activists of Pussy Riot in Sochi went viral. These courageous women start a demonstration in a public square in Sochi, and face violence and public humiliation the moment they attempt to start singing (something among the lines of "Putin sucks" or "gay is ok" would be my guess). The moment they sing a couple of lines -not even verses- Russian officers rain on them with lashes and push them so that they hit the ground really hard.

I do not enjoy seeing them suffering or being beaten up. My heart sinks a little when I think of the horrors they've been through for sending a message of equality and standing against their government's bigotry. The clip makes me shiver, yeah, but it also fills me with admiration. There was a time when people commented that the members of Pussy Riot were just "rioting" for the sake of it and using the historical momentum for achieving fame. While I don't see how their music has gotten any better, their message carries power now. Their "Pussy Riot" expands. After some time of conviction and violence that I do not picture myself standing, they keep on doing their thing. Can you hear them scream in the video when they're being hit? Sure, their bodies feel just like the first day the world turned against them, but their spirit neither bends nor breaks, and for that they have all my admiration. They could have easily thought they had done their share for human rights when they were released from prison and got their minutes of fame on a late night American show. Just that they did not. Completely unaffected by the praise of the Western World, they go back to their land where the real fight is, and this week they showed us it is not about the fame or the reputation of being rebels; for them, it is pretty much about principles. I cannot help but think that we all deserve to share one of their bruises. This week, I was reminded that there's no such a thing as standing on the side and not getting involved without being an accomplice. 

A certain Spanish short animation stole the spotlight as well. I lost the count of my contacts on Facebook that shared it, claimed cry watching it, and used the emotional appeal of the clip to boast their humanity. I do not many were touched, but how to tell the legit apart from the fakers? The short animation by La Fiesta tells the story of an orphan kid with almost complete paralysis and how a little girl with no disabilities tries to make the world of games inclusive for him. There are so many lessons to learn in just ten minutes. Since I have done community service with population with both mental and physical disabilities (or both), I was saying "yes, yes, that's how you do it" every time María (the little girl) adjusted a game for the little boy just to provoke a glimpse of a smile in him. Inclusion, not exclusion, makes sense. As the story takes a more or less anticipated predictable conflict, the clip allows us to purge our pain. We cry, we share the video. For many, that's the end of the story. Not for me. I want to remember this animation touched me this week.

I don't know much about the ancient Greek, but I did learn in school that Greeks used the theater to vent their feelings. They would use the tragedy to purge their everyday's affliction suffering vicariously the demise and perils of a beloved mythical character. My only concern with a video that causes such an emotional reaction is that it becomes yet another beautifully crafted message that ends up labeled as entertainment. I believe the makers want the viewers to cry a little, but they want the people they touched with this video to play it in the schools for their students, parents to show it to their children (instead of a full episode of Ben 10, I hope,) churches talking about it on Sunday School, and us at least making a donation to the closest charity that struggles to get funding to provide people with special needs with a condition most of us take for granted: dignity.

My job exposes me to feelings every day. Sometimes I'm cold and calculating, and I come home after yet another shift. Some other times, and it is becoming more frequent, I come home truly touched by the passion of my volunteers and by the time I spend with the different population in need they help. I love what they are doing, and I will never stop believing in volunteering: this week I want to leave a manifesto of the great admiration I feel for selfless people. I do not get a spotlight, but I've been really involved in social causes this week. My position's a little different because I do not live the day by day of volunteering full time in a project, but man, do I enjoy visiting them! I only get people, train them a little, and encourage them to keep on making contributions that might seem insignificant for the world but that really have an impact on individual's lives. I go for an hour to a children's shelter and help a little girl get the numbers from 50 to 99 right while my volunteer teaches shapes and colors to prekindergarteners. I only shake the hand of many homeless while my volunteers clean a table for them and serve them with a wide smile on their faces. I only send emails, request for admissions into a project, make some calls, hold some meetings while the volunteers are out there, waking up at 1 a.m. and patrolling a beach in the dark to save turtle nests from poachers, or helping elderly who might be dead by the sunrise. This week, more than never, I feel truly inspired and challenged by all those people who, in spite of wanting to do something with their lives, keep on trying to do something to change the world as a whole. And sure the world is burning in some parts and my heart feels for it, but in some other places the world is being healed. 

Pussy Riot, La Fiesta, and volunteers: take a bow.

Little exciting and terrifying keyboard.

After two months of talking about how drawn I've felt to music lately and making up lyrics and melodies vocally and told everybody around "I came up with words for a new song" just way too often, one of my sisters got me one cute electric keyboard with 3 scales, some basic functions, and a whole lot of scratches. This little keyboard stands before me now, and it's exciting and terryfing. This prospect of instrument both thrills and scares me because it opens a path before me, one in which I make true one of my dreams: composing music.

I have had some musical education. In seventh grade, we took mandatory music lessons in high school, and every body in my class learned how to play the recorder to some extent. I did well, and I wanted more. Not even half way through the school year, our band bought proper wind instruments and it became public that wind instrument players were needed. Since it seemed that this opportunity was presenting itself to make me shine, I auditioned for the tranverse flute. The audition went well, and the professor told me I had talent, but my parents had recently decided to move out to San José, and he didn't think it was smart to train someone who was leaving the school in a few months. I couldn't deny he was right. I still think he is, but what a let down! I never tried to play a wind instrument again.

My history of frustation with music goes back and forth in my timeline. Before the flute, I tried to learn how to play the keyboard in the church. The church's veteran musician at the time insisted music wasn't something kids could understand, so he dismissed me after the second class. What a narrow mind and lack of patience, I think now, as we all know kids learn faster! I told my dad what the mean guy said to me, but instead of  he said maybe I should wait a little longer. Music wasn't among his plans for me. Later in life, I tried with the church again, but they interpreted my drive as mess and lack of discipline. I didn't want to learn the scale for the 9th time, I didn't want to sing pretty for karaoke, I wanted to understand music, and that completely exceeded what the church could offer me. Told once again that music wasn't for me and that my singing would probably never improve, I gave up on the music world and did what teenagers do best: wander around life with confusion and no motivation to ever to anything productive with my time.

I am twenty seven now, and I know learning how to play an instrument and how to go beyond that and compose music is a steeper road than it might have been earlier in my life. I don't care. In fact, I don't fucking care. By now, I'm so fed up of people telling me what I am good at, and what I am not that this little, beaten up keyboard stands as an opportunity to prove everybody wrong. Not only that: this unnactractive, basic keyboard could prove that I've been right all along, that I have a talent for music I have waited way too long to explore. Going into the blame game and trying to justify why I forever gave up on music would only dig deeper the gap that separates me from one thing in life I've always sought to accomplish. Having muted what everybody has to say about it, I still have myself to please, and it's not easy. I think I am mature enough now to come to terms to what did not happen in my life but still procure what I want to happen for me. If I were to live, say, twenty more years and start playing the keyboard now, the chances that I can compose and perform a few of my songs before I die are extremely high. There's always a chance so long there's life, and I plan to remind people that trying something new is brave, and that being a beginner in a new field does not make you look dumb but proves the courage and passion that drives you in life. I wrote this blog entry because I believe this is an universal principle, and I believe this is true for everyone. The only reason why this little keyboard terrifies me is that it opens a path I mean to take seriously. It means commitment. It means I have to push myself and commit the same way I've done with my writing, my job or anything that I feel truly matters. It's both an opportunity and a challenge, and I can't let myself down. I find hard to believe so many feelings are elicited by and contained in this box of plastic with white and black keys...

So far, it has gone like this: Day one. I sat with the keyboard for a little more than an hour today already, and played to my best capacity one song that only exists inside my head. The notes are so basic, and my fingers feel so clumsy, but the melody is in there. My nephews were around doing their own thing, but in two different ocassions, I caught both of them humming the melody, hitting the right notes and replicating very accurately with their vocal chords what I was hitting on the keyboard. "Which song is this?" they asked. They assume it is a song that exists already. When I told them this is a song I wrote, they laughed in disbelief, but kept repeating the melody. After a while, they wanted to try to make their own song. This is my first day at trying something I feel passionate about, and I've already done this much. In twenty years, someone will be singing, playing, and improving one of my songs.