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.

Pride Disguised as Shame - Contents

Pride Disguised as Shame

Queer Stories of the Western World

By Isaac López Aguilera

Contents:

Preface

1. The Waiting Spot: Thoughts run wild in the mind of a teenager who goes to the same place every night trying to cruise for sex. 

2.Extravagant: A man stares at his reflection in the mirror and gets confronted with another face of gender identity.

3.Ne Suis Pas: London becomes the witness of a love story that comes to a halt when one of the lovers has to come out to his parents.

4.Jump!: Before accepting his sexual identity, a muslim boy plans a very romantic way of committing suicide jumping from one of the highest and most famous peaks of the Scottish capital.

5.Ugandan Drums: Sometimes euphonic, sometimes deafing, the instruments play a very specific beat for gay people. 

6.Paved Roads to Panama: A symbolic journey of a young man who decides self acceptance before yielding his true identity to social and family pressure.

7.Letter to my Russian Brothers: Author's message to an imaginary Russian pen pal in support for the recent anti-gay legislation in that country. 

8. The Many Apartheids of a Gay Person: An essay that looks into the many processes of separation that a gay man has to endure over his life, supported with the author's own experience.

9. The Reason Why You Can't Give Your Heart Away: In a bar conversation, a "player" explains to his friend why giving your heart is losing the love game.

10. Fires of London: The character draws a comparison between the dreadful event of 1666 and his recent personal affairs in the city. 

11. Days of Halo: The apparition of a halo around the sun serves as the start of a love season that one young man will never forget. 

12. Cheshire Cat's Room: The life of a teenage street vendor takes an unexpected turn when a charming young stranger introduces him to places, feelings, and passions he never thought possible.

"This is why I am single"

I like twisting things around. I love that. Jesus and the velociraptor? Most brilliant mix ever! It just does not make any sense by normal standards! That's what I am talking about. So I took this night, twisted it around to get something out of it and actually get something I believe is meaningful. I turned what should have been another night of heavily drinking and no relevant outcomes to a night of some importance and equally satisfying binging.

Motivation: Lately, I've been lonely. I participated in a club entry giveaway and I happened to be the winner with open bar until 1 a.m. Pretty neat if it weren't for the fact that that's what I do twice a month anyway, so the prize was more the excuse to roll over the bed and do something on a Friday night I had totally decided to spend in the company of cathartic T.V. shows and smoke. I went to the bar, by myself of course because I AM SINGLE. Generally, I believe I am a keeper. There must be others like me who might not be able to find a partner for injust reasons. Let's find out.

The facts: I was getting bored by 11 p.m. The rum was pretty tasty and the people seemed to be willing to have a good time, but I was still reluctant to have any fun. It is way harder when you are in the club by yourself just drinking at the bar and fishing for the conversation of a stranger. I've been wanting to write about how I feel, so I thought that hey! maybe some other people are here by themselves feeling the same. I waited for them to show up, and as they proved to exist, I started my little game.

The method: Patience was the first ingredient. I waited for the bar to fill out, spotted the few people that were obvioulsy too good loking to be single, and fell on them with questions about ther private life. I would come to them, introduce myself and tell them that I only meant to take away 2 minutes of their time. I managed to talk to 7 people and no one said they were not willing to participate. Alright, after smiling charmingly and making eye contact for proper understanding ( a risk you take when the music is so loud and talking to the ear proves being way more useful) I asked 3 basic questions:

1- Are you single?
2- Why do you think you're single?
3- If you had a complaint about the Costa Rican gay scene, what would it be?

Surprisingly, everybody wanted to talk! I ran into a straight guy by accident, but hey! he directed me to his gay friends so it was all good.

The figures: 6 of the seven good looking guys were single. While only one of the five (and the oldest) declared he was single because it was his intention to be so, the other 5 guys wanted to blame it on circumstances. "Guys over here are too divas/queen/superficial" would be all of them's complaint. 5 of 7 times I asked the third question just to make sure they meant it, but by asking question 2, the reasons to be single were flowing. Most of people would just continue the point they tried to make by answering question 2.

Findings The fact that 5 out of 7 guys suggested that the scene was way too stereotypical worries me. 5 out of 7 guys said most of people were shallow. This is a common complaint I hear in not so attractive guys, but fairly good looking guys saying the same??? I believe there's a predisposition in people who have been in many relationships just to give up on love altogether and accept that the scene is just for sex and temporary fun.

Here's when I get on my soapbox: Parameters. Clichés. Repetition.We all need to come to terms on what's shallow. Most common complaint, yet there's no agreement on what it encompasses. Well, if you are good looking and strictly look for good looking people, does that count as shallow? If you are way too interested about style, fashion, and clothes... Would that be shallow too? If all you seek for is fun without comitment, would that be also considered as a shallow, light way to take things? The question of what's not being shallow confuses me even more. I believe that if you don't like the way something is, you stand up and change it, right? Not in this context, apparently.

Conclusion: Look at that! All of us belong to the funny category of idealists. We believe something must be a certain way, so we tend to reject behaviors that could destroy our ideal of "happiness". There has to be a detailed description of "good" in your head for something not to be "good enough." Single, mostly not by choice but by imposition. I have to say that's exactly how I feel. I love being single, but deep inside I believe society has to be wrong to let someone like me be out there not taken. I started this blog entry adamant of the scene's guilt in all this, but as it turns out, I think now the problem is that I have false expectations of what the environment can provide, then there! We all must be right and we might be defeated on that one right from the start. What a shame!

I want to highlight this: if you don't like the way something is, you stand up and change it, I repeat. It is just not clear to me what I can do to change the tide. What to do, what to do? Well, as so many blog entries, this one has no tangible result and just helped me putting my thoughts in written form.

Special thanks: I'd like to dedicate this entry to a certain French boy. All the inspiration comes from him. I mean, it is thanks to him not acknowledging that we should be together that I have to go through all this.

Flying, this time around. The Perks and the Dark Side.

I just had the most tedious experience in my flying history. You could make the case that this is the furthest away I've flown from Costa Rica and that exhaustion was expected, but not to this level. I wasn't counting on Iberia's flight to depart 6 hours later from Costa Rica and to be seated next to a disgusting fat man who not only invaded my personal space and threatened my sanity by snoring and grunting really loud, but also knocked part of my food out of the tray table (beer included) and didn't even attempt to apologize. Good times, good goddamn ten hours.

Anyway, life made a decent attempt to make up for my peril with Iberia, and the rest of the transit either flowed smoothly or people were extra willing to help me. I always thought Madrid was such a mean place. Now I see that it all comes down to that stupid company (which I still have to use since I have thousands of miles with them.)

Still not the point. I wanted to document the landing/departure from Istanbul as I couldn't take any pictures. I was blown away by the beauty of the trip. I landed during the early morning, and the darkness of the Black Sea slowly yielded to the bleak yellow dawn and the lights of Istanbul. The airport was not far from the shore, and for a moment, I had the impression we were going to land in water. Taking off in the next flight for Izmir was even more magical. Full daylight and a window seat allowed me to turn around and see how we left the Black Sea and a float of ships of all shorts behind. As we were leaving Istanbul behind, counting mosques became impossible. One here, one there, another one there and there. The tall needles of the sites of worship outnumbered any other distictive form of architecture. The silver domes shone with the sunrays. Istambul kept expanding beyond reach, and the pain in my neck as I was almost twisting it against physics did not stop me from watching until the concrete faded away in a succession of hills of dry yellow grass and contrasting strong green trees. The plane kept gaining altitude. All around I could see the cracks on the cloud roof and several halos of light working as spotlights for the islands in the Black Sea, later for a mosque in the middle of the slums; much later, halos hit the wing of the plane, and then we were up there in the white.
I expected no more than a flat white mattress of velvety clouds, but the Turkish sky gave me yet another surprise. It was another spectacle up there. The clouds covered it all, but their arbitrarious shapes created the most unthinkable landscapes. I painted some parts in green in my head, some others in blue, added a few wild horses and my imagination went wild. The landmark I liked the most was a perfectly shaped scorpion tail coming out of the white puffy floor.  Did I mention that good 30 minutes of the flight were turbulences? Fun ride, fun ride (I mean it, rollercoaster like.)
The descent took the plane along the cost of what I guessed was the Aegean Sea. For a while, the breaks in another cloudly sky let the sunlight hit entire faces of mountains, and small, scattered villages along the coast preceded one large aglommeration of buildings. And only then, I was in Izmir.

None of the pictures are my property. I took them from google in an attempt of illustrating what I saw.

Oh, by the way, the food in Turkish Airlines is amazing. Salmon and Chicken on Eggplant for dinner? A cheese and fresh vegetables sandwich with yogurt for a one hour flight? Why don't they fly to Costa Rica???