Un hombre alto, indio, de ojos negros

I believe in the wisdom inherited from my abuelas. I believe in santería, Belié Belcan who's San Miguel, his wife Anaisa, ruler of women, passion and love. I believe in Yemayá, ruler of the sea, another compassionate lover of women. 

I believe in the cosmic forces that keep me bound to this universe. I believe in the little things like making a wish on every 11:11 I can lay my eyes on. I believe in magic and in making wishes on shouting stars. Even after being in love so many fucking times, I don't believe in true love, mostly because I do not know how true love is supposed to feel like, once it finally arrives to my life. In case it ever does. 

 I remember the first time a woman tried to predict my future, ''la' baraja''' they call it. Among all the things the woman claimed to see, she mentioned ''a tall light skinned man, indio'' / ''un hombre claro alto y delgado'' who was supposed to be the love of my life, a wealthy man who would make me his wife (LOL!). Almost ten years after that, I went back again, to see my future, and at this point I was already cursing the fact that there were no black queer women in this business, because to be honest, I was getting tired of straight people knowing about my business. This time, this one says: ''that white, fat woman with big boobs who undresses you with her eyes, she's not loyal, but she desires you.''

It would have been easier to know which one she was referring to, but I guess these are the type of dilemmas slutty women like me are bound to deal with. After all, I had a penchant for white, thick women with short hair. Yet, amid these revelations, this woman also mentioned the tall, light skinned man in my future. Mind you that by this time, I'm as gay as they come with absolutely no sight of dick in a good 100 miles away. 

Last month, I went one last time. This woman had never seen me in my life, but she claimed to have seen things I had never said to anyone. She said that, that new man (by this time, I've gotten used to substitute the word man for wo-man), would be the love of my life and not to worry because it will all be good. To take my time and dive in this love. Sadly, when people have been fucked up over and over again, its kinda hard to go on a dive as risky as the one she was suggesting me. 

I don't know how to love anymore. I mean, I do, I just don't believe it can be anything that resembles true love. I know of settling, I know of the fear of being lonely, I know of feeling so loved, by  the wrong people, that you don't even want to go away; but, I don't know of true love. Eleven years after the first premonition, still no sight of the tall, light skinned man. I hope he never shows up. I wouldn't know what to do with him. 

Having your period equals to having your insides dragged through your vaginal opening.  

Trifles

Now that I remember, I have always been a blogger. I've always been obsessed with capturing the trifles of my everyday existence. First, Hi5, then LiveSpace, then Blogger; now I refuse to migrate to more expert platforms like Wordpress, with fancy statistics and numbers of visits. Back then, I was writing for whoever happened to find my words, in the same way you find a bottle with a message, now, after many years, I attempt to do the same.  

One would expect that ten years into writing would have shaped me in any sort of way. Yet, I still feel like a lost fifteen year old, same anxieties, same fears. At least I don't despise my body like I used to. I have grown to love my fat lips, my dark skin and a butt that seems to evolve in crescendo, as if it followed an horizontal melody. 

''What remains?'' You might wonder. The fear of self destruction. The fear of being the bearer of a force bigger than my own rational desires. Being an overachiever and living under the premise that nothing, ever, will be enough. Does it sound exhausting to you? Do you want to go back to your own safe, cozy, comfort zone? By all means, be my guest, I never had patience to deal with those who cannot deal with the beauty of my darkness. All of these things remain with me. My precious belongings, my fears, my motivations, my scars. 

Avocados were falling off the sky this morning. Actually, it was just snow. Those damn flakes were so big that, for a second, my mind played to see them as thousands of green avocados, falling off the sky. Is it odd? That I'm dreaming of avocados, I mean? Or that I have mentioned the damn fruit three times in a couple of run-on sentences. So much for grammar!