Change my name, I'll remain the same (Month 5)

This is just a short post. To go away and dream it all up again.

To change my name, but remain the same. To my dead grandmother, to my unborn nephew.

To loves lost and loves to come. To better sex. To losing 10 pounds.

To being the writer and photographer I want to be. To learning to love myself, and others in return.

To travel far and away. To friends and family. To me, to stop being afraid and start believing in myself and what I do. To let the world see who I am, and not who I'm probably supposed to be.

I bid you all goodbye, and rejoice to see you soon.

Never Let Me Go

You take a stranger by the hand
A man who doesn't understand
His wildest dreams

You walk across the dirty sand
And offer him an ocean
Of what he's never seen

Maybe I was blind
Or I, I might have closed my eyes
Maybe I was dumb
But what I forgot to say
If you didn't know
Is never let me go

Never let me go
Never let me go
Never let me go

You run from love and don't believe
Unless it catches you by the heel
That even then, you struggle

From red I learned to cross the strand
Your footprints still there in the sand
Everything else, washed away

I may not be alone
Oh I, I may have found my home
I may have lost my way
But what I forgot to say
If you didn't know
Is never let me go

Never let me go
Never let me go

Time to wake up and smell the coffee

Month 3 of Jschool. Mes 3 de vivir en Nueva York.

I've a language tutor now. Me, the one who speaks three languages. Who's worked as a translator. And who loves to write tiny bits of herself in English.
Y saben qué? Me encanta tener a alguien que me pueda ayudar, y saber que tengo la voluntad para trabajar con ella. Que me diga cómo puedo mejorar y tener la certeza que realmente estoy avanzando en lo que escribo, que no sea solo por pasar y tener una nota, sin haber aprendido nada realmente.
Esta ciudad me ha hecho crecer. Me ha dado más humildad y saber apreciar las cosas que tengo, la gente que me rodea. Lloro y soy vulnerable, pero sé que puedo aguantar cualquier clima, cualquier obstáculo que la vida me pone al frente.
And yes, people still card me at bars and think I'm 22, 25 tops doll, when I'm so much closer to being 30.
Terminé la clase de Investigative, y ahora empiezo la de Cultural Affairs. Esta semana escribo sobre Björk - cómo pasar de entender y amar una técnica, a tener que escribir sobre ella? A tener que analizar cada cosa que está presente y tener que escuchar otros discos para tener una idea mínima de lo que uno va a decir?
Empecé a ser más cuidadosa con lo que escribo, y con las palabras que uso en RW1. Es un ejercicio difícil, pero no es imposible. Vine a tratar de pulir mis palabras, y a progresar como escritora (aunque aun no tengo claro si es eso realmente a lo que me dedicaré el resto de mis días). A eso vengo.
Me encantan mis compañeros, pero sigo sin entender a los gringos del todo. Las mujeres son mucho más fáciles de comprender, porque la cabeza de una mujer funciona casi que igual en todo lado y en cualquier idioma.
Pero los hombres son otra historia.
Hay dos tipos que me encantan, pero no dicen nada. Son muy queridos y me dicen cosas lindas, pero de ahi no pasan. Y ya uno entiende que después de 3 o 4 mensajes de texto, la cosa no fluye ni como amigos ni como nada. Entiendo que sean la mata de la timidez, pero por Cristo, esto es el colmo!
Porque no nos hacen la vida más simple, y nos dicen si o no? Porque los roles tienen que invertirse y uno, encima de todo lo que tiene que hacer para la escuela, tiene que pensar en como se corteja? Can't guys take a hint?
Honestamente, creo que escogí la escuela equivocada si queria salir con alguien. Lo bueno de todo eso, es que tengo más tiempo para conocer esta ciudad, amigos, mi escritura y a mi misma. Y eso, señores, no tiene precio.

So far, so good. Sorta.

Well, it's been 2 full months here in NYC. And let me tell you, it's so much more different than I thought it would be.

To begin with, I still feel like a tourist here. There are moments where I just pop out of a subway station and feel so lost for a sec. And then I realize I know the street from start to finish because I've been covering it or walking randomly around it or just passed it by with a beer or two on the way home.

I don't know any hip new places, because I don't have time to go and explore. But I know cheap restaurants no one else knows about, or where to get a dress that won't go for an arm and a leg. Where to hang out and dance salsa.

I've spoken more Spanish than English sometimes, and I feel no guilt about it whatsoever. I've heard really strange pick up lines and felt more and more aware of my own self and what I can do with how I look, my unique look and how I can use it.

I'm dying to use my high heels. And to walk around with makeup again. And to have a Sunday for myself. To do stuff thats not academic but fun. Hacer cosas imposibles, censurables.

And I need to find my own voice, ritmo, space and time. I wanted to write again, and I am. Sometimes it's a fucked up challenge, but hey, I can always say it's just school.

Just to catch up

What have I done before classes start tomorrow?

I went shopping. I've eaten great foods. I bought a bike but not sure when can I use it. I bought an iPad (but am keeping my 2-cent phone). I've made new and amazing friends. I've cried over lost loves. I went to the movies. I rejected a guy. Some guy rejected me. I've gotten drunk. I puked. I've gone dancing. I went to 2 U2 shows, and Adam saw my sign, and REMEMBERED me!
I've been to Philly. I've slept in other people's couches. I've seen cute guys in just about everywhere in this town. I've been to a circus without animals. I cried over Alexander McQueen's exhibit at the MET. I went to the park. I've fasted. I miss my family and my friends-and my ex boyfriends too.
I've sung in the streets (but alas, I haven't asked for money. Yet.)
I've done my laundry and gone for groceries and walked over and over, getting lost in these streets that I have loved and hated in the same day. I've rode too much in a dirty MTA subway. I've developed a sense of orientation that will be useless when I'm back in Bogotá.
I've played soccer for the first time in a looooong time. And I've had days where I just had the right to play lousy tourist.
Now let the games begin.

Duda existencial/ The big question

Porque todos los que atienden en los aeropuertos de NY y en general los aeropuertos de los Estados Unidos son inmigrantes o en su defecto hijos de inmigrantes? Que se trata de probar con eso?

Why are all the customs officers at Ny airports, and in general all US airports, inmigrants or sons and daughters of inmigrants? What is the deal behind all of that?

Safe Trip/Buen Viaje

To all and all, safe trip where ever you call home.

A todos y todas, buen viaje y buen regreso al lugar que puedan llamar hogar.

Tidbits of Wisdom

If I should labor through daylight and dark,
Consecrate, valorous, serious, true,
Then on the world I may blazon my mark;
And what if I don't, and what if I do?

Dorothy Parker

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Here is the most fascinating of all professions. The soldier may wait forty years for this opportunity. Most lawyers, most physicians, most clergymen die in obscurity, but every single day opens new doors for the journalist who holds the confidence of the community and has the capacity to address it.

Joseph Pulitzer

Lo mejor del fútbol es el gol? / The best of football, is it really the goal?

I've been a football (or soccer) fan since I was about 6. My father, an ocassional supporter of Deportivo Cali -local team of Colombian league-began telling me about corner kicks, fouls, player names while I played with my dollies. And boxing-I still watch a boxing match with reverence and looking up to those great boxers like Ali, Lewis, Fraizer and Holyfield, after spending countless Friday nights with papá bonding over boxing.
Daddy's little girl, in awe of shirtless men punching their night and life away, and running around after a ball.
One of the great players of the time (mid eighties-yes, as far fetched as it may seem, I'm soon to be 30) was Carlos 'el Pibe' Valderrama. His name, his passes. And his hair. Those are things you can't really forget when you begin to enjoy the sport like I did. I had the fortune to see him play actively for many years and now, watching current players, as good as they are, I still believe in my heart that there will never be another like him-smart moves, charisma, killer passes. And did I mention the hair?
And the best part of it all? I never cared if el Pibe scored a lot of goals or not-I just watched him play, like I watched all the great players move and work as a team. Watching soccer games just for the score and not for the game itself is pointless to me-I know that there must be goals in a game, but where's the magic? The great players? Sorry for the expression, but watching a game just for the goals seems to me like having sex just to see when the other one is going to come (or worse, just you) and no enjoyment ensued.
Oh and by the way, if you're into nostalgia, like me (I'm 6 days away from changing the life I have)-check out another great player from that time, René Higuita. I think that he holds the record by most goals scored by a goalkeeper, other than Chilavert. (Imagine that contradiction-goals scored by a goalkeeper). His moves also glued me to that screen.
El hecho que estos jugadores tan increíbles me tengan pegada a la pantalla y que con las copas de ahora me muera de sueño solo puede significar una cosa-en materia de fútbol, muchas veces todo tiempo pasado fue realmente mejor. Porque no siempre todo en fútbol tiene que ser el gol-es la resolución, pero de que me sirve ver mil goles si no se juega bien? Entiendo que hay que tener resultados, efectividad, goles. Pero un gol-y perdonarán la expresión- feo y que sirva solo por el resultado es como uno ir a tirar a ver cuando se va a venir la otra persona. O uno mismo.

No me creen? Juzguen Ustedes:
Don't believe me? You judge:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OwlwVEhS3DY

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5lQd0H5vgg8&NR=1

8 días antes/ 8 days before.

I was suggested to start this blog about 3 months ago-and after all this time, I finally did. It's strange to elaborate on feelings when leaving the place you've called home almost 30 years-they are all going back and forth from anxiety to fear, to sheer excitement to a sense of self competition and the uncertain knowledge you might fail or suceed. Or both.
This will be a blog detailing me, the Colombian 27 year old part time singer and dancer, lover of cats and photography and with a soft spot for chocolates and talking to people about their lives in Columbia Uni @ the Big Apple, for the next 12 months or so-sometimes I'll write, sometimes I'll just post a video, a text from the Upanishads or a link to my photogrpahs. You decide what to view, what to comment. the rest is up to me.
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Se me sugirió que empezara este blog hace unos 3 meses, hasta que por fín lo hice. Es difícil elaborar en los sentimientos que se tienen al dejar el sitio llamado hogar durante los últimos 30 años-van como una ola entre la ansiedad y el miedo, emoción pura y una autocompetición y la certeza un poco lejana que uno puede fallar o triunfar. O ambas cosas al tiempo.
Este va a ser un blog acerca de mi, la Colombiana de 27 años; que canta y baila de vez en cuando, que ama los gatos y la fotografía y que tiene un punto débil por los chocolates y hablar con la gente; en Columbia, NeivaYol. Será durante los siguientes 12 meses o más-a veces escribiré, o colgaré un texto de los Upanishads, o un link a mis fotos. Ustedes deciden que ver y comentar, el resto me lo dejan a mi.