Ana Maria Hermida - iAMredHam
2014 - 2014 - 2014 - Tuve que escribir este número varias veces para darme que cuenta que ha pasado mucho tiempo desde que estuve por estos lares.
Realmente no he extrañado mucho escribir aquí porque en realidad he estado escribiendo mucho, pero no aquí. Hoy quiero volver a escribir aquí para rescatar este espacio, esta rutina, y este hábito que me obliga a estar aquí otra vez.

I´m back but only for a bit.

I just wanted to let you know that I am working on my first feature film. It´s exciting and scary. It makes me extremely happy and even though it takes all my time here I am breathing, stopping by and trying to reconnect with you again.

That´s all.

PS: I will be writing for a website here in Colombia very soon. I will keep you posted about it but in the mean time I want you to learn some Spanish.

Franklin showed up at my door at 9 AM this morning ready to built me a closet. I offered him a cup of coffee and surprised with my offer he said yes.

I made the coffee, he drunk it and after a few hours the closet was built.

- Could you please paint it black? I asked with a smile.

- Yes. He said with a smile.

Smiles are contagious.

Every stroke of black paint over the lightwood seemed so much fun that I offered my help. Surprised again with my offer he said yes (again).

The minute I started painting the closet with him we became good friends and he started talking about his personal life.

- I left my wife and kids looking for a better life and I was so wrong, there is no better life here.
- Oh common Franklin. It's not that bad.
- I saw people dying as I walked all the way up from Ecuador to America.
- Did you really walk all the way up?
- There were a few train and truck rides but yes, it was mostly walking.
- Oh wow. You are amazing.
- I was so happy thinking about the American Dream.

He stopped painting.

- Now, after many years of not "walking back" to Ecuador my wife has decided to move on. She's already seeing another man and the only reason I get up in the morning is to go to work to send her money for the kids.

He kept on painting and a few drops of black paint felt over my heart.

So this is what happened.

I got on the L train earlier than usual and sat down next to a cute guy with really cute shoes so, yes, I immediately assumed he was gay.

Right across from him there was a girl writing on a notebook with a pink highlighter. She was petit and fashionista like Sarah Jessica Parker. Parenthesis: the name "Sarah Jessica" is nothing without the "Parker" don't you think? Close pointless parenthesis.

I saw her looking at the guy seating next to me non-stop and writing stuff down so yes, once again, I assumed she was dumb for not realizing he was gay. What could she be writing on her notebook anyway? "Dear diary: There is a cute guy seating in front of me right now…" so dumb.

Two minutes later the train stopped.

The girl got up and before she exited she ripped the page of her notebook and handled it to the cute guy.

Wait. Did she just give him her number?

He smiled as she walked away staring at a beautiful (pink) drawing of himself.

That's right. In a few minutes she had made him a beautiful portrait with a pink highlighter and no, he was not gay.

So who is the dumb one now?


All I can say is that I’m grateful that life keeps reminding us (me) that our assumptions are usually (always) so wrong and they make us (really) dumb.

That's all.

Sickenining the sick.

The exterminator came yesterday and exterminated some of the magic I had in my head when he explained to me the way the poison he was putting around the kitchen works.

He said it was safe for humans but when eaten by a cucaracha it was going to make it smell so good that other cucarachas were going to start eating it.

I was shocked.

I couldn't help to think of the book The Perfume by Patrick Suskind when at the end the main character gets eaten by the people around him because he smelled so good.

I tend to forget how powerful the sense of smell could be even though I ride the subway with a lot of Europeans.

Other thoughts came to mind, is it possible that the cannibal attacks happening in this country have something to do with the sense of smell? Weird.

Is it possible that we are evolving into some kind of sick apocalyptic-zombie creatures? Or is this in our nature?

If it's in our nature, why do we make other creatures like cucarachas be sick like us? It's not fair. Cucarachas are already pretty sick and we are making them sicker.

I don't know what I'm talking about anymore. I feel sick.

Tengo abandonadas las historias.

I am in Bogotá spending time with my family and getting ready to go down to the jungle to film a documentary.
It´s been a while since I have written anything here mainly because I have been wanting to change my website for several months with no success.
Right now I am laying down next to my five month old nephew watching music videos. Nothing else matters and I couldn´t ask for anything better right now.

Brooklyn is quiet at 12:34 AM.

- The bellow was written last Sunday -

I'm not writing from the subway today, I'm writing from St. Patrick cathedral instead.

A friend and I decided to come to the last Spanish Mass before Christmas and even though I understand every single word the priest is saying it´s been hard for me to get into it. I´m not connecting with the moment, there are too many distractions inside (of my mind) and outside (tourists) so I decided to write something down and...

...Here I am, in this massive building feeling tiny and insignificant, typing on my phone.

My Blackberry is more than just my phone. I wish some teachers at SVA were able to understand that. My Bb cost my a few A's during college for its ability to work as my notebook (and more). Many times teachers thought I was texting when I was actually taking notes (most of the time). Oh well.

There are people taking the Communion right now.

As I stare at the organized system they have here I feel the need to ask God for forgiveness. How can God be present in such an uptight place. No one can move organically or feel alive in an environment like this, at least not me, neither (my) God.

God is just as bored as me right now (ahhhhwwwwhhhh - yawning). Excuse me.

Such a controlled (Mass) celebration feels so far away from me that only this writing-moment is bringing me back to God, to the creative light within.

Since I was little the Communion was one of my favorite parts of the Mass not only because it meant it was almost over and the obleas were waiting for us outside but also (because for me) it's one of the most dynamic and organic moments. St Patrick's doesn't feel like that today though.

It doesn't help that tons of tourists are taking photos as they walk around. Although I have to thank them because there noisy presence is helping me camouflage my phone. So far no one is getting offended by my (typing) actions.

Can you imagine them? The disciples in the last super? I keep imagining that night when these ¨dudes¨ decided to get together to not only share some bread and wine but also to have a meaningful moment. It was a creative act that made every little detail something very special. I feel more in a church and having the Communion when I am around a table having turkey during thanksgiving. Is that wrong?
Who knows.

Time to see the nativity.

I´m in the L train going home to Brooklyn right now. It´s passed 10:30 PM and I just bought myself an Oscar de La Renta bathrobe for only $30.

As I was paying for it I couldn't help to think how much would it had cost me to buy the same robe in Bogotá, probably three or four times more.

After the conversation I had with my mom earlier on the phone about her interest on investing (the little money she has) here in the USA I realized how much stronger - I think - the Colombian economy is compared to the USA´s. Why is she thinking on buying something here and not there? Two reasons. One because is cheaper here and two because she was able to save money there.

People in Colombia don´t tend to spend a lot on credit cards (or maybe just my mom). Being in debt is not part of our culture, it´s actually a curse and getting a loan from a bank is (almost) a mission impossible.

Then another thought came to mind, how in the world do people live in a city so expensive like Bogotá? I pay a lot of money for rent here in NYC but I can eat, dance, play and more for cheap or even for free, in Bogotá that´s another mission impossible.

This subway-ride home is filled with numbers and useless thoughts about a topic I know nothing about: Economics. USA. Colombia.

...Silence... Take a deep breath...

Thank you God for giving me this Thursday evening and for my new bathrobe, the lightest, softest and warmest robe I have ever owned. As always I'm exaggerating but I have reached my stop. My Morgan Stop.

Lately I've had very little time to write about (random) things that happen around (and to) me.

Those stories my mom and my cousin love to read here in this (kinda) blog are getting lost in the silence of my busy-ness. That is not good.

The fantasy lens I use to view my every-day-life(lame)-happenings has gotten a bit foggy because there is never enough time to write them down. That is not good either.

So that´s why I have decided to use the time I spend (underground) in the subway to do some writing. It will keep me from screaming with my mouth shut when we get stuck in the tracks - like Elaine in that funny Seinfeld episode - and it will help me rescue those "great" stories my family love.

The first thing that came to mind when I thought of this writing exercise was a title. How about "Subways Stories"? Lame. I know.

Why do we always need a title for everything?

A title puts you in a box, doesn´t it? It limits you, it defines you and sometimes that´s good but not today. I don´t need any of the above for this writing experiment. Plus literal titles get under my skin so let´s don´t do that right now.

Riding the subway in New York City can be a very boring experience or the most exciting thing you can experience. It all depends how you look at it.

In the mornings the subway can be hell.

I'm not a morning person so I tend to hate life during this time of the day. In the subway I try to use my time wisely so (to help myself ignore the underworld around me) I tend to put my make-up on right there, in front and in the middle of everyone. I could do it at home but why? This helps to avoid weirdos talking to you... I like weirdos though but not in the morning.

I have developed a very good system make-up system that allows me to do it even when the train is packed and moving. I have to clarify that my make-up routine is very simple. It involves a little blush, some mascara and lipgloss, that´s it. No Kardashians over here.

I noticed though that every time I do it I can feel the energy of the haters as well as the lovers all coming my way. I like them both.

There is always that one girl that looks at you with hate.

I can almost read her mind. She keeps (mutely) asking me why didn't I do that at home. She is screaming out of her ears that I'm being gross, disrespectful that I'm even contaminating the air she's breathing with the minuscules particles released by my brush. Poor girl, she is not in a good mood.

The lovers on the other hand are usually very nice.

He or she stares with a glance of amusement. They cannot believe you are applying make-up in a moving train or they think you look pretty just they way you are. I love them. Their love comes out through their eyes. Usually when you catch them staring at you they smile, so I always smile back. It's a beautiful (and rare subway) moment.

Trust me, it's hard to find someone smiling in the subway specially in the mornings. For some reason everyone is suffering. I include myself here. We've all seem to be carrying over our shoulders a very heavy load from the night before, something from work, a stressful final exam, or an argument at home. Some people carry around a bitter ex-boyfriend or their horrible boss.

If you were to take a picture of the people in the subway (in the morning) it would probably look like a funeral. A funny funeral if there is such a thing.

As I stop typing for a second and look around now I noticed a more positive energy. It´s night time and people seem relaxed. Some are finally going home to rest, like me.

I come from the Symphony Space where I watched a film called FINDING JOE. I loved it and hated it at the same time. It had a beautiful message and a great amount of information about Joseph Campbell but it was so boring I don´t think I would recommended it. The two people I went with stepped out of the theater because they were falling asleep. I gave it a chance for its content but I had to hold my neck tight while forcing my eyes to stay open.

I just got out of the 1 train to transfer to the L train in 14 street and because I'm writing this piece I am not really paying attention to what's happening around me.

The whole point of this writing-subway-exercise is to document the interesting things happening in the undergrounds of New York City but it´s obvious I'm missing it.

I know, I'm going to look round, grab an image and write about it. It will be based on a first impression, many assumptions and maybe some fantasy. Let's see what I can do right now and I will stop writing as soon as I get to the Morgan stop. My stop.

There is a guy that looks dirty, like a city hippie. Also a girl that looks like a lesbian and a woman that looks like a strawberry. The city hippie and the lesbo are talking about some non-interesting thing while the strawberry woman just stares quietly at her pink fingernails.

I called her strawberry because she is wearing a pink coat, a bright green scarf and a woven pink hat with different shades of pink. Can you picture her?

I just remembered I saw a cute french boy at the theater today. He didn´t smell like strawberries but he said hi to me as I walked by. I thought for a minute he was the love of my life but didn't do anything about it as always.

Lately I have been obssessed with "the love of my life."

I see him everywhere, all the time. Sometimes I speak to him on the phone or I text him. I feel every boy I meet or interact with could be "the love of my life."

Love can get foggy too - and my ADD doesn't help.

We are getting closer to my stop and I just noticed a messy-hair girl siting in front of me with her legs wide open. She is wearing a skirt and I hope her underwear is black. I cannot really tell. I'm grateful for her un-gracefulness.

Those (brave-crazy) girls that decided to brake the rules, to be not-so-graceful have allowed me to be here tonight in this subway car far away from home not following but creating.

We just passed the Grand stop.

Grand ST is not so grand. I'm grateful for all the non-grand things in the world. They inspired me and make me humble. We do not need to be grand, not all the time.

The next stop is my stop.

I will stop writing at my stop but now I still have a few seconds to say goodbye, to close this first attempt to put my subway experiences in words. The end is near. I hope you've enjoyed this catharsis and I hope we'll meet again soon, in the next journey to another stop.


Tranquilo Bobby, tranquilo que cuando la vida te pone un bulto de papas sobre la espalda es porque necesitas expandirte, necesitas aprender. Recuerda que nada es eterno en el mundo, ni teniendo un corazón, ni los bultos de papas en la espalda.

Si esas papas empiezan a sentirse como ladrillos te aconsejo ignorar lo que te dice la cabeza (hueca), por favor acaricia y protege al corazón para que no se encoja y ponte rodilleras ya que ese peso tomará tiempo en desvanecerse y te puedes caer.

La duración de ese tiempo pesado depende de ti y de tu habilidad de ver esa realidad (podrida) en la que estas desde otro ángulo.

Si decides quedarte en la frustración y el mal genio el bulto que llevas se multiplicará rápidamente hasta aplastarde. Pilas con eso.

Te aconsejo respirar profundo. Deja que pase un tiempito sin moverte, sin decir ni hacer nada. El tiempo en este caso es tu aliado, tu guía. Ahí encontraras la luz, verás a Dios, créeme Bobby.

Cuando te sientas más tranquilo empieza a avanzar lentamente, paso a paso y veras como el viento soplará a tu favor. Eso suena a frase de canción ñera pero es asi.

Se llegó Diciembre.

Ayer domingo fuí a la plaza y comí dos veces, toqué el piano con los pies y me acosté en el piso de la oficina.

Asi o mas confundida?

Gracias Dios por la buena y extraña donación de anoche que aun no logro entender.
Mil gracias.

No entiendo lo que significó su llamada.

Anoche me llamo para contarme las dificultades que tenía con la mujer más importante de su vida. Creo que todos sabemos quien es la mujer más importante de nuestra vida así seamos hombre o mujer.

No es la primera vez que me habla de sus conflictos con ella pero dadas las circumstancias de estos últimos días me pareció un poco extraño que me llamara única y exclusivamente para hablarme sobre eso - la verdad es que había estado esperando su llamada pero para que me dijera que me quería ver, que no podía vivir sin mi y que me amaba sin censar - yeah right. Mi ego tiende a ser exagerado.

Sus palabras fueron simples y concretas al explicarme como ella siente que a veces él no la aprecia.
Ella siempre quiere mas de él y se le olvida que él no se ha estado sintiendo muy bien. Esta enfermo y el simple hecho de que él solo quiera irse a su casa a dormir no significa que él no quiere pasar tiempo con ella.

Por un segundo pensé que me estaba haciendo un chiste o un test o algo por el estilo porque todas las cosas que me decía eran las cosas que yo había estado pensando/sintiendo también.

Me reí.

No podía creer que aquella mujer (mayor) sintiera lo mismo que yo.

El siguió hablando y ya después de varios minutos de escucharlo me dí cuenta que no era ni un chiste ni un test, era de verdad un conflicto para él mientras que para mi era una de esas casualidades que me da la vida (como regalo).

Al desvanecerse mis sospechas logré con amor darle algunos de mis (mega) consejos que siempre me doy a mi misma cuando se los digo a otra persona.

Él inteligentemente me escuchó, me contó ciertas cosas personales que yo no sabía ni quería saber pero al final (creo que) los dos nos sentimos mejor. Él se pudo desahogar y yo (indirectamente) me sentí más cerca de él.

Al colgar el teléfono no paso nada.

Yo me quedé con las ganas de verlo mientras caminaba por la calle 19 en silencio sintiendo la llovizna caer sobre mis hombros. Fue un momento solitario pero romántico.

Hoy mientras un lado de mi cerebro trabaja en la oficina, el otro lado se pregunta que significará todo esto.

Creo saber la respuesta pero no la quiero aceptar. Me hago la boba mejor. La mega bola... la la la... pequeño capullito de alelí la la la...

I want to share with you these wise words from an awesome song by Travis called SIDE.

Well I believe there's someone watching over you
They're watching every single thing you say
And when you die, they'll set you down and take you through
You'll realize one day

That the grass is always greener on the other side
The neighbor's got a new car that you wanna drive
And when time is running out, you wanna stay alive

We all live under the same sky
We all will live, we all will die
There is no wrong, there is no right
The circle only has one side, side, side

We all try hard to live our lives in harmony
For fear of falling swiftly overboard
But life is both a major and minor key
Just open up the chord...

I am so grateful that you have finally arrived in our life. Welcome home mi amorcito.

And as I thought of you today I told myself to remind myself (once I'm married with kids) how sucky it is to feel lonely sometimes. I love it, don't get me wrong, but not right now. I wish I was there with you.

Rafael, todo parece indicar que mañana es tu día de llegada. Y yo que pensé que serías Fátima.

No te alcanzas a imaginar lo feliz que estamos todos de conocerte. Has sido luz en nuestras vidas y eso nunca tendré como agradecertelo. Gracias por escogernos como familia, no te has equivocado.

Le pido a Dios y a ti de manera especial que tomes de la mano a Luce para que juntos hagan de este encuentro una experiencia sublime y perfecta. De solo pensarlo se me llenan los ojos de lágrimas pero de alegría. No sabes las ganas que me dan de estar ahí junto a ella, tu papá y junto a ti pero aunque físicamente no estaré sabes que seré la primera en cantarte una canción al alma, desde aquí. Dios me lo permitió.

Acuérdate que va a ser duro tanto para ella como para ti este primer encuentro físico. Qué esperabas? Aquí somos de carne y hueso pero recuerda que si los dos logran respirar al mismo tiempo Dios iluminaré ese momento y los hará resplandecer.

No tengas miedo, todo va a ser perfecto.

Yo se que me estas escuchando.

Déjate llevar por Dios, Él te mostrará el camino. Escucha su voz y sigue la luz que tu nueva familia estará esperándote al final del túnel. Momentos como estos son los que me hacen recordar la bendición de Dios y me hacen sentir muy afortunada de estar viva, respirando. Respira tu también.

No has podido llegar a una mejor familia. No somos perfectos ni mucho menos, demasiados cosentidos y hasta muy peliones pero el amor abunda y se desborda. Confía en mi cuando te digo que nadie te amará como lo hará tu mamá, tu papá, tus abuelitos y en especial esta tía que no hace sino soñar con tus pies.

Prepárate para dar este gran paso, despídete de ese mundo perfecto en el que has estado estos nueve meses y abre tu corazón a este (tu) nuevo mundo no-tan-perfecto en el que aprenderás a sonreir, a amar, a expandirte y lo mas importante a ver a Dios en todo lo que te rodea así sea bueno o malo. Suena fácil pero no lo és. Ya verás.

De la vida que te puedo decir, a veces es maravillosa y a veces es una mierda. Lo mas importante es siempre seguir caminando, hacia adelante guiado por el amor que habita en tu corazón. Esta bien cometer errores, esta mal no aprender de ellos y por favor que nunca te importe lo que digan los demás. Ellos estan igual o más perdidos que tu y yo juntos. Solo amalos, amate, amanos, amemonos. Mamona? A veces.

Dios te bendiga bebé, te estoy (estamos) esperando, lánzate con toda que aquí te recibiremos con el corazón más que abierto. Nadie te dejará caer, o tal vez si pero sin querer.

Ce la vie.


No hay tiempo ni para respirar. Glup.

Si me lees dame señales de vida, es lo justo y necesario no crees?

Aquí estamos bien. Max y yo sobrevivimos el temblor, el huracán y esa tormenta tropical que viene no nos asusta cierto Max? El dijo Miau.

En otras noticias, conocí a un personaje de color con muchos premios importantes por un guión que escribió de una película famosa y como parte de nuestra (nueva) amistad me hizo re-editar El Elefante Rojo. Es ahora de 13 minutos, puedes creerlo? Yo no. Cambió tanto que hasta desconozco la historia.

Él dice que es tiempo de mandar el (nuevo) corte a festivales otra vez y que si no lo hago no leerá La Luciérnaga lo cual muero porque lo haga asi que obedecí.

Lo conocí por una de esas casualidades de mi vida que ni yo misma entiendo.

Luisa mi amiga llegó un viernes de Atlanta para pasar el fin de semana conmigo y supuestamente armar bien el paquete que le mandaríamos a esa actriz linda y famosa que habla español con acento Argentino que quiero sea una de las protagonistas de mi peli, tu sabes de quién hablo. Pues esa noche yo andaba en casa de Juliana asi que le dije a Luisa que se viniera al East Village desde el aeropuerto.

Asi fue.

Me encontré con ella en el barsito Brazilero de la 9 con C y enmaletada se sentó junto a mí en la barra mientras Juliana conversaba con un amigo italiano medio antipático que había venido a verla.

Luisa me expresaba su admiración por la energía de esta ciudad la cual yo casi ya no siento y sus palabras me hacían sentir melancólica. En ese momento se acercó un chico flaquito a sentarse junto a nosotras. El enrealidad solo quería llevarse uno de los taburetes que estaban al lado de Luisa pero en vista de la amabilidad sureña y poco New Yorkina de ella empezaron a hablar mientras yo desinteresada por el asunto dejaba volar mi mente hacia ese rincón melancólico y oscurito al que tiendo a ir cuando me pongo a pensar en el ayer.

Luisa le dijo que era productora de cine, él le dijo que él también.
Luisa le dijo que había venido a contactar a la actriz aquella y muy sorprendido el chico le señala a un grupo de gente a unos pies de distancia de nosotras y le dice: "Ves a mi amigo que esta allá?" Luisa ve a un hombre cuarenton hablando con tres chicas y afirmando con la cabeza me codéa pero yo ni me inmuto. "Él acaba de hacer una película con ella." A Luisa se le abrieron los ojos y agarrándome del brazo me sacó de rinconsio mental en un segundo y me trajo a la conversación que ellos estaban teniendo. El chico nos presentó a este señor y después de un intercambio de tarjetas quedamos de vernos "again soon."

Una vez más, asi fue.

Nos vimos varias veces. Luisa volvió a New York unas semanas después y entre este señor y yo se ha creado una especie de amistad - guiadora que aún no logro entender.

Una vez mas Dios y la vida me pusieron en el lugar correcto a la hora adecuada. Gracias Dios por eso.

Y lo mejor no termina ahi.

Este señor no solo conoce muy bien a esta actriz pero también resultó ser un escritor de guiones increible. Se ganó el premio mas prestigioso de la industria por el guión de una película que aun no he visto. Mala cosa de mi parte pero él ya lo sabe. Estudió psicología en Harvard y fue profesor del master de cine en la Universidad de Columbia - Que tal?Él es justo el "tutor" que yo le estaba pidiendo a Dios y la vida. Una vez más gracias.

Hace unas semanas me invitó a un private screening organizado por The Writers Guild of America de una peli muy popular en estos días. Ahí conocí a otro grupo selecto de escritores y de nuestras discusiones filosóficas modernas (con apuntes muy ignorantes de mi parte) aprendí demasiado, especialmente a quedarme callada en medio de escritores.

El día que le mostré El Elefante Rojo me dijo que tenía talento y eso me alegró el alma. Internamente sentí una especie de impulsito para serguir adelante y escuché una vocesita que me dijo "estas haciendo lo correcto". Esos comentarios son necesarios de vez en cuando especialmente de gente experta y exitosa en la materia y si, te hacen crecer el ego, no lo voy a negar pero ese ego dominado te puede llevar muy lejos.

Analizó por más de dos horas cuadro por cuadro y escena por escena de mi pobre Elefante. Lo devoró, lo trituró y lo transformó en un cortito eficiente y "festival-friendly".

Escribí una a una sus palabras, comentarios y sugerencias y me atrevería a decir que aprendí mas en esas dos horas sobre técnicas básicas de cine que los cuatro años que estuve en SVA. Triste pero cierto. Su pasión y eficacia al hablar no permitían que mi mente se fuera ni un segundo de esa habitación. Deseé tenerlo como profesor por cuatro años y esa misma noche cuando llegué a mi casa edité por horas. Su energía creativa me había inundado haciendome ver las repetitivas escenas que me se de memoria como algo fresco y renovado. Encántome.

Esta semana espero tener listo este nuevo Elefantito - la mitad de lo que era - y si, volveré a mandarlo a festivales a ver que pasa.

Te he querido contar esto y otras cosas pero creo que no estas despierto y menos escuchandome.

Tengo gato.

Nunca en mi vida había tenido un gato.

El miedo que solía tenerle a los gatos no era normal y estoy casi segura que tiene que ver con nuestra cultura colombiana.

Recuerdo muy claramente (y como disco rayado) las voces de diferentes familiares diciendo "no coja ese gato, pilas con el gato, no toque el gato, no coja ese gato, pilas con el gato, no toque el gato, no coja ese gato, pilas con el gato, no toque el gato... "

Nunca cogí, ni toqué, ni me hice la pila con ningun gato, les tenía pavor.

Los gatos siempre fueron criaturas de la oscuridad y por esa razón solía relacionarlos con el diablo. Nunca tuve uno pero cuando los oía llorar como bebes en la finca de algún tío en la noche era como si la maldición de la oscuridad viniera a llevarme a lo mas profundo del infierno.

Nunca entendí su mistisismo y me parecían seres traicioneros hasta que un día conocí a una señora muy querida que tenía muchos gatos en su casa. Yo le tuve que cuidar a su hija un par de veces y aunque al principio sentía que los gatos me iban a devorar viva cada vez que se me acercaban después me dí cuanta que solo querían que yo los consintiera. Esos gatos y un noviesito gringo que tuve que amaba los gatos me inspiraron a dibujar siete gatos. Así se llama el dibujo, Siente Gatos - que "obviedad" pero es verdad.

A medida que me fuí adaptando a esta cultura (Americana) me fuí acostumbrando a los gatos y empecé a verlos desde otro punto de vista. El filtro borroso-religioso con los que los veía se fue enfocando, el diablo se fué desvaneciendo de sus ojos y poco a poco se fueron convirtiendo en mi mente en animales indefensos que aunque diferentes a los perros son también (lindas) mascotas.

Una vez conquistada esa batalla (miedosa) gatuvela varias cosas me pasaron muy interesantes con varios gatitos. Hace como un año y medio me dieron un trabajo que necesitaba gracias a Rose, una gatita que no dejó de olerme el cachete durante mi entrevista de trabajo.
Esa mañana primaveral me pusé mi empolvado sastre negro de pantalón y unos converse negros. Llegué convencida de que era el trabajo equivocado y que perdía mi tiempo pero tristemente sabía que si no lo conseguía me iba a morir de hambre (sed y soledad...) y ...cuando llegué y me senté frente a mis dos entrevistadores, Rose se sentó a mi lado y nunca jamás se alejó.

Mientras yo hablaba ella acercó su carita y me empezó a oler la cara.

Yo distraida y nerviosa respondiendo las preguntas que me habían hecho ignoré lo que Rose hacía. Solo cuando sentí su nariz humeda en mi cachete me dí cuenta de lo que estaba pasando y no, no me dió miedo, al contrario su atención me hizo sentir bien. Ahi entendí que la razón por la cual los que me entrevistaban me veían con tanta concentración, era por Rose.

Según ellos, la gatita nunca habia sido tan amigable con ningún extraño.

Obviamente me dieron el trabajo sin hacer una pregunta mas.

Tengo otras historias listas para escribir y contar con detalles pero hay algo que no me deja. Se llama Tedio. Si se ponen bravos o se decepcionan, los entiendo pero hasta aquí me trajo el rio.

Ultimamente no he podido escribir.

Jorodowsky tenía razón cuando dijo (algo como) si eres artista no trabajes como oficinista porque una ave asada nunca vuela.

Demasiado acertado su comentario, demasiadisimo.

Reconozco que me dolió y me torturó ese comentario por varios días porque estoy trabajando en una oficina y (creo) soy una artista.
No me gustó para nada sentirme asada y no voladora (Como el gato volador) pero después de unos días de analizar la "paradoja Jorodowskiana" me dí cuenta de algo maravilloso: Un ave asada nunca vuela pero si sabe rico! Riquisimo. Levante la mano al que no le guste el pollo asado. Aqui todas las manos (mias) estan levantadas.

Tal vez no este volando mucho frente a este escritorio. Tampoco he podido escribir mucho y filmar menos PERO si he estado dibujando y ha sido muy rico, como el pollo asado.

Decidí que durante este período voy a hacer una serie de dibujos en honor al "ave asada pero rica" que vive en mi usando solo materiales que encuentre en la oficina como lapiceros negros (cheveres), marcadores fosforescentes, papel blanco poroso, etc.

Ya hice unas cerezas musicales y unos seres estelares. Les gustaría verlos? Ya se los compartiré algún día no muy lejano porque por ahora me voy.

Después del temblor viene el huracán.

Se acuerdan de la canción "Mi Abuela"?

Aquí esta parte de la letra pa´l que la quiera cantar:

Deja que te cuente para que tu veas
no voy a hablar de trabajo ni tampoco de la escuela
Aunque eso esta muy bien eso lo se yo quiero que
Sepas tu lo mió pa´que veas lo mas peor.

Yo llegue de Nueva York a principio del verano
y quería quedarme en la casa de mi Hermano
y el me dijo: Brother tu aquí no te quedas te llevo con primo
pepe pa´ la casa de mi agüela

hay que dolor pobres vacaciones lo que hizo mi hermano
quejarse de pantalones
enseguida mi agüela me cayo encima pa’ limarle el patillon y
limpiarle la cocina

Yo le dije: Doña! yo vengo a descansar y ella dijo: No mijito
usted viene a trabajar; De verdad que eres vago no se por
que te quejas, te me afeitas esa barba y te cortas la melena.

Ay! abuela la barba me la afeito pero no cortarme el pelo
mejor me quedó muerto,
le explique que esta de moda dejarse la melena y ella dijo
que ese chavo así parace una nena.

y como no me lo corte espero a que me durmiera
y me dejo coqui-pela´o con una je-tijera

Que vaina, que chamienda, ¿que dirán mis panas cuando me vean?

El otro día pal almuerzo mi dijo mi abuela
que me iba a cocinar lo que yo quisiera,
entonces le pedí una comida bien buena, un Hamburger, un Hot-dog,
lo que como todos los días.

No no no señor no cocino porquerías aquí se come ____
y arroz con habichuelas.

Confieso que aun hago los jueguitos de amor del colegio en donde escribes el nombre de algun susodicho junto con el tuyo y sacas un porcentaje que supuestamente equivale al amor que ese susodicho te tiene.
Usualmente lo hago los lunes, martes, miercoles, jueves o viernes cuando el tedio de la rutina obliga a mi mente a irse de viaje en el tiempo y volver a tener 13. Trece, que te parecel el 13?

Te pareces a Marion Cotillard me dijo él.
Gracias dije yo. Amola. A Marion.

Mexicaniando ando. Ahora en Cuernavaca con unos cuates frente a una chimenea, una piscina, y con dolor de panza. Me encanta. Anoche vomité por primera vez en muchos años. Me cayó muy mal la cena y aunque tenía pánico logré sacar de mi lo que hacía sentir mal, es decir, unos champiñones muy orgánicos -- al escribir la palabra champiñón una sensacion asquerosa me pone la piel de gallina y me hace salivar. Mal Mexico. Muy mal.

New emotional grounds make me feel a bit lost and probably make a ton of mistakes but they feel new, exciting, I like them.
Gracias Dios for all.

Ayer se me perdio un banano que aunque estuviera ya pintoso (cafesoso) me lo pensaba comer no solo por su valor nutricional sino también porque (la verdad) me dolía mucho botarlo. Aunque llevo en este país muchos años aun me aterra (de manera aterradora) la cantidad de comida que se bota a diario.
No me sirvio de nada llevarlo en la mano todo el tiempo para evitar que se espichara en mi mochila. De la oficina al taxi, del taxi al aeropuerto, del kiosko de Delta a la máquina de rayos X de seguridad, etc. estuvo conmigo todo el tiempo. Algunos transeuntes me miraron (un poco) raro. Cuando llegué a la sala de espera un Judio Ortodoxo casado no paraba de mirarme la mano y el banano, el banano y la mano. Me pareció medio pervertido pero puede que no, no quiero juzgar mal.

De la nada y después de sentarme en el piso junto a un muro con enchufe para cargar mi celular me di cuenta que el banano había desaparecido. No entendí, fue como si le hubieran crecido pies y se hubiera ido lejos de mi. Por qué me aBANANAnaste? No se Porqué. Me devolví a buscarlo por todas partes, hasta en lugares en donde los que no habia parado pero nada. No lo encontré. Se largó, me dejó para siempre. Que dolor... Al cabo que ni (lo) quería.

Hoy estoy en downtown LA (sin banano ni desayuno) naturalizandome naturalmente con otras cuatro mil quinientas personas mas. "I'm proud to be an American, because at least I know I'm free" cantan algunos.

"Uncle Sam" me esta mirando.

Tengo una banderita de plástico, una carta de Obama y la registración para votar. Nada de lo anterior me importa mucho la verdad, el hambre que tengo me devora las tripas y me hace ver a las personas a mi alrededor con cara de banano.

Lo extraño, al banano... y a palo. Cabe encionar que el que me atendió en imigración esta mañana era un gringo/mexicano Veracruzano obviamente.

Por mas de que quiera mantenerme misteriosa y privada no lo logro. Tarde o temprano termino delatando (me) mis secretos aquí ó allá y demás virtudes de vuestro hijo humanado.

Si leen con juicio todas las cosas (bobadas) que escribo, empezando por este escrito y siguiendo hacia abajo se darán cuenta de lo que digo.

Si eres bilingüe muchísimo mejor, si no lo eres, bilingüe-ate rápido para que nos entendamos mejor. Tristemente mi lenguaje tiene mas brazos que la diosa Hindú Durga y mi Spanglish gets stronger each and every day. Perdón for that.

La verdad es que no solo lucho para mantener mi Español y mejorar mi Inglés sino también para guardarme las cosas para mi "solita" (me chocan los diminutivos pero igual los uso. Que hipocresía) pero siempre de alguna manera termino diciendo(lo) todo. Expresándolo todo, mostrándolo todo. Bueno, casitititititititico todo tampooooooooco soy taaaaaaaaan bruta. Paréntesis largo: También me chocan las palabras alargadas sobre todo cuando la "alargación" no corresponde a la manera como se pronuncian en la vida real.

Por ejemplo la palabra "Hola."

Cuando efusivamente algún viejo amigo vía facebook me saluda con un "Holaaaaaaaaaaaa" no puedo evitar NO pensar en su error en vez de permitirme sentir su efusividad y emoción con la que me saludó. Esa alargación mal usada le roba el sentimiento al momento (verso sin esfuerzo? Es más frase rimada que otra cosa). Quién dice "Holaaaaaaaaaa"? Nadie.

La manera correcta de escribirlo sería "Hooooooooooola" así cuando lo lea no solo me acuerde de mi tía Beatriz que vive en Neiva sino también pueda sentir su efusividad caer sobre mi pecho como abrazo de tío pervertido. No quiero distraerme ni arruinar el momento con distracciones correccionales.

No falta el muy-despistado que escribe "Hollllllllllllllllllllllllla." Cariño, corazón de melón, créeme cuando te digo que nadie se quiere imaginar la parte de atrás de tu lengua cuando los saludas cibernéticamente.

Puede que yo sea la única que sufra de este fenómeno pero una cosa si es cierta (y muy común) no soy a la única a la que le gustan los despistados, son taaaaaaan liiiiiiiindos. Cierro paréntesis largo y no escribo mas al respecto.


Las emociones que han corrido por mi cuerpo lánguido este mes han sido tan caudalosas como el río Amazonas en época de lluvias, tan bizarras como ver un perro a cuadros bailando zamba en Alabama y tan interesantes que hasta estoy pensando (seriamente) en escribir un libro titulado JUNIO.

Es muy posible que mis tendencias exageradas me hagan interpretar cada evento como algo “supremamente especial” y que en realidad solo sean eventos "chéveres" de mi (lánguida) vida, así que para salir de dudas, he decidido compartirles uno de los varios sucesos sucedidos para que sean ustedes los jueces que decidan si estoy exagerando o no.

Pero antes les recito este trabalenguas que define la palabra "Historia:" Sucesos sucedidos sucesivamente en la sucesión de los tiempos.

El evento a continuación ocurrió durante una cena muy particular con la familia de S, un chico que conocí en la premiere de la película Where The Wild Things Are en el MOMA de Nueva York hace dos años atrás.

S es DJ y un (talentoso) productor músical hermano de uno de mis directores de cine favorito. Para algunos será muy fácil saber de quién estoy hablando, para otros no tanto. Recuerden, lo importante no es el santo sino el milagro – como diría mi mamá.

S me cayó bien instantáneamente.

Es una persona amigable y querida. Parece latino. Es conversador, relajado y muy abierto a la gente. Sin ni siquiera saber que hacía o quién era su hermano yo ya quería que fuéramos amigos, que me contara de su vida, que viniera a Colombia, etc.

Confieso que cuando me enteré que su hermano mayor era uno de mis ídolos profesionales su aguja-medidora-de-popularidad, esa que algunos tenemos en la cabeza, subió al tope. Es normal no? Ese pequeño dato le sumó puntos al muchacho pero a medida que nos fuimos conociendo y nos volvimos amigos ese dato se volvió invisible y en realidad encontré en él a alguien especial.

S vive en LA y yo vivo en NY pero en las últimas veces que ha venido a NY (o yo he ido a LA) hemos estado parchando más de lo normal. Cabe recalcar que sólo somos amigos. También cabe recalcar que la palabra “parchar” es horrorosa pero muy útil en este caso. Visualmente trae a mi mente los parches que se usaban en ciertas chaquetas sobre los codos, se acuerdan? A mi me encantan sobre todo en las chaquetas de pana. En este caso yo soy la chaqueta (pana) y S el parche y viceversa.

La última vez que estuve en LA le ayudé a S a escribir una canción con el cantante de la banda de heavy metal Brazilera Sepultura. Como buena ignorante que soy en el mundo de la música (among other areas) no tenía ni idea quien era él ni su banda metalera lo cual hizo muy fácil para mí ayudarles a escribir una canción sobre un robot que se había enamorado de una chica. En ningún momento me sentí intimidada, al contrario, cada idea que se me venía a la cabeza (por estúpida que fuera) la decía. Ellos muertos de risa aprobaban o ignoraban. Al final S me agradeció la ayudita y me dijo que hiciéramos otra canción. Yes please le dije yo.

Si algo disfruto en la vida es escribir canciones. Es un proceso que aunque similar al de escribir guiones es muy diferente. Cuando escribo canciones siento menos tedio, no paso meses dándole cuerda al mismo molino y el resultado final sale tan rápido (comparada con una película) que la satisfacción es casi instantánea.

Esa noche una lluvia de ideas y palabras llenaron el estudio de la casa de S y aunque no puedo decir mucho al respecto porque el álbum aún no está listo solo les diré que gracias a mí, las palabras "Climax y Penetración" no fueron usadas en la canción.

En su último viaje a esta agitada ciudad a principios de este mes S y yo pasamos mucho tiempo juntos.

El sábado en la mañana nos fuimos en bicicleta por todo Brooklyn y en la noche fuimos a la fiesta de matrimonio de la cantante Karen O en el Russian Tearoom.

El domingo nos fuimos a visitar el set del nuevo video musical de los Beastea Boys que su hermano estaba dirigiendo y en la noche sus papás nos invitaron (a un grupo) a comer.

Ese fin de semana como (algunos) pueden ver fue muy interesante - muy fuera de lo común con gente interesante a la que nunca veo. Cada evento estuvo lleno de detalles que en el libro – si lo escribo- les contaré lentamente PERO lo que más me cautivó viene a continuación. La palabra "cautivar" no es de todo mi agrado. Es demasiado pulcra y encierra en su pronunciación una especie de sofisticación corriente que no logro superar pero en este momento no se me ocurre nada mas. Creo que se me está olvidando el español con ortografía y todo. Que dolor.

Durante esta cena seudo-familiar el papá de S hizo la pregunta del millón y no, no es lo que están pensando. El tipo es un hombre muy interesante e inspirador. Sus palabras profundas aunque camufladas en chistes bobos resonaban fuertemente en mi cabeza creando túneles de curiosidad y conocimiento. Aprendí mucho de él esa noche pero cuando preguntó (un poco preocupado por el futuro de nosotros los jóvenes de la mesa) si alguno tenía un mentor o alguien que fuera exitoso en lo que nosotros queríamos hacer que nos pudiera guiar y ayudar a alcanzar nuestras metas yo no pude contener una carcajada nerviosa que hizo que la mesa entera me volteara a mirar. A Dios gracias todos sabían que soy Colombiana y el simple hecho de ser extranjero en este país te “permite” decir y hacer cosas (muy) fuera de lugar sin ser tachada como loca o mal educada.

Yo no podía creer semejante casualidad. Cómo es que éste señor, el papá de S quien también es el papá del (mi) director me preguntara eso?

Dejénme explicar.

Meses atrás yo le habia mandado un e-mail al director este pidiéndole que por favor leyera el guión del que quiero sea mi primer largometraje.

Después de agradecerme por haber pensado en él para tal labor me dijo que no podía leerlo no solo porque andaba muy ocupado sino también porque (supuestamente) le cuesta mucho leer guiones. “Soy un lector muy lento” me dijo en Inglés. Pobrecito pensé yo mientras me lo imaginaba arrancándose los pelos tratando de descifrar los de Charlie Kaufman.

Su e-mail me rompió el corazón, no lo voy a negar. Me decepcionó. Cómo es posible que este genio sea un lento? Hasta el día de hoy es algo que no logro entender pero en el fondo me alegró saber que aunque sea uno de mis favoritos no es (tan) perfecto como yo creía.

Le mandé un e-mail como a los tres días agradeciéndole su honestidad. En mis palabras camuflé muy bien mi tristeza de saber que nunca sería su discípula cineasta. Que dolor, porque si pudiera tener un mentor en mi vida profesional sería él y solo él. Fellini también pero él ya está muerto.

Entonces, y regresando a la cena, cómo es posible que el papá del (mi) director me este haciendo esta pregunta?

"Debes tener un mentor" Me decía en inglés mientras yo en silencio me tragaba las palabras que explotaban de mi boca, las que me salieron por los poros él no las notó y eso que habla español.

Yo sentía unas ganas inmensas de contarle lo que su hijo me había dicho. Yo quería "acusar mi director con su papá" pero no, No pude. No es su culpa haber nacido "lento" además cómo le voy a decir a este señor que su hijo decidió (inconscientemente) no ser mi mentor por su lentitud lectoral? Uno nunca sabe, puede ser algo de familia.

Mientras los otros (jóvenes) de la mesa contestaban la pregunta mi cerebro buscaba en mis archivos polvorientos una respuesta sensata. Cuando me tocó el turno a mí de la nada me acordé de mi profesora Joan Brooker quién días antes me había llamado para que nos reuniéramos a hablar de mi guión. Muy segura de mi misma le dije que mis profesores de SVA aún después de graduarme me siguen ayudando con mis proyectos. Él se alegró y me dijo que SVA era una muy buena universidad. Yes, dije yo.

Después de dar mi respuesta la mamá de S quizo saber más sobre mi guión. Le conté la historia con detalle y ella emocionada me dijo que le había encantado y que por favor la mantuviera al tanto del proceso de producción. Lo haré. Tal vez ella sea mi posible mentor - no como cineasta pero sí como mujer profesional. Eso me alegró la vida.

y bueno, les parece que exagero ó consideran este un momento como cualquier otro?


Have you had one of those days when you feel like crying for no (important) reason?

You are either super tried, or maybe a little sick. You've probably been working way too many hours or you're just feeling sensitive to the things happening around you. Everything affects you.

It's as if an overwhelming feeling kept taking over you throughout your day and no, I'm not talking about PMS-ing. This happens to boys too.

Have you have one of those days?

I have. Several times.

Sometimes it's the other way around too when everything affects you in a positive way, it inspires you and makes you happy. Today that is not that case for me though.

Today I'm kind-of-having one of those melancholic days where everything makes me kind-of-sad. It's not too dramatic, not like I'm depressed or anything too dark but I'm definitely feeling a little sensitive toward certain things happening around me.

For example, and this is a very stupid example, yesterday I saw the music video of the song "Call your girlfriend" by Robyn and not only I connected with the visuals of the video but the lyrics got stuck in my head to the point that today - during my sensitive day - all I've been thinking off it's the poor "girlfriend" whose boyfriend is going to call to break up with her because he "just met somebody new." So sad. I've been torturing myself with this thought. Crazy I know.

To add to it, something inside me keeps telling me that the "boyfriend" is never going to make THE call to brake up with his girlfriend so this poor "new" girl is definitely getting her heart broken. So sad too.


The worst part of all this nonsense it's that sadly, I've been enjoying both sad-scenarios way too much. I've listened to the song five million times day-dreaming of both of these girls. I haven't been able to put a face on the guy but the girls I see very clearly. Such nice picture and lighting.

Who would have thought that sad love could be so enjoyable in a kind-of-sad day? Not me but thanks Robyn for it.

On the other hand, I'm just realizing that being able to enjoy sadness it's a very big step for me. In a good (great) way. Yes! That just made me happy...



PS: If you want to watch Robyn's video go here:

Letter to the (pretty) lady that has stopped right in front of my bus-seat and is thinking about siting next to me:

Please don't.

As you look at me from head to toe I've started to file my nails even harder hoping the white nail-powder that's invading this area (my area) makes you reconsider your decision.

I guess that's my way of marking my territory, with my-own-nail powder.

It's a trick you see, and even though I am not good at acting your "ew" face is telling me I'm doing a great job - and I'm very happy about that.

I hope you don't notice how bad I am at this though. Filing nails was never my expertise and even when I've tried to do it for real at the comfort of my own home I have never been satisfied with the end results. My sister was the one good at it. At the nail salon is a different story, they know what they are doing there but I don't go there too often because I've gotten scared a few times in the past.

Listen, it's not you, it's me.

You seem very nice with your pretty blue eyes and your perfect outfit. You even smell good. Light Blue right? I love that perfume. I'm sure you will be very pleasant during this one-hour-trip to the Newark airport but still, I do not want you or anyone siting next to me. There are moments in my life when I really need to be alone; traveling is one of them.

I think is some kind of phobia; a people-phobia I tend to get when I travel alone and I get stuck inside my head.

Sometimes I'm the last one to get on the plane just to find an empty row for myself because I don't want anyone next to me.

Excuse me. I'm coughing now. This nail-powder is making me cough. No, not really, I've had this cough since I got back from LA. I think it was the airplane air, it always make me sick.

You just passed me. Thank you.

I'm sorry for being so antisocially-gross but thank you for continuing your way down the isle of this bus. I'm sure you will find the perfect seat for yourself. Me? I'm just going to put this nail file away, breath in, breath out, cough again and I smile because I feel content.

Phew. I knew this nail file left by my mom in my mochila was going to come handy at any given moment of my life. Was it my mom or my sister? I don't remember.

I do not like my website.

Hace rato que no escribo ... aqui.
Alla me la paso escribiendo.

There's been a long time since I've written something here.
Over there I'm always writing though.

La fantasía me quita el hambre. La tos si no la puedo explicar, será el aire de avión?
Fantasizing takes my hunger away but my constantly coughing I cannot really explain. Do you think it was the airplane air that got me sick?

Do you know what language is this?

Mash timevo olni maiya dot.

Feliz cumpleaños mami!

Y la canción dice así:

Que mi corazón se alínie con el tuyo
Como una constelación
Para así mostrarle al mundo
Los colores de tu amor

Y que en la mañana camino al trabajo
En cada paso que dé
Deje huella de tu amor
En los ojos del que me ve.

Porque es tu amor
El que me llena la vida
Porque es tu amor
Quien me salva cuando estoy perdida
Es tu amor
Lo unico perfecto en mi.

Hoy respondo las dos últimas preguntas de la entrevista-encuesta que venia haciendo por estos días. Que alegría, por fin termino! No les parecieron eternas esas 10 preguntas? A mi si.

Pregunta #9

Comparte información o experiencias con otros directores, con igual o con mayor experiencia que usted?

En el campo profesional muy poca experiencia pero en el campo personal si, algunas varias.

Por cosas del destino conocí a Spike Jonze y aunque no somos grandes amigos el sabe que soy una cineasta Colombiana. Hace un par de meses le escribí pediendole que leyera un guión nuevo que terminé de escribir hace poco pero después de agradecerme por tenerlo en cuenta me dijo que desafortunadamente no podía leerlo no solo porque andaba muy ocupado sino también porque es "a very slow reader" es decir un lento para leer. Después de reirme no supe si creerle semejante afirmación. Si es verdad me lo imagino sufriendo con los guiones de Kaufman. Tal vez sea verdad, él tiene la mente como de un niño de 13 años y es muy probable que sufra de ADD, eso hace casi imposible para cualquier persona poder enfocarse en un guión de 112 páginas. Igual me pidió que por favor le mostrara un primer corte de la película cuando estuviera lista. Lo haré.

En otra oportunidad tuve el placer de conocer al director francés Michel Gondry en una fiesta a la que fuí con Spike.
A Gondry no le dije nada sobre mi guión pero él si me dijo de la nada y muy inesperadamente: "I have good sperm." Me reí y le dí las gracias por compartir esa información (tan necesaria) conmigo. También me presentó a su hijo Paul y me volvió a decir lo mismo: "My son Paul has my sperm too and we have good sperm." Esa noche tomamos fotos, nos reimos y yo me sentí afortunada de poder conocer a dos grandes de la industria.

Cuando recién me mude a esta ciudad también conocí al director de comerciales Bryan Buckley, muy famoso por trabajar con Britney Spears en Pepsi, Martin Scorsese y Ellen DeGeneres en American Express, entre otros. Es muy exitoso, yo diría el mejor director de comerciales de este país. En este momento está tratando de empezar su carrera como director de cine con un guión el cual he leído ya varias veces. A diferencia de Spike, Bryan ha leído ya varias versiones de mi guión también pero aún no me da su crítica constructiva.

En New York puede ser fácil conocer a la gente que admiras, tengo otras historias similares pero no son de mucha relevancia con mi carrera.

Pregunta #10

Al buscar temas para realizar un proyecto usted que tiene en cuenta, o que es lo mas importante que se debe de tener en cuenta para empezar?

La pasión.

Es importante tener un tema o una idea que realmente nos apasione desde el principio porque es muy fácil aburrirse a mitad de camino y querer tirar la toalla. Para mí es muy importante la originalidad de la idea. Tiene que ser algo original, algo que yo no haya visto ó oído antes para que me me apasione de verdad.

Escribir es (muchas veces) un proceso lento y tedioso y si no estoy apasionada con lo que voy escribiendo se convierte en una misión imposible.

Si hay pasión, talento y se trabaja duro es mucho más factible llegar al final de la meta y desarrollar un proyecto completamente.

Hoy Domingo de Ramos mi mamá regresó a Colombia y yo quedé sola como un champiñon.

En medio de mi soledad dominguera dura y típica de mujer soltera en esta agitada ciudad New Yorkina decidí hacerme un brunch con algunos de los sobrados que había dejado mi mamá en la nevera.

Me imaginé una especie de tortilla española mezclando un arroz amarillo delicioso y un huevo y medio revueltos. Si lo sé, esos ingredientes son cero tortilla española pero así me la imaginé.

Vale aclarar también que digo "huevo-y-medio" porque cuando iba a echar el segundo huevo a la paila sentí como el colesterol invadia mi cuerpo de pies a cabeza así que, como solución inmediata, decidí sacarle la yema a ese huevo.

Cómo si eso fuera a ayudar en algo pensaran algunos y si! Me ayudó.

Al ver como cuidadosamente caía solo la clara de ese huevo en la paila caliente el colesterol imaginario dejó de crecer por mis piernas. Se quedo estancado en mis tobillos así como la yema quedó estancada en la cáscara del huevo (burritos al potrero, que pase el rey, que ha de pasar, con todos sus hijitos menos el de atrás... se acuerdan de esa canción?)

En fin, en ese momento me sentí culpable por querer botar la yema a la basura, todos sabemos que aunque este llena de colesterol también tiene muchas vitaminas así que sin pensarlo mucho me la restregué por todo el pelo.

Terminé con una maraña asquerosa peluda y pegachenta en la mano que casi me hace vomitar pero en el fondo me sentí muy bien.

Sabían que la yema de huevo es buena para el pelo?

En ese momento me acordé que la mayonesa también es muy buena para el pelo y mientras se me quemaba el huevo-y-medio me embarduné la cabeza de mayonesa. Es decir mientras cocinaba decidí hacerme una mascarilla capilar. Que eficiencia no?

Con una mano revolvía los huevos y el arroz amarillo mientras que con la otra me sobaba la mayonesa por toda la cabeza como todo un ejercicio motríz (asi se dice?), un ejercicio de motricidad.
Se acuerdan cuando uno intentaba sobarse la panza en circulos con una mano y con la otra darse palmaditas en la cabeza? Algo así era la cosa. Me sentí muy productiva no solo estaba cocinando para mí, reciclando comida, alimentando mi pelo sino que también estaba ejercitando mi cerebro todo al mismo tiempo. Qué domingo tan (solitario pero) productivo pensé...

Al final me puse un caucho en el pelo y me comí la tortilla de arroz-no-española con (la) soledad como compañía.

Tengo que confesar que aún no me baño así que espero este menjurge me deje el pelo rechinando de brilleza.

Gracias por acompañarme este domingo ramero.

Hoy responderé la pregunta #8 - en realidad la debí haber respondido ayer con la #7 pero se me pasó. Creo que la gripa me en-moco-sió el cerebro.

Qué experiencia adquirió participando en estos festivales?

Dos palabras en Inglés:
Exposure and Networking.

Explicación en Español:
Poder mostrar mi corto a una audiencia nueva fue (y siempre será) una experiencia muy gratificante.
También poder ver el trabajo de otros cineastas para saber y entender lo que esta pasando en el mundo del cine es importante pero más aún es poder conocer productores que (en un mundo ideal) buscan desarrollar (mis) nuevos proyectos. Así como en cualquier otra industria, es muy importante conocer gente del medio para aprender y así complementar las necesidades mutuas entre directores y productores. Siempre hay los que buscan nuevos guiones para producir y otros (como yo) con guiones listos para desarrollar. Es ahi, en los espacios que crean los festivales donde se pueden crear conecciones importantes y definitivas para el siguiente proyecto de todo cineasta --- Cabe mencionar que también son para parrandear y pasarla bueno... en su medida, todo (intenta ser) balanceado.

Hoy respondo la pregunta #7 de la encuesta-entrevista aquella que he venido haciendo.

En qué eventos y/o festivales ha participado?

Con mis tésis de Grado El Elefante Rojo participé en el Dusty Film Festival 2009 organizado por SVA aquí en NYC y ganamos for Best Director and Best Film of the Year.

También el el festival organizado por HBO The New York International Latino Film Festival aquí en NY también.
En el Indie Spirit Film Festival en Colorado Springs, CO.
En Invitro Visual en Bogota, Colombia.
En el Strasbourg International Film Festival en Strasbourg, Francia y
en el Nomadic Tendencies en St. Petersburg, FL.

Hay muchos otros festivales a los que quiero ir y participar... ya veremos que me depara la vida.

Mi cumpleaños ayer fue lindo y bizarro. Aunque estuve con la gente que amo y lo más lindo que es mi mamá me sentí un poco incompleta. Nada de que preocuparse ni tan grave como para sentarnos a llorar juntos así que seguiré respondiendo las preguntas de la entrevista-encuesta.

Pregunta #6

De sus trabajos, cuáles considera más importantes?

hmmmmm (pensando...)

Creo que un cortito que hice como parte del exámen de admisión para Cooper Union (al que por cierto no pasé) llamado ANOTHER PROBLEM.

Este video lo hice antes de estudiar cine, antes de siquiera saber que quería estudiar cine. Hizo parte de mi proceso "descubridor cineasta" porque aprendí a contar una historia enmarcada por el marco (valga la redundancia) de la handycam de mi ex-novio. La luz es horrible pero la historia es muy buena (modestia aparte).

Es sobre una chica (en este caso yo) que vive dentro de un televisor muy chiquito y decide escribirle una carta a la dueña del (mini) televisor pidiéndola que por favor compre un televisor más grande porque ella ya no cabe.

Este videito me permitió conocer al cineasta Colombiano Vlamyr Vizcaya quién lo edito con mucho amor y se convirtió no solo en un gran amigo pero en un gran apoyo-guía en mi carrera como cineasta.

Este vidíto es sencillísimo pero muy importante para mí. Si lo quieren ver vayan a:

Hoy no voy a responder la pregunta correspondiente de la entrevista-encuesta que estaba haciendo. En cambio voy hablar en Inglés sobre lo que siento adentro (la mayoría) en Español.

Today is my birthday and I should be happy right?
Well, life takes funny turns and gives me surprises that make me cry of both, happiness and sadness.

I cannot understand (myself).

In a day like today memories of my childhood and happier times bring out rivers of melancholic emotions that explode out of my eyes. No one in the office has noticed them; they are mighty but quiet.

If I add to these rivers the thought of (possibly) have ruined the best gift God gave me in the last year or so, my heart aches deeply. I see how the melancholic rivers start to overflow and even though I tried quickly to dry them with the napkins and tissues I have all over my desk they seem to be taking over myself, over my office. I hope no one is coming right now.

I have tried to force my mind to stop thinking about it but this head of mine, oh boy, it’s more stubborn than a blind-death mule. It’s almost impossible for me to quiet it down.

I’ve tried to convert them, the rivers, in peaceful rain that gently falls all over my body and sometimes it works, like right now. These words feel like that rain... Other times it doesn't. I've have to run to the bathroom praying to not be seen with the rivers pouring out of my eyes.

Yes, today is my birthday and I should be happy... but I’m not... and it’s okay.

My mom showed up at my door this morning, she knew what was going on inside my heart and rushed up-north to hug me. Her hug made me feel less wet, less cold. Thank you mom for your warm hug and thank you God for reminding me she is the best gift you've ever given me.

When she saw me she told me: Time will tell – and that's what I keep telling myself: Time will tell.

Looking for ways to light up my face I decided to think of my future niece, the one I decided to called Fatima for internal-reasons. Just to think of her toes makes me giggle. I googled "her" name and this is what I found:

Fatima is an Arabic female given name, commonly used among Muslims. Fatima was the name of the favorite daughter of the prophet Muhammad, she was his only child to bear children.

Note to myself, my sister and her husband Manuel:
I think my niece is not going to be an only child which makes me believe this name is not for her.

Ayer no respondí la pregunta correspondiente así que hoy responderé dos... Me estas escuchando?
A veces siento que le escribo a nadie y al aire. Esta bien siempre y cuando escriba no? No! Eso no esta bien todo escritor necesita ser leido, escuchado y respirado... La verdad es que sé que me lees pero me estaba haciendo la (melo) drámatica porque es viernes.

Pregunta #4

Qué técnicas o tácticas utiliza para dirigir sus trabajos?

La verdad ningua en especial – tal vez me falta aprender más al respecto o tal vez no.

A medida que se empieza a trabajar con los actores en un proyecto determinado uno como director se va dando cuenta de las necesidades del actor. Basada en eso, yo intento buscar la mejor manera de dirigirlos, apoyarlos, de sacar de ellos lo que sea necesario. Manipulándolos con amor. A veces es fácil, a veces no tanto. Es algo que aún sigo aprendiendo y creo que nunca aprenderé por completo. Ciertas experiencias y técnicas se van creando deacuerdo a las necesidades de cada proyecto, de cada actor.

Una de las cosas más importantes para mí son los ensayos. Tal vez esa es mi técnita, ensayar durante pre-producción lo que más se pueda. Es ahí donde nace-crece-se-reproduce-y-muere el personaje. Algo así pero más amable y detallado.

Pregunta #5

Qué directores toma como base tanto en su estilo, técnica, escenarios, trama, etc. para utilizarlos en sus trabajos?

Ninguno/na. Cuando voy hacer algo lo hago sin ninguna base predeterminada por otros (directores).

La idea original por lo general es una imágen que me llega a la cabeza después de leer un libro, de ver algo que me llame la atención, después de haber escuchado las noticias, algún recuerdo de mi niñez ó simplemente después de un calambre cerebral. En esos momentos usualmente encuentro el punto de partida para cualquier proyecto visual ó narrativo. Siempre TIENE que haber una conección interna justo ahí en el nervio (imaginario) que conecta las tripas y el corazón, de ahí viene todo.

Tal vez el hecho de que me gusten ciertos directores y escritores hace que exista la posibilidad de su influencia en mi trabajo de manera indirecta pero no, nunca es una base ni mucho menos algo conciente.

Personas en la industria que admire: Pedro Almodovar, a veces es muy (melo) dramático para mi gusto pero el tipo es un genio-seductor-visual.

El feminismo poco tradicional de las historias de Lucrecia Martel es admirable, La Niña Santa por favor, que peliculón.

La fantasía que manejan Guillermo Del Toro, Spike Jonze, Wes Anderson, el escritor Charlie Kaufman, entre otros, es increíble e inspiradora.

El realismo mágico (a veces trillado) de García Marquéz sigue siendo millonario en colores y fuente de inspiración para mí.

Esta semana estoy respondiendo las preguntas que me hicieron en una encuesta/entrevista.

Esta es la pregunta #3

Qué otras experiencias han sido claves en su formación artística o profesional?

Para mi V&V: Viajar & Vivir.

Viajando es cuando más he aprendido sobre la vida, sobre la historia, sobre el arte, los idiomas, y sobre todo a conocerme a mi misma como persona (mujer) y como (directora/escritora) profesional.

Al viajar a otros lugares uno se sale de su comfort zone (en español lo voy a llamar entorno común, probablemente se diga de otra manera pero no me logro acordar así que perdonen la chambonada).
Al uno salirse de su entorno común la mente se abre y se despiertan los sentidos cuando uno prueba otros sabores, ve otros colores, escucha nuevos sonidos, etc. Al estar en este entorno ajeno uno también se incomoda de tal forma que inconsientemente se empieza a expandir. Un ejemplo bobo, cuando vivía en Colombia odiaba las aceitunas pero cuando llegué a New York y las probé en diferentes platos me empezaron a gustar. Después de ir a España me obsecioné con ellas, sobre todo las cornicabra, a tal punto que hoy en día no puedo vivir sin el aceite de oliva - me encanta, además porque es muy bueno para la salud. Si, lo sé, este es un ejemplo muy bobo pero es para que se hagan una idea. Cabe aclarar que cuando digo "uno se incomoda" no me refiero a un un viaje mochilero hippi incómodo en la parte de atrás de un camión sino a la incomodidad interna y emocional que trae consigo el viajar a un lugar desconocido, esa que nos hace (o por lo menos a mí) sentir como un niño chiquito.

Cuando viajé a Francia sentí como si hubiera hecho un viaje en el tiempo y volviera a tener tres años. Las pocas palabras en Francés que me sé no me sirvieron de a mucho así que muy atenta me tocaba escuchar todo y a todos para lograr medio entender lo que esta pasando a mi alrededor. Todo me parecía nuevo y (usualmente) bonito, a veces hasta me ha tocaba hablar con señas o ruiditos para hacerme entender. Fue fabuloso. Esta experiencia hizo que mi mente y mi corazón estuvieran muy presentes en el presente - valga la redundancia - y más importante aún, logró callar todas esas voces internas que con los años habían ido surgiendo dentro de mi cabeza para (usualmente) torturarme.

Entiendes lo que digo?

Viajar a un lugar extraño nos permite volver a ser niños en muchos aspectos de la vida y esto en cierta forma nos devuelve la libertad que con los años nos robamos nosotros mismos.

Cuando viajo estoy tan pendiente del mundo que me rodea y tan presente en el HOY que el pasado pierde importancia y se me olvida que existe el futuro. Estoy tan presente en el momento que este viviendo que no solo respiro la frescura de un niño chiquito el cual esta libre de voces internas juzgadoras pero también desaparecen mis inseguridades, mis temores y miedos (mentales).

Para mí viajar es una terapia maravillosa la cual no se necesita tanto dinero sobretodo si tienes amigos que vivan en los lugares que se quieren visitar y/ó si se viaja en temporada baja.

Vivir la vida intensamente con lo bueno y lo malo que traiga y sin miedo a cometer errores es lo que me permite tomar riesgos y así creecer, ser mejor cada día especialmente en lo profesional.

Como directora también me ha ayudado mucho la capacidad de ponerme en los zapatos del otro y así entender otras realidades. Entre más ajena la realidad a la mía mejor. Nunca juzgando la diferencia, por el contrario respetándola, entendiéndola y apreciándola, en esa diferencia es donde encuentro la base de una buena historia.

Esta semana voy a responder las preguntas de una encuesta-entrevista que hice hace unos días.

Hoy Martes responderé la Pregunta #2

Qué tipo de fotografía le gusta incluir en sus trabajos?

No entiendo esta pregunta.

Me parece básico y muy importante que la fotografía especialmente la ilumincación vaya acorde y apoye el tono de la historia que se cuenta.

Si hablamos de formatos me gusta mucha la textura de 35mm y super 16mm, a quién no? Mis primeros cortos los hice con una cámara Bolex en 16mm, me encanta también el look vintage que da esta camara pero la verdad es que no siempre hay presupuesto para este tipo de formato analógico así que me conformo (felíz) con el formato digital de calidad como la cámara RED y hasta la Panasonic X200.

El 3D por ahora se lo dejo a los grandes - y a mi novio que es Stereographer, es decir, el que se encarga del efecto 3D en un rodaje.

Esta semana voy a responder las preguntas de una encuesta-entrevista que hice hace unos días, por qué? Porque si.

Pregunta #1 (de 10)

Cuéntenos como fueron su inicios en el cine, largometrajes y/o cortometrajes?

Para mi fue todo un proceso que terminó con un gran descubrimiento.

Al darme cuenta que sería la periodista más exagerada y por ende la menos confiable de Colombia (y posiblemente del mundo) decidí cambiar de carrera y estudiar Bellas Artes.

Siempre me gustaron las artes visuales, me divertía mucho pintando y creando imágenes. Para mi era un proceso orgánico que se sentía muy natural y acertado pero una vez estudiando pintura me dí cuenta que era un oficio muy solitario. Sabía que me volvería loca hablando solo con pinceles todas las horas de mis días y una vez más (y sin mucho dinero) decidí cambiarme de carrera.

Gracias a un ex que tenía cámaras y hacía videos me empecé a familiarizar con ellas. Poco a poco haciendo videitos varios fuí entendiendo el proceso creativo que toma contar una historia por medio de imágenes y lentamente me fuí enamorando de el (del proceso más que de mi ex).

Lo que más me cautivó fue el sentimiento de libertad que este me ofrecía. Yo podía escribir cualquier historia, la que se me ocurriera y después dibujarla con luz. No habían límites. Fue un descubrimiento maravilloso el cual me permitió entender mi llamado y por fin estudiar una carrera de la que me graduaría (apasionadamente) con honores.

Podría decir que así fueron mis inicios en el cine pero me quedaría faltando una cosita que aunque chiquita es la más importante y la aprendí en mi casa.
Mis inicios en el cine y volviendo a la pregunta inicial, vienen desde mi niñez imaginándome escena por escena las historias que me contaba mi mamá creciendo en una familia de 15 hijos, en una finca amazónica Colombiana y estudiando en un internado de monjas.


As some of you already know my sister is pregnant (again) and we (the family) couldn’t be happier.

I didn’t want to say anything until the first trimester was over because last time, even though doctors say miscarriages are “pretty normal” for first-time moms, it was-not-so-pretty and very painful for all of us when it happened to my sister. However, today almost a year later she has not only passed the first trimester of her second pregnancy but also she's finding out the sex of her little cheeto by tomorrow afternoon (yupiiiii!).

I already declared to the family that the baby is going to be mine.
My sister said yes, but only for short periods of time.
Manuel - her husband - said no, the baby is his.
My mom said I should make my own baby but FIRST I have to get married of course.
My dad wont stop smiling and talking to my sister’s (not yet notorious) belly as if the baby was already out in the world and looking back at him.

As you can see we all went (A LITTLE) crazy with the news but you have to understand this baby is the light of a (very long and dark) tunnel and we cannot wait for him/her to come be with us. Thank you God for such gift.

If I'd believed 100% in reincarnation (sometimes I want to believe, other times I don't understand it) I think my sister was my mom in a past life. She had to be.

The love she has for me is that of a mother and more. I used to feel guilty thinking that maybe she loved me more than I loved her but then I realized our love for each other is different; it complements and that’s why I think is perfect.

Our bond is so strong I have no words to describe it. Sometimes even my mom gets “jealous” of the way my sister and I are always connected. She is going to kill me for saying that. Actually, "jealous” is not the right word. I'm sorry mom. Jealousy and you don’t go together in a sentence or in any other situation but I know that you have felt (a bit) left out when my sister and I get deep into our "conversations." I guess that's what sisters are for right? I know my mom is very proud of the relationship we have as sisters so this paragrah didn't really said much and completely contradicted itself.

On ther other hand and maybe another contradiction, Manuel my sister husband for those who already forgot has already noticed our (sick) love and sometimes when I'm back home he spends the night at his father’s so my sister and I can have sleepovers at their house. This reminds me of us growing up sharing our room and always talking (or playing) before going to bed - she always had water for my mid-night thirst. Always. Gracias Manu for such a nice and generous gesture. I know how hard it can be to go to sleep somewhere else while our busy everyday life.

Yesterday I sent my sister a video of twins boys talking what it seems to be a secret language.

Have you seen it?

It’s a very cute video of twin-toddlers having a full conversation saying only “TA-TA.”

TATA TA? Says one of them.
TA! TA! TA! Says the other one. ***

My sister immediately emailed me back saying it was the cutest thing she's seen and that she wanted to have twins. I told her that sometimes I felt as if she was my twin. "Yes we are twins" she said.

I smiled.

My day went on and the warmth of this thought kept my heart pumping sweet blood throughout my body for hours.

Later that day my sister sent me an email. It’s one of the most beautiful things she's ever said to me. She blames the hormones that are making her super-ubber sensitive; I blame our surreal love for each other.

It’s in Spanish so I (attempted) to translate some of it but it’s not the same. Oh well. One can only try.

Note to my English-speaking friends: I recently discovered how different I communicate in English than in Spanish – it’s embarrassing. Please be patience with me and the things I say sometimes. Those words mean well they just tend to come out (so) wrong.

Here is a piece of the translated-email my sister sent me yesterday in case you were curious:

That’s how I feel… Connected to you, to your heart and to your spirit, which is just like mine. The difference is that you come and go and I am still here, rooted in the earth holding you tight so you can come and go freely without getting lost. I’m always here so you never get lost and can always come back if you want… That’s why I love you so much because I am connected to you… and my baby too.

Here is in Spanish in case you want to practice/learn:

Asi me siento... Conectada contigo y con tu corazón y con tu espiritu, que es igualito al mio, solo que tu vas y vienes y yo sigo aqui, pegada a la tierra sosteniendote fuerte, para que tu puedas ir y venir con tranquilidad para que no te vayas a perder, para que vuelvas siempre... Por eso te adoro tanto porque estoy conectada contigo... y mi bebé también.

Her "hormones" got to me and tears run down my face. Thank you God for my sister (and her baby... my baby... our baby)

*** The twins’ video is here:

Voy a ser tia!
I'm going to be an aunt.

A mi papá lo operaron del oído y le fue muy bien. Gracias Dios.

Feliz cumpleaños (vieja) Niny!

Do I hear earthquake sounds?
My mind is with California for some (paranoiac) reasons. Also because some intuition and internet readings and psychic readings and crazy thoughts and movie scenes and whatnot... So, if you are there I would suggest you to take a vacation for the weekend. Why not if you can?

Sunday Thoughts

Yesterday I was hanging out with a really cool couple from Colombia that is in NYC visiting for a few days.

After talking about the city and the touristy places they should visit while they're here they asked me about a Catholic church for their Sunday Mass.

I suggested them to go to St. Patrick's Cathedral not only for touristy reasons but also for religious purposes. At that moment the wife asked me if I was going to go. Before I said anything about it her husband affirmed I was not a Catholic.

He is a pastor and a Catholic author that I actually truly admire and his answer was some-how right. I've spoken to him about my "religious crisis" in the past and about the things that bother me about the Catholic church - the only one I really know.

I believe one should have the right and freedom to choose one's faith. I also believe as a parent of a child is your obligation to give this child (some) spiritual guidance the same way you give them health, academic education, love, support, etc. As the child grows older and becomes and adult he/she should also have the right to decide and shape his/her spirituality the way they want - like they have the right to choose a career. Parents should be supportive of this process and making mistakes should be seen as a way to learn. Some mistakes teach us very strong lessons.

My parents did a great job in all these areas of my life but as I grew older and took different routes for my life I found the Catholic church a bit confusing and sometimes unfair. I started seen it more as a social institution than a spiritual way guiding place and of course my parents weren't too happy about that.

I deeply value the example they gave me (still give me) with the way they live their life and their active experience at their church but this doesn't mean it works for me as good as it has worked for them.

When the husband affirmed I was not a Catholic I knew he was right but something inside me moved.

Something bothered me about his words.

I have always said it to my parents, family members, my friends and even my cousin Waldo who is a priest yes, I do not consider myself a Catholic.

These words have always came out of my mouth as an explanation of my constant spiritual search and is my reason not to go to Sunday Mass.

These words have hurt and worried my parents something I'm not proud off but also have helped me open my mind and love others for who they are regardless of their beliefs or lifestyle.

These words - for the first time ever - were coming out of someone else's mouth and as I listen to them I felt different inside, I felt those words were wrong. Some how they transported me outside myself and I was able to see a bigger picture of me from the outside and all I saw was a contradiction.

Is this the way my parents and the people around me see me?

I was able to see the contradiction that lives here, inside me. I am not a Catholic but then again I guess I am.

My ignorance about other religions, my culture, my memories as a child, my home, my relationships with the ones I love the most and pretty much everything that makes me who I am strongly relate to Catholicism.

There is really nothing I can do to change that and the truth is I'm not even sure I want to change it.

I guess all I want it's for the church to accept me the way I am, to be more creative in their ways and allow creativity to flow freely in people's mind, heart and life. Is that even possible?

In my ideal church EVERYONE should be free and allow to make mistakes. No judgement needs to be done.

One should be allow to have a "sunday mass" when one feels like it or needs it. Spirituality doesn't have a schedule. I don't need to pray at 5:30 PM, or noon on sundays for no more than 32 minutes. It's a more organic experience (at least for me) that comes from within specially during the most unexpected times.

The most spiritual I have felt inside a church is when it's empty and I'm sitting there alone. When I am not obligated to sit down, to stand up, to sing this or that song. I understand some people need an structure and that is okay but what about those of us who need a little bit of a spiritual mess or are curious and have questions about evolution or God itself...? The Catholic church does not seem to have a place for us - for me when it comes to this kind of topics.

In the quietness of an empty church there are no "rules" and my heart is able to open in ways I cannot explain. It runs free to reach up to God in ways that are natural and honest to myself.

Sometimes while I'm there I feel the need to speak to a priest but they are never available. I have to call and make an appointment or come in next Saturday between 7AM and 11AM. Just as if I was going to the dentist or the bank. And how about the times I wish I could talk to a woman priest? Good luck with that one. My mom tends to supply this need for me and I'm (very) grateful for that but I'm sure there are tons of women out there who don't have access to a wise spiritual woman. Church, my ideal church, should have that.

I recognize within myself the need for a spiritual lifestyle.

I find some of the answers that I'm constantly looking for in the way I've lived my life and the mistakes I've made. Also in my Catholic background, in my parents' eyes, in nature, in a bar story, in a movie, in other countries and other religions.

I also realized that it's not only impossible for me to destroy the pillars given to me by my parents growing up but also I do not want to do that. They make me who I am today.

I do not need to start from scratch to built my religion or my spirituality. I have my Catholic base. I respect it. Sometimes I embrace it more than other times but I think in order for me to call my self a Catholic some changes need to be done in both hands.

In one hand, women should be allow to be priestess. Priests should be allow to get married. Gay and Lesbians should be respected for the way they live their live. Abortion should be an option for women follow by the right guidance. I'm sure that an educated woman who knows her options and understands the consequences of her actions will always choose life over death, but again is her body, it's her decision not the church's.

My aunt Mariana has an amazing story about a girl who wanted to have an abortion. Just by talking to this girl and making her understand the decision she was going to make the girl changed her mind. My aunt Mariana is not a psychologist neither and expert on this topic. She is (like my mom) a great woman who naturally understands the simple rules of life. Her love for God comes out through her pores and her actions speak louder than the Pope's words during a global speech. I can only imagine what a group of women like her helping lead an institution like the Catholic church will do for the world... Soñar no cuesta nada.

My plan from-this-Sunday-on it's to built a spiritual structure that harmoniously fits with who I am and where I come from and yes, the search continues but now understanding that not only I have already started but it has also been a great (Catholic) start and... and, I'm okay with that.

A note to myself: I really have to do this post in Spanish.

Este post es más que todo para mi mamá y para Mercedes Del Val la (bella) mamá de Palo - creo que serán las más felices al leer los detalles de la cena-sorpresa que le hice en su cumpleaños número 26. Para Niny, mi hermana, Yeni y los otros dos lectores que tengo en Español será tal vez una historia más en la que gastarán unos minutos de su día. Gracias por esos minutos que aunque pocos son altamente apreciados.

Este 1ero de marzo empezó muy normal.

Yo me aseguré de felicitar a Palo en la mañana y hacerle saber que ese era SU día no una vez, ni dos, sino más de tres veces. El año pasado él había estado tan emocionado por su cumpleaños que me pareció extraño verlo tan "calladito" ese día. Es por eso que sentí la necesidad de recordárselo varias veces.

Yo me fuí a la oficina como de costumbre y como a las dos horas Palo me mandó una foto del brunch que estaba teniendo consigo mismo. Eso es algo que me gusta mucho de él. Sabe disfrutar su tiempo solo. A veces se a ver una película solo o a museriar. La dependencia de (algunos) chicos y chicas (especialmente latinos) puede llegar a ser insoportable.

Ese día transcurrió muy normal en mi oficina a excepción de la incesante actividad del lado derecho de mi cerebro. El izquierdo muy trabajador buscaba estudios de grabación en Chile mientras el derecho, desbordando adrenalina, no podía dejar de pensar en la cara que iba a poner Palo al ver el ¨regalo¨ de cumple que yo le estaba preparando. Días antes le había mandado un mensaje a todos sus amigos invitándolos a una cena sorpresa en el loft de mi amiga Tatiana en Brooklyn.

Varios ya habían confirmado su asistencia incluyendo a Chris Newman - Legendario sonidista de Hollywood que trabajó en ¨El Silencio de Los Inocentes,¨ ¨El Padrino,¨ ¨El Exorcista,¨ por nombrar algunas de sus películas. Cabe mencionar que tiene 70-y-pico de años y ha ganado tres premios Oscar. Chris fue profesor de Palo en SVA y si no estoy mal, me atrevería a decir que Palo es uno de sus estudiantes favoritos cosa que no es rara en Alonso. Todos sus profesores lo aman y gracias a eso nos conocimos pero después les cuento esa historia.

Chris nunca fue profesor mío porque nuestros horarios nunca coincidieron pero gracias a una obra de teatro que hicimos en la clase (obligatoria) de actuación de SVA lo conocí y nos hicimos ¨buenos¨ amigos. Confieso que cuando lo invité no me imaginé que pudiera venir, él siempre anda ocupado con miles de proyectos y sus 800 millones de estudiantes. Cuando leí su mensaje (dos veces) confirmando su asistencia un mini ataque de pánico me inundó los dos lados del cerebro, el corazón, el hígado, los riñones y el estómago. Las piernas me temblaron también pero nadie en la oficina lo notó. Una exageración total pero fue verdad.

Justo el fin de semana anterior al martes cumpleañero Palo y yo tuvimos una pelea medio fuerte y yo me sentí muy tentada a cancelar su bendita-cena-sorpresa no solo por la situación emocional del momento sino también por el bulto de papas (a.k.a. estrés innecesario) que empezaba yo a cargar.

Cuando la cosas se arreglaron la noche del domingo, tomé fuerzas para seguir con los planes originales. Yo sabía que esa sorpresa lo iba hacer muy feliz así que seguí llamando, comprando, emailiando, etc.

De ocho invitados pasaron a ser 23.

Tatiana también se estresó pero con la ayuda de su socia Vivi las dos empezaron a cocinar el más suculento sancocho y demás, y todo empezó a rodar con una fluidez espesa pero suavecita.

Lo más difícil de organizar una fiesta sorpresa es asegurarse que ningún amigo ó amiga del sorprendido la embarre tontamente.

Si el sorprendido tiene una lista larga de amigos guevas yo aconsejaría pensarlo bien antes de organizarle una fiesta sorpresa. No pierdan su tiempo. Es muy probable que alguno meta la pata y la decepción especialmente para el organizador es enorme.

Si las guevas son solo unos pocos no hay que preocuparse tanto, el chance de que la fiesta sea todo un éxito es alto.

Gracias a Dios Palo tiene unos amigos (mas-o-menos) pilosos y la mayoría creativos que hicieron de esa noche una velada inolvidable. Creo que me choca la palabra ¨velada¨ pero hay que usarla cuando es necesario.

Solo hubo un momento donde una amiga de Palo que es una lumbrera (según Palo) casi mete la pata en el último minuto.

Palo (en medio de su ignorancia momentaria) mandó un mensaje de texto a sus amigos invitándolos a karaokear después de la supuesta cena ¨romántica¨ que tendríamos él y yo. Su amiga, al ver el mensaje asumió que la cena sorpresa se había cancelado y decidió irse a la casa de Palo donde él y yo nos estábamos alistando - mientras la gente llegaba a Brooklyn.

Gracias a Dios ninguna otra persona cometió el mismo error.

Todos llegaron muy cumpliditos al lugar indicado menos esta nena que minutos antes de que nosotros saliéramos de la casa llegó.

Al vernos quiso preguntarnos por nuestros planes de la noche y la supuesta cena cancelada, yo presentí sus (tontas) intensiones y antes de que pudiera decir una sola palabra saqué las metralletas que guardo en mis pupilas y la miré ¨matadoramente.¨

Ella lo notó.

No dijo nada y la noche siguió su rumbo normal. Palo no se dió cuenta de nada y cuando estaba distraído yo le sugerí con susurros y señas que se fuera rápido a Brooklyn para que alcanzara a llegar pero ella haciéndose la confundida optó por no ir. Mejor pensé yo. Una cuchara menos. Tatiana no tenía cucharas suficientes para los 23 invitados así que muy sutilmente eché en mi cartera todas las cucharas que encontré en casa de Palo. Paréntesis: Me parece importante mencionar aquí que cuando empezamos a salir él y sus roommates solo tenían una cuchara. Uno tenía que esperar a que él otro terminara de comerse su cereal para así poder tomar sopa. Meses después ellos decidieron comprar un ejército de cucharas. Cierro paréntesis.

Donde esta nena le hubiera arruinado la sorpresa a Palo creo que yo le hubiera sacado los ojos con los machetes que también guardo en mis pupilas después de haberle tirado las cucharas. Tanto esfuerzo para nada. Sé que eso suena eso feo pero creo que así DE FEO me hubiera sentido.

Al salir de la casa el ruido del ejército metalero era tal al caminar que me tocó quitarme la bufanda y meterla en la cartera. Funcionó. Por cierto, no uso cartera sino mochila y eso también ayudó a amortiguar las cucharas.

Al llegar a la esquina de Bowery decidimos coger un taxi para llegar más rápido - gracias a Dios porque con ese frío y sin bufanda ya se me empezaban a escurrir los mocos aguados que son más agua que mocos.

El plan era macabro, íbamos a parar en casa de Tatiana que supuestamente quedaba a una cuadra del restaurante donde yo había hecho la reservación. Ella tiene un bebé llamado Apolo.
Palo y yo tenemos una afinidad similar con los bebés. No solo nos parecen divinos y deliciosos sino que también nos relajan y nos ponen de muy buen humor. Para nosotros los bebés son como una terapia - tal vez porque ninguno de los dos tiene uno...? No lo sé. El caso es que íbamos a parar un minutico para saludar a Apolo antes de que se durmiera.

Cuando el taxista paró justo al frente del edificio yo le mandé un mensaje de texto a Tati diciendo: Llegamos! En ese momento sentí como mi corazón se me salía por el ombligo. Apretando los abdominales durísimo como dice la instructora de pilates logré mantenerlo dentro de mi cuerpo mientras pagábamos. Por esta razón Palo - que es el más sensible de todos y todo lo nota - no se dió cuenta de nada. Yo me veía tranquila, campante y relajada como como una lechuga mojada. Mis abdominales estaban fuertes y cumpliendo su misión de la noche. Si ven lo importante que es hacer ejercicio? No solo nos mantiene saludables, también nos ayuda a mantener nuestros órganos vitales en el lugar adecuado especialmente en momentos como este.

Al timbrar el citófono mis abdominales perdieron su poder y el corazón se me bajó al culo. Perdón por la expresión tan fuera-de-cultura. Si estuviéramos en España muy seguramente nadie pensaría ni sentiría nada al leer la palabra culo. Relájense, es solo eso, una palabra cultural.

Los (mas-o-menos) quince escalones que llevan a la puerta de Tati parecían una escalera al cielo, larguísimas. Intenten subir las escalera sosteniendo una moneda en el culo, es casi imposible. Así me sentía yo. En cada escalón se me escapaba un pedacito y cuando apenas iba en el quinto ya no tenía corazón. En ese momento me quedé sin oxígeno y subiendo a brincos llegué a la cima de la escalera en menos de dos segundos aguantando la respiración.

No lo podía creer. El momento finalmente había llegado.

Me dispuse abrir la puerta pero mis manos temblorosas me sudaban y se resbalaban. Palo estaba detrás mío y gracias a Dios no se dió cuenta de mi lucha con la puerta. Después de unos segundos que parecieron horas pude abrir la puerta y entré sin aún respirar. Palo me siguió como si nada.

La casa de Tati estaba oscura y todo el mundo estaba medio escondido. Apenas entré me volteé para verle la cara a Palo. El se veía confundido pero cuando todos gritaron ¨Sorpresa¨ no solo su sonrisa iluminó el lugar sino que también le devolvió el corazón a mi cuerpo. Yo pude volver a respirar y busqué a Tati para entregarle en secreto las cucharas.

Me acabo de acordar de la canción que dice: La cucharita se me pedió, la cucharita se me perdió...
Los roommates de Palo me matarían si supieran las andanzas de sus cucharitas, ni pensar como se sentirían si se me llegaran a perder.

Palo saludó con beso y abrazo a cada uno de los invitados. Sus ojitos le brillaban y se veían realmente sorprendidos. Lo ví muy feliz y eso me hizo feliz a mi también.

El resto de la noche estuvo acompañada de luz de vela, mucha sangría, un sancocho delicioso y las largas conversaciones con Chris sobre sus aventuras. Valió la pena cargar ese bulto de papas. Fue una noche inolvidable.

Nota: Semanas antes de que se me ocurriera la (no muy) brillante idea de la cena-sorpresa le pregunté a Palo que quería de cumpleaños. El me dijo no muy convencido de saber la respuesta que quería que yo le hiciera una escultura. En medio del trajín logré hacerle una cuasi-escultura miniatura de la cual les contaré más adelante. Además porque tomé fotos mientras la hacía. A Palo le gustó pero creo que a ustedes les va a encantar.

Amo lo rudo y lo cursi especialmente en momentos donde mi atormentada cabeza espera que un día (no muy lejano) salga el sol... Mientras llega ese día espero en silencio, twitteando y cantando con #Shakira (sin razgarme la camisa) esta canción:

"Esta semana" sin verte
Me parecieron años
Tanto te quise besar
Que me duelen los labios
Mira que el miedo nos hizo
Cometer estupideces
Nos dejó sordos y ciegos
Tantas veces.

Y un día después de la tormenta
Cuando menos piensas sale el sol
De tanto sumar
Pierdes la cuenta
Porque uno y uno no siempre son dos
Cuando menos piensas
Sale el sol.

Te lloré hasta el extremo
De lo que era posible
Cuando creía que era
No hay mal que dure cien años
Ni cuerpo que lo aguante
Y lo mejor siempre espera

Y un día después de la tormenta
Cuando menos piensas sale el sol
De tanto sumar
Pierdes la cuenta
Porque uno y uno no siempre son dos
Cuando menos piensas
Sale el sol
Cuando menos piensas
Sale el sol....

De "Apapacho" salió "Apachuco" y ahora nació "Apuchaco"

Nota: Por favor leer cada una de las palabras de abajo en voz alta y pronunciando cada sílaba claramente. Gracias.




La historia es la siguiente, como todos saben Palo es mexicano y en Mexico usan la palabra "apapachar" para referirse a "consentir."

Cuando Palo y yo fuimos a Colombia mi papá se familiarizó con esa palabra a tal punto que una madrugada Bogotana cuando estaba muerto del frio le pidió a mi mamá que lo "apachucara." Mi mamá muerta de risa lo corrigió: "Amor es apapachame, no apachucame."

Días después mi mamá me contó la historia y yo no podía parar de reirme, no porque la historia sea (tan) chistosa sino por la palabra como tal. No les parece chistosa la palabra Apachucar? A mi si. Solo el pronunciarla me produce risa. Además me imagino a mi papá diciéndole a mi mamá con su nariz fria y su pelito alborotado en plena madrugada: "Apachucame" -- más risa me da.

Como buena habladora (cuenta historias) que soy le conté a Palo lo que me había dicho mi mamá. Él también se rió y en el fondo le alegró profundamente saber que su suegro intentara usar esa palabra tan mexicana - Palo es el único novio que le dice a mi papá "suegro," debe ser costumbre Mexicana.

Eso pasó ya hace unos meses.

Hoy recibí un email de Palo contándome sus andanzas en Italia. Se fue una semana a Milano a filmar el fashion show the Gucci, que tal? Cabe aclarar que todo lo que es "fashion" a él le vale huevo. Lo que son las ironías de la vida, tengo amigos que darían lo que fuera por estar ahí.

En su e-mail me contaba de su día y las cosas que había hecho. Al despedirse no solo me recordó cuanto me amama :) sino que también queriendo imitar a mi papá y sus intentos mexicanos me dijo: Te apuchaco. Ni lo uno ni lo otro. No lo corregí pero si me reí.

Creo que "apuchaco" le gana a "apachuco" no creen?

I stared at an apple for several minutes imagining molecular hands carefully building it.

I'm so grateful for this apple.

It's a miracle of nature even though it has become a simple part of my life. I've gotten so used to seeing apples (almost) everyday that I forgot the miracle they are.

My apple is green by the way.

Before I ate it I made a little prayer of gratitude - like in Avatar - for nature's effort to give me this green apple.

I wish I had three more apples -green or red it doesn't matter- to give to Pollis, Dima and Luis Miguel. Happy birthday manzanero boyz!

Like Michael Jackson sings in "Billy Jean:" Tu quieres una manzana?

The word "Aleph" was revealed to me in a dream - I hope one day I make a series of shorts about a series of dreams I had with my brother after his passing. I'm writing it here as a reminder.

I would dare to say that those "weird" dreams have been indirectly shaping my spirituality.

You can call me loca - it wouldn't be the first time - but those dreams happened so vividly I can remember every single one of them. I even felt the need to write them down in full detail after waking up in shock every single time.

"Me dieron la misericordia del ALEPH" he said to me this one time. I've never heard the word ALPEH before in my life. The mercy of what? They gave me the mercy of the Aleph. Who is "they"? Aled? What does it mean? I kept asking him all these questions during my dream but he started speaking in languages (Christians and Catholics know what I'm talking about) and slowly he started to dissolve in the air. At that moment I realized I needed to be quiet whenever he came to see me. Super loca but hey, being quiet is something I have learned way too many times throughout my life but somehow I keep forgetting about it, even in my dreams.

When I woke up from that particular dream I wrote several versions of that word, I wasn't sure how to spell it. I googled the word "alet" in an attempt to understand a little bit about it but the only thing I found was a river in France with that name. More confused than before I put my search on hold and only months later - when I felt it was the right time to start researching again I learned that in English that word is spelled: ALEPH.

I also learned that there are several books with that name. I started reading Jorge Luis Borge's short story called The Aleph.

"In Borges's story, the Aleph is a point in space that contains all other points. Anyone who gazes into it can see everything in the universe from every angle simultaneously, without distortion, overlapping or confusion. The story continues the theme of infinity found in several of his other works."*

Even though it sounds so interesting I wasn't able to pass the first few pages after noticing that some of the dates mentioned in the story coincided with some of the dates in my brother's life. I got freaked out - for nothing really, I think it's just mere coincidence.

The word ALEPH is a very special word because it holds different meanings. For some it's the beginning and the end, the Alfa and Omega and in many languages specially in the ancient ones it's the first word.

This information "kinda" give me a very vague idea of the locura around me, I even started to make my own conclusions but the truth is I still have no idea what it really means or how it relates to my life. I think I don't really need to understand it. Something like this can't be seen as rational plus I think the concept is way too big for any human brain.

Today I had the urge to search that word again and for some reason I ended up reading about the Hebrew Alphabet. It's so interesting specially the way my brain felt while reading those letters from right to left. That was a great start, a great way to shake my (few) neurons around.

Here are some of the things I learned:
Alef is the first letter of the Hebrew alphabet and Tav is the last. The Hebrew alphabet is often called the "alefbet," because of its first two letters: Alef and Beit.

"Like most early Semitic alphabetic writing systems, the alefbet has no vowels. People who are fluent in the language do not need vowels to read Hebrew, and most things written in Hebrew in Israel are written without vowels."**

How cool and weird is that? I'm sure people who are fluent in this language (may) think I'm an idiot and they are probably right but as a romantic-language-speaker I found this fact amazing.

"However, as Hebrew literacy declined, particularly after the Romans expelled the Jews from Israel, the rabbis recognized the need for aids to pronunciation, so they developed a system of dots and dashes called nikkud (points). These dots and dashes are written above, below or inside the letter, in ways that do not alter the spacing of the line. Text containing these markings is referred to as "pointed" text."**

Do this has ANYTHING to do with morse code? Probably not. I'm so ignorant.

The numbers are the coolest part. "Each letter in the alefbet has a numerical value. These values can be used as numerals, as the Romans used some of their letters (I, V, X, L, C, D, M)."**

"The numerical value of a word is determined by adding up the values of each letter but the order of the letters is irrelevant to their value."**

This is very interesting: "The numerical value of Vav (often transliterated as W) is 6, and therefore WWW has the numerical value of 666. The Internet, they say, is the number of the beast. It's an amusing notion, but Hebrew numbers just don't work that way."**

"In Hebrew numerals, the position of the letter/digit is irrelevant; the letters are simply added up to determine the value. To say that Vav-Vav-Vav is six hundred and sixty-six would be like saying that the Roman numeral III is one hundred and eleven. The numerical value of Vav-Vav-Vav in Hebrew would be 6+6+6=18, and 18 = life so WWW is equivalent to life! (It is also worth noting that the significance of the number 666 is a part of Christian numerology, and has no basis in Jewish thought)."**

"And while we're on the subject of bad numbers, it is worth noting that the number 13 is not a bad number in Jewish tradition or numerology. 13 is the numerical value of the word ahava (love, Alef-Hei-Beit-Hei) and of echad (one, as in the daily prayer declaration, God is One!, Alef-Cheit-Dalet). Thirteen is the age of responsibility, when a boy becomes bar mitzvah. We call upon God's mercy by reciting his Thirteen Attributes of Mercy, found in Exodus 34:6-7. Rambam summed up Jewish beliefs in Thirteen Principles."**

Hmmmm I'm liking all this Jewish talk... a LOT. I hope you learned something from this - regardless of your beliefs.

Note to myself: I see this locura (and try to understand it) as a life learning process that combine with instinct, creativity, timing and real experiences will lead me to that place in my heart where God is. Where love comes from. I will also be able to give it and see it in others.

I found most of this info here: **
and in *

Fisrt of all:
Now that I have an office schedule every day I can say this with pride and excitement: TGIF!

Second, I have a new (dumb) concern I want to share with you (my one and only English-speaker reader).

Due to today's beautiful weather here in New York City I decided to wear a pair of high heel clogs and a light hooded military-style parka jacket as part of a more-spring-like outfit. Excited about the idea of the winter finally coming to and end I walked out of my door confident I had made the right decision about my shoes and my light outfit.

Those familiar with the craziness of the NYC weather know that it can be a b*tch - aka a hormonal girl in her full potential. Sometimes in the morning is freezing cold to the point you have to cover your face so the wind doesn't devour it and at night (that same day) suddenly the temperature is so high you end up sweating as you walk down the street and vice versa.

So far I am still confident I made the right decision, the day is still warm and nice. However a new concern has come to mind: My little-almost-none ability to walk in the streets of this hectic city with high heels has gotten worse. These clogs are not even that high neither pointy. They might not even be considered "high heels" for all I know but I find myself loosing my balance very (very) easily. I've already tripped more than five times today, no joke. Even on the carpet. I know I'm clumsy but this situation is really bad.

Is is possible to have something wrong with my feet? Is there something wrong with the floor? Are the shoes just wrong? Yo no se.

I haven't worn high heels for a very long time. That could be it. This winter seems eternal and with the cold and the snow who can be walking around with heels? Not me of course.

I am so out of "heels-shape" it's embarrassing.

As I walked down the street massaging my hand - the one that save me from kissing the pavement earlier- I thought of Lady Bunny, Miss Understood, Kim Kardashian, Jessica Simpson, Lady Gaga and all those high-heeler queens. I admire them - what an amazing shoe talent they have. Ughh. Celosa.

If i don't practice the high-heel routine more often I'm going to end up on the floor - where shoes, dog poop and flowers belong. That's for sure.

Reminder: As you walk fast to your final destination in your high heels stop and smell the flowers. If you trip or fall down do it too - you are already down there anyway. If it's dog poop be glad you didn't step on it with your high heels.

(What it seems to be) my right ovary is hurting since yesterday... Qué será?

Today is valentine's day... hmmm I'm not so sure how I feel about Valentine's day. I love the color red specially in candy and the heart shaped things too but the truth is that a part of me thinks today is stupid and expensive and a pointless celebration.
At the same time, in the other side of my brain, I feel Valentine's day is a good reminder, a good excuse and a sweet way to spend the day with that special someone... So what is it then? Is it a good thing or a bad thing?

Paulo Coelho twit a wise comment about it this morning:

If you don't have someone to say #happyvalentinesday to, don't worry; life is not Disneyworld.

I guess it's good or bad depending on you.

If you don't have a significant other and you get depress today because of it I think this celebration is stupid, pointless and stupid again. Don't allow this kind of "social rules" to tell you how to feel. Sometimes is better to be alone than in bad company.

If you do have a significant other I would suggest talking to him/her about the meaning of today. Decide together whether or not it's important for you to celebrate it. Have no expectations - specially when it comes to gifts - not only the economy issue but in my mind a creative gift is way more meaningful than an expensive one.

Palo and I decided we were not going to celebrate Valentine's day but as the hours go by my mind keeps coming up with small ideas of surprises for him. Why? I don't know.

If you find valentine's day a bit confusing let's get together and eat a tiny cupcake.


... until I noticed my quiet mind was talking to itself for what it felt to be a really long time. I asked the lady standing in front of me for the time, ten minutes had passed. I looked behind my back and saw a really long line of people.

I like to see people at the bus or train station because this means the bus or train hasn't come yet, however, when I see a lot of people it usually means the bus or train is not functioning well. That's when a simple task becomes a mission impossible as everyone around you is trying to do the same: Getting a taxi. At this time you are most likely to get an ulcer specially if there's something or someone important waiting for you at the end of your journey.

It was obvious something was wrong with the bus. As I look down the street I pull an imaginary rope tied to the (late) bus really hard. I imagined it finally coming toward us, not one but several times.
As the minutes went by my stomach started to hurt from my internal-imaginary pulling and I realized that (most likely) I was going to be late for work.

Yes, I said before that because I am Latin being late is not such a big deal but I've been in the US for way too long and yes, it can be a big deal. Time is money - for some around here.

I looked back again an saw the line of people going reaching the corner. A great thing about my neighborhood is the fact that is polluted with families and old folks. As I stepped out of the line getting ready to start my "fight" for a taxi I realized the majority of the people in the line were mothers and old ladies that were going to the super market or the bookstore with no stressful rush at all. They were happily (in NYC happily means nice) talking to each other wandering what was wrong with the bus that morning.

Only one other person and myself were trying to get a taxi. She got one first and a few minutes later I got one too.

Feeling relieved I told the driver to take me to Union Square. As he drove down second avenue I blew out my runny nose, put some lipgloss on and stared out the window the entire way.

I got to the office seven minutes later than usual and as my day went on I kept thinking about life and it's "funny" ways. Nothing really deep, just the fact that I was so sure about getting on the bus that morning and of course it never happened...

Today I left my house five minutes earlier than usual. Even though this sounds like a normal-easy task is actually a pretty amazing thing for me to do. As a person from South America where time is just a number (and not money) I tend to take it easy and go with the flow of things - one of the hardest things to do in life specially in a crazy-busy city.

Like in filmmaking five minutes can be an eternity in the hectic mornings of New York City so today I was an "eternity" earlier than usual. What I great feeling that was.

In the last two working-mornings I've left my house with enough time to get to work at around nine thirty. My plan is to walk to the train station from my house, get in the express train and be in the office right on time.

There is a crosstown bus that stops on the other side of the corner of my house. This bus would safe me from walking fast in the cold for over ten minutes, it sounds great but it's so unreliable that I just never count on it. Today though, as I waited for the light to change I noticed it across the street picking some people up.

I run as fast as I could avoiding to get hit by a few cars. My desire to get on it was strong, I didn't really want to walk on the cold, not this time when the bus is just right there. As I got closer I saw how it started to pull away from the station. Wait for me!!!! I screamed. No one heard me except from the doorman of the building next to the station who was cleaning up some snow :( Not only I had to walk in the cold but also feeling embarrassed.

I'm not sure if there is a worse feeling in my everyday-routine than the one I get when I see my bus or train leaving without me. I hate it. Hate is a big word. I do.

For those who drive it's like getting stuck in really bad traffic when you are in a rush. It's frustrating, devastating, it can ruin your day right?
This happened to me twice in the same week. It didn't really ruin my ENTIRE day. Running behind a bus was also a way to start my day with a little aerobic exercise. I noticed I was more energetic throughout the day, more oxygen was inside my brain (I kept telling that to myself).

I was sure today this was not going to happen to me. I was at the bus station an eternity of five minutes earlier. "There is no way the bus is going to leave without me" I kept thinking with a full smile lighting up my face. The cold wind was making my eyes watery but the sun was shinning on my face and I felt great until...


My sister is in town with my cousin Isa and her husband Andres.

It's so nice to have family around. I'm sleepy and tired of all the walking but feeling my sister's warmth next to me las night was just lovely.

Colombian treats are all over my house. Instant café au lait avec sugar, almond oil and rose water among other gifts from back home make my life just great. I know, I'm an exaggerator like an exterminator and an alligator yeah.

I messed up Bronx. I'm sorry.

As I stood there in front of the computer screen at the immigration office I stared at the image of my gigantic fingerprints wishing I could print them out and take them home with me.
The thought of seeing "myself" for the first time in really big and well defined lines felt really bizarre. How is it possible that others are going to be able to recognize me with an image of myself that I have barely even seen. I think we should all know our fingertips as we know our signature, don't you? I would like to at least be able to sketch out my index one...

And after I told my biometric experience to Dima and his friend while we were at the Bowery later today, Dima suggested I should keep drinking my tea, quietly. I did.

And in the silence of my mind I realized dos things:

My thought was very dumb and I really like dumb thoughts.

I still want a picture of my fingerprints of the size of my face hanging on my wall.

Creo necesario aclarar ciertos puntos sobre mi post de ayer que leído entre líneas se puede prestar para malinterpretaciones.

No soy drogadicta ni apoyo las drogas como forma de vida.

No por nada mis amigos aqui en NY me llaman "La Policía." Yo soy la que casi nunca sale y cuando salgo NO me tomo un trago - un vino tal vez - pero el resto de bebidas alcoholicas me parecen asquerosas. Además cuando salgo estoy muy pendiente de que no tomen mucho, de que lleguen a sus casas sanos y salvos y de que no hagan nada de lo que se puedan arrepentir después. Los regaño constantemente y les vivo recordando que es lo más importante en la vida. Si quieren confirmar esto preguntele a Pollis (Mi primo Jorge Arturo) que sabe lo exigente que puedo llegar a ser en todos los aspectos de la vida y más en cuestión de drogas ilegales y destructivas.

Si me tomé la libertad de escribir sobre temas controversiales como este es precisamente porque este es un espacio abierto a la expresión y a compartir mis inquietudes. Yo confío plenamente que mis lectores me conocen, conocen mi vida y saben muy bien lo que hay en mi corazón.

Este libro que menciono fue publicado en 1968 en Inglés y en 1974 en español. Estas teorías han estado en el ojo público mucho antes de que yo naciera. El hecho de ser ajenas a nuestra realidad no significan que no son válidas o que no existan.

A mi personalmente me encanta conocer y entender otras maneras de vivir teniendo siempre muy presente lo que me enseñaron mis padres y su ejemplo de vida. Uno puede ir por el mundo a lugares desconocidos, aprender nuevas cosas sin necesidad de perderse en ellas ni olvidarse de quien uno es.

Mi intención nunca es herir, ni entristecer, mi mucho menos llevar a otros a experiencias negativas por este medio. Esta vida ya es (muy) dura para agregarle más a la carga. Al contrario, intento alivianar y dar a conocer otras realidades tan valiosas como la mía. Intento enseñar a no juzgar, solo a conocer y por ende a amar. No se puede amar lo desconocido o si?

En el post de ayer hablaba muy claramente sobre un libro escrito por Castaneda un antropólogo loco que trabajó y copió muchos de los rituales indígenas que lo llevaron por un viaje espiritual interior intenso. El menciona las drogas naturales como medio y no como fin. Yo no soy nadie para juzgar sus experiencias o decidir si estaban bien o mal pero si puedo leer sus libros con profundo respeto y compartirlos con ustedes.

Recuerden, no necesitan de viajes a la selva a ver indígenas y experimentar con sus plantas para encontrar la felicidad. Ni ir a fiestas a emborracharse hasta el cansancio para pasar un buen rato o sumergirse en drogas que maltratan el cuerpo y los dejan perdidos después de que pase su efecto. Lo único que necesitan es conocerse así mismos y llevar una vida espiritual acorde a sus principios. Sin hacerle daño a nadie y mucho menos a ustedes mismos. Sin juzgar la realidad de otros y con inmensa gratitud a Dios por la vida y por ser quienes son.

Me encantaría que en Colombia la marihuana fuera parte de nuestra cultura y no el alcohol. Las dos son una droga pero la diferencia es que la marihuana es natural y el alcohol no. La marihuana relaja y aliviana mientras que el alcohol deprime y pone algunos violentos. La marihuana es barata y crece en cualquier parte, el alcohol es costoso y es una empresa del gobierno. Eso lo dice todo en nuestra sociedad capitalista. Yo no soy fan de ninguna de las dos pero si pudiera escoger ya saben mi respuesta.

Hace pocos días empecé a leer un libro que encontré en casa de Palo llamado "Las Enseñanzas de Don Juan" de Carlos Castaneda.

Lo poco que he oído de este controversial escritor/loco/experimentador/creativo me ha causado mucha curiosidad sobre su vida y sus filosofías asi que cuando ví el librito empolvado en el improvidaso librero de su apartamento en el East Village, no dudé un segundo en tomarlo y obviamente abrirlo.

Lo primero que ví fue una larga introducción (Prólogo) escrita por el genio (según Palo) Octavio Paz.
Soy muy ignorante para refutarle a Palo semejante afirmación pero por alguna extraña razón me cuestra trabajo creerle sus palabras. Genial si fué pero "genio" me suena a matemáticas y hombre socialmente incapacitado. Que ignorancia (la mia).

Confieso que al ver semejante larguero de introducción una mini-pereza mental inundó mis ojos y leyendo a retazos empecé a meterme en el cuento.

Le comenté a Palo mi limitación lectoral que seguro viene de mis años adolecentes en los que me costaba mucho trabajo calmar mi mente para sumergirme en una lectura.

Gracias a los silencios que trae el crecer, el vivir solo y lejos de la familia mi mente (finalmente) aprendió a callar y ahora leer es un placer enorme para mí.

Tengo que confesar que prólogos e introducciones a veces traen consigo rezagos de esa época. En vista de esto Palo se ofreció (antenoche) a leerme en voz alta. Al principo pensé que caería como piedra en un sueño profundo pero la verdad fue que sus palabras con acento mexicano-narrativo-wana-be llegaron a mi mente como miel.
Pude escuchar muy claramente los pensamientos de Octavio Paz sobre las andanzas de Castaneda y entendí (como conclusión inicial) que Castaneda vivió una trayectoria espiritual muy creativa en la cual no se limitó permitiendose interpretarla a su manera. Que maravilla, eso es exactamente lo que yo quiero hacer. Usar mi creatividad como estilo de vida.

Como dije en paréntesis es solo una conclusión inicial. Aún no termino (terminamos) de leer la introducción y me faltan 317 páginas más para leer y lograr entender (así sea un poquito) lo que este loco Castaneda trató de enseñar.

Reconozco que es atrevido hacer conclusiones en tan poco tiempo y con tan poca lectura pero de los errores se aprende. Para eso esta la vida, para aprender no? Ahi voy en el proceso. Cuando haya avanzado más les cuento mis nuevas conclusiones.

Por ahora les comparto algunas de las conclusiones de Paz que más han llamado mi atención:

"Las drogas, las prácticas ascéticas y los ejercicios de meditación no son fines sino medios. Si el medio se vuelve fin , se convierte en agente de destrucción. El resultado no es la liberación interior sino la esclavitud, la locura y no la sabiduría, la degradación y no la visión."

Cabe aclarar que no soy fan de las drogas. Tampoco soy una santa pero he tenido la suerte de expandirme sin usar una sola droga. Por medio de experiencias maravillosas al igual que dolorosas, por medio de gente loca, gente culta, gente diferente. De gente que cree en diferentes religiones, otros sin religión. De silencios, libros, películas, viajes, etc. he aprendido a ver el mundo de manera diferente.

El camino que he emprendido me ha llevado a lugares hermosos no solo físicos sino también espirituales en los que he podido ver el mundo desde otras perspectivas, con otros lentes sin necesidad alguna de las drogas.

No me gusta ni el alcohol. Sabe asqueroso sobre todo cuando no es añejo y no sabe a madera.

Con vivencias muchos miedos desaparecieron, muchas máscaras se volvieron transparentes. Nuevos interrogantes surgiron pero sin temores y ahora, en este momento de mi vida estoy en una etapa en donde el respeto y la admiración por la diferencia me han enseñado el significado del amor divino, del amor sublime.

"Una vez rota la percepción cotidiana de la realidad -una vez que la visión de la otra realidad cesa de ofender a nuestros sentidos y a nuestra razón- las drogas salen sobrando. Su función es semejante a la del madala del budismo tibetano: es un apoyo de la meditación, necesario para el principiante, no para el iniciado."

Reconzco que estas palabras fuera de contexto pueden ser peligrosas especialmente para aquellas personas que tengan tendencias adictivas, esten deprimidas o tengan una vida espiritual fría.

Si piensan seguir los pasos de Castaneda tengan mucho cuiado. Asegúrense de estar bien, muy tranquilos consigo mismos y con una actitud positiva antes de considerar hacer algún tipo de droga, esto incluye hasta la cerveza. El acohol es una droga también.

Castaneda estaba loco pero considero que su locura lo llevo a la verdad, a su verdad y tal vez por eso tengo tanta curiosidad de conocer más sobre él. Una cosa si es muy cierta y su teoría que dice que una droga mal manejada así sea legal puede ser la puerta a la destrucción no solo propia sino también la de otros.

A Castaneda "lo que le interesa no es mostrar la inconsistencia de nuestras descripciones de la realidad -sean las de la vida cotidiana o las de la filosofía- sino la consistencia de la visión mágica del mundo. La visión y la práctica: la magia es ante todo una práctica."

La magia la entiendo como creatividad. A veces noto la falta que nos hace a nosotros -el mundo- vivir nuestra vida con mas creatividad. Nos hace falta ser creativos en nuestra manera de amar, de entender a los otros, de comunicarnos. Hay que vivir mas creativamente. Positivamente. Intensamente. Armoniosamente y corazón-mente. Para esto no son necesarias las drogas - tendré que leer más a fondo a Castaneda para poder refutar con mas fundamento sus métodos que aunque "locos" son muy creativos.

He said he'll be here in 20 minutes 15 minutes ago. I'm happy to see him in 5 minutes. Time will tell.

My new job is... I like it.
Last night my cousin Pollis "moved-in" with me for a few months with the thought of saving money to invest it in his business.

At first the idea sounded crazy. My apartment is tiny. Closet space is very limited, there is only one bathroom, one bedroom, the kitchen couldn't be smaller. I still think is crazy for us to live together in such a small space but he needed a hand and I have two. I always want to be there for him - for real. I may not say it as often as I should and even if I behave tough like La Policia I really mean it.

So last night he came with a few boxes, a bag filled with clothes and an air purifier. Ah! Also a tiny tree that looks like a long-skinny bonsai.

When he showed up I was painting. That's something I haven't done in a while. Two days earlier - for a special reason I understood last night - I felt the need to continue working on a painting of three gray-like sunflowers. I had started it months (even maybe years) ago and only until I got back from Mexico this past holiday I had the urge to work on it again.

As I was painting I kept thinking about the name of the painting, about the concept and about the reason why I had started it. I had a very gray cloud over my head for several months not to mention the black hole I felt into for a while. It all had to do with my brother's passing. This painting had started around that time, it came from that dark place and I wasn't able to finish it back then because I was deeply depressed - I think.

The painting is just three sunflowers with small windows of different shades of gray in the background. Some windows are darker than others. From them, tiny little tentacles get closer to the sunflowers inviting them to be gray. They try to fight it by keeping their heads toward the sun. Even though that's what they have known to do their entire life and that's what they were born for, it's almost mission impossible to see the sun. It hurts. As I kept painting I kept thinking about this and different names came to mind:

"Las tristezas"
"Gray Times"
"Los Grisasoles..."

When I'm working on a painting that I love I tent to get "possessed" by it. I wont do anything else until I finish it or at least be close to finish it unless I'm sick or depressed. This time was not the exception. I kept painting and thinking and painting for long hours.

I had planned to organize my house to make space for Pollis but my painting-possession only allowed me to empty half of a closet right before he showed up. Thank God Palo was around to help me with this task. He also fed me, kept me hydrated with green teas and even played some music. The beatles and great oldies, it was really nice.

When Pollis arrived Palo and I welcomed him, we gave him a hug and helped him put his boxes near the bathroom, his clothes in the closet, and the air purifier and the tiny tree by one of the windows. I told him to feel at home and I went right back to painting.

Palo had told me to go to bed, the night before I had been painting until almost 6AM. It was now almost 2AM and I was wired up. Pollis too so we started talking about life, family and random things.

At some point we started talking about my brother and the day of the accident. The truth is that I have a lot of questions about that day but I have never had the chance (or gut) to ask him. Pollis was with him during his last days, his last hours, his last minutes... I have so many questions...

I was done with the gray windows at this time and I was now painting a pair of crying eyes which tears fall into the pot of water that keeps the sunflowers alive. At that moment I asked him about that day. I asked him about the accident, about what he did right after, why did he leave him alone. I even asked him if he had close his eyes during the crash. He said no.
You saw it all? I asked.
Do we really have to talk about this right now? He said.
We both got really quiet.

As I kept painting the crying eyes my eyes got teary too but I didn't want to cry. I took a few deep breaths and apologized to him. I think he felt the same way.

Trying to bring my mind out of that gray emotional spot I looked around and realized why I had the urge to keep working on that painting and why Pollis had moved in with me. I think it's healing time.

Once again I realized how timing makes my life magical and how grateful I am of my life and the blessings God keeps giving me.

The painting will be ready soon - you will be able to understand (a bit better) all the crazy things I'm talking about here. ufff... Let's keep breathing...

Back in NYC. New cold. New snow and new job.

Puros unos pero juntitos se siente muy bien. En familia, extrañando a los mios pero conociendo y compartiendo con los de el. Gracias Dios por empezar el año en buena compañia adentro y afuera.


And today I sing to you:
Haaaappy birthhhhhday toooo you! (my voice breaks)
Haaaaappyyyy biiiiiiirthdaaaaay toooo youuuu! (My eyes blink several times)
Haaapyyy birthhhhhdayyy dear (tears run down my face and I cannot sing anymore)

I keep trying to let my earthly humanism run down my sleve, it's not an easy task. Keeping my spiritual-thoughts up and cheery is even harder. What gives me peace inside is to know that he's definitely in a better place right now, resting.

I would like to invite you to do this exercise at some point before December 31st.

Based on my experience I would recommend you to do it as you go to the bathroom - for boys probably during a number two. It's important to be seating down comfortably. If the bathroom sounds "wrong" to you find a quiet and private place to take some time for yourself. I'm aware that this could be a mission impossible during the holidays specially if you have a big family so, I insist, try it while you go to the bathroom. It worked for me. I came up with it while I was seating on the toilet - peeing - staring at a drawing of two old men at Jan's house this morning and it was great.

So, for some reason, as I stared at the wrinkled face of these men in the drawing I started picturing myself really old too. I saw all those wrinkles on my 90-something year-old face. My parents and my sister were already dead. Most of my friends were gone or dead too and pretty much everyone I knew and loved throughout my life had disappeared. I was old and alone in a place I didn't recognize with a bridge in the background - just like the drawing. It sounds depressing but it was actually beautiful.

As I saw myself old and peaceful I started to reminisce about my younger years, my "wonder years." I saw myself as a kid, in my 20's, 30's, 40's, 50's, etc. I imagined a husband and some kids and works of art, movies, family trips, my parents as grandparents. Many pictures came to mind, some were real, others I just made them up of course.

I was able to do this by allowing my mind to run free. I didn't condition it. I didn't listen to my ego's demands. I didn't care if my husband was white or black, or short, if he was American, Colombian, Mexican. I just imagined a wonderful man. Same with my kids. They didn't have an specific sex, they were just figures of wonderful people representing pure love around me.

I allowed myself to feel like a mother, a wife, even a grandmother. A filmmaker, a painter, a successful woman. It was awesome.

The positive things came to my mind first, like cliches of course. Happy moments of a perfect family in a beautiful home. Sunny and colorful pictures full of smiles. A perfect job, a perfect everything. That was very nice. However, I wanted to keep going deeper into my life and make this exercise as real as possible so I also started picturing some rough times.

I didn't imagined specific events but I saw my mom crying as well as my sister and my dad. I had arguments with my husband, my kids were acting crazy, etc. I hated my work. I saw myself being mediocre, not caring at times and at that moment a very strong desire to go back on time came over me.

I even heard my old-woman's voice saying "I wish I could go back and do it all over again."

I wanted to tell my parents and my sister how much I love them, I wanted to hug my husband, make love to him once again. I wanted be a kid again an play more with my little brother, I wanted to be nicer to my friends, do my work the best I could. I wanted to hug everyone, feel their warmth, smell their skin. I got so into it that I really started to miss everyone, I even felt like crying.

I stopped looking at the drawing and saw everything around me. The orange walls of the bathroom took me back to the present fast. At that moment I felt so lucky.

Seeing myself in the mirror and knowing that it wasn't too late, that I was able to "do it all over again" was such a relieve. I'm aware that some might think I'm crazy or that I like torturing myself - maybe you are right but the feeling of gratitude and fulfillment I felt as I exit the bathroom were great - like coming out of a great therapy session.

I was happy, I felt young and alive. I realized how lucky I am to have the family I have.

I made a silent prayer to God in gratitude for all the wonderful gifts around me and I thought the best way to start the new year is giving yourself a bit of therapy that will help you remember how lucky you are.

Try it.

Maybe it works, maybe it wont, you have nothing to lose, If you decide to do it though make sure you let me know how it goes. Good Luck.

I love you.

Today I had a lazy-cold-sleepy day at Jan's house with Pollis, Taz and Maya. There are very little signs of christmas around here but it sure felt cozy.

Pollis left at around 5pm to watch a basketball game and since then it's been quiet. So quiet that I "made" this video, it's called "Watch your life flash before your eyes without being involve in a car accident"

I hope you enjoy it.

PS: Gracias @pummelvision - it would not had been possible without you.

I decided for the first time since my brother's "surprised-go-away-party-december-30-07" to spend the holidays not only without my parents but also far away from home. I thought it was about time to be strong and hold on and have the therapeutical experience of not-fall into my parents arms when I felt the holiday-pain. I needed to cut that weird looking emotional umbilical cord that somehow kept bringing me down specially during these days.

The holidays have DEFINITELY not been the same since that December. The emotional adjustment process is still making me limp as I walk slowly through life, but, when my mom suggested me to stay in the USA I thought it was a good idea. She thought it was appropriate for a few simple reasons that I wont mention here but yes, I thought she was right. I felt strong, normal, nothing felt like missing a few months ago... but... I'm regretting it now - I'm regretting it only for splits seconds that come and go with the sharp deep pain of a contraction. I have never had a baby but I have felt deep pain. Is it similar? It's different pain but just as intense I think... I hope my mom is not feeling it too.

I declined an invitation to go to Mexico as well as my sister's constants emails about good deals in orbitz for flights to Bogota... I was just fine, and now, I'm still just fine but alone. Quiet. Listening to the silent of a non-holiday spirit moving around me.

It's okay, I'm okay. I like it.

Detaching myself from numbers and rules and cultural things in general makes one grow. I'm expanding my horizons. I'm discovering my own "something" at my own pace and under my own rules.

Those things implanted inside me year after year, christmas songs, christmas gifts, christmas expectations are not too important right now. Not today. Maybe not even tomorrow. This day is just another beautiful moon with some ocean waves somewhere in some beach. Something to remember.

It's great not to need something you were taught to need it and even though missing him is just normal I like the abnormality of things right now. It's refreshiiiishhhhhh... shhhhhhhhh...

Yesterday I watched Dr. Oz's show about being normal.
"I have orgasms while I sleep, am I normal?" A woman asked.
Yes you are, he said. Who has orgasms in their sleep? Almost everyone raised their hand in the audience, I wasn't there but my hand was up, wasup, not much around here just holiday thoughts. Good bye.

I tend-to-love the 11's of each month.

Also, I tend to not-love-so-much when people ask me about my favorite movie. It keeps changing as I grow older and it has become more a "timing" thing than anything else. Like a "religion" (for myself only).

Giving the fact that a movie is well done in all aspects of film making, it has great actors, a great script, great camera work, etc. It may become my favorite if I watch it at the right time - the right time in my life.

"Cinema Paradiso" for example became one of my favorites my second year of college. The day I watched that film I had just gotten back from Colombia and I was feeling the contradiction of being extremely homesick with no desire to go back home at all. That movie marked a moment in my life, something I'll never forget.

When I watched Pan's Labyrinth it was almost a spiritual experience timing-wise. Del Toro blew my mind with the way he captured a little girl's mind (in such a dark environment.) It was also my favorite for a while. The ending was sublime. It got me by surprise and tears run down my face. Cliché. I know but I loved it.

The last movie I watched that I felt "spiritually" connected with was Black Swan by Darren Aronousky. One of the darkest, creepiest, saddest movie I have ever seen. I don't think it would had been my favorite if I would had watched it last year or the year before. It made me think of La Luciernaga and the way girls handle fear, depression and pressure. We are so hard on ourselves. I connected with the movie in different layers but the one thing that stood out the most was Aronousky's ability to make me think he had fallen into the teacher-student cliché but no, not at all. He went a step deeper - as usual. The teacher was just (selfishly) doing his job. Great film, my favorite for now.

Now, let me ask you something, what's your favorite color? How about your favorite color for candy? Your favorite number?
Exactly, we all want to know but I promise you I wont put you inside a mental box. You are bigger than that and always growing.

Last night I finished editing this video for Danny Goldfield, a photographer I met during the after party of the Jackass 3D movie premiere at the MOMA a few months ago.
He is doing a very interesting project with children from all over the world living in NYC.
Check it out here:


29 it's the story of 29 year-old Nanatalina Rodriguezonea. A latin artist who lives in New York City and for the first time in her life she feels old. She struggles with the thought of finding THE ONE to get married and have kids. Her constant conversations with an imaginary friend, her (younger) boyfriend Pocho and her best friend Julaima try to help her through her emotional journey but only after meeting Albo an artist from LA she is able to understand what she needs to do. It's a simple (stupid) story best described as a mix between Sex and the City and Betty La Fea.

It's less than 20 pages. Would you like to read it?

Can sleeping too much be considered a "drug addiction"?
It's definitely a way to avoid reality.

New Song!

I've been thinking about all the 29 year-old women who live around and inside me and I wrote the lyrics of a song for them and for me. It's called "29."

Tell me what you think. The melody starts like a melancholic Ranchera and as the songs goes on some Cumbia beats start to appear. Magically... Well, not really but something like that.

Allow me to explain.

For those familiar with the Latin tendencies please bring to mind any Ranchera song by Chavela vargas and any Cumbia/Hip-Hop song by Calle 13. I hear the melody of 29 as a mix between these two "styles" of music. It starts as a very rustic-Latin-soul-blues and as the song goes on Cumbia beats start to take over ending up with a very urban and up-beat song.

If you have a hard time "hearing" this inside your head please Google Chavela Vargas' song La Llorona. It's amazing.

Listen carefully to her voice and don't worry if you don't speak Spanish music is so powerful you will understand what she's saying because you will fill it - Only if you allow it of course.

Once you get that song in your head open another Google window and look for Calle 13's song Atrevete-te-te.

Make sure the beats and vibes of this song resonate inside your brain as well. It will probably make you want to dance. Do it if you can, it's always good to burn a few calories.

I'm sure those Latin flavors will run through your veins and as you read the lyrics bellow you will be able to hear the melody I'm looking for, right? Yes, I really hope so.

Enjoy it.


Two you, two nine, two me, tonight.
I don't feel that I'm old but...
Why are the colors I see not bright as before?

I can see the new marks, I can see that I've changed
for the first time today, I feel the future has come.

Growing up hurts - they say - but that's not so true
what hurts it's to give birth to a baby or two (say what?!)

Two you, two nine, two me, tonight.
I don't feel that I'm old but...
Why are the colors I see not bright as before?

I still see the marks, they're all over my face
they make me feel old, for the first time today.

I'm not sure what I want, what to do with my life
I just hear a clock ticking, it's ticking inside so...

I run away, so far away (Santa Pacha Bendita)
I wana have a bab(a)y or two (say what?!)

Two you, two nine, two me, tonight.
I don't feel that I'm old but...
Why are the colors I see not bright as before?

To you, to me, tonight. I'm just twenty nine
twenty nine today and tonight--------

The end.

Waaaahh - it's a work in progress.
Before you make any judgments I want you to keep in mind that I'm not a musician but I like story telling. There is no "story" here but there is some "telling." Also you need to know that when certain career oriented women hit their late twenties they start thinking about their roll as a mother/wife more often than ever before. Why?! I don't know. Tic-tac-tic-tac. It's inevitable. It's great and it sucks.
I love it.

Un fenomeno raro me esta ocurriendo. Ultimamente me esta gustando la ropa de mi mama.

En algun momento de mi infancia me gusto mucho jugar con los tacones y los vestidos de mi mama pero a medida q fui creciendo me di cuenta que los gustos que teniamos en muchas cosas, especialmente en estilo y ropa eran muy diferentes.

Durante los anios de crisis de la familia en el que mi papa no tuvo trabajo la ropa paso a un segundo plano. Mi mama tenia uno o dos vestidos, uno que otro pantalon, alguna que otra camisa o busito y por ahi algun saco viejo que yo a veces me ponia para dormir porque de lo viejo era suavecito.

En mis late teens (como se dice late teens en Espaniol? se los debo) todo lo que mi mama se ponia me parecia hediondo. No porque la pieza o vestido que se pusiera fuera necesariamente hedionda sino porque era un estilo de seniora casada " vieja" algo muy alejado a lo que yo era -y queria ser- en ese momento.

Sus faldas largas a mitad de pierna con camisas como satinadas o de arandelas me daban ganas de vomitar (bueno, estoy exagerando un poquito como siempre suelo hacer). Sus sacos de seniora con panioletas desabridas, sus pantalones de panio en tonos grises y azules oscuros me gritaban en silencio: huye!
Era un fenomeno tipico de la edad, no? Obvio que si.

Lo curioso ahora, en este momento de mi vida es que me gusta el estilo de mi mama. Es obvio que ella ha podido viajar mas y asi ha ido expandiendo su gusto y aunque ahora tenga acceso a tiendas de su agrado y accesorios mas modernos su estilo sigue siendo el mismo, igual de simple... Y ahora me gusta.

Esto que significa? Que me estoy volviendo vieja? Que el amor por mi mama me crece en cantidades desbordantes? Que quiero ser como ella?
No lo se pero si no estoy mal un poco de "Todas las Anteriores.

Yesterday was a very special day (in my imaginary world.)
When I was a teenager I had special dates in which I constantly dream of achieving something. For example, my wedding date used to be july 7th, 2007. At the time I didn't care so much about building a strong and healthy relationship with my boyfriend but hey! my wedding date was very important. The numbers became something meaningful and maybe even more important to me than the actual moment in my life. It just felt right to do such thing in such day whether I was in love and ready for it or not. Ahh the good old dreamy days... Of course it didn't happen like pretty much everything I keep dreaming off but I gota tell you I really enjoyed the thought of it very much. Everything is always bigger and greener inside my head.

Today I wish I could say those childish things are something from the past.

Unfortunately (or fortunately for me) I am still the same 13 year-old girl that didn't get marry July 7, 2007 so what did I do? I came up with a new date! Yesterday in a year from now it's my new wedding date.

After my brother's accident the number eleven became something else, something more mystical. I started to see the clock at 11:11 every single time. Then 4:11, 5:11, 1:11, etc. I thought I was going crazy but after google-ing it and reading a few cool things about it I accepted it and even though I'm not sure what it means I know it's something special that I'll understand it better with time. Funny isn't? You not only find your answers in google but you also find some peace (of mind).

My wedding date then became a mystical thing too. 11-11-11. I came up with that date a while ago and I thought about it all day long yesterday. It didn't help the fact that I spent most of my day riding in the back seat of my aunt's car. Quietly and while staring at the orange trees I allowed my mind to wonder around its more remote corners. Of course my mystical wedding date was floating around in there. I'm visiting my parents in Atlanta who are also visiting my aunt Elena. They came for a few weeks to work at a Latin catholic church. My cousin Waldo - who is a priest here in Atl- invited them to talk about the process of mourning someone so I've been going with them all over the place, seating in the back seat for hours just being physically quiet mentally very loud.
It has been nice.
Today is November 3rd 2010
Happy Halloween!
What's for today? The shoot of the music video of Plastic Caramelo's song El Diablo. Am I Excited? Oh yes, and you?
Feliz Dia de las Brujas!
Que hay pa' hoy? Nada mas ni nada menos que el rodaje del video musical de El Diablo de Plastic Caramelo. Que si estoy emocionada? Si mucho, y usted?

Esto lo tome del blog "Plano Crativo" de Alejandro Jodorowsky. La pregunta de mi amigo Vlamyr fue muy buena y la respuesta buenisisisisisma.
Gracias a los dos. Amolos.

Alejandro Jodorowsky: Vlamyr me ha preguntado: “¿Qué rituales o ejercicios podrías ofrecernos para abrirnos a nuevos niveles de conciencia?”.

Para llegar a uno mismo, al Ser esencial, primero que nada debemos domar a esa ilusión tatuada en nuestra mente por la familia, la sociedad y la cultura, que llamamos Ego. Ilusión con la que nos identificamos y que nos retiene en una especie de cárcel mental. Se logra esto, observando objetivamente hasta donde nos es posible, la cotidiana conducta de ese personaje que nos posee. He aquí una lista, no exhaustiva, de los defectos de carácter que debemos vencer para llegar a actuar como un ser de un alto nivel de conciencia. Quien añade conciencia, añade felicidad a su vida.

El Ego se alaba sin cesar… El Ego se maltrata, pero en el fondo quiere que le digan que sus defectos no son tan graves o que lo admiren por su franqueza y “humildad”… El Ego habla sin entender lo que está diciendo porque, en verdad, no puede conocer nada pues gira alrededor de sí mismo… El Ego proyecta su imagen en todo el mundo. Si tiene miedo, el mundo es feo. Si está eufórico, el mundo es bello. Si tiene deseos perversos, ve pervertidos en todas partes… El Ego cree que él es lo que piensa, siente, hace. Si critican algo de él, se ofende… El Ego no ve diferencia entre lo que tiene y lo que es él. Los objetos son su continuación. Es capaz de matar si le dañan, por ejemplo, su automóvil… El Ego goza de su propia violencia, como también goza de su insatisfacción e incultura… Como el tiempo es su enemigo porque lo acerca a la muerte, el Ego se preocupa de la edad, es decir, de sus cambios físicos. Cambios que oculta con tatuajes, piercings, adornos… El Ego siempre enjuicia a los demás poniéndose él como medida: son mejores, peores o iguales a él… El Ego tiene buenas razones para justificar sus errores: son culpa de las circunstancias o de los otros… El Ego discute para demostrarse a sí mismo que es más inteligente que los otros. Su táctica es decir “¡No!”… El Ego es codicioso: no ama sino que desea poseer… El Ego dice que le suceden cosas “extraordinarias”: ha visto un platillo volador, ha tenido una visión, conoce a un personaje famoso, etc. Lo que le “sucede” lo cuenta para ponerse en valor y sentirse superior a los que lo escuchan… Cuando alguien muere, el Ego se alegra porque no es él quien expiró… El Ego oculta un mordisco detrás de cada alabanza que concede… Al Ego le gusta agradar y se coloca máscaras de diferentes personalidades para caer bien. Se hace el honesto o el fuerte o el delicado o el niño, según con quien está…El Ego se preocupa por dejar sus huellas en algún lado: firma paredes, pone sus fotografía en marcos, funda escuelas, lucha por obtener medallas y premios, etc… Al Ego le gusta mandar a otros y goza apoderándose de voluntades ajenas. Sufre cuando otro lo manda. Detesta a cualquier clase de maestro… Al Ego le gusta vivir junto a los que tienen poder o fama y es servil con ellos por envidia… El Ego no sabe escuchar: supone lo que le van a decir y reacciona según sus suposiciones sin dejar hablar al otro… El Ego es un vampiro de energía: cuando visita a alguíen es capaz de hablarle de sí mismo durante horas sin preguntarle ni siquiera si está bien de salud…

La auto-observación de nuestro Ego debe ser constante: es la básica y esencial primera lucha para acceder a planos de conciencia más elevados.

“Una persona no es un cubo vacío, educar significa sacar de dentro”.
(Del Blog Plano Creativo de Alejandro Jodorowsky)
"A person is not an empty bucket, to educate means to bring things out from inside."
(by Alejandro Jodorowsky from his blog Plano Creativo)

I got an invitation for a "Dia De Muertos" party today from my Mexican friend Gabriela. In the past few years she's made the most amazing little parties at her house with the most amazing home made Mexican food. When I opened her email and read the invitation I got really excited about it. The excitement got erased seconds later by a series of bitter-sweet memories that came to mind making me cry. I cry easily now days. Allow me to explain.

Three years ago I went to her house for my first Dia De Muertos party - I think it was also her first time doing it here in NYC. I learned so much about that day.

For a Dia De Muertos Party you are supposed to bring a photo of someone that has passed away and their favorite _______ something. It could be food, music, anything.

I remember having a hard time thinking of that someone. The closer relatives I had that passed away were my grandparents on my dad side. My grandmother died when I was a baby and my grandfather when I was five or six years-old. A grand uncle also had passed away when I was a teenager but he lived far away from Bogota and I didn't really know him.

At that time I was thankful and grateful (in a quiet way) to know that everyone close to me was still alive and around. Different from my friend Gaby whose father had passed away a few years before. (RIP Mr. Alva) I had been there for her many times when she felt like missing him specially during certain dates and holidays, and even though I wanted to understand her feelings I wasn't able to do so simply because it had never happened to me. So after a lot of thinking I decided to bring a photo of my first love Carlitos.

Carlitos was the son of one of my dad's best friend back in the day - a Spanish man that came to Colombia for a few years to work with cyclists. One day he and his family moved back to Spain and I never saw him again. I was heartbroken. This was a really long time ago.

At nine years old I promised myself that I was going to marry him after doing a made-up ritual with rose petals and shampoo in front of a tree at a park near my house. That day, the day Carlitos left for ever to Spain, I made the ritual he became THE love of my life for ever. It was a bit scary, all the boys I had a crush on looked similar to him - even during my twenties.

One day, I was already in the US and my mom called me to said she had finally gotten Carlitos' phone number again. Our families had lost contact over the years and even though I didn't know anything about him he was always in the back of my head.

I remember staring at that phone number and wondering if it was the right time to talk to him. My dramatic thoughts only got me really nervous so I decided to put the phone number aside. I needed a few days to think about what I was going to say to him after all these years. I didn't want to sound like an idiot. He was six years older than me and that made me really insecure back in the day when I was nine. He always saw me as a little-girl-sister-like and I hated it because yes, I was a little girl but I was madly in love with him. Love has no age right? Riiiiight. I guess those kind of insecurities stay with us for ever. I was now 21 years old and I still felt like that little-girl-sister-like and I didn't want to sound like that on the phone - plus I was dating a boy at the time and I thought it was "unfaithful" to be calling another boy (that secretly I still loved).

Two years went by and one night my mom called me again. Are you sitting down? She asked. Yes mom, why? I wasn't. Ana Maria, Carlitos passed away three months ago. I had to sit down when I heard the news.
What? Why? Who? Carlos?
His father's name is Carlos.
"No honey, Carlitos, your Carlitos was found dead. He was scuba diving in the open ocean and drawn inside a cave."
Huh? I couldn't believe what I was hearing. Not only it was the most random death but also Carlitos, the love of my life was gone for good.
Do you know how many times I imagined seeing him again? I even thought of what to wear and what to say and our first kiss and all those things girly girls dream off.
At that moment I knew it was over. Our love was over. I was so sad that I even wrote a script about a girl who had an amazing love story with the love of her life INSIDE her head only. In the script the girl makes the phone call at the right time and he invites her to Spain. When she sees him at the airport she realizes that even after all those years she is still madly in love with him. Colorful butterflies come out of her stomach when she sees him but they all get squeezed when he hugs her... One day I'll make that movie.

That night I cried like never before.

When I saw my boyfriend (a different one from the one I had two years earlier) I realized I didn't love him as much as I thought. He asked me what was wrong and I told him a relative had died back home, once again I felt "unfaithful" but it didn't matter, I was in pain.

Five days later I was strong enough (so I thought) to finally make the phone call.
I dialed the European number an a woman answered the phone with a strong Spanish accent. Bueno? She said.
Hi, hello, who is this? I said with a shaky voice.
It's Natalia. His older sister said.
After explaining her who I was she put her mother on the phone. I felt like crying right away and even though I tried to hold it in I couldn't. "I loved your son" I said to her. No one said anything for a while, we just heard each other crying on the phone. Once we recuperated, we spoke for over an hour and after I hanged up the phone I felt a bit relieved.

I regret and will regret for the rest of my life never had made that phone call... If I could only go back on time... If I could only... Oh well, life has taught me to move on. The quicker the better.

So, going back to my original story, after going down memory land I decided to bring the only photo I had of Carlitos - A passport size photo he once gave while we were hanging out at my house. I didn't know what his favorite food was so I just brought beer.bAt the party I didn't want to put his photo on the altar.

I forgot to mention that there is an altar in where everyone put their photos, their food, candles and whatever you think is relevant to the person that's no longer here.

I didn't really feel like talking about my story with Carlitos, it sounds like a little girl's fantasy when I say it out loud, it's too personal and some people just don't understand so instead of putting his photo over the altar I took a piece of paper and wrote his name down. I folded it really well and put it over the altar next to a candle and some orange flowers.

The party was amazing. I remember eating like a pig, dancing like a trompo (google it) and just enjoying myself 100%. We were celebrating death and it was fun. That's probably where my love for this holiday comes from, it combines something that we are taught to be sad about (death) with what makes life great (family, friends, food, music, fun). I was also glad no one asked me anything about my white piece of paper.

This year, I got her invitation again and UNFORTUNATELY I didn't have to think twice about what photo to bring. Even though I was very excited about the party I burst into tears after I finished reading her email. I couldn't help it. I cry very easily now days specially when something or someone takes me back to the time when my life felt complete - Adjusting always take some time. I'm still working on it.

Now I understand what Gabriela feels and how, and yes, I want to get together with her and celebrate this very special day. No one understand better about the mourning process than those who have been through it.
The death of someone close to you is by far the hardest thing that has ever happened to me. It was unexpected, unthinkable, painful. If there is hell I think I've been there.
It's been three years now and if you don't know what I'm talking about let me explain to you that my baby brother got killed in a car accident December 30th 2007. I feel like vomiting every time I see his photo...even right now. I'm sorry. It still makes me mad... I kind of wish I hadn't written that but I did and I wont erase it. At least not today... Breath... Breathing...

Another (unfortunate) and way more superficial thing is that the day of the party I will be shooting a music video for Plastic Caramelo. Life can sux big time sometimes but parties are (usually) fun specially those at Gaby's house.

Gracias for that God.

Would you liked to see the film La Luciérnaga (The Firefly)?
La Luciérnaga uses Magic Realism to tell the story of Lucia, a married woman who after the sudden death of her estranged brother accidentally meets his fiance. Together, the two women fulfill each others loss and find themselves falling in love with each other.
Let me know if it sounds interesting to you or not.

Here's the synopsis:
Moments before he is to wed, Andres Hernandez realizes he can’t get married without the presence of his estranged sister whom he has not spoken to since their father’s death. He insists on picking her up himself and driving her to his wedding but on the way there he is involved in a car accident and dies.

Everyone at the church slowly learns of Andres’s fate and are in shock including his wife to be Mariana who runs away. The last one to know the tragic news is Andres’ 33-year-old sister, Lucia who is wrapped up in her own life with her husband of four years. After receiving the bad news she goes through an emotional crisis compounded by a series of nightmares and hallucinations in which she appears to become a monstrous insect. The next day at Andres’ funeral she cannot bear to see him being buried and escapes to Andres’ apartment with keys she was given earlier that day by his best friend, El Pastuso.

Upon arriving at his home she experiences something that will change her life forever and after meeting Mariana she learn of the strong bond shared between her and her dead brother and also between Mariana and Andres.

Slowly the two women begin to help each other cope with their losses and grow to love one another. After several days together, Lucia’s nightmares begin to give way to more positive dreams in which she is a firefly able to help others including Mariana and most importantly herself.

Eventually the time comes when Lucia is at a crossroads, she realizes her relation with her husband doesn't make her happy and she must decide whether to return to him or to continue on this new journey with her soul mate that she has found in Mariana.

Comments please.

(Thank you Dan and Palo for your help the other night.)

I have been busy. Tonight Bruno and CF.

I am back from Colombia feeling not sure if I wanted to be back. A bit ada - Inspirada, enamorada, cansada, colorada, amada, felizmente ada.

Alonso está en Belén.
Ayer llegó directo de NY a Florencia, Caquetá y de ahí a Belén. Un viaje enorrrrme no solo por la distancia sino por la cultura. Esta mañana por ejemplo nos despertamos con el cantar de un gallo y no con el ruido del bus M15 que hace su parada justo al frente de mi casa.

He estado filmando por casi una semana con Niny y Diana los alrededores de la región y la hemos pasado muy bien. Lo que hemos filmado hasta ahora será usado para mostrar de una buena vez la cara linda, la cara hermosa de esta azotada región. Su gente es servicial, limpia y trabajadora. Todos se esmeran por atender bien a quienes los visitan y con nosotros no han sido la excepción.

This coming Wednesday I´m going to Caquetá to see Niny.
Do you remember Niny writing me about being scared of the situation in her hometown Belén?
Thanks to the help of I´m able to be in Bogotá right now packing my bags and my camera to hit the road to go visit Niny.
After writing back and forth we came up with the idea of making a video about the colors of Caquetá. She said she´s tired of hearing everyone everywhere only talking about the color red, the violence, the war, the drugs. ¨No body ever talks about the beautiful greens¨ she said and she is right! Caquetá is the Colombian door to the amazons. It has a million shades of greens, endless rivers, exotic animals and fruits and the most important it has beautiful people like Niny.
Next week we will be working together capturing los colores del Caquetá specially its greens. Whish us luck. There are also tons of snakes, bugs, humidity and of course, gerrilla but we wont even talk about that.

In a place of la Mancha...
During my flight to Bogotá from NYC something happened to me that hadn´t happened in a really long time. I slept almost all the way through the flight but when I woke up to go to the bathroom I found a mancha looking directly into my eyes. It was invasive, inapropiate, obscure and quietly violent.
I went from being surprised to bitter to scared and once I realized I couldn´t do much about it I decided to accept it and enjoy-ignore it.
The flight made a stop in El Salvador and at this foreing airport my mind forgot about the mancha even though my clothes kept showing it off. I didn´t care.
The mancha left by the terrorists attacks today in 2001 is something I´m still trying to understand and I haven't been able to forget or even ignore. It still hurts. I only mentioned it here right now to let you know that I share the pain that ugly mancha still causes today. There are many who still carry it around in their heart. I feel it too, deep inside in a place of la Mancha...


En un lugar de la Mancha....
Durante mi vuelo de NYC a Bogota me pasó algo que hace mucho tiempo no me pasaba. Dormí casi todo el vuelo y cuando me paré para ir al baño encontré una mancha mirandome fijamente a los ojos. Era invasiva, inoportuna, oscura y silenciosamente violenta.
Al verla me sorprendí, me amargué, me asusté y al ver que no podía hacer nada al respecto la disfruté/ignoré.
El vuelo hizo escala en El Salvador y una vez en este ageno aeropuerto todo rastro de la mancha se borro de mi mente pero no de mi ropa. No me importó.
La mancha que dejaron los hechos terroristas en el 2001 es algo que aún me cuesta entender y solo lo meciono aquí para acompañar a todos los que llevan esa mancha en el corazón que aún duele. Yo siento el dolor tambien, aquí adentro en un lugar de la Mancha...

I want to go to Panama to be "miserable."

Esta loca se fue al gimnasio con su amiga.
This crazy one went to the gym with her friend.

Today I experienced a miracle and I felt guilty afterward.
A lady in the streets of Harlem run up to me saying that I had lost something.
I had just gotten out of the ATM with $200 in tewnty dollar bills that I rolled up and put inside my pocket. She extended her hand as if she was going to give me something. Very curious I open my hand bellow hers and saw how some rolled up bills fell into it. She said "a man kept saying there were his, but I knew he was lying." I thanked her and she walked away. I couldn't believe it. What a miracle to lose money and find it right away.
As I kept walking with this money in my hand I look inside my pocket and found my rolled up bills in there. By the time I realized that money wasn´t mine the lady was far gone. I got someone else's money, that man was right, it was his money... It didn´t feel good. I felt happy and sad, amazed and totally guilty. Those rolled up bills still are inside my pocket... and...
...and I hope you understand because forgot how to write.

With a possible for-ever-lover what's more important, a connection based in reason or a connection based in spirit (feeling)?
I know you can get both from the same lover but if one is stronger than the other one which one would you choose and why?

 Ana Maria Hermida is now friends with Rosa Rita Vargas Sanchez and Pat Mastandrea.
Oh yeah, life is filled with contradictions.
On the other hand, I had fun with S while I talked to D and missed A. Wow, I'm alive and awake.
Good night everyone.

Crecer en una contradicción.
La sabiduría que se aprende y/o se obtiene con el pasar de los años se desvanece por la venas con los sentimientos que -usualmente negativos- nuestra mente aprende a intensificar con ese mismo pasar de los años. Esto hace que nuestro proceso de crecimiento sea doloroso y aunque seamos mas sabios por un lado, por el otro somos más inseguros, más irracionales y más cargados de pasado.

Es cierto el viejo refrán que dice solo sé que nada sé pero es más cierto el viejo refrán que no existe que no dice solo sé que entre más sé, más me confundo, más se llenan mis maletas.

Para los que aprenden mejor con imágenes, imaginen que la vida es como un túnel.
De niños pasamos por el túnel muy tranquilamente, caminando a nuestro ritmo sin cuestionar demasiado y satisfechos de simplemente ir caminando.
En el momento en que nos detenemos a pensar y descubrimos los muros de este túnel inevitablemente nos ponemos a excavarlos. A medida que excavamos nos ensuciamos las manos y los ojos se nos llenan de polvo. Algunos afortunados logramos excavar en la parte de arriba del túnel y abrimos pequeños agujeros de luz por lo cuales se puede ver hacia afuera, otro mundo, otra dimensión la cual cada uno interpreta a su manera. Estos agujeros de luz tienden a cegarnos y a veces por estar pegados a ellos paramos nuestro caminar. De igual manera a veces empezamos a excavar hacia abajo entrando mas en la oscuridad. Hay unos que duran años excavando hacia abajo sin siquiera saberlo. Con el tiempo nuestra ropa se va llenando de tierra y a veces en nuestros bolsillos caen piedras que hacen nuestro caminar mucho más pesado. El piso del túnel también se va llenando de residuos que a veces nos hacen tropezar y rasparnos las rodillas. Unos lloran por mucho tiempo mientras otros se levantan rápidamente y siguen caminando.
Lo ven? Es clarisimo.
Si ven? Entre más excavamos y aprendemos las técnicas de excavación más sucios nos volvemos y más difícil se hace nuestro caminar. Es ahí cuando deseamos nunca haber cuestionado nada, aprendido nada, simplemente quedarnos en ese estado natural de niño sin el peso del pasado, ni las pre-ocupaciones del futuro, simplemente viviendo en el presente.

Sería maravilloso poder regresar a esa sabia ignorancia infantil que hacia nuestro caminar por la vida suave y liviano -- la la la -- Yesterday, all my troubles seemed so far away.

Cuando tenía 13 años un incidente trajo a mi mente este tipo de pensamientos por primera vez en mi vida.

El mayordomo de la finca de uno de mi tios había salido a una fiesta "campesina" y después de muchos tragos terminó involucrado en una pelea en la cual perdió su mano derecha de un machetazo. La pelea a machetazos solo ocurre en el campo, por eso lo de campesino. Igual puedo estar equivocada. El tipo no sintió dolor, solo vió una mano volando por las cabezas de los pelioneros y al perder el balance por la ausencia del peso de su mano él borrachin notó que algo andaba mal.

Tuve la oportunidad de conocerlo en casa de mi tia Mariana semanas después del incidente y como buena periodista que hubiera podido llegar hacer lo invadí de preguntas. En mi mente de teenager la idea de perder una mano - y más la derecha - me parecía la tragedia más grande del universo entero y total!! - así literalmente.

Cuando lo ví no me imaginé que fuera él la trágica víctima. Su sonrisa de oreja a oreja me cegaba, no por el diente de oro que tenía sino por la alegría desbordante que salía de su sonrisa. Cuando le ví su muñeca envuelta en bendas sangrientas confirmé que aquel hombre dizque felíz era el nuevo mocho - Mocho en Colombia es un término usado para referirse a alguién sin mano. Espero no sea despectivo.
Cómo era posible que alguién mocho pudiera estar tan felíz? Me pregunté una y mil veces. Su nueva limitación era tan grande que no podría volver a trabajar en la finca, ni manejar las bestias. No podría escribir, tocar a su mujer, lavarle los dientes, amarrarse los zapatos, vestirse, peinarse, bañarse. Yo repetía en mi cabeza una lista interminable de cosas que ya no podría hacer este pobre hombre mientras él feliz se tomaba una aguadepanela con limón que había hecho mi tía. Sostenía con dificultad el vaso con su mano izquierda pero lo hacía muy bien, no derramó una sola gota y además terminaba cada sorbo con una surreal sonrisa que yo no lograba entender.
"Este señor no tiene idea lo que le espera" susurré sin que él se diera cuenta y seguí añadiendo labores imposibles a mi lista mental.

De repente me dijo "estoy tan feliz!" Sus palabras callaron mi mente y la lista se desvaneció súbitamente. "Ya aprendí a amarrarme los zapatos con la mano izquierda." En ese momento pude sonreír y después de un rato pensé "que bendición puede llegar a ser la ignorancia." Este hombre supuestamente "ignorante" ha podido asumir este incidente como otro más en su vida. Me di cuenta que su capacidad de vivir tan-presente-en-el-presente era como la de un niño. El futuro no existía en su cabeza y por ende tampoco las preocupaciones, ni las expectativas, ni la presión. Nada. En ese momento él simplemente disfrutaba el aguadepanela y se alegraba al recordar su gran asaña.

Deseé con todas mis fuerzas ser él, así mocho y aunque adolorido disfrutando una aguadepanela con limón como si nada hubiera pasado.

I was informed today that El Elefante Rojo was selected to the Strasbourg International Film Festival in France and even though I wont be able to go I was very happy about it. I might go to Florida, to the beaches of St. Petersburg to another film festival organized for the one mentioned above that also will screen my film.
On the other hand, I'm doing the line for Grimaldi's pizza right now under the Brooklyn bridge. ¨40 minutes wait¨ said the unusual hostess (an Italian man in his late 50´s) It´s amazing! Even though I have to wait that long in a hot humid night the thought of having a slice of hot-brick-oven pizza entering my mouth makes my life just wonderful. How about seeing my film near the beach? I cannot complain. Gracias Dios for all that.
Do you remember my friend Niny? She is one of the young girls I met not too long ago in Belen de Los Andaquies the little Colombian town near the jungle where there is a film school for the local kids.
Niny wrote me a few days ago and her words echoed inside my head for days. I wasn't sure what to say, her words were sinking deep but after a few days something revealing came to mind and finally I was able to write her back. Less than a day later she answered me with stronger words. Those words inspired me for a bigger idea and if everything goes as planned (cross your fingers) I will have a surprise for you and for her soon. If not, there is always hope and positive thoughts that help us keep moving forward.
Read bellow so what I'm saying makes a little more sense.

I'm translated Niny's words from her first message:

Ana Maria!!!
Ok, as always I hope you're good and everything else over there is chill! At least better than over here. Even though you are not asking me about it, these days I'm dying of fear! Three people have been killed in the last few days, countrymen, the people from the town, and everyone around think las FARC (Forces Armed Revolutionaries of Colombia) are really close to Belen and at any given time they are going to take over the town, on top of that, they are cutting the electricity almost every night!! :(

Days later I wrote to her:

Your message left me cold.
I'm so far away feeling impotent for not been able to do anything from here... I don't know what to tell you or how, nothing comes to mind... I read your message and I was left in a deep silence. I didn't know what to write you back. It makes me sad to think that our beautiful country is affected by violence (again)... You cannot and shouldn't live with fear Niny. It's like living in hell, isn't? I have been there maybe not at the same level as you but I know how horrible it can be.
Do not allow fear to change your life and your dreams. Pray to God for protection every day. Believe me, even here in NYC horrible things are happening every day, it's part of our human condition. It's obvious that nothing can be compare to the violence of Colombia though. I say this because I want you to know that in a way I've been through difficult moments too and the only thing I can advice you to do it's to use your creativity to deal with it. It has worked for me. I tend to write, paint, film, or do something creative to canalize the fear into something positive.
In your case I think you can make a video. Film your classmates, your neighbors, the kids from the film school, your friends, etc. Ask them about fear, about their feelings during this stressful time. Document everything in a creative way and then edit it. Once you finish we can put it online and send it to everyone we know. No one should live with fear, we are not going to allow it specially in Belen - one of the most beautiful places I have ever been to.
What do you think about my idea? Are you too busy at school? I hope not because I really want you to do this.

The message she wrote me after this one cannot be reveal yet because it's part of the bigger idea I'm working on right now. I promise to share it with you as soon as I move forward with it. Until then, gracias for reading this post and please don't forget to put Colombia in your prayers as well as my friend Niny.

Se acuerdan de mi amiga Niny? Ella es una de las niñas que conocí hace un tiempo en Belén de los Andaquíes el pueblo cerca a la selva Colombiana en el cual esta la Escuala Audiovisual Infantil (EAI) para los niños de la región.
Niny me escribió hace un par de días y sus palabras hicieron eco en mi cabeza por varios días. No estaba segura que ni como responder a lo que me habia escrito asi que dejé que sus palabras se posesionara en mi cabeza hasta que finalmente tuve una idea reveladora y me decidí a escribirle. Al día siguiente Niny me respondió con palabras más poderosas que las mias, tanto que me inspiró para algo que les contaré más adelante. Si resulta lo que estoy planeando podria ser una sorpresa para muchos y hasta para Niny, y si no igual nos queda la esperanza y los pensamientos postivos para seguir adelante.

Aqui estan las palabras de Niny en su primer mensaje - (Espero no le moleste señorita Niny)

Ana MAria!!!
Bueno, como siempre, espero que este muy bien y que todo por esos lares este muy tranquilo! por lo menos mejor que por estos lados, aunque no me lo este preguntando, por estos días vivo muerta del miedo! en estos ultimos días han matado a tres personas, los campesinos, la gente del pueblo y todo el mundo rumora que las FARC estan muy cerca de Belén y que en cualquier momento se toman el pueblo, encima casi todas las noches se va la energía electrica!! :(

Días después yo le escribí:

Su mensaje me dejo fría.
%Aquí en esta lejanía se siente uno muy impotente... no se ni que decirle ni como, ni nada... Leí su mensaje y quede en silencio. No supe que responderle. Que pesar que nuestro bello país vuelva a ser afectado por la violencia...
No se puede y no se debe vivir con miedo, es como vivir en el infierno no? A mi me ha pasado pero a otro nivel y es horrible.%
No deje Niny que el miedo le cambie la vida y sus sueños. Pídale a Dios protección todos los días. Créame que hasta aquí en NY pasan cosas feas, es parte de nuestra condición humana pero obviamente la violencia en Colombia no se compara. Solo lo digo para que usted sepa que de cierta forma yo también he experimentado momentos muy difíciles y lo único que le puedo decir es que haga algo creativo. Yo siempre escribo, pinto, filmo, hago algo para que ese miedo que siento se canalice en algo positivo.
En su caso se me ocurre que haga un video. Filme a sus compañeros del colegio, a sus amigos del barrio, de la escuela, etc, póngalos a hablar del miedo, de lo que sienten cuando se oyen estos rumores horribles de tomarse el pueblo. Documente todo de manera creativa y edítelo. Pongamolo en internet y se lo mandamos a todo el mundo. Nadie quiere vivir con miedo y eso no lo vamos a permitir. Especialmente en la escuela audiovisual que es uno de los sitios mas lindos que yo he conocido en el mundo.
Qué le parece mi idea? Anda muy ocupada en el colegio? Espero que no para que pueda hacer esto.

El mensaje que Niny me escribió después de este no se los puedo mostrar todavia porque es parte de la idea que empecé a desarrollar. Les prometo publicarlo apenas sepa que va a pasar. Por ahora quiero agradecerles por leer esto y pedirles el favor que oren por Colombia y por mi amiga Niny.

Mi gente, the Saturday screening of El Elefante Rojo went grrrrrrreat!
We didn't win at the New York International Latino Film Festival but we had fun, we met new people and connected with local Latino filmmakers.
Gracias to everyone who came to support. Muchas gracias to the organizers for their hard work, the opportunities you are offering us Latino film makers in the city that never sleeps and more important gracias for the love you put out there for us. I felt it.

So this story starts interesting and exciting, it gets tragic then gets interesting again and it ends up a bit boring.
Read bellow and you'll be the judge. I might be wrong.

Yesterday my short film El Elefante Rojo premiered at the New York International Latino Film Festival, the biggest Latino festival in NYC organized by HBO. That right there it's a great start at least for this Latina soul I carry around inside my eyes.
I called a couple of friends to come with me, my entire crew is in Colombia so I couldn't go with them and after I few calls my journalist friend Denny Alfonso decided to come with me. Great! I thought. She is fearless, knows everyone in the city and always pushes me to get out of my comfort zone - something I need in this type of events.
Do you think messy-curly hair with a blue polka dot headband, a little black dress and some flat shoes with the face of a cat on them make an appropriate outfit for a premiere? I thought it did but Denny suggested/demanded I should wear high hills.
She liked the black dress, even the messy hair but not the shoes. Bummer. I love my flat-cat-shoes. I got them at Irregular Choice, the store is on Lafayette. They are my favorite shoe line because their weird-looking shoes are always comfortable. I told her about my "comfort before beauty" theory but it didn't work. I ended up wearing her open toe, woodsy (very high) high hills.

Running a bit late we left her home and got in a taxi. Mid way down second avenue the driver informed us he was not going to the West Side. The premiere was at the SVA theater on 23 ST between 8th and 9th ave. Those familiar with this city know how hard it can be sometimes to go from East to West (from 1st, 2nd, 3rd ave... to 7th, 8th, 9th ave...) Our driver didn't want to deal with the crosstown traffic so unmercifully he stopped on 23 and second ave and asked us to get out. We went to pay with a credit card but he said we had to pay cash. Neither of us had any, who needs cash in NYC? Everywhere you go it takes plastic. What an a**whole we thought.
I jumped out of the car to reach for the ATM that I saw from the corner of my eye. By the time I got out with a $20 bill in my hand the driver was gone.
Did he give us a free ride? Denny nodded. Wow! He was nice after all. This must be my lucky day! I thought smiling while Denny rushed me to cross the -hand blinking- street. It can be a hazard to run in very high hills specially in the un-even, un-smooth streets of NYC but we made it safe to the other side.
After 10 minutes of waiving at busy taxi drivers my heart started raising. I couldn't be late to my own "premiere." I didn't help Denny was freaking out too and I was absorbing her energy all the way. I tend to get "infected" of people's energy and/or mood. sometimes is a good infection, sometimes not so much. In this case it was "not so much." I needed to remain calm to find another way to get that the theater fast. Finally a limo driver stopped and offered us a ride. He didn't have a meter of course, limos never do so I knew it was not going to be a cheap ride but we had no other choice. I told him to drive as fast as he could and he did. We got there right on time and as I opened the door it hit me: I had received another gift from God in my lucky day. I was arriving to the premiere of my little movie in a limo!
It was great even though no one noticed it. Oh well. I was smiling again.
Up until this point the story still is interesting right? Hold on to that feeling because it starts to get a bit rocky.
The red carpet was empty. A few journalist were lining up for what it seemed to be the premiere of another big movie. Denny suggested me to walk through it but I didn't have the cojones to do so. I mean, yes, my film feels big to me but it's just a humble short film so no, no red carpet needed at this time, plus the journalist were just getting ready so I kept walking behind Denny to the ticket window. We showed out batches and a tall Latino man told us to make a short line "over there, with the rest of the filmmakers." I was happy to see other filmmakers but the sun was so sharp over our heads that I was blinded by its rays. It's important to mention this summer has been one of the hottest of the decade. Today was one of those hot days and I felt like passing out. My little black dress felt like a winter-feather-comforter and even though I don't sweat much I felt my body melting away. I was liquid-y like a milkshake. A good friend of Palo texted me, he was making the "audience line." I invited him to my line - it was way shorter - but he decided to stay in his. Ok. Fine. I'm just going to keep melting away... I'm closing my eyes... adios... and right before I was a pile of black dress milkshake the tall Latino man opened one of the big glass doors and a breeze of heavenly AC revived me and there I was, walking into the moment I was waiting for.
It felt good to walk into to the theater were my movie was going to be showing. We were the first ones there so I made sure we got great seats. For us and for Dan (Palo's friend). We sat down and waited. Denny got on the phone while I just waited anxiously. Finally Dan came and sat next to me. I saw miss Katy Madonna Lee another filmmaker from SVA. We said hello. I was glad to see her, she was glad to see me. Dan and her were definitely a mental relief for me. After she left to take her seat Dan and I starting talking about something, I don't even remember what until Denny interrupted us. She hand me her phone, I'm confused for a second until she says: It's CNN en Español. They want to interview you. My eyes opened widely and I wasn't able to breath. It got me so out of guard. Are you ready? A male voice said in the phone. Sure I said with a shaky voice... Oh boy, I wasn't ready. 4, 3, 2, 1 - Here we are with Colombian filmmaker Ana Maria Hermida, tell us, what's your movie about. Oh, hi, hello, yes, my movie, El Elefante Rojo, yes, it's about a lolita, a prostitute, I mean no, she is a lolita that lives in a brothel in Bogota and then, she turns 15, she's a quiciañera, yes, um, blah blah. This is the best translation I can make of my exorbitant river of words. To make the situation more spicy the lights of the theater went off, I saw moving pictures on the screen and realized the movie was starting. I didn't know what to do so I just lower my voice to a whisper level and keep talking. Santo Dios, it was horrible. After a few seconds of whispering some more blabber I gave the phone back to Denny, without even finishing my thought. She explained to the DJ guy that the movie has started and we needed to go. Thank God she handled it well because I wanted to kill her a bit. CNN agreed to call us back after the movie was over.
A series of shorts directed by women had started and after a few very exciting ones it was for El Elefante Rojo.
When I heard the opening music my heart was going to come out of my chest. I was so excited. I had shown my film several times in several theaters and it's always the same. The feeling of excitement before you show it never goes away. It's a beautiful moment that usually lasts the entire movie but this time it only lasted a few seconds. As the images appeared on the screen I noticed something was wrong. The picture was grainier and darker than usual. When I saw the scenes in the bedroom I felt the world came down on my shoulders. My movie was so dark you couldn't see the actors' face. I felt bad for my DP, the actors, and myself of course. I wanted to puke, poop, pee, and everything else in between so I run out of the theater. Outside a poor volunteer got wash by my body fluids represented in words. He quickly called the technician and they managed to calm me down. I went back into the theater and everything was still so dark i just kept playing with my phone. I couldn't see the screen anymore. At that moment I got a message from another Colombian journalist who wanted to interview me. With that excuse -an trying to avoid the theater as much as possible I exit it again. I met with him and explained the situation. At that moment I got another text from Denny saying the shorts were over and the filmmakers needed to be on stage. I run back in, passing the hallway, some steps, and the stairs in very high hills. By the time I got on stage I was out of breath and it was my turn in front of the microphone. A lady whispered in my hear what the question was. I almost couldn't answered it, but I did. And some people understood me. I know it because a lady a few hours later approached me to talk about it some more. Thank God. I felt so bad after that screening, I couldn't believe what just had happened. I have never felt that way before in my life. Not only my work was damaged but it was also shown to an entire theater full of people. Ouch. It hurts.
Once outside the theater a saw the Colombia journalist again. He pull me into the red carpet and ask me for an interview. I couldn't have worse timing. I told him to give me a few minutes, I was not ready to face his microphone, neither a camera. He offered "something" that was going to make me feel better. He reached out to his bag on the floor. I was expecting to see a small pill or something around that note but instead he took out a bottle of vitamin water.
Here, drink some. He said. Who knew a bottle of vitamin water was going to make me feel better? Well, my mouth was dry as a winter tree so that water refreshed my entire body and mind. As i drank it I imagined my mom giving me a hug. I got to tell you, "imagination" can be such a saving tool. Of course keep yourself hydrated at all times specially during times of stress but please, use your imagination to snap out of ugly moments. It works.
Few minutes later my nerves went back to normal and I was ready to face my fears again. Talking in front of a camera can be a scary sh*t sometimes.
The interview went great. I said what I need to say as smooth and relax as possible. The journalist not only gave me his water but also held my hand all the way through the interview - hypothetically speaking. He is great. Gracias Alfonso!
After that we went to the filmmakers lounge for a quick rest. I'm not going to describe the filmmakers lounge experience because that's the boring part of the story. Who wants boring? Not me.
Before we left I went back to the theater one more time to talk to the technician. He swore the problem was being fixed. I believed him.
I have to go back to the theater again this Saturday at noon before my screening number 2 just to make sure my movie is watchable. Wish me luck.

Today's simple - possibly stupid - thoughts.
There is something new in front of my eyes that makes me feel a bit slow when I type on it. I'm only using my two index fingers making my hand movements similar to those of a lobster. My inexperience doesn't allow me to do better.
Is it possible to be more archaic in a time like today? Possibly.
Even though this feels awkward the experience so far is been interesting.
This new tool has a perfect smooth shape making me feel like I'm in the future.
Is it a contradiction to feel slow and archaic when using a simple "futuristic" tool? Of course. It's just normal.
I'm sure for those who own an iPhone the feeling of typing over a flat screen is something normal, an everyday activity.
In my blackberry-chunky-buttons-world I get physical interactions that require mechanical movements. It feels good to touch a real object, in this case a button. It feels good when I press it and it goes down. It feels good when it moves; It's logical. It's natural, that's how it's always been for me.
However, I have to admit the flow-y gentle feeling of technological sophistication feels just right too even if the object is flat, not real and it doesn't actually move.
It's just a matter of time for me to get use to it right?
Could this be an example of how my life is going to be in the near future?
Is everything going to be flat with images representing real things?
If I ever get marry I hope my husband doesn't turn into a flat screen image. Maybe that's a good thing though. I don't know.

It's 10:11 AM.
I went to bed at around 4:00 AM. It was one of those nights you get caught up doing not much. I watched Michael Jackson's This It Is -Great Doc btw.
I've been awake for over an hour.
Maybe the lack of sleep is the reason for my mind to be philosophizing about a-not-so-relevant matter this early in the morning.
Maybe it's just a lame excuse to allow myself to speak freely about something... "simple."
Maybe this is just part of the process of typing on an iPad for the very first time.
If not, I feel stupid... but stupid sometimes is good.

I came up with a theory the other night about our relationship with time and the way we see the spiritual world. It's based on some common sense and a ton of imagination so no need to take it too serious, just have fun with it.

I want you to imagine a machine made of a giant clock and a metal belt. The metal belt keeps moving forward with each second marked by the giant clock. Over the belt are some metal-human-body look alike with strange-shaped windows on their heads, arms and legs. These "windows" allow an inner light to shine through. Can you see it in your head? It's important for you to picture it, actually it's important to me that you can picture it, it just makes it easier for us to communicate.

All of these metalic human estructures represent every single one of us. The deep darkness is interrupted by the inner light that comes out from all of us.

To be Continue...

Good Morning America.
I am not watching TV right now. My eyes are seeing tiny little flairs of light instead. They are like tiny shooting stars around the edge of my eyes cause by the pressure of my hands when I scratch them. Sometimes when I squeeze my eyes really hard I see them too. It only happens in the morning, I love it. Once it happened to me once when I was in the shower. It was cool but I'm sure I looked like an idiot standing there butt-naked, covered in soap staring at the wall hypnotize by "the stars" that only I can see. If I was a working-out-everyday type of girl the picture would have been kind of hot but in all honesty it wasn't.
(Internal thought: Maybe I go running in a little while.)
(Internal thought 2: Is it a sign of an eye disease? Shut up negative thoughts!)

Today the story is very simple yet not so common: A muse has hit me! Not just any inspiring muse but a hot burlesque muse that looks like a chubby version of LadyGaga. She is beautiful. She has a big nose, very white skin and her hair keeps changing. Sometimes it’s short like The Beatles and sometimes is very puffy like Amy Winehouse’s, it’s always blonde though.
Only three cherries are covering the three most important buttons of her body, just imagine her and do the math, if you are not good at math let me know and I’ll make you a drawing.
She started knocking inside my head last night and kept me up for hours. I had to get out of bed after tossing and turning just to write down an 8-page treatment for a TV show.
I was never really good at construction, I usually get bored before I finish a project but this time was different. I built the entire structure brick by brick with her help. This time boredom packed his bags and moved to China while cherry muse and I kept working hard. (Yeah, I think her name is Cherry Muse and her last name is Gaga because I think they are related.) So after long hours of hard work I decided to go back to bed at around 4am. My beauty sleep only lasted a few hours. At around 8:30am Cherry Muse started to sing -out of her longs- and woke me up again. Little biatch. I have to admit she has a good voice though, it runs in the family of course.
I tried to ignore her by keeping my eyes close for almost an hour. I even covered my head with the blanket but it didn't work. At around 9am I couldn't fake it anymore. I had to get out of bed and (yawning)...
And here I am, starting my day building many ideas inside my head and beautiful Cherry Muse taking over my brain. It is definitely a good morning right America?

Bed Bugs anyone?
An epidemic is taking over NYC.
Scary, check.
Gross, check.
Uncomfortable, check.
Exterminator's number, check.
Caladryl lotion, check.
I think I'm prepare in case those little bastards come near my house... What else should I do?
If you are one of them, please be a russian spy and help me out. Please.
El mundo esta como un huevo: frito.

Oh yeah. I feel much better today.
I´m going to walk the Brooklyn Bridge with my cousin and some friends that are visiting from Colombia.
We are planning to eat lunch at Grimaldi´s - The best pizza in town. For dessert we are taking the train all the way down to Coney Island to eat some junk food and ride some good-old-rides.
I have tons of reasons to be loving life but I'm not.
I even tried to come up with something deep and positive to say but nothing came to mind. Absolutely nothing came out of me that could cheer me up.
"That's life" I keep telling myself. It's life with its ups and downs.
It doesn't help to have swollen mosquito bites from Central Park all over my arms and legs. They itch.
It doesn't help that Palo is been so busy filming in New Orleans so we haven't been able to really talk in days. It's more like a "Hi-is-everything-good?-Great-I love you -Bye" type of conversation.
It doesn't help that is raining outside, trains get delayed, taxis are all taken, and the humidity is such that my hair grows three times its volume in a non-attractive way.
It doesn't help the fact that the job I love doesn't pay my bills yet.
It doesn't help to be confused sometimes.
It doesn't help to feel fat sometimes.
It doesn't help to be far away from home sometimes.
It doesn't help that you are reading this and I don't see your face. That makes me feel lonely and that... doesn't help sometimes.

It's not that I'm unproductive, it's just that my days are going backwards. When it's daytime my brain is off and when it's nighttime the game is on.

I find myself waking up really tired every single day. The excuse of "I'm not a morning person" can only get me so far and most of the time I end up feeling very disappointed at myself. Not good for my or anyone's self esteem.

Still on my pajamas I get in front of the computer every morning to check all the social and "communicating" networks in the web: email - facebook - twitter - rotten tomatoes - sometimes I even Google my name. Once I get that out of my system I open Final Cut Pro or Final Draft depending on my mood in an attempt to do some work. I type a word or two, the harder I try the heavier my fingers get until I reach a point where I can't move them anymore. They have become gigantic and... I am not succeeding.

I stop to go to the bathroom and I wash my hands. Sometimes while peeing I think of ways to scape from feeling unproductive and the answer is always the same: Food.
It makes sense, it's almost noon and my stomach still is empty. I look for something to eat in the fridge and usually find nada so I drink a glass of room temperature water. I think it helps to clean my belly.
As I walk around the house the thoughts of taking a shower, exercising or cleaning my room cross my mind several times but they don't become a reality. At least not yet.

At around two or three in the afternoon after making a few phone calls and answering some emails I hear my stomach scream. I eat something simple like a bowl of cereal or a cup of green tea with an arepa soaked in olive oil. I love olive oil.
I do some stretching after eating and usually walk to my room looking for a head band - my hair gets all over my face making it itch. When I see my messy bed I usually move the sheets around. My energy levels are not strong enough to make it all the way - feeling extremely guilty I exit my room as fast as I can leaving the mess behind.

I sit back in front of the computer to magically get rid of my guilt by surfing the web. Jakob Lodwick's videos usually work for me. They have the power to liberate my mind when it gets stuck in negative thoughts. The New York times is good too, also the photo albums of cheesy people on facebook. (Did I mention I love cheese too? I do, almost all the time.) And after a few hours of "wasting my time" doing nothing productive I finally start to feel awake.

At around 6PM the spirit of "hard work" kicks in.
I have to force myself to eat again -usually a recycle meal from the fridge, sometimes it's healthy like wheat bread with turkey, avocado, tomatoes and olive oil. Sometimes not-so-much like Doritos with olive oil too of course.

As I see the sun goes down my energy levels raise up. When it's nighttime, my belly is full and I'm ready to work. My fingers are light like feathers, a pretty lady muse comes down from above to move the feathers like ballerinas. I start editing or working on my script. Cuts or words come to my head like tropical storm raindrops: hard and heavy. If my mom calls or anyone "important" I open an imaginary umbrella and walk away from the computer. As I talk to him/her I get the desire to make my bed, organize my laundry, even clean the dust. I have no time to lose.
It's unbelievable how proactive I get. I finish all my home chores in less than an hour. I continue working hard - non stop. When it's closer to midnight I feel my brain wide open receiving all the vibrations of the moon. Sometimes I have to force myself to go to bed at around 3am just to get some sleep in full darkness. The blackouts of my windows don't covered them completely, glimpses of light filtering through tend to bother my eyes.

It's important to clarify not all my days are the same.

I have gotten to sleep at 7am several times specially when I get really focused. It's such an incredible feeling, such an accomplishment to finish a project without the pressure of a deadline or a boss or a pay check. I feel like a million bucks even though my body feels dead-tired. Yes, that has screwed up my sleeping schedule, I noticed it when I went to Europe and didn't feel the jet-lag but hey! jew gotta do what jew gotta do right?

Also, when I'm on a shoot or running around on production errands my mind is in total-productive-mode. That feels good too.

Sometimes when Palo comes over or I go to his house the dynamic changes. He at times helps me with work and other times he's a total distraction. It's fine either way. I find his company to be uplifting. He makes me feel happy, beautiful, and productive, and that's something exercising or cleaning or doing everything I'm suppose to do at the right time can't always do.

Be productive today, in the morning, at night who-cares-when just be it.

Hoy es el cumpleaños de mi papá.
Feliz cumple papito! Te amo.


Today is my dad´s birthday.
Happy birthday Daddy. I love you.

Y aquí mientras estoy sentada con dolor en la panza un pensamiento me llegó a la mente:
Necesito un grupo para desarrollarme más como persona. Esta comprobado.
Este tiempo que he compartido con mi familia (numerosa) me ha permitido descubrir una vez más mis habilidades como líder. Si suena pretensioso perdónenme, esa no es mi intención. Yo solo quiero compartir con ustedes y hasta conmigo misma una experiencia de vida que creo tal vez les/nos podría ayudar.

Desde niña siempre quice sobresalir.
Puede ser por ser la de mitad en una familia de tres ó por mi signo zodiacal (Aries) ó sabrá Dios por qué. Lo que sí sé es que una mezcla de curiosidad insaciable y energía infinita me hacían ir por el mundo interrogando, disfrutando, probando, compitiendo, viviendo y siempre, consiente o inconscientemente y liderando. Era algo fácil y natural. Siempre supe cómo organizar a mis primos, o decirles a otros como organizarse y ellos -usualmente- me escuchaban atentos.

A medida que uno crece pareciera ser que esas cualidades de niños se quedaran estancadas con nuestra niñez en los rincones del colegio, del parque o de los sitios a los que solíamos ir, pero en estos último días me he dado cuenta que no. Esas cualidades siguen ahí, adentro, y es si es cierto esa vieja frase la cual estoy cansada de oír que dice que los adultos tienen que ser como niños. Esto se puede interpretar de muchas maneras pero hoy opté por interpretarla así:
Dentro de cada uno de nosotros están esas cualidades que nos identificaron alguna vez durante nuestra niñez y por el pasar de los años las hemos olvidado.
Es probable que algunos no las hayan olvidado, nunca es bueno generalizar y los admiro por eso, pero si usted es como yo y la vida lo ha llevado por tantos caminos diferentes, ó a lugares tan desconocidos viviendo experiencias nunca imaginadas, estoy segura que muchas veces se ha sentido perdido, o sin sentido. Ese niño que alguna vez tuvo adentro probablemente se quedó encerrado en el baño del colegio y nunca pudo salir. No se preocupe, eso nos pasa a todos. Yo me he sentido así muchas veces. Tranquilo que Ramoncito (el que arreglaba todo en mi colegio) va a venir a tumbar la puerta del baño para que usted pueda salir.
Este ¨Ramoncito¨ es la vida misma que se encarga de mostrarnos como rescatar nuestras cualidades de niño. Lo único que hay que hacer es abrir nuestro corazón y nuestra mente para darnos cuenta de eso.
En mi caso por ejemplo, decidí venir a Atlanta a visitar a mis tíos porque un grupo grande había venido de Colombia a la ordenación de mi primo Waldo. Paréntesis: Ahora tenemos cura en la familia y mi mamá quiere que me confiese con él. Eso es mucho pedirle a esta pobre mortal no solo por lo difícil que puede llegar a ser la confesión sino porque es un primo con el que crecí. Imagínense eso por un minuto. No puedo. Dudo que pase pero la fe mueve montañas especialmente la de mi mamá. Cierro Paréntesis.
Me vine a Atlanta unos días y al estar aquí con un grupo de 20 familiares aproximadamente, de todas las edades, colores y sabores me ha tocado indirectamente dirigir-liderar algunas de las actividades especialmente con mis primas y la verdad es que me he sentido muy bien. Volví a ser como niña, sin miedos, tomando decisiones me afectaban no solo a mi sino a otros también. El verlos contentos me hacía sentir contenta, pero profundamente contenta. En armonía, como si fuera una niña.
Cuando estaba en la universidad pensé que sería pintora pero cambié de carrera después de un tiempo por una razón muy fuerte que me separaba demasiado de la persona que era o que quería ser. Renuncié a mi carrera en bellas artes por la soledad que traía consigo. Ya no podía seguir hablando con los pinceles y las brochas. Necesitaba gente a mi alrededor. Eso no significa que haya dejado de pintar, aún lo hago como parte de expresión, me encanta pero no podría hacerlo todo el tiempo porque me deprime.

De igual manera cuando decidí ser directora de cine supe que podía lograr mis metas gracias a mi habilidad de organizar a un grupo y ser líder. Esta labor requiere de mucha humildad y muchas otras cualidades que no cabe mencionar aquí para no desviarnos mucho del tema pero si, el ser líder me ayudó a definir mi profesión por el resto de mi vida.

En los últimos años he optado por pasar mucho tiempo sola. Eso hasta cierto punto es muy bueno. Me ha ayudado a definirme como mujer, a sentirme autosuficiente y ser independiente. Pero como dice mi mamá todo extremo es malo. Me mudé a un apartamento de un cuarto, sin roommates. Decidí irme de viaje sola y no depender de nadie. Escribir sola, cocinar sola, vivir sola, etc. Mi carrera exigía trabajar con gente y eso parecía suficiente para mí. Pero con el tiempo me he dado cuenta que el estar tan SOLA me ha amargado más de lo normal. Pareciera ser que esa soledad me está robando la frescura de la vida. Me he dado cuenta que me he vuelto más chocha, más sensible al ruido, a los gérmenes, a las diferencias en general y eso en cierta forma me hace -en mi opinión- peor persona. Pero hey! siempre hay un Ramoncito que viene a tumbar la puerta del baño y este viaje a Atlanta ha sido eso para mí. El hecho de estar rodeada de gente, de dormir en el piso con mi prima Erika porque todas las camas están llenas (vale aclarar que la casa de mi tía tiene 7 cuartos con camas dobles, un home-theater con sofás comodísimos para dormir) el poder compartir cada segundo con alguien ha llenado mi vida de niñez.
Se siente bien estar rodeada de gente y ver que tan diferentes somos. Me gusta, lo disfruto y en ello encuentro mi esencia.

Gracias Dios por tal regalo.

It feels good to be a leader. It's my cup of tea, I think.

Tio!! Spain has won, venga tio, alegraos los unos a los otros que aman el-futbol.

Hoy me dijo Palo algo como:
Quédate tranquila que yo estoy calmado. La palabra "calmado" la dijo con acento gringo y le sonó como Clamato.

Yo le dije:
Yo tranquila y tu clamato.

El me dijo:
Tu tequila y yo clamato.
Juajuajuajuajuaaaaa!!! No paré de reirme. Julia Bobis ai nou.

Después me mandó un dibujito hecho por él donde yo estoy tomando tequila y el clamato y no saben, aún me rio y lo acepto, es una bobada pero que se puede hacer, quedarse tequila y clamato y reirse. tse tse tse, mesa que más aplauda le mando la niña le mando la niña... reirse y bailar.

Today Palo told me something like:
Stay "tranquila" which means "relax" and I'll be "calmado" which means "calmed." He said the word "calmado" with such American accent that I thought he said "Clamato."

So, I told him:
I'll be tranquila, and you'll be clamato.

He then said:
You'll be Tequila, and I'll be clamato.
Hahaha, I laughed out loud for a while, I know it's kinda dumb.

Later today he sent me a drawing he maid of me drinking tequila and himself drinking clamato. You have no idea how much I laughed, I still think is dumb but what can I do, just stay tequila and clamato and laugh, yeah yeah yeah, don't stop do it do it... laugh out lout and dance.

Hoy leí esto en el blog the Jodorowsky y me pareció muy valioso. Lo quiero compartir con ustedes pero es necesario leerlo con el corazón abierto al amor y una mente sin temores. Espero lo disfruten.

Qué es Dios?
Digan lo que digan los ateos, nuestro cerebro no puede concebir el Universo sin una causa primera. Cuando un monje Zen le pregunta a un discípulo: “No comienza, no termina, ¿qué es?”, lo sumerge en una crisis. Para responder a tal “koan” debe demoler todos los principios a los que se aferra su intelecto. Si no ha realizado la mítica “iluminación” (vacuidad mental), se ve obligado a responder “¡Dios!”. Entonces el Maestro lo corre de la sala de meditación a patadas. Este sabio monje tendría que correr a patadas de sus templos a todos los sacerdotes que inculcan a sus creyentes imágenes de un ser al que llaman Dios. ¿Cómo, con el desarrollo mental del hombre actual, se puede afirmar que el Creador es un hombre, un barbudo Dios-Padre o una Diosa-Madre? ¿Cómo se puede admitir que se le dé un nombre, una raza, la pertenencia a una cultura determinada? En otras épocas, dada la infantilidad de las mentes, esto fue necesario, como fueron necesarios intermediarios, vicarios, sumos sacerdotes, trajes de luces, monigotes de yeso y cuentos de hadas… Las sectas se convirtieron en sembradoras de prejuicios, odios y enfermedades mentales. Al declararse impuro el placer sexual, los monjes, hombres, sumieron a la sociedad en el odio a la mujer, considerando su cuerpo como una diabólica y sucia tentación… El muy inteligente filósofo judío Maimonides (1135-1204) escribió un voluminoso tratado “Guía de los perplejos” buscando la manera de definir a Dios. Llegó a la siguiente conclusión: “Dios es aquello de lo que nada se puede decir”… Es infantil darle un cuerpo o una forma material a lo impensable. El ser humano que ha desarrollado su conciencia no puede seguir aceptando tales desvaríos. En los más antiguos escritos filosóficos de la India, los Upanishads, se habla de una divinidad que es pura energía de amor, Brahman, y del fragmento de esa energía que reside en cada ser viviente, Atman o Dios interior. Dios es la totalidad de la materia y de la conciencia movida por una energía indescriptible e incomprensible para nuestro límites mentales; no la podemos definir, pero la podemos sentir. El humano del siglo XXI no necesita intermediarios, él es su propio sacerdote y vive su vida como un ser sagrado. No necesita grandes y lujosos templos: todo lugar donde vive, sea un rincón mínimo, es su templo. Respeta y bendice cada partícula de materia y cada ser viviente porque sabe que cada fragmento contiene al todo. Como también sabe que cada segundo contiene a la eternidad. Eliminando las supersticiones primitivas, extrae la sabiduría de los libros sagrados y la aplica a su vida cotidiana sin necesidad de “directores de alma” ni inquisidores. Se une espiritualmente a la totalidad del cosmos, y con paciencia, perseverancia e infatigable trabajo, se dedica a desarrollar al máximo su Conciencia, sabiendo que , como dijo Maître Eckhart, “el ojo por el que vemos a Dios es el mismo por el que Dios nos ve."

Pueden encontrar mas de sus teorías en

Me levanté tatareando esta canción y no he parado de cantarla, ven, cántala conmigo a todo pulmón:

Lunes otra vez, sobre la ciudad la gente que ves vive en soledad.
Sobre el bosque gris veo morir al sol que mañana sobre la avenida nacerá.
Calles sin color vestidas de gris, desde mi ventana veo el verde tapiz de una plaza que mañana morirá, y muerto el verde sólo hierro crecerá.
Viejas en la esquina mendigan su pan en las oficinas muerte en sociedad todos ciegos hoy sin saber mirar la espantosa risa de la pálida ciudad.

Lunes otra vez, sobre la ciudad la gente que ves vive en soledad siempre será igual, nunca cambiará Lunes es el día triste y gris de soledad.

Intérprete: Sui Generis
Autor: Charly García

Today is father's day. It's also the longest day of the year and the day Juan Manuel Santos was elected the president of Colombia... What's next?
Yo no se.

Waka Waka, Spain lost and the world doesn't understand why. By the world I mean a few of my friends who are devastated.
As a joke Palo decided to make a bet with me last night- he was very confident Spain was going to win. He knows a good amount of soccer and he loves Spain so he was sure I was going to lose-it-all in this bet. On the other hand, I was just hoping he would lose so he can give a hand with many small video projects that I started and haven't been able to edit. I need an assistant editor and in my soccer-clueless mind this was a great opportunity to make him work for me.
The bet was simple: If Spain wins I have to make him a painting. If it ties or Switzerland wins he would become my assistant editor. He even "donated" the tie to me because he was convinced Spain was going to win.
Well, guess what people, la vida te da sorpresas sorpresas te da la vida. That's right. Spain lost!! And I won!!
I was very happy and feeling satisfied with my-soccer-less-self. I now have the help I need to move on with a few projects and Palo learned a lesson I think. A small lesson. When I talked to him on the phone when the game was ending he sounded very sad though. I don't want him to be sad, I mean maybe just for a few minutes but come on, it's just a game, it's just soccer. Yeah right, try telling those words to a big fan. So, to make sure his bad feelings go away by the time he comes back tonight (he is in Canada right now) I have a surprise for him, actually two surprises. I hope he likes them... I'm sure he will... Or not?
Nothing is certain.

Dos cosas les quiero compartir hoy.
Bueno, la verdad es que son tres cosas.
La primera y mas cortita es la alegría que siento de saber que mi amiga Anais me esta ayudando a traducir mi guión. Es por eso que regreso a ustedes hablando Español con el corazón liviano y sonriente. (Ana-is-bella si lees este agradezcoTE de todo corazón, con todo color y de mil maneras por tu ayuda.)
La segunda es un poco mas profunda. Dios tiene sus maneras de hacerme comer mis propias palabras, siempre con amor claro esta. Me di cuenta que la vida me enseña constantemente que como el universo se mueve, nosotros tambien. Aunque parezcamos animales de costumbre que hacemos todos los días las mismas cosas nuestra manera de pensar cambia constantemente. No es sabio generalizar, aclaro: es muy posible que sea solo yo y mi manera de pensar la que cambia constantemente. Se acuerdan de la historia en Inglés de hace unos días sobre los saxofonistas? La otra noche asistí a un concierto organizado por Caring for Colombia y tuve el placer de escuchar un banda fenomenal. Uno de los músicos principales es un Argentino que tocaba los instrumentos de aire -incluyendo el saxofón. Y sí, me mató, me derretí, me encantó. Mi debilidad por los Argentinos es notoria pero en este caso eso no influyó en el asunto. Además en este momento estoy muy felíz con un Mexicano-nito muy especial del cual hablaré después. El talento del Argentino, su manera de soplar el aire y tocar el intrumento fueron los causantes de mi estado. Suena raro y pervertido pero no, es muy literal la cosa. Creo que el problema que tuve con los saxofones pasados tiene que ver más con el sitio, la gente y el bailesito que hacian los musicos. Con el dolor en el alma retiro lo dicho y cambio de opinión: ¨The saxophone has NOT lost its mojo¨ No lo ha perdido para nada. Aún me logra hipnotizar.
La tercera y última cosita para compartir es mas una recomendación y crítica constructiva. Por favor no vayan a ver Sex and The City 2. No boten su direno. Me imagino que muchas personas al igual que yo disfrutaban el show y aunque a veces era una tontera hay que admitir que el show le cambió la vida a muchas mujeres no solo en USA pero en todo el mundo. La primera película la disfruté y en momentos me sentí identificada. En la segunda ni lo uno ni lo otro. Fue tan exageradamente ridícula que cuando me reía era por ver tanto sin-sentido. A mi me gusta el sin-sentido pero en este caso era un sin-sentido poco natural y sin raíz, no se justificada con nada. Empujaron tanto los colores, la historia, las pintas, los rostros y hasta los angulos de la camara que al final salí mariada. No habia necesidad de exagerar tanto y pretender agrandar algo que ya es enorme.

Uno, dos, tres. Cuatro, cinco y seis.

I have a confession to make.
Sometimes I read my past posts (days after I have posted them) and... and I re-write them and/or edit them.
Is that bad? Would you say that´s dishonest?
I found myself making millions of mistakes that at first are invisible. It takes me days to notice them, some are grammatical, others are just mere spelling and the most embarrassing are usually when I write very emotional thoughts that come out of my mind as fast and effusive as vomit. Thank you for coming back to read my voice even after noticing the mistakes and the unexpected changes.

Also, since I started translating my script (from English to Spanish) I do not feel like writing in Spanish. It has become a tedious process but as soon as I finish it I will write in Spanish again (I promise mom.) You will be able to hear my Spanish voice in your head very soon. Tengan-me paciencia por favor. Los quiero.

Psychosis and itchy skin.
All day long I've been afraid of getting into a stupid fight, not because of him but because of me, sometimes I wake up feeling weird. I think it might be the moon this time. Today my non-sense and unexpected anxiety has been taking over and yes, it was very insensitive of me to be myself 100% and act accordingly specially near the end of the day.
Why couldn't I just hold-it-in all the way through?
I'm sorry.
I´m sorry I gave in and the monster came out.
We went running and everything went wrong. Out of the blue I run the other way - as fast as I could - trying to escape the feeling but not him BUT he felt I was running away from him. But... But... I feel gross. Sweaty and gross.

I love Kylie Minogue´s new song and her pastel-looking video. Bideo.
Check it out.

Since when it is cool to play a saxophone along with "techno-lounge-house" music?

Today is the second time I've seen it this week.

I'm not a party girl, not as much as I would like to be at least. I get bored really fast at a nightclub not sure why, I guess I'm getting old but in the last week I went out twice and for some strange reason there was a saxophonist playing in both places. Is it a new trend? Has it been around for a while and I never knew about it?
I love the saxophone. I was never too passionate about it though. I have never bought a ticket to a concert or any music whatsoever but every time I saw or heard one I would stop and listen. I would get in some type of trance mode, as if that instrument had the power to hypnotize me. I even developed a secret love for Lisa Simpson just because she plays the saxophone. And no, I am not a big fan of the show. Anyway, a few days ago I went to TAO for a birthday dinner and...
The restaurant seems and feel more like a nightclub now days. The music is very loud, girls wear mini dresses with boobs-ass popping out. There is nothing wrong with that. If you have it and it's nice show it off while you can but I did feel a bit out of place, maybe because I was wearing something that covered me from head to toe...? Or because I didn't want to mix skin with my food...? I'm not so sure.
After they brought our food and we were in the middle of our dinner we got what it seems to be a very nice surprise. A surprise that for me lasted a very short period of time and it felt like ah... like an interrupted orgasm maybe? Something very short like that, and very frustrating like that. (Sorry mom, I know you read this with your English teacher but I'm trying to be a bit dramatic here). So while I was eating what it seemed to be a very promising spring roll - that I couldn't finish because it was too salty - I saw from the corner of my eye a bold man playing a saxophone. I stopped eating and stared at him. The loud Techno-lounge-House music faded so well with his music that it was hard at first to know when he was playing it. Once I figured it out I got goosebumps, it was so beautiful to see him play but right before I got into my "trance" mode the nice feeling was interrupted by a giant bucket of gooey yellow cheese that felt over my head. All of the sudden I didn't like it anymore. In a matter of seconds that beautiful moment became very very cheesy. Maybe the guy was too cheesy, or the restaurant, or the people, I don't know. It didn't help that he came closer to serenade Alba, one of the girls that was in our table. She felt a bit uncomfortable but we all ended up laughing. It was fun, cheesy fun.
I'm not sure if any of my friends/family that were there with me felt the same way.
I have to say the dessert-plate they gave us (complimentary of the house after making us wait for almost an hour) was amazing! It didn't involve any cheese, only delicious chocolate cakes, ice creams, sorbets, fruits and yum things.
It was a lovely night but the saxophonist was definitely a cheesy surprise.

Wait, more cheese coming up.

Last night I went to a very well-know party every Tuesday night with a group of very "fancy people." Again, it was nice but not my cup of tea. I did get some compliments on my vintage black and white ruffle-ly dress (again very different from the ones walking around in the room - It only showed from my knees down and my arms.) Those compliments made me feel really good. There is nothing better than when another girl who is wearing a beautiful dress tells you how much she likes yours. We should do that more often girls (I'm telling that to myself specially.) We got out of the elevator and a personal bottle of champagne was given to us. We had to walk to the bar to get it but it sounds better the way I said it. More glamorous and in tune with the place. The Champagne was a very nice "touch." It was freezing cold and the weather was kind of hot so ti was very Refreshing - plus I wanted to keep the cute tinny bottle - it would make a great flower vase. Now as I write this I realized I´ve forgotten to bring it home. Oh well.
The party was in a very nice place near the Hudson River, a perfect location for a hot-spring-New-York-City night. The roof of the place was mobile and it opened up in the middle of the party making any signs of humidity go away with a nice cold breeze - you cannot ask for a better and organic way to freshen up.
After a while of socializing and meeting people with different accents I started to feel "the itch" to go home. My champagne was getting warm and even though I was enjoying myself - and the breeze and everything around me - I couldn't wait to leave. In moments like this is when I feel very ungrateful. Please forgive me God, the Universe, my friends and everyone that has ever felt my ungratefulness. Pardon, it's an ugly monster that takes over me, I don't mean it.
At that moment the music got louder, my champagne warmer and once again in a dejavue manner I saw from the corner of my eye a saxophonist. Another man - with hair - was dancing and playing a saxophone. This time I felt cheesy right away. Hi did have very cheesy moves. I didn't hate it. Cheesy can be good sometimes and seeing people enjoying themselves was very nice but I ended up leaving very soon after it.
I guess the saxophone lost its mojo... for me... or... am I being too negative? Just a bit over dramatic.

Las elecciones Colombianas nos dividen.

Le tenbo un bebalo a Juli que be ba a enpanpar. Ezo me tiene muy felizzzz.

Palo-Palo-Palo-Palo Bonito-Palo Eh! Eh! Eh! Eh! Palo Bonito-Palo Eh!

Yesterday I met DJ Clark Kent.
He is a very well know DJ and shoe designer. I was told he "discovered" JZ, worked with Notorious BIG and many other great things (and tunes) within the Hip-Hop world. I am an alien to that world, but not an illegal one so I didn't have to get married to stay around him and even thought it's a very different world than mine I really enjoyed it.

He is a big guy (body and soul), he fills out the room with his aura.
He is simple yet stylish. His bling-bling was unusual. He didn't have shinny gigantic jewels, instead he had some wooden-like necklace. Something I would wear if I was into necklaces. When I saw him in Santos he wasn't wearing it though.

Last night was fun with him, Juan Pedro and Jose-sin.

Are you a sneaker head?
I am working in a shoe documentary and I have to tell you, I am learning so much about sneakers.
It can be a big BIG deal for a lot of people. I think I'm a shoe person and sneakers have a place in my heart (among kickers, converse, boots, etc.) but no, I do not consider myself a sneaker head after what I've learned.
I don't love sneakers that much and even if I did, I don't think I could afford them. Some sneakers cost almost a thousand dollars, I would use that money to travel somewhere fo sho.
I do have a favorite pair of sneakers though.
Did you have the Reebok Freestyle growing up?
I had a pair of white ones and my sister had a pair of pastel-y colors.
I learned that those sneakers are also called 5411. Who knew?
Wikipedia confirms it: "Reebok Freestyle is a women's athletic shoe style that was introduced in 1982 and designed for aerobic exercise. It quickly surged Reebok into the mainstream athletic wear market and fashion scene along with becoming one of the most popular athletic shoes of all time. In 1984, the shoe accounted for more than half of the Reebok sales. As a result, the Freestyle became a 1980s fashion icon and is still manufactured to this day... In some urban areas, the slang name for the shoe was a "5411" because the retail price was usually $49.99 USD and with tax (particularly in New York City) it cost $54.11 USD."

I love those shoes.
I saw them in Urban Outfitters once but they didn't have my size in the color I wanted. I am still trying to find them. Everywhere I go where I think they might have them I asked but nothing so far. I have looked through the internet and nada. I am going to continue looking without being to obsess. If you see a pair of white ones with rainbow shoe lazes and letters please let me know. I pair of yellow ones will do it too.

No breakfast.

* Nota del director.
Debe analizar la forma en que piensa expresar, con elementos audiovisuales, los temas y conflictos tratados. Puede referirse a aspectos como la fotografía, el sonido, la dirección de arte, el ritmo, la actuación, o cualquier otro que sea determinantepara definir la obra final.

La Luciernaga es una historia tridimensional en todo el sentido de la palabra. Se podria decir que tiene tres personajes principales que hacen tres saltos en la linea del tiempo. Esto marca el estilo de la narrativa ya que la historia sera contada con tres texturas de imagen diferente.

Lo que representa el presente y el pasado (no muy lejano) sera filmado en 35mm. Los flashbacks (y el pasado lejano) de los 80's seran filmados con la Panasonic X200 cuando se refiere a una camara de video y la secuencia de suenio donde ocurre la metamorfosis sera en super 16mm o Bolex.

La musica es muy importante en la historia, me gusta la opera...

...Contada digitalmente pero con varias texturas de imagen...

La secuencia de la metamorfosis sera filmada en cine de 16mm con camara Bolex entonces...

Y aunque lo veo muy clarito aqui adentro en mi cabeza en este momento no se que mas decir...

This is not a blog.

It's been a while since I've written something here.
I am back from the festival and even though I was really busy I wrote something on my phone to post here. AND EVEN THOUGH I did that it's still not ready TO POST HERE, I forgot to email it to myself. I haven't learned how to manage my time wisely. I'm still unable to coordinate all the things I need to do - too bad - too blah blah. I am repeating myself. Don't read this anymore.

What do I want to say tonight? I want to let you know that I'm grateful you read these words.
I struggle with the desire of having a humble heart at all times and every morning I wake up with a goal; I want to allow myself to feel freely again. The doors are closed but I want to open them. That's what I want to say; help me open the doors and if you don't know how we'll figure it out together. The wind will blow our way, I can sense it.
My ABC's


I'm in Bogota.
The theater festival 2010 is almost done and even though I got free tickets to see one of the best plays from Argentina I didn't go. I couldn't make it. I'm not even sure why I'm writing about it because it sucks.
Other than that, it's been great.
I woke up to a fresh-squeezed orange juice and a fresh-cut papaya plate. A lady is coming to my house to do my nails, hair and even to wax my legs. These girl-y things don't cross my mind too often in NYC, I never have the time for it and even if I had all the time in the world I could never afford a lady coming over to my house to do these things in the comfort of my own home.
I think I'm avoiding writing about something else. Something deeper.

This past Friday I was lucky enough to hang out with some of my "career" idols. They are Spike Jonze and Michel Gondry.
Dimitry invited me to see Gondry's new documentary "The Thorn in the Heart." About the movie I can say that it's not his most exciting work BUT it has a lot of heart and the "very-human" moments make you feel closer to his aunt, his cousin, Paul and everyone including the director.
I love the fact that it was shot on film too.
Having said that I recommend you to watch it. Do NOT expect exciting visuals just watch it with an open heart. You will enjoy it.

After the movie Spike, Lance, Dimitry and myself grabbed a bite and went to the after-party.
For some reason I am gradually getting bored of writing this. I am not sure why. This was a very exciting moment in my life. Maybe because it's Monday?
We got to the party, I went exploring and the place smelled funny. The music was kinda lame so I went back to meet with Spike and we started talking, I told him about Colombia, El Elefante Rojo, blah blah. Then Actress Catherine Keener showed up. Spike told me to hug her and kiss her, I did that. We did that together. She felt uncomfortable, it's funny. Then Michel Gondry hugged me and kissed me and introduced me to his 18 year-old song Paul. "We have good sperm" he said. I said "okay." He made very funny comments. We all laughed. I told them I'm a big fun of their work. They asked me who is my favorite - between them. They both stared at me. I didn't now what to say, "I like you both but Michel has an accent and he is foreign so I guess I relate to him more...?" Spike looked down, he's disappointed. Well, not really but let's say that because I'm on a hurry and it adds feeling to the story. The truth is that I feel Spike is a better story teller and Gondry a better Visual artist...? Spike is a great photographer though. They both are REALLY GOOD at what they do. It's really hard to decide who is my favorite. I want to be like them when I grow up even though I'm taller and maybe more mature...?
Almost done here.
Catherine keener gave me her email address and I felt like a million bucks, it feels good when someone you admire is interested in you right? Yes, I said good bye to them with a kiss on the cheek. Spike felt very awkward with the good bye kiss while Gondry gave me tw kisses, one on each cheek. It's cultural of course. He also told me to stay, I wanted to but I had to go to the Box that night - another place worth writing about but not today. He then took my hand and licked it putting some ice between my fingers. It sounds perverted but it wasn't.
I took the elevator down with his son Paul who was talking in french to his friends. I understood what he said and smiled - to myself. I didn't wash my hand for hours.
Gracias Dios.

I am back to NYC from Boston. La Luciernaga keeps growing inside me and that makes me feel content.
There are only 10 days before my third-floor-birthday and a bizarre feeling runs around my skin.
Isn't' weird how life keeps contradicting itself? I mean, I have never felt more like a teenager than at this point of my life AND when I was 13 I felt like a grown-up. Even though I had only kissed one boy back then I felt I knew what I wanted, I thought I knew how to get it, life was easy and flow-y and nothing really bothered me so much.
My life-process seems to be going backwards and the "worst" part about it it's that I like it, I respect it. One of the things that remains the same is my ability to go with the flow, well, most of the time. Sometimes one gets caught up in a rocky corner but somehow the pressure of the water pushes you down and you just keep moving right?
I finally got the name of the Indian writer Charlie was reading to me the other day. His name is Jiddu Krishnamurti.
I would like to share some of his thoughts about a topic that has nothing to do with what I wrote above but its constantly on my mind. From the little I know about Jiddu I can say he is a man of a LOT of words. He constantly talks through questions and goes-around-the-bushes to make his point. Please do not get me wrong when I say that; "Going around the bushes" allows you to see things from a different perspective, find new ways "to get to the main bush" and most importantly it gives you more time. Sometimes we just need a little time, time is not money when it comes to figuring things out.

Encourage yourself to read it all the way until the end. I have ADD and English is my second language so trust me: You can do this and it's worth it.

Jiddu Krishnamurti on living a Spiritual Life
Question: Is it possible for the ordinary individual to lead a spiritual life without having a set of beliefs or taking part in ceremonies and rituals?

Jiddu Krishnamurti : I wonder what we mean by a spiritual life? Do you become spiritual by performing ceremonies and rituals, having innumerable beliefs, or by having principles according to which you are trying to live? Does that make you spiritual? Ceremonies and rituals sometimes, perhaps at the beginning, give a certain sensation, so-called uplift. But they are repetitious, and every sensation that is repeated soon wearies of itself.

The mind likes to establish itself in a routine, in a habit; and rituals, ceremonies, provide this and give to the mind an opportunity to separate itself, to feel itself superior, to feel that it knows more, and to enjoy the sensations of repetitious pleasures. Surely there is nothing spiritual about rituals and ceremonies; they only divide man against man. Since they are repetitious, they do not free the mind from its own self-projected sensations. On the contrary, for a spiritual life - a free life, a free mind, a mind that is not burdened by the ego, the 'me' - it is essential to see the falsity of ceremonies. To find reality or God or what you will, there must be no ceremonies, no rituals round which the mind can wrap itself and feel itself different, enjoying the sensations of oft-repeated action.

And a mind burdened with belief - is such a mind capable of perception, of understanding? Surely, a mind burdened with belief is an enclosed mind - no matter what belief it is, whether it is in nationalism, or any particular principle, or the belief in its own knowledge. A mind that is burdened with beliefs, either of the past or of the future, is surely not a free mind. A mind crippled with belief is incapable of investigation, of discovery, of looking within itself. But the mind likes beliefs because belief gives to it a certain security, makes it feel strong, energetic, aloof, separative.

We know all this as an everyday fact. And yet we continue in our beliefs - that you are a Christian and I am a Hindu - I with my set of idiosyncrasies, traditions, and experience handed down from the past, and you with yours. Obviously, belief does not bring us together. Only when there is no belief, only when we have understood the whole process of belief - then perhaps we can come together. The mind desires constantly to be secure, to be in a state of knowledge, to know; and belief offers a very convenient security. Belief in something, belief in a certain economic system for which one is willing to sacrifice oneself and others - in that the mind takes shelter; it is certain there. Or, belief in God, in a certain spiritual system; there again the mind feels secure, certain.

Belief, after all, is a word. The mind lives on words; it has its being in words, and there it takes shelter and finds certainty. And a mind that is sheltered, secure, certain, is surely incapable of understanding anything new, or receiving that which is not measurable. So belief acts as a barrier, not only between man and man, but also, surely, as a block, as a hindrance, to something that is creative, that is new. But to be in a state of uncertainty, of not knowing, of not acquiring, is extremely difficult, is it not - perhaps not difficult, but it requires a certain earnestness, without any distraction, inward or outward. But unfortunately most of us inwardly want to be distracted, and beliefs, ceremonies, rituals offer good, respectable distractions.

So, what is important in this question is, is it not, to free the mind from its own self-created habits, from its own self-projected experiences, from its own knowledge - which is, from the entity which is gathering, accumulating. That is the real problem - to be free inwardly, to be in that state when the mind is no longer inviting or accumulating experience. That is extremely arduous. And it is for everyone, not for the few, to free themselves from the process of time, which is the process of accumulation, gathering in, the desire for the 'more'.

This is only possible when we understand the ways of the mind, how it is constantly seeking security, permanency, either in beliefs, in rituals, in ceremonies, or in knowledge. All these are distractions, and a mind that is distracted is incapable of quietness. To go into this problem very deeply, one has to be aware inwardly, both at the conscious and at the unconscious level, of those attractions and distractions that the mind has cultivated - to observe them, and not try to transform them into something else but merely observe. Then begins the freedom in which the mind is no longer acquiring, accumulating.

Source - Jiddu Krishnamurti Talk April 8, 1952

Hoy salgo para Boston en unas horas. Mis visitas a Charlie han expadido mi mente y mis dudas existensiales han encontrado cierta paz. Esta paz no son respuestas, son solo tomadas-de-aire-con-ritmo.
Para los que no saben Charlie es un senior de 86 anios al que acompanio por unas horas durante el dia por $20 la hora. El tedio de no querer trabajar por dinero en algo que no sea otra cosa que dirigir mi propia pelicula hizo que acudiera a este tipo de recurso el cual me permite dedicarme a trabajar en mi guion toda la maniana y en las tardes visitarlo a el, a Charlie.
Ayer me leyo el capitulo de un libro de un escritor Indu que, como siempre, no recuerdo su nombre pero que marco mi vida por el momento tan delicioso que plasmo en mi memoria. La voz de Charlie ronca y cansada le caia a mis oidos despacito y sin romper nada adentro. Poco a poco sus palabras se ubicaban como una especie de tetris dentro de mi y a medida que alcanzaba cada punto final aparecia un concepto de vida profundo y epifanico haciendo que el muro tetriciano se fortalezca en vez de hacerlo desaparecer como en el juego. El sol de la tarde que entraba por la ventana acariciaba mi pelo mientras mi cabeza descansaba sobre la mesita de la cocina. Que momento. Hubiera pagado por tener ese momento si me lo hubieran ofrecido. Todo encajaba perfectamente. Ademas las palabras del escritor Indu llegaban a mi corazon justo en el momento que las necesitaba. Definitivamente el "Tiempo Perfecto" para las cosas no tiene precio. Llegar al lugar preciso en el momento apropiado, conocer a alguien justo cuando lo necesitas o mas simple aun, poder comer helado de te verde con chocolate blanco cuando se te antoje es algo que el dinero no puede comprar.
El Good Timing como dicen en Ingles es algo sublime diria yo. Tiene que ver con Dios, la alineacion de las estrellas y la armonia de tu ser con su alrededor. Si la tienda esta cerrada no podras comerte el helado.
Voy a extraniar a Charlie durante mis dias en Boston. Alla tratare de visitar a Jose y tomar cafe con Alan Lightman el profesor de MIT que me inspiro con su libro "Einstein's Dreams." Esperemos que el Good Timing me siga acompaniando.

No me siento enamorada ni locamente emocionada, al contrario siento que es un reto seguir adelante con este rollo. Los retos me suelen gustar pero en este respecto es algo nuevo, muy nuevo para mi. Se que solo el tiempo dira y decidira, con el tiempo y despues de mucho tiempo asi que por ahora me desentiendo y se lo entrego todo al tiempo.

Por otro lado, me gusta saber que tengo familia mas cerca de lo que pensaba. Mi nueva prima que vive a solo unas cuadras de mi casa hoy me escribio para que fueramos a comer. No comimos ni nos vimos pero el contacto se hizo y me calento el corazon. Se sintio muy bien, a lo Hermida bien.
Ahora tengo que terminar de empacar las cosas del banio, el resto esta listo. Listo para que? No se, para simplemente seguir en movimiento con buen o mal tiempo.

Would you say LOVE feels like the echoing of two Asian bells after being hit against each other inside your lower-belly area?

Visually it looks like a few butterflies or maybe just one big butterfly made of paint that slowly grows inside your belly and melts away reaching every corner of your body.
Can you see it? Have you felt it?
It's delicious.

Chile is in my mind. Arriba.

Shakira me roba las palabras de la boca:

Nunca usé un antifaz.
Voy de paso por este mundo fugaz.
No pretendo parar
¿Dime quién camina
cuando se puede volar?
Mi destino es andar.
Mis recuerdos son una estela en el mar.
Lo que tengo, lo doy.
Digo lo que pienso.
Tómame como soy

Y va liviano.
Mi corazón gitano.
Que solo entiende de latir a contramano.
No intentes amarrarme.
Ni dominarme.
Yo soy quien elige como equivocarme.

Aprovechame que si llegué ayer
me puedo ir mañana.
Que soy gitana.

Sigo siendo aprendiz
en cada beso y con cada cicatriz.
Algo pude entender.
De tanto que tropiezo
ya sé como caer.

Y va liviano.
Mi corazón gitano.
Que solo entiende de latir a contramano.
No intentes amarrarme.
Ni dominarme.
o soy quien elige como equivocarme

Vamos y vemos
Que la vida es un goce.
Es normal que le temas
a lo que no conoces.

Tómame y vamos
Quiero verte volar


Shakira steals the words from my mouth:

Broke my heart
On the road
Spent the weekend
Sewing the pieces back on

Friends and thoughts pass me by
Walking gets too boring
When you learn how to fly

Not the homecoming kind
Take the top off
And who knows what you might find

Won't confess all my sins
You can bet I'll try it
But I can't always win

'Cause I'm a gypsy
Are you coming with me?
I might steal your clothes
And wear them if they fit me
I never made agreements
Just like a gypsy
And I won't back down
'Cause life's already bit me
And I won't cry
I'm too young to die
If you're gonna quit me
'Cause I'm a gypsy

I can't hide
what I've done
Scars remind me
Of just how far that I've come
To whom it may concern
Only run with scissors
When you want to get hurt

I said hey you
You're no fool
If you say 'NO'
Ain't it just the way life goes?
People fear what they don't know
Come along for the ride, Oh yeah
Come along for the ride, whoo-hoo

Last Saturday was a first-timer for me. Not only I was shooting in 3D for the first time but also I was directing "in company" for the first time.
Directing, I would say based on my limited experience, is the ability to bring your senses and instincts into a unison to create a melody that everyone around can hear and understand. A director needs the qualities of a mother, a captain and a visionary to make everyone´s job a bit easy-er. Getting territorial and bossy in the rush to be efficient to win the race against time can be a very common thing.
Now imagine all these good and not-so-good qualities multiply by two. Imagine having two mothers, two captains, two bosses.
Dan (the other director) and I were directing the same actor. One actor + two directors = A mess right? Nop, wrong.
Dan and I were able to communicate openly and peacefully with each other even during times of stress. I have to give credit to the actor who was not only very talented but great at solving "narrative" problems - on the spot.
Last Saturday it went great and relatively smooth. I was surprised.

On the other hand, today is my cousin Chio's birthday.

Love is in the air. Breathe in, and breathe out.
On the other hand, I've been thinking about how happy I used to be when I was younger and this morning while I was drinking my unsweetened green tea it hits me: Is it possible to be sad or bored due to the absence of sugar in your bloodstream?
Does sugar influence your mood?
Can sugar make you happy?
I'm not a scientist, I haven't even googled it yet BUT yes, I think it can.
Since I decided to avoid sugar in my diet my life gave a huge turn mood-wise, I think. I remember my-younger-self running around -literally- with a huge smile on my face while sucking a lollipop. Back then Lollipops were for me like my cell phone is for me today. I had one everywhere I went always and forever.
Everything was exiting and motivating for me. I always had the energy for whatever life brought.
Yesterday, I went and bought I bunch of candy for a 3D shoot we have tomorrow and of course I tried every single kind and let me tell you, last night I felt like a million bucks. Instead of taking a taxi home from downtown to avoid the cold air and the random people in the subway I decided to walk instead. Walk!? Unbelievable
The cold air felt great in my face and when I saw the bus coming I had the energy to chase it down. I was happy as a carrot. Positive thoughts were running free inside my head, everyone looked beautiful and everything was shinny.
I'm telling you, your life is better when you "caress your tongue" with sweets. That sounds gross but it works.

Do me a favor and make the experiment yourself. Eat a lollipop - or any candy you like- and let me know how you feel afterwards.
If your belly hurts is probably because you haven't eaten, make sure you have your regular meals before you hit the sweets. If you have sugar issues ask your doctor before doing it, if you don't, just do it. Do it, por favor.

My valentine's day was not "valentinish" at all but I got to spent the day with someone by my side. It was nice. Nothing was pink or red, there were no flowers, no chocolates, no valentine signs anywhere but my very-normal-Sunday was LOVELY. A nice dinner at the popular Elaine's in the Upper East side and Woody Allen constantly coming out of our mouths made this day a very special one. Gracias.
The creation of the Script Club is official. We will have our first meeting this week. Everyone is welcome this Wednesday or Thursday at 6 o 7pm at my house. Bring your script or treatment. Wine and cheese are required.
La creacion del Club de Guion es oficial. Nos reuniremos por primera vez esta semana el Miercoles o Jueves - aun no se ha confirmado- a las 6 o las 7pm. Traigan su guion, vino y queso.

Me cuesta mucho concentrarme. Es la edad o la costumbre?
It's really hard for me to concentrate. Is it because my age or am I just used to it?

Have you read Isabel Allende's book "Ines del alma mia" in English "Ines of my soul"?
Someone I met in Xalapa, Mexico told me to read this book.
He thought I was like Ines. He said I look just like he imagined her. I got obsessed with this of course, and as soon as I had the chance I bought the book. In Spanish.
I've been reading and oh lord, I'm loving it!!
So far what has gotten stuck in my head is her definition of death:
"La muerte, que no es un espantajo encapuchado de cuencas vacias, como dicen los frailes para meternos susto, sino una mujer grande, rolliza, de pecho opulento y brazos acogedores, un angel maternal."
A translation I got from a website said:
"Death, which is not an empty basin hooded scarecrow, as the monks say to get us scared, but a big woman, plump, with opulent chest and welcoming arms, a maternal angel."

Siento hoy, después de mucho tiempo, un calorcito en el corazón que me translada a mis años de teenager.
Estoy en el aeropuerto Benito Juarez de la ciudad de Mexico esperando a que alguna alma caritativa me escriba su dirección para saber por fin donde dormiré esta noche. Después de nuestra despedida me quedó en el alma una especie de melancolia oscura difuminada amarillosamente por la soledad. Como cuando se le agrega leche al café y lentamente se van mezclando hasta cambiar el color. Estos días fueron muy especiales sin siquiera intentarlo. Creo que algo bueno esta creciendo dentro.
Mis últimas andanzas van desde Veracruz, Mexico hasta Huehuetenango, Guatemala.
Ojitos indígenas con cuerpos miniaturas de formas semejantes a la visión de spike jonze en su última película rodeaban el carro cada vez que llegabamos a una zona medio poblada. Estos niños me robaban sonrisas de manera seguida y repetitiva. La vista de los dos volcanes -perdón pero no recuerdo sus nombres- junto con las dos casas quemadas que en algún momento pertenecieron a los doctores holandeses era algo sublime. Llegamos cuando el sol alcanzaba la hora cero y los colores del cielo no parecían reales. Tengo algunas fotos para los interesados.
De ahí nos dirigimos al hotel/hostal/estancia/finca caballeriza El Unicornio Azúl. Llegamos a este mágico lugar después de estar perdidos en la polvorienta oscuridad por mas de una hora. Nos recibió su duenia una seniora brazilera/francesa la cual sin muchos ingredientes improvisó una cena muy saludable y deliciosa y nos pidió el favor de llamar antes la próxima vez que fueramos a ir para ella preparse.
Esa noche ví el cielo más estrellado que nunca "y jamás." Estabamos 3100 metros más cerca de las estrellas y la falta de luz eléctrica de la zona permitía apreciar cada detalle celeste. Los griegos tuvieron que habersela fumado toda. Vieron formas y figuras muy extrañas. Donde ellos veían una osa con cola (la osa mayor) yo veía una raya de mar por ejemplo.
Esa noche conocimos a un señor Guatemalteco que más parecía una enciclopedia mundial, disfruté mucho sus sabios apuntes sobre historia, geografía, astronomía, ciencia, filosofía y hasta antropología pero muchas veces deseé que se quedara cayado para yo poder inventar mis propas historias astro-geolo-filosóficas y cientifícas. El chico lo disfrutó mucho y hasta lo empezó a llamar "el doctor."
Ese día dormimos cinco personas en un cuarto de 6 camas. La sexta fué usada como punto de encuentro y relajación. Al otro día, después de un delicioso desayuno me monté en Spirit un caballito loco que solía competir en carreras de caballos. Yo sabía que si le soltaba la rienda me haría parte de su competencia imaginaria y quién sabe donde hubiera podido parar. Yo me imaginé mi cuerpo encrustado en alguna piedra grande - la vegetación en este lugar era escasa. Los pastos eran verdosos pero se sentían secos, con mucho polvo y habían piedras grises enormes por doquier. Nuestra cabalgata fué relajada y muy controlada por la matrona brazilera/francesa. Ella se encargó que tanto Spirit como el resto de la manada se comportaran como todos unos caballos de paso fino y corazón tranquilo. Fué lindo a pesar de que el chico y su amigo Español se pegaron una ensolada al no querer ponerse bloqueador solar ni sombrero. Se lo suplicamos las mujeres del grupo y hasta "el doctor" pero no quisieron escuchar a nadie y al final terminaron mas rojos que los muros del palacio municipal de Xalapa. Se arrepintieron el resto del viaje y eso fue lindo tambien (jeje).
Al otro día me sentí atrapada en una cordillera seca y repetitiva. La matrona del Unicornio Azúl nos sugirió ir a una casona del año mil renovada por una comunidad indigena Maya a solo tres horas y media. Emocionados emprendimos camino y cuando ya habían pasado las tres horas y media seguiamos nosotros dando tumbos por la carretera que parecía sin fin. Casi seis horas después llegamos a la casona llamada: ----- upale, tampoco me acuerdo del nombre. Se los debo, es un lugar muy acogedor alumbrado a la luz de la vela con cuartos enormes y chimenéicos. Gracias a la gloria de Dios el baño tenía calentador a gas, una bendición en la mañanas neblinosas. Aunque estuvieramos menos-cerca de las estrellas a un poco menos de los 2000m el frio de este lugar se calaba por los huesos. Esa noche el humo conocido por algunos impregnó más que nuestra ropa y no paramos de reirnos.
Al otro día, después de una camintada de casi dos horas llegamos a un hueco terrestre. Un enrome huecazo que parecía tocar el centro de la tierra. Estoy segura que "el doctor" sabría el nombre científico para este tipo de accidente geográfico, por ahora lo llamaremos el Huecastro. Era como si un meteorito espacial hubiera castrado la tierra dejando un vacio redondo y enorme. Calculando al ojo yo diría que tiene unos 1000m de diametro y 5000m de profundidad...? Soy muy mala para los cálculos y menos al ojo. Era algo enorme y desde arriba solo podíamos ver las cúpulas de los árboles. Nunca antes había estado yo encima del bosque, siempre debajo...
...continuará. Me escribió Jana y me voy a su casa.
Adiós Benito.

Estoy en Palenque, Mexico. Guatemala estuvo iiiincreible guey.
I'm in Palenque, Mexico. Guatemala was aaaamazing yo.
After Chiapas we got to San Cristobal de las Casas. A beautiful Mexican town. I shot a love story through my socks during our roadtrip with the Canon 7D. I cannot wait to edit it.
There are more things to mention but I wont.
Pray for Daniel please.
Después de pasar por Chiapas llegamos a San CristObal de las Casas, un pueblito hermoso de Mexico. Durante el viaje tomé fotos de mis medias para contar una historia de amor con la canon 7D, se los mostraré cuando lo edite.
Hay más cosas de que hablar pero no dirá más.
Ora por Daniel por favor

Adiós Colombia.
Me voy con el sabor de helado de pétalos de rosa mezclado con lychee de crepes&wafles después de almorzar con mis papás. No es un sabor colombiano ni muy popular pero es delicioso. Si pueden, vayan y pruebenlo, se acordarán de la pomarosa. Si yo fuera una fruta me gustaría ser una pomarosa (por lo menos hoy, mañana seguramente otra cosa.)
Nuestro ritual aeroportuario fué tranquilo. Junto con mi papá, mamá y hermana empezamos el rito haciendo la interminable fila de la aerolínea, en este caso Mexicana porque voy camino al DF.
Una vez en el counter pagué el impuesto, pasé las maletas y sin falta alguna nos fuimos a Juan Valdez a esperar. Mi papé decidió subir primero porque sus piernas flacas no soportaban su barriga nada-flaca. Al momento de mi partida no hubo lágrimas desbordantes, más bien sonrisas melancólicas. Las miradas de mi mamá siempre parecieran ser divinas; no de belleza sino de Dios. Esas miradas tienden a hacerme llorar pero siempre respiro profundo y sigo con mi caminar. Perdón por ese verso tan fuera de lugar pero asi nació. Versos nacen muy rimados y aunque no son favoritos así serán aceptados. Es parte de ese "algo" catársico y sin cerebro. No es excusa para la mala ortografía, eso lo sé pero lo ignoro.
Por otro lado, es difícil encontrar, o más bien, sentir que encontraste el amor de tu vida en el momento y el lugar equivocado. Dos veces sentí mariposas en el estómago durante mi estadía en Colombia y esas dos veces las circumstancias fueron muy, pero muy, fuera de lugar. Dos veces ya, y eso que no me gusta el futból, ni me pasa tan seguido.
Exactamente, nada tiene un sentido tan rígido ni tan común pero la tranquilidad reina en este momento mientras espero en la sala 3 del aeropuerto el dorado. Aparte de pensar en la ineficiencia Colombiana ESPECIALMENTE en este aeropuerto, también llegan a mi mente recuerdos de momentos felíces en familia, con amigos y conocidos. Me voy tranquila y satisfecha de esos momentos, del trabajo que hicimos en equipo y tengo la esperanza de volver pronto, de viajar más y de algún día encontrarlo a El, en algún lugar no muy lejano y ninguna-vez-más equivocado.

* A few thoughts... No. A lot.
* I like the numbers of the date today 011110. A lot.
* I got a one-day-gig here in Bogotá for Converse and so far I can say I like working here. A lot.
* I think I fall in love-ish. A lot.
* I like working with Frias. A lot.

Happy new year!
I spent the last hours of 09 in a beautiful hotel called Kimbala located 10 minutes away from Curití, in Santander - Colombia.
A band from Bucaramanga cheered up the night.
My sister's father-in-law a 70 something year old widow man called Diego felt in love with the young dancer from the band. She had a very short dress and her not-very-talented moves hypnotized him. That was one of the highlights of our night, jokes came from every corner of our table.
After dinner and a few whiskeys for the gentlemen the time finally came; 2010 was here. The band made a lot of noise while each of us holding 12 grapes in one hand and a glass of champagne in the other managed to tightly hug each other. A few tears and sad thoughts came to mind but went away when the fireworks went off (maybe not but I like to think so) a few meters away from us.
"We prayed, ate and loved" each other.
It was a beautiful night and a very positive way to start the new year even though someone was missing.

Yesterday January first we went to Barichara. What a beautiful colonial town!! With each step over the stone-streets I felt as if I was entering a capsule of time. Not the way I felt in la Havana, Cuba where you also feel entering a capsule of time but el señor "sadness" and la señora "melancholy" walk quietly by your side. In Barichara I felt free, the smile on people's faces attending their small home-made businesses was inspiring. The colors of the houses and their orange brick-like rooftops where eye popping. The local artists are amazing. They make all types of things, mainly working the fique fibers. I bought some hand-made arpargatas, and a rug made of fique. You should step on it barefoot because it stimulates your circulation, the lady said.
I forgot to mention this is a very Mountainous area of Colombia so when I was walking around El Mirador (the tallest hill in the town where you can see the most beautiful green view) I found a small bag of weed in the floor, I felt sorry for the hippie that lost it. Funny. I showed my mom and she almost had a heart attack. She's scared of weed - that's the DOOR to cocaine and heroin, she says.
Talking about doors, I had the BEST tomato soup ever in a restaurant called La Puerta (Door in Spanish). For those who know the town it's located on the same street as the pizzeria but it's closer to the plaza. The food is DELICIOUS, they take for ever to bring it but the wait is worth it. If you are thinking about coming this way, call me I'll come with you and I'll take you to La Puerta.
Lately I have been thinking about making a metallic puerta at the place where my brother had the accident. (instead of a cross - a very Colombian custom.) This door will symbolize his crossing to the spiritual world and every one who drives by it will be able to see it. This might help to understand death as a spiritual birth - it's a beautiful way to see it... but still is very painful.

Life is about timing. It's about us being able to recognize the signs and to tied the nots to understand it, love God and each other.

PS: Today we are going to La Cueva del Indio, a giant cave where thousands of bats live. We have to walk in the dark for almost an hour and then jump almost 10 meters into the water, also in the dark... I'm still deciding whether or not to go, not only I didn't bring the right shoes for the ¨occasion¨ but also my dad suggested to go to Pinchote, another small town more suitable for-non-children.

Good bye 2009. Thank you God for everything this year, good and bad I. Thank you for the salsa verde I bought at the beginning of the year, for Luce's wedding and the guest I invited that never told me he was not coming. Thank you for inspiring me; El Elefante Rojo was a total success, for graduating with honors and making my parents proud. Thank you for the surprise concert of Francis and the Lights the day of my birthday and my fight with Juli. For the death of grandpa Constantino, for meeting Terry with Nati and for my special summer in Colombia. Thank you for La Escuela Audiovisual of Belen de Los Andaquies, those kids were anti depressants for me. For being able to write in NY, Bogota, and LA. For our family trip to the Colombian coast. Thank you for Mango Biche popsicles, for the windy apartment we stayed at, and for taking me scuba diving for the first time. Thank you for the HIV vaccine, for the PSA we filmed in NY and LA, for lady bunny, directing her made me a better director. Thank you for the Mexican crew in Nomadas, el desmadre was fun and my trip to Mexico was amazing. Thank you senor director for such gift and Tenoch for showing me around. Thank you for understanding death in a different way. For the miserable Panda, miserable animal number 6, for my new Hollywood experience. For being in Florencia, Caqueta the night when the governor got kidnap and killed by the guerrillas. Thank you for the stop motion animation video from the kids in Belen about the water and for my trip to see my grandma in Neiva. For our family trip to Santander, Sangil y Barichara this holliday season, for the fried ants I ate yesterday and our ride of almost seven kilometers on a cable-hanging cart over the Andes Mountain range. Thank you God for all. It has been great and well lived. Let the light in 2010 come to our heads specially over those who live in the dark. AMEN.
No more tears.
Happy spiritual birthday little brother. You've been walking toward the light for two years now, I know it hasn't been easy but you are making us proud.
PS: I ate Big-Butt fried ants and thought of you.
No mas lagrimas.
Feliz cumpleanios espiritual hermanito. Ya has caminado dos anios hacia la luz y aunque no sea facil sigue adelante, estamos muy orgullosos de ti.
PS: Hoy comi hormigas culonas y me acorde de ti.

DespuEs de mi viaje a Florencia, CaquetA donde secuestraron y degoyaron al senior Gobernador -amigo personal de mI papA- quiEn vivIa cerca de donde yo estaba. DespuEs de estar en el hospital con mi abuelita delirando en un salOn de urgencias en Neiva, de un retiro/summer camp espiritual con mas de 30 primitos en una finca cerca a TimanA donde familias de tios lloraban de amor abrazados en la celebraciOn de la Ultima noche. DespuEs de sentir mariposas en el estOmago por alguiEn mitad mi edad descubriendo asI que era un amor platOnico re-encarnado que habIa vuelto a saludarme. DespuEs de escuchar a mi prima Lucha contarme la historia de una mujer reincertada que decidiO dejar la guerrilla despuEs de asesinar a su mejor amiga por Ordenes de sus comandantes, historia que trajO al papel la versiOn Colombiana de Alicia en el paIs de las maravillas la cuAl lleva dando vueltas en mi cabeza desde el 2006. DespuEs de visitar la Escuela Audiovisual de BelEn de los Andaquies y ver el video de animaciOn/stop motion mAs lindo que he visto en mi vida. DespuEs de peliar con mi papA por un comentario que hizo durante navidad que me doliO en el alma y de llorar en frente de todos mis primos cosa que nunca hago, despuEs de todo esto me he dado cuenta que mi vida en Colombia es mas interesante de lo que creI. Mi tiempo aquI ha sido como una pelIcula de Fellini mezclada con colores de Almodovar y escritos de Charlie Kaufman a un estilo Garcia-Marquiano pero mAs interesante aUn fuE una experiencia que tuve en Los Angeles una semana antes de llegar a BogotA, aquI la comparto con ustedes para que me digan que opinan.
Por cosas de la vida un "productor" mexicano que trabaja para un estudio grande que no especificarE para evitar controversia me llamO despuEs de ver mi corto El Elefante Rojo. El estaba interesado en hablar conmigo para saber si yo tenia algUn proyecto nuevo. Sin pensarlo mucho me fuI a encontrar con El en un bar muy hollywoodense. Se acuerdan de The Real World las Vegas? Steve, el "novio" de Trishelle, era el bartender de este bar. El nos sirviO una cerveza para el senior productor y una ginger ale para mi, y asi empezO nuestra reuniOn. El hablO de su carrera, de sus amigos famosos. Nombres como David Geffen and Steven Spielberg salIan de su boca como si fueran gotas de saliva accidentadas que caIan al piso. Yo lo miraba y no estaba segura de creer lo que oIa, la verdad era que despuEs de trabajar todo el dIa frente a mi computador mi cabeza me daba vueltas y a veces sus palabras eran tan grandes que se desvanecian mezclandose con el ruido del bar quedando solo un silencio muy ruidoso. Tuve que forzar mi mente varias veces para escuchar de nuevo su voz mientras miraba sus labios moverse como en camara lenta. DespuEs de casi una hora me tocO el turno a mi. Me pregunto algunas cosas sobre mi corto y despuEs me pidiO un "one liner" sobre el guiOn en el que estoy trabajando. Le dije "es una historia de amor entre dos mujeres que no son lesbianas." Me encanta dijo, yo quiero ese guiOn. Yo sonreI. Me preguntO si lo podIa terminar antes de fin de anio, yo le dije que probablemente no. Te pago, te contrato, serA un trabajo que tendrAs que terminar antes del 31 y por favor no dejes que nadie mas lo lea, asegurO El entusiasmado. Yo me sentI especial y muy orgullosa de saber que alguiEn de este calibre estaba interesado en mi diminuto proyecto. En ese momento el me tocO la pierna de manera cariniosa pero a mi me pareciO algo intrusa. Yo se que me he americanizado mucho, lo que antes era muy normal para mI ahora me puede incomodar asi que el encanto de ese momento muriO con su mano en mi pierna y yo no quicE saber mAs de mi nueva "propuesta de trabajo." El siguiO hablando y entre mAs hablaba yo mAs perdIa interEs. Los latinos somos muy touchy-feely pero su touchy-feely-style me hacIa sentir incOmoda. Creo que El lo notO porque tratO por todos los medios de "atrapar" mi interEs otra vez. Finalmente me hizo la propuesta del millOn, bueno, del medio millOn. Me dijo que maniana traerIa un contrato y un cheque por medio millon de dolAres por mi guiOn y por otras cositas. El eco de su voz diciendo "otras cositas" se hacIa cada vez mas fuerte dentro de mi cabeza. Quice parame y salir del lugar sin decir una sola palabra porque sabIa lo que El querIa pero despuEs de respirar profundo (internamente para que El no se diera cuenta) decidI quedarme y jugar su juego, por lo menos unos minutos mAs. Le dije que me dijera exactamente a que se referIa con "otras cositas." El lo dudO por un minuto y despuEs de respirar profundo (El si lo hizo en frente mio) me dijo, medio millOn de dolAres por tu guiOn y por acostarte conmigo. Yo soltE una carcajada en ese momento sintiendo una mezcla de nervios y admiraciOn, no podIa creer que estuviera siendo tan franco. Le agradecI su honestidad con una sonrisa de oreja a oreja. Poner las reglas del juego sobre la mesa no es tan fAcil, muchos hombres tienden a enredarte antes de ser sinceros asi que aunque me hizo sentir muy incOmoda se lo agradecI. Le dije tambiEn que su propuesta era excelente, que me caIa como anillo al dedo porque mas pobre no puedo estar. VI como sus ojos se abrieron emocionados por tan solo segundos porquE cuando le dije que desafortunadamente NO estaba interesada su rostro cambiO de expresiOn y casi deja caer su cerveza. Me "recordO" que ese tipo de oportunidades no me volverIan a llegar jamas, que estaba cometiendo un error, que el tenIa las llaves de hollywood, que podIa llevar mi carrera a la cima, que querIa que dirigiera una pelIcula con Benicio del Toro, que llegarIa muy lejos con su ayuda, bla bla bla. El no sabIa que decir no solo para convencerme de aceptar su propuesta sino tambiEn para dejar de sentirse como un marrano. DespuEs de una lluvia de propuestas muy tentadoras optO por aceptar mi decisiOn, me dijo que reconocIa mi talento y que le gustaba mi profesionalismo, yo me volvI a reir. DespuEs de varios sorbos de cerveza en silencio deciciO hecharme la culpa de todo, algo que me pareciO curioso. Me dijo que El no esperaba encontrarse con una mujer como yo, me preguntO si alguna vez me habIa visto en el espejo. Supuestamente mi boca lo estaba volviendo loco y mi olor no lo dejaba concentrarse. Confieso que mi ego por dentro crecia, muy aparatosamente peri ahi subia lentamente al igual que un sentimiento profundo de asco hacia que me picaran las piernas. SalI del bar sintiEndome grande por haber hecho lo que yo querIa y al mismo tiempo diminuta por ser mujer. Esa noche le dI un beso a un amigo solo para asegurarme que aUn me gustaban los hombres. Le contE lo sucedido y me dijo "bienvenida a hollywood y prepArate porque muy seguramente pasarA otra vez."
Al otro dIa el senior productor me llamO para confirmarme su interEs por el guiOn, trabajemos bajo tus propias reglas dijo. Por favor avIsame cuando lo termines, quiero ser el primero en leerlo. Yo colguE sintiendo mi cabeza enorme por mi ego y sin ninguna picazOn en las piernas.
Welcome to Hollywood - Good bye Hollywood.
It's hard to see someone you care about loose their track and live their life in a distructive way. My time in LA has not been easy but I can see light at the end of the tunnel.
Lonely Sunday.
Domingo Solitario.
Happy times and accomplishments.
Today at around 3am I finished the 6Th miserable animal called "Panda PeliOn." "Pelion" means someone who gets into fights a lot. The poor panda always takes things personal and his defensive attitude gets him in fights constantly. He's miserable because he got in a fight that had nothing to do with him and left him a purple eye. He will learn to chill I hope.
I started these series of seven miserable animals four years ago, FOUR! That's a long time. I would liked to do the last and lucky number seven before the year ends but honestly I don't think it's going to happen. I can't decide between a turtle that thinks it's too old and her age makes her miserable or a pink dolphin that feels lonely because his family is gone. The turtle needs to realize age is more than just a stupid number and the pink dolphin needs to make new friends, the river is filled with cool animals. Anyway, I need suggestions. What would you liked to see more? I know you want to see the Panda and yes, there will be a picture on my "paintings" later on today or tomorrow but por favor, tell me what would you liked to see better a miserable turtle or a miserable pink dolphin? Dime. Me? I would liked better to see your pretty face more often.
Tiempo de felicidad y metas cumplidas.
Hoy como a eso de las 3am terminE mi sexto animal miserable. Se llama el "Panda PeliOn." El pobre siempre anda a la defensiva y termina peliando sin razOn alguna. A El ni siquiera le gusta peliar pero siempre termina involucrado en peleas. Ahora anda miserable con un ojo morado por una pelea que no tenIa nada que ver con El. AprenderA algUn dIa a estar tranquilo.
EmpecE esta seria de siete animales miserables hace cuatro anios, CUATRO! eso es muuuucho tiempo y ahora que me acerco al final, al ultimo y afortunado nUmero siete, no se que hacer, estoy entre una tortuga que se siente muy vieja y su edad la hace miserable o un delfin rosado que se siente muy solito, como no, si sus familiares y amigos se han ido. CuAl te gustarIa ver mAs a ti? Yo se que te gustarIa ver el Panda PeliOn y sI, pondrE una fotito en mis "paintings" hoy o maniana pero por favor dime que te gustarIa ver mas, la tortuga o el delfin? A mi? A mi me gustarIa mAs ver tu carita bonita por estos lares mas seguido.
11.23.09 #2
Falling in love with Mika and his work.
I couldn't be happier for not going to the airport this morning, for missing my flight, for staying in cold and gray NYC. I'll be in LA in a week and for now I'm going to make sure I finish a few things with no rush or running runs.
No podria estar mas feliz de no haber ido al aeropuerto esta maniana, por haberme quedado de mi avion. Que delicia quedarme en el gris y frio New York de mis amores. Estare en una semana en LA pero por ahora terminare lo que tengo que terminar aqui, sin afanes ni corre corres.
11 = All we need it's just a little patience.
22 = Why don't you like me, why don't you like me, walk out the door.
09 = White unicorns are crossing and jumping without stopping.
11 = Todo lo que necesitamos es un poco de paciencia.
22 = Por que no te gusto, por que no te gusto, sal por esa puerta.
09 = Atraviesan unicornios que son blancos y que brincan sin parar.
After thinking, remembering, searching and wikipeding I want to share this bit of Mexican History with you:

Tenochtitlan was the capital city of the Aztec civilization, consisting of the Mexica people, founded in 1325. The state religion of the Aztec civilization awaited the fulfillment of an ancient prophecy: that the wandering tribes would find the destined site for a great city whose location would be signaled by an eagle eating a snake while perched atop a cactus. The Aztecs saw this vision on what was then a small swampy island in Lake Texcoco, a vision that is now immortalized in Mexico's coat of arms and on the Mexican flag. Not deterred by the unfavourable terrain, they set about building their city, using the chinampa system (misnamed as "floating gardens") for agriculture and to dry and expand the island.
A thriving culture developed, and the Aztec civilization came to dominate other tribes all around Mexico. The small natural island was perpetually enlarged as Tenochtitlan grew to become the largest and most powerful city in Mesoamerica. Commercial routes were developed that brought goods from places as far as the Gulf of Mexico, the Pacific Ocean and perhaps even the Inca Empire.
After a flood of Lake Texcoco, the city was rebuilt under the rule of Ahuitzotl in a style that made it one of the grandest ever in Mesoamerica.
Spanish conquistador Hernán Cortés arrived in Tenochtitlan on November 8, 1519. At this time it is believed that the city was one of the largest in the world; compared to Europe, only Paris, Venice and Constantinople were larger. Some of the conquistadores had travelled as widely as Venice and Constantinople, and many said that Tenochtitlan was as large and fine a city as any they had seen.
(I have seen it too and it's magical.)
Tenoch (or Tenuch) was a purported ruler of the Aztecs during the fourteenth century during the Mexica travels from Aztlán to Tenochtitlan. Tenoch was a respected chief who was elected to power by the council of elders. Tenoch is traditionally held to have died about twenty-five years after the founding (c. 1325) of Tenochtitlan. There is significant disagreement whether Tenoch is mythological or a real Mexica leader, later mythologized. (I think he's both.)
The Nahuatl symbols of his name are found in the Mexican flag: Tetl, the rock, and Nochtli, the prickly pear cactus.


Despues de pensar, recordar, buscar y wikipediar quiero compartir con ustedes un poco de la historia de Mexico:

La ciudad de México-Tenochtitlan (Lugar de pencas de nopal) fue la capital de los mexicas, también conocidos como aztecas. Su fundación se realizó en las primeras décadas del siglo XIV y se convirtió en poco tiempo en la ciudad más poderosa de Mesoamérica, al someter a los altépetl circundantes, y en una de las ciudades más grandes del mundo, con cerca de 500.000 habitantes en la época de su esplendor, particularidad que ostentó hasta el año de 1521, cuando los conquistadores españoles encabezados por Hernán Cortés, consiguieron someterla. La ciudad la gobernó un tlatoani, quien ejercía el cargo de manera vitalicia. Se fundó como parte del sistema lacustre de la Cuenca de México, en un islote aumentado artificialmente en el lago de Texcoco mediante obras hidráulicas y suelos artificiales.

Tenoch (1299-1363, en náhuatl el nombre significa 'Tuna de piedra'), caudillo azteca con él da inicio la etapa de Huey tlatoanis (normalmente llamados "emperadores") mexicas.
Nació en Cuauhmixtitlan en 1299, tal vez después de la derrota en Chapultepec. El historiador Chimalpain menciona también que apareció en 1285 pero debe ser un error, ya que Tlamacazqui padre de Tenoch es mencionado por Tezozomoc junto a Cuauhtlequetzqui, Axolohua y Acocoltzin en 1286, debió tener entonces 17 años por lo tanto tuvo a Tenoch a los 30 años.
Su juventud paso en calma, hasta los 19 años en que participa en la guerra contra Azcapotzalco. Al ser derrotados se incrementa el tributo a pagar; además tiene que colaborar activamente en las guerras tepanecas a partir de 1318 para consolidarlos como un Hueyi Tlahtocayotl.
Tenoch se desempeña valerosamente durante esta guerra y alcanza el máximo grado militar para un sacerdote, el de Huitznahuatl. Así pasa de ser un simple sacerdote a todo un visionario. Reorganiza la ciudad y comienza la creación del recinto Mayor en el centro de la isla. Promueve aún más la toltequización. Durante su regencia la clase dominante se fortalece creándose privilegios para los nobles, sentando las bases para que se establezca un linaje real sólido. Sus normas y leyes trascenderán después de su muerte en 1363, en la memoria quedará presente su fortaleza por sacar adelante a la nación. Para 1376 al conquistar Chalco, Acamapichtli homenajea a su antecesor cambiándole el nombre a su capital de Cuauhmixtitlan a Tenochtitlan.
Today is Friday the 13th.
A month ago the thought of something unexpected and most likely negative coming my way would have crossed my mind in a day like today. I'm now back home in NYC after an amazing time in Mexico feeling relax and peaceful - and nothing, not even a day like today can take that away from me.
During my trip to Mexico someone told me the number 13 is a "feminine number." It connects with the feminine side of the world; with the feminine force of nature. Women have 13 holes in their body while men only have 12. The moon has 13 cicles every 28 days just like we do. This makes me wonder why do we see the number 13 as something negative? Why is the night and the dark something scary? At night other senses wake up and our spiritual eyes tend to open up. The moon makes us lunatics. We are not really use to that so we choose to get scared and "run away," is that how it is? Who told us to do so? Who said the Sun, the light and the number 12 is the absolute? The only way of living? Our calendar today seems ruled by the masculine force only, it's incomplete and if I'm not wrong that could be the cause of the unbalance world we live today, don't you think?
Hoy es viernes 13. Hace un mes hubiera pensado algo negativo y estaria pendiente, a la espera y alerta que algo inesperado sucediese, pero no. Hoy, de devuelta en NY, me siento tranquila en casa cuando pienso en eso. Estoy sin trabajo y eso me mueve las tripas mas que este mito. Alguien me ensenio que el numero 13 se conecta con lo femenino. Las mujeres tenemos 13 orificios en el cuerpo mientras los hombres solo tienen 12. La luna tiene 13 ciclos, cada 28 dias como el de las mujeres. Me pregunto por que vemos el 13, la noche, la oscuridad como algo negativo y miedoso? En la noche nuevos sentidos se despiertan impulsando nuestros ojos espirituales a ver mas alla pero como no estamos acostumbrados a tal experiencia decidimos refugiarnos en el miedo. Quien dijo que el sol, la luz y los 12 meses son una forma de vida absoluta y unica? Presiento que nuestro calendario esta incompleto y creo que de ahi viene el desbalance en el que vivimos hoy en dia, o no?

Amor a la mexicana, de cumbia, huapango y son. Caballo, bota y sombrero, tequila, tabaco y ron.
El encanto de esta cultura azteca-maya-latinoamericana sobrepasa los niveles fIsicos y emocionales que usualemente experimento en tierras agenas y abre puertas a lo que creo son niveles espirituales superiores sin nombre ni explicaciOn. Una mezcla de fE mAgica, tierra polvorienta, muerte alegre y luz natural abre canales de comunicaciOn espirituales - que son mAs imaginarios que reales. Esa mezcla logra romper algunas de las murallas emocionales que inconcientemente con el tiempo construI durante mi vida en USA. Estando aquI me siento como si volviera a ser ninia. La mugre, el desorden y ciertos olores que no hubiera soportado en otro lado se hacen llevaderos. Los gErmenes se vuelven invisibles a la mente. Disfruto comiendo esquites servidos por las manos arrugadas de costra negra y unia larga de una viejita que lleva horas sentada al lado de un semAforo ahumado. Son deliciosos. El color mestizo y oscuro que alguna vez me intimidO me atrae. Me recuerda constantemente las culturas pasadas, nuestros ancestros los indios y me pregunto como serIa mi vida hoy si no hubieran llegado los Espanioles. Suena trasedental y de cajOn y sI, lo he pensado millones de veces antes pero esta vez se siente mas pesado. Como si estuviera a punto de encontrar respuestas a cosas que parecen inexplicables. Respuestas no de palabras sino de sentimientos, de instintos. Se sienten muy cerca. COmo o dOnde, aUn no lo sE.
Anoche me quedE en una hacienda-hotel cerca a las piramides de Teotihuacan. Mi cuarto era el numero 11 obviamente. En la noche las nubes envolvIan la luna creando figuras descriptivas y haciendo que mi mente tomara las riendas de la interpretaciOn. Nada tan fuerte y confirmado como para escribir sobre eso pero si muy divertido. El dIa de los muertos fueE muy especial. Caminando por Regina observE una a una las ofrendas hechas a los muertos. Ofrendas cargadas de flores, comida, colores y calaveras - las calaveras es algo que en Colombia es temido pero aqui es muy celebrado. Estas ofrendas parecieran estar codificadas dentro de mI de manera instintiva porque cuando experimentE la muerte tan cercanamente lleguE hacer cosas que nunca entendI. Aparte de no poder dejar de llorar y no querer ver a nadie, decidI escribirle una carta con unas instrucciones de viaje, le puse una vela en mi ventana por si querIa venir a ver mi casa, le dejE agua en las noches que yo sentIa secas. Todas estas cosas las hacIan los indios millones de anios atrAs y a mi nadie me lo dijo. Estan ahI, adentro, gravadas en mi historia. Solo salen cuando la razOn pierde el control permitiEndole al instinto existir de manera natural y creativa, por lo menos en mi caso. Esa noche entendI las diferentes maneras de celebrar la muerte, de alegrarme con ella. La serpiente emplumada por ejemplo conecta lo terrenal con lo espiritual. "Nosotros los hombres somos los encargados de crear canales conectores por medio del servicio a los animales y la naturaleza" decIa El con presiciOn y yo solo lo escuchaba encantada. Nosotros somos los encargados de ayudar al mundo a conectarse con Dios porque el mundo solo no puede. Igual yo sola no puedo tampoco. Todos tenemos que entender eso.
Me voy a Coyoacan pero no sola.
Mexico and its esquites keeps my mind away from the machine.
Mexico y sus esquites mantiene mi mente alejada de la maquina.

Esta lloviendo en la ciudad de MExico y despuEs de un dIa largo y melancOlico me voy para las luchas.
It's raining in Mexico City and after a very long and melancholic day I'm going to watch authentic Mexican wrestling.

Once again God surprises me and takes me to another country. Today I'm going to mexico city with a big suitcase and a very small plan. So small that it doesn't seem real. The idea is to continue working in the movie with Lucy Liu for a few days and then maybe the beach? Yo no se. I think Los Angeles will be my next stop and I hope by then to have something written down to show you.
Una vez mas Dios me sorprende y me lleva a otro pais. Hoy viajo a la ciudad de Mexico con una maleta grande y un plan chiquitito, tan chiquito que pareciera no existir. La idea es ir a trabajar unos dias en la pelicula que estamos haciendo con Lucy Liu y despues la playa? Yo no se. Creo que Los Angeles sera mi proxima parada y espero para ese entonces tener algo escrito para mostrarles.
I woke up thinking about him today. Him, the man who broke my heart in a million tiny pieces. Even today I still collecting them, I found some of them walking around specially when the clock marks in any hour the number 11.
Hoy me desperté pensando en Él. El hombre que me rompió el corazón en un millón de pedacitos. Hasta hoy sigo colectándolos, algunos los encuentro en el camino sobre todo cuando el reloj marca a cualquier hora las 11.
Esto no lo escribi yo pero igual lo quiero compartir con ustedes:

Imagina que estas frente a una gran escalera, está junto a ti esa persona que es importante para ti (novio/a, esposo/a, amigo/a etc.) y están fuertemente tomados de la mano.
Mientras están en el mismo nivel todo esta perfecto, es disfrutable. Pero de pronto tú subes un escalón pero esa persona no, esa persona prefiere mantenerse en el nivel inicial. Ok, no hay problema... es fácil aun así estar tomados de las manos.
Pero tú subes un escalón más y esa persona se niega a hacerlo. Ya las manos han empezado a estirarse y ya no es tan cómodo como al principio. Subes un escalón mas y ya el tirón es fuerte, ya no es disfrutable y empiezas a sentir que te frena en tu avance, pero tú quieres que esa persona suba contigo para no perderla.
Desafortunadamente para esa persona no ha llegado el momento de subir de nivel, así que se mantiene en su posición inicial. Subes un escalón mas y ya ahí si es muy difícil mantenerte unido. Te duele y mucho. Luchas entre tu deseo de que esa persona suba, de no perderla, pero tú ya no puedes ni quieres bajar de nivel.
En un nuevo movimiento hacia arriba viene lo inevitable y se sueltan de las manos. Puedes quedarte ahí y llorar y patalear tratando de convencerle de que te siga, que te acompañe. Puedes incluso ir contra todo tu ser y tú mismo bajar de nivel con tal de no perderle, pero después de esa ruptura en el lazo ya nada es igual, así que por mas doloroso y difícil que sea entiendes que no puedes hacer más que seguir avanzando y esperar que algún dia vuelvan a estar al mismo nivel.
Eso pasa cuando inicias tu camino de crecimiento interior. En ese proceso, en ese avance pierdes muchas cosas: pareja, amigos, trabajos, pertenencias. Todo lo que ya no coincide con quien te estás convirtiendo ni puede estar en el nivel al que estas accesando.
Puedes pelearte con la vida entera pero el proceso así es. El crecimiento personal es eso: personal, individual, no en grupo. Puede ser que después de un tiempo esa persona decida emprender su propio camino y te alcance o suba incluso mucho más que tú, pero es importante que estés consciente de que no se puede forzar nada en esta vida.
Llega un momento en tu escala hacia convertirte en una mejor persona en que puedes quedarte solo un tiempo y duele - claro que duele - y mucho. Pero luego, conforme vas avanzando te vas encontrando en esos niveles con personas mucho mas afines a ti, personas que gracias a su propio proceso están en el mismo nivel que tú y que si tú sigues avanzando, ellos también.
En esos niveles de avance ya no hay dolor ni apego ni sufrimiento. Hay amor, comprensión, respeto absoluto.
Así es nuestra vida amigos: una infinita escalera donde estarás con las personas que estén en el mismo nivel que tú y si alguien cambia la estructura se acomoda.
A mí me costó en lo particular mucho soltarme. Aun después de una fuerte ruptura seguia viendo para atrás, esperando un milagro, y el milagro apareció pero no de la manera en que yo hubiera supuesto, apareció bajo otros nombres, otros cuerpos , otras actividades. Perdí a una amiga y gané a 20 más. Perdí un mal trabajo y ahora tengo un excelente trabajo y con oportunidades de tener más de lo que soñé alguna vez. Perdí a un hombre al que creí amar, para darme cuenta que ahora lo que tengo en este momento de mi vida ni siquiera podía soñarlo hace unos cuantos meses.
Cada pérdida, cada cosa que sale, es porque así tiene que ser. Déjales ir y prepárate para todo lo bueno que viene a tu vida. Tu sigue avanzando y confia porque esta escalera es mágica y si no me crees ¿por qué no lo compruebas por ti mismo?

When someone mentions his/her siblings I feel a strong desire to cry. uncontrollable. Is it going to be like this forever? It's important to mention that it has even become a taboo. Do not say more about it.
Cuando alguien menciona a sus hermanos siento infinitas gana de llorar. Sera asi por siempre? Cabe mencionar que ese tema se ha convertido en un tema-taboo. No se diga mas.
Tomorrow is our forth shooting day of the movie Nomadas - not bad at all.
I haven't been writing because I'm working in several projects at the same time. It's so crazy I'm not sure if I would recommend it to anyone. A video for a non-profit organization from Colombia, a possible HIV vaccine campaign and a Mexican movie are some of them. Sleeping 6 hours in the last four days will explain a bit the situation and even though I'm really tired It feels good, good, good.
There is no excuse to not be writing though.
Today is humid and sticky but after editing the HIV project I feel satisfied.
Hoy el dia esta humedo y pegajoso pero despues de editar un poco el video sobre VIH me siento muy satisfecha.
I'm in the MTA bus going back home after a not-very-successful brunch with a friend who was traveling back to Spain today. I was supposed to meet him at noon at the apple store near the meat packing district but when I got there - a BIT late- I realized our meeting was never going to happen. I felt bad. Bad timing, bad planning, bad all around. So... Here I am trying to stop the guilt and the torture thoughts.
Nini and Diana - that's a very happy thought I'll share with you right now. Nini and Diana are two beautiful Colombian teenage girls I met this summer in Belen de Los Andaquies. They are smart and confident, they have dreams bigger than the sun. Diana made me really happy a few days ago when she told me about a video she just made. One of the afternoons we spent together at the riverside of the Zarabando river, the two girls and I had a deep-dark yet productive conversation about sexual abuse. My mind, heart and soul where listening to them while my eyes were wandering around trying to make sure the 10 kids I took to the river were swimming safely. Multitasking physically and emotionally. It's really hard to talk about sexual abuse as it is, now imagine if someone tells you about it when you least expect it; when you are watching after a bunch of little ones. Not the best timing but I was glad they felt comfortable with me. Carefully and lovingly I suggested she should write a script about a strong girl that after being attacked she was able to denounce the aggressor, silence is never the answer. That was the only thing I could think off at the moment. It's hard to denounce an aggressor when he's a family member they said. My heart dropped but the girls didn't notice it. I'm NO expert on this topic but I know it happens more often that one thinks. It doesn't discriminate social class, race or culture so I went back to the script idea. Why? Not so sure. I guess it was the best way for me to deal with it, to let it go, to put it out there for other girls to see and learn from it...? Truly I'm not sure if I did a good job giving her this advice but Diana did a great job on her animation video called "Noche de Terror." Yes, she actually made a video about sexual abuse. I couldn't believe it. She wrote it, produced it and edit it in a very short period of time and it's BEAUTIFUL!!!
For those who are interested on seen it please visit: - Scroll down to the post of August 24th and watch "Noche de Terror" If you need help translating it (The narrator is Diana so it's all in Spanish) Let me know, I will gladly do so.
Isn't that great? She said people asked her about it after they saw it and proudly she was able to answer that was inspired by things she's heard, she didn't have to explain anything to anyone. She also said it was a way to help other girls avoid these situations. Everyone was proud of her and she felt really good about it. The fact that something so bad, so wrong is now making her feel good is amazing; healing through art, amazing!
On the other hand and in a very different note, Nini told me she wants to learn English. She said she has a horrible English teacher at her school and I sooooo believe her. She goes to school in a tiny little town in Colombia, it's a beautiful place don't get me wrong, but my English teacher was horrible and I went to a school in Bogota, the capital of the country, so I can only imagine how bad her teacher is. Nini thinks the only way she can have access to a decent English lesson is through the internet. She couldn't be more right. The "problem" is that she has very limited access to the internet - a few hours a week I'd said - that's great keeping in mind that she lives in the doors of the Colombian jungle. She is determined to spend those few hours a week online taking some English lessons. I gave her a few links but I really don't know anything about this. Is anyone learning a new language online? If yes, please email me the info, Nini and myself will highly appreciate it.
Good positive thoughts... wait, I missed my bus stop. adios.
Estoy Buscando la manera de que muchos de ustedes lectores españoles puedan empezar ha leer mis escritos en Ingles (incluyendola a usted Nini). Asi que si encuentro algun sitio en internet bueno para aprender Ingles lo publicare aqui. Prometido.
Does it make me a whore to work ONLY for money? For the next month or two I'm going to be "selling" my body not sexually but production-ly instead.
Today I started working in the production of a "big" independent film as the assistant of the field-producer here in NYC.
I have never really liked to produce, I'm more into directing and writing. I have produced my films ONLY because I had to but the field-producer is a good friend of mind and I actually enjoy working with him. I find him very wise in a bizarre way and even though my job can get on my nerves very easily I enjoy spending time with him. There is always something odd to learn when I'm around him and I don't get that too often.
A big star is the main actress in this film (that's as far as I can say about it) Am I excited about that? Yes, a little, but not enough to wake up every morning looking forward to it.
After my trip to Colombia something clicked inside me. Something good. I came back home and finally cleaned up my closet after months and months of trying to do so. After working in the film school of Belen de Los Andaquies (the little Colombian town located near where the conflict is) I left behind a heavy emotional bag that I was carrying for the last year and a half. A feeling of liberation mixed with humility and gratefulness opened my eyes and I felt kinda free again. I said "kinda" because it's not that bad. It's just that growing up tends to slowly tide you up and every now and then you have to find a way to liberate yourself. I did that during this trip. I felt sadness-free, ego-less, judgment-free, guilt-free, greedy-less, I can go on and on. For the first time in a long time I felt satisfied and life got good just by sharing my time with the kids. My last night there I drove some of them around the plaza for several times after they told me to do so because they didn't know when they were going to ride in a car again - you can picture the-entire-picture after a comment like this.
So now, I'm back into my old reality. My shoulders are light and my closet is clean yes, but a small fear of falling into the rabbit hole it's in the back of my head. It's so easy to get caught up in meaningless things because you don't even notice them; they grow on you quietly like a parasite. You can only see them when you step out of your reality, when you travel, at least for me.
I don't want to be a "whore" and work only for the money. If it was up to me I would spend the little money I got traveling a little more and writing. I have two scripts slowly baking in the oven and I can't wait to add the missing ingredients to make them brown and crispy. I wish this type of decisions where up to me, they can be sometimes but not right now. Life has taught me that it's not always up to me and I'm okay with that as long as I'm allow to take some illegal turns every now and then.
Perdón, no hay versión en español por falta de concentración.
I'm in Los Angeles withoud for the first time and I'm very happy abouts. I feel like talking but not that much.
Estoy en Los Angeles sind por primera vez y estoy feliz sobres. Siento ganas de hablar pero no mucho.
I'm back in Bogotá, in the house I grew up, feeling peaceful. I haven´t feel like this in a while. There were always things around me that bothered me a lot. Things that seem so big that constantly brought me down. Today, after my travelings those things seem very stupid. I went to a small town to teach kids about film making and got back with a bigger lesson, a lesson about life. This exotic journey reminded me how simple life is and I want to remind that to you too.
Right now I´m seating in the small studio-room that connects with my parents room through a small arched door. I'm telling you this only for you to imagine it, it´s good for your soul and mind to imagine places and moments. My dad has the TV on and I can hear the news from here. They are talking about the death of Luis Carlos Galán one of the most influential leaders in Colombia killed today - 20 years ago - during his presidential campaign. The story of Galán made me think of the way John F. Kennedy died. I thought certain violent acts only happened in Colombia but I realize it happens everywhere. Including the USA a country where everything seems to be in place. This constant dichotomy between countries has helped my imagination. The Colombian version of Alice in wonderland for example keeps hunting me. It tends to eliminate every other thought including Galán and Kennedy. I was in the wedding of my cousin Isabel Cristina a few days ago and all I kept thinking was Alice in wonderland. Everything I saw was inspiring. Kids dancing with grandparents, brothers with sisters, husbands with in-laws . Everyone acted as if they were the same age. A loud DJ was cheering up the crazy familiar crowd while his friend made sure the colorful lights and the disco ball kept moving properly. The dancers switched partners in a matter of seconds and their smiles passed through my eyes in slow motion. I have seen this many times before in family reunions but never with this "lens." A new character was borne. Her name is "La Chica Crochet." It´s inspired by one of my cousins who makes all types of things in crochet (dresses, bed covers, rugs, bathing suits, table cloths, hair pieces, flowers, you name it, she makes it).
I do not know what kind of day you are having today - if you are happy, sad, healthy, sick, good or better - but I know that if you take the time to look around you can get inspired -not to write a movie, that´s way to much work - but to recognize how beautiful life can be. It´s that simple.
Para ustedes que hablan español les llegó el tiempo de practicar inglés. El mensaje de hoy es sobre la vida y sus simplesas. Algo que aprendí y/o recordé en mi viaje al Caquetà y mi trabajo con los niños de Belén de los Andaquíes.
La versión Colombiana de Alicia en el País de las Maravillas sigue su rumbo y poco a poco se cocina en este horno cabezal.
Estoy ayudando a filmar un documental sobre el agua aquí en Belén de los Andaquíes para el ministerio de la cultura. También ayudo a editar un cortometraje para una ONG española y acabo de terminar de grabar un mini programa de radio sobre la escuela audiovisual que posiblemente será transmitido en las emisoras comunitarias del país... Como ven no hay mucho tiempo para escribir.
I am helping out with the filming of a documentary about the water of Belén de los Andaquíes, a small town near Florencia, Caquetá. This documentary is sponsored by the department of Culture of the Colombian government - how do I say that in English? I have no idea but I hope you understand. I am also helping out with the editing of a short film made by-and-for a Spanish company from Spain - I have to clarify it because sometimes when you say "Spanish" people think any country that speaks Spanish - and I just finished recording a mini radio show that is going to be transmitted in some of the local radio stations... As you can see there is very little time for writing.
Disconnected with the ciber-world but very connected with the real world. I'm in the Colombian jungle right now. Beautiful greens including camouflages and painted sand bags. The river zarabando was freezing cold today but I think we got the shot for the documentary about the water. The kids are loud and their energy comes out through their pores. They are bare foot, optimistic and attentive to attention. A group of Spanish volunteers brings new flavors to my memory land making my time here more surrealistic, more delicious. It connects me.
Tomorrow I´ll be there again, in Belén de Los Andaquíes, the town with the most beautiful name in Colombia. I´m going to visit - for the first time - the theater that has my brother´s name. I don't know how I´m going to feel about that but I know he´ll be there with me. This is it for now. I'm not ready to connect with you that much yet.
Desconectada del mundo cibernetico pero muy conectada al mundo real. Estoy en la selva Colombiana rodeada de los verdes mas hermosos, incluyendo camuflages y bolsas de arena pintadas de verde tambien. El rio Zarabando estaba helado pero logramos filmar lo que necesitamos para el documental sobre el agua. Los niños hablan duro y su energia les brota por los poros. Estan descalzos, optimistas y con hambre de atención. Un grupo de Españoles voluntarios trajo a mi mundo de memorias un sabor nuevo que hace mi estadia aqui más surrealmente deliciosa. Me conecta. Mañana estaré ahi otra vez, en Belen de Los Andaquies, el pueblo con el nombre más lindo de Colombia. Aprenderé un poco màs sobre estre proyecto y visitaré por primera vez el teatro que tiene el nombre de mi hermano. Aún no se como me voy a sentir en ese momento pero estoy segura que él estará conmigo. Esto es todo por ahora. No estoy lista todavía para reconectarme contigo tanto.
Tomorrow my destination is Barranquilla. The bus will pick us up at 6am here in Santa Marta. I´ve been told 10 relatives from my mom side are already there. They came from the middle of the country. From my uncle´s side there are 18 and counting all from the coast and the USA. A beach party with fresh food and life music awaits. Two very different families are getting together. For those who don´t know that´s like mixing water and oil, Texas and New York, all in good spirit. We always have the best time.There will be pictures and stories coming soon. I cant write anymore, I get charge by the minute here and time flies... or flys...
Mañana mi destino es Barranquilla. El bus nos recoge a las 6am aquI en Santa Marta. Me han dicho que 10 parientes por parte de mamA llegaron del interior. Por el lado costeño y gringo de mi tio Jorge se contaron 18 personas y vienen otros en camino. La fiesta playera de mañana serA inolvidable, con comida fresca y mUsica en vivo. SerA interesante ver a las dos familias reunidas, son como agua y aceite pero se pasa muy bueno. HabrA mucho que contar con fotos y todo. No escribo mas porquE aquI me cobran por minuto y el tiempo se pasa volando.

En Santa Martha. En rodadero. En Mara. Con arena, mango biche, paleta, chanclas blancas y piel tostada. Con mi papa tomando siesta en un sofa, mi mama con una pañoleta en el pelo. Con mi hermana bañandome en bloqueador solar, con el frio en las noches por el chiflon del aire acondicionado y con la piel salada despues de un baño en la ducha. Con la gorra de Alonso, la camara ya casi descargada y sin cargador y con los recuerdos del norte que me acompañan por doquier... Mañana al parque Tayrona.
In Santa Martha. In Rodadero. In Mara. With sand, green mango, pop-sickles, white sandals and toasted skin. With Dad taking a nap in the couch and mom wearing a scarf in her hair. With my sister constantly showering me with sunblock, with the freezing cold air of the air conditioner at night and with salty skin after a shower. With Alonso's hat, my camera almost dead and no charger. With the memories from the north that go with me everywhere... Tomorrow we are going to the Tayrona park.
En estos días me he dado cuenta una vez más de lo maravilloso que es vivir en Colombia y sus alrededores. Cuando se me olvida este pequeño detalle la vida misma se encarga de recordarmelo, a veces dolorosamente, a veces deliciosamente (como nuestro paseo a peñalisa) pero SIEMPRE trayendo consigo un tsunami de preguntas que me ahogan la cabeza. Cosas como: Qué hago viviendo tan sola y tan lejos? Por qué no aprovecho el tiempo que tengo para disfrutar más a los padres si la vida es tan corta? Por qué mataron a Betty y el otro en un accidente de carro? Por qué lo extraño tanto? tubi or nat tubi en NYC? Por qué no tengo la respuesta de nada? etc? etc. Pero así mismo y evitando el desespero existencial la vida tambien se encarga de llevarme a los lugares y momentos donde puedo encontrar ciertas pistas que apaciguan el agua.
Hoy Paulo Cohelo me da una respuesta inolvidable de manera twitteriana: Miércoles: Una vida interesante está llena de preguntas. Una vida aburrida está llena de respuestas.
Gracias a la vida que es interesante y me ha dado tanto.
Lately I´ve realized how nice it is to live in Colombia and its surroundings. Life always finds a way to remind me such thing when I seem to have forgotten it. Sometimes through painful ways, sometimes through delicious ones but always leaving behind a tsunami of questions that drawn my head. Things like: What am I doing living so alone and far away? Why don't I spend more time with my parents if life is so short? Why did he die so soon? Why do I miss him so much? Why don't I have the answer to nada? To be or not to be in NYC? etc? etc. In that same way and avoiding an existential breakdown, life also takes me to places and moments where I can find guiding clues that calm down the waters.
Today writer Paulo Cohelo has a clue that I wont ever forget, he says: Wednesday: an interesting life is full of questions. A boring life is full of answers.
Gracias life for being interesting and for giving me so much.
For the first time in my life I´m writing from a cafe in Bogota, Colombia called Diletto. The place has a soft yellow light coming from big-round-flowery lamps that are hanging from the ceiling. The outdoor area is lovely, red and gray leather seats make it stylish and comfy at the same time. We are inside though. The lack of electrical plugs made us move indoors to seat underneath the lamps. I decided not to bring my laptop to Colombia this time, why? I have no idea. Very stupid of me, I regret it everyday but as we-all-know life goes on even after our poorly-made decisions. My sister was nice enough to let me use her PC. This computer has a mind of its own. It turns off whenever it wants without saving anything or anyone. It can be a scary experience to write on it, it doesn´t even correct my spelling (I apologize for that) but here I am writing and fighting the fear of losing it all, yes, you feel like you lose it all when your writing disappear.
My script is slowly progressing, mi casa is always filled with family and friends that come and go making it impossible for me to focus on it. When my friend Juliana called me today and asked me to come meet her at this cafe I accepted with no hesitation. In this place I don´t get distracted by friends and family, instead I get distracted by familiar faces that I don´t know and the smell of amapola cake mixed with fresh coffee. All I want to do here is snack and write, write and snack, and that´s what I´m doing right now... The distractions are allow as long as I write, right?
Por primera vez en mi vida estoy escribiendo desde un café de Bogotá llamado Diletto. Una suave luz amarilla viene de cuatro lámparas floridas que cuelgan del techo. El patio exterior es muy acogedior. Sus sillas de cuero rojas y grises le dan estilo y aunque se vean muy cómodas estamos sentadas adentro, bajo las lámparas. La falta de enchufes hizo que nos movieramos hacía la luz amarilla. Este viaje a Colombia decidí muy campantemente no traer mi laptop, por qué? No lo sé, me he arrepentido todos los días pero como dicen por ahi: La vida continúa y es un deber superar los traumas que causan nuestras decisiones estúpidas.
Mi hermana me prestó su computador. Es un HP que toma sus propias decisiones sin importar raza o lugar. Cuando quiere se apaga solito sin compación alguna, sin guardar escritos ni movimientos. Escribir en él es una experiencia pavorosa pero "heme" aquí escribiendo y luchando contra los temores que nos da la vida. El miedo a perderlo todo (a veces lo que escribes se convierte en "todo" lo que tienes) es muy grande pero prefiero intentarlo que no hacer nada.
Mi último guión va despasiosamente progresando. Es imposible concentrarme en mi casa donde entra y sale gente constantemente. Por eso cuando mi amiga Juliana me llamó a invitarme a Diletto a escribir acepté sin dudarlo un segundo. Aqui no me distraen los amigos ni familiares sino el ambiente Dilettontero donde rostros familiares que no conozco me llaman la atención. El olor a torta de amapola mezclado con cafesito fresco me aceleran la ansiedad y solo quiero comer y escribir, escribir y comer. Eso hago en este momento... Las distracciones son permitidas siempre y cuando escriba, verdad?
El mes de julio es un mes muy especial. El 6 de julio es el cumple de mi papá, el 10 de julio era el cumple de mi hermanito y es el aniversario de casados de mi papás. A veces pienso que mi hermano quería asegurarse que nunca nos olvidaríamos de su cumpleaños. Yo te prometo que nunca lo olvidaremos. NUNCA.
En Bogotá el tiempo pasa más despacio y la gente aparece más rápido. Estos días han sido acompañados de familiares y amigos por aquí y por alla. Se siente bien.
The month of July is a very special month. July 6th is my dad's birthday. July 10th it was my brother's birthday and that same day it's my parents anniversary. Sometimes I think my brother wanted to make sure we would never forget his birthday. I promised you we will NEVER forget it.
Time runs slower and people run faster into my house. These days have been filled with family members and friends. It feels good.
Today I'm flying back to Colombia for a month and a half. I'm writing from my cell phone again while seating at an airport bench in Atlanta, GA. My flight made a six-hour-stop here and my aunt is on her way to pick me up. Today I was called a "bitch" by a 50 something year old man. The incident bothered me a lot but after a deep breath and a little pray for him my nasty feelings went away. The story goes like this. This 50 something man is seating in the window seat next to an Asian woman who seems to be his wife. I'm playing with my phone in the isle seat next to the woman. A flight attendant walks up to me and reminds me to turn my phone off when we´re ready to depart. I said "yes of course." Minutes later - before our departure time - I decided to turn my phone off as I was feeling sleepy. I closed my eyes and a thunder of thoughts came to my mind. One of them was an amazing idea (at least that´s what I thought at that moment) for something I am working on so I had the urge to write it down immediately. I looked into my purse for a pen and didn't find one, instead I found my phone. I'm sure you- people- cannot help yourself when a muse hits you in the face in the most random place. Quickly I turned my phone back on and text myself. The old man looks at me and says "could you please turn your phone off, for the safety of the plane" I told him "yes, I will, this will only take one second" he insisted " mam it's for the safety of the plane" "I promise nothing will happen to this plane" I replied with a smile. I went back to my text when I heard him said: "bitch!" I stop typing for a second. It felt as a if a bucket of cold water was thrown at me. I looked at him, his eyes were going to eat me alive. I look back to my phone and finished my text. then I said to him: "you don't need to be rude sir, you are being disrespectful" I turned my phone off and waited quietly for more than 30 minutes for our plane to depart. During those 30 minutes I thought of a million things to say to that man. I wanted to fight back so hard, tell him to mind his own business, to act his age, etc. But I knew in my heart my attitude was the best. I knew he was feeling bad for being rude specially because people around us stared at him when he said it. I knew he was right in a way, but giving the fact that we were not moving I thought it was okay - and really, it was necessary at least for me. The "funny" part was that I was not supposed to seat there. I had gotten online earlier to make sure I got an exit seat. When I got to my seat a cute black guy asked me to please switch seats so he could seat next to his wife, also and Asian woman. I accepted. And there I was seating next to a quiet submissive woman and a crazy rude old man. I put my blanket over my head, covering the small TV screen in front of me too. Not only I wanted to separate myself from my seat-mates but also I wanted to block the light that was coming through the windows. It worked. I watched two movies: "He´s just not that into you" good movie. I related with many feelings in there, and "the great Buck Howard" highly recommended too.
PerdOn pero no traducirE lo de arriba porque aunque entretenido es un poco negativo. Lo Unico que repetirE es mi recomendaciOn pelicular: Me vi: "He´s just not that into you" y me gustO. TambiEn vI: "The Great Buck Howard" y me gustO mucho mAs. PerdOn tambiEn por no saber los nombres de estas pelIculas en español.
La agonia de la espera y la muerte lenta del "llegar ahi" es un sindrome que vivo dia a dia sin encontrarle remedio alguno. De chiquita todas las distancias se me hacian eternas pero nunca sufrIa tanto durante la trayectoria para "llegar ahi." Me acuerdo que me costaba mucho trabajo quedarme quieta en el carro durante nuestros viajes familiares a neiva. Esos viajes eran incomodos pero divertidos. Siempre me sentia espichada, mis rodillas terminaban encrustadas en el espaldar de la silla de adelante y mientras me derretia con el calor de las almohadas y el mecato que nos hacia mi mama, siempre lograba entretenerme con juegos simples e inventados. Uno de ellos era "oscurito," te acuerdas hermana? Ahora de grande me cuesta mucho trabajo soportar ese y cualquier otro tipo de trayectos para "llegar ahi." Sera por la falta que me hace mi hermana? (La falta que me hace mi hermano es otro rollo asi que ni lo mencionare aqui) Sera porque entre mas grande mas impaciente? Cuando voy en camino algun lado una lista agobiante de cosas que tengo por hacer salta a la vista como pavo-real-mental. Pareciera que ese pavo agresivo hubiese matado mi habilidad de crear juegos divertidos para-viaje-tedioso. Cada vez que tengo que caminar al metro por ejemplo o sentarme en un bus por mas de 15 minutos llega a mi mente esta lista trayendo consigo un bajon emocional (de ineficiencia e impotencia) al saber que en vez de estar haciendo lo que debo, estoy sentada "ahi" perdiendo tiempo. Me he dado cuenta que durante distancias cortas, la lista es corta y sencilla como "llamar a mi mama," o "pagar el celular." pero durante distancias largas como vuelos de mas de 5 horas la lista es mas trascendental y profunda, con cuestionamientos como "que estoy haciendo con mi vida?" "sera que si escogi la carrera correcta?" "cuando tendrE un hijo?" Esa lista torturadora toma poder sobre mi haciendo del trayecto para "llegar ahi" toda una pesadilla. Una cosa interesante ocurre cuando finalmente llego al lugar esperado, magicamente la lista se desaparece haciendome olvidar no solo de la tortura que sentia minutos antes sino tambien de las cosas que tenia por hacer. Es ahi cuando mi mama se pone brava porque no le llamE, o se me olvida pagar el celular. Como duele crecer no? El monstruo que estaban debajo de la cama se pasa a nuestra mente para atormentarnos no solo en la noche sino en cualquier momento que se lo permitamos... Despues escribo mas sobre este tema porque ahora voy de salida a Cape Cod.
Today is a day of cleaning/laundry at my house. Tedious? Yes, extreeemely, but the $65 I paid a very nice lady to clean my ONE bedroom apartment a couple of weeks ago seem a bit-too-much today so I'm cleaning it myself. There are many distractions when it comes to a job like this. Everything gets on my way of finishing what I start. That's very unlike me, when I have a goal I don't stop until I reach it, obviously not when it comes to cleaning (and/or packing). This morning for example, I started cleaning the kitchen - including the refrigerator. Minutes later I found myself making breakfast with a few ingredients I didn't know I had. It was delicious! I was so happy to have "recycled" some food and to know nothing was thrown out but when I finished eating I had to start cleaning the kitchen all over again. Not so happy about that. Once I finished the "deja-vu-cleaning-experience" I had no desire to continue but once again I managed to convince myself otherwise.
Quietly avoiding the bathroom I started an-dusting the living room. I did great for almost 15 min but when I got to my desk I noticed Pandora had stopped "singing." I touched the computer and it grabbed me like a hungry female lion.
Here I am now, writing, checking facebook, twitter, etc. It's proven, cleaning is mission impossible for me. I'm going to have to call the professionals because this mission has to be accomplished before 10PM - My Irish friend is coming from LA. Don't worry, this message wont destroy itself in 10 sec so you'll be able to read it many times, not that you want to read it many times but at least you have the option. It's good to have options.
On the other hand, death is not an option, it's an obligation. Mom always says: Solo para la muerte no hay remedio (The only thing that has no remedy is death) It's true. RIP MJ
Hoy es un dIa de limpieza y lavado de ropa en mi casa. Tedioso si, no lo voy a negar pero los $65 dolares que tuve que pagar la Ultima vez que me limpiaron mi apto de UN solo cuarto me pareciO un poco-mucho asi que esta vez lo estoy haciendo yo. Este tipo de trabajo me trae muchas distraccions al punto de no poder terminar lo que empiezo. Eso me asusta porque no soy asi. Si empiezo algo lo termino y perfecto. Por ejemplo, despuEs de limpiar la cocina y la nevera decidI hacerme un desayuno con ciertos ingredientes que no sabIa tenIa guardados. Me quedO delicioso! Estaba felIz de saber que no tuve que botar comida despuEs de reciclar varias cositas pero despuEs de comer me tocO volver a limpiar la cocina y cuando habIa terminado no querIa saber mas de limpieza. SaquE fuerzas de donde no tenia y proseguI con mi misiOn.
Evitando el banio empecE a desempolvar la sala. Lo hice muy bien como por 15 min pero cuando lleguE a mi escritorio y vI que Pandora no estaba "cantando" toquE el computador y me atrapO como leona hambrienta.
Heme aquI una vez mas distraida y escribiendo. Esta comprobado, limpiar es misiOn imposible para mi. Creo que me va tocar llamar a los profesionales -Mi amiga irlandesa Claire llega hoy a las 10pm y mi casa tiene que estar impecable para su llegada. Tranquilos, este mensaje no se autodestruirA en 10 segundos asi que lo podrAn leer una y mil veces. No digo que lo quieran hacer pero por lo menos tienen la opciOn. Es bueno saber que se tienen opciones.
Por otro lado, la muerte no es una opciOn, es una obligaciOn. Mi mamA siempre dice: Solo para la muerte no hay remedio. Es verdad. DEP Michael Jackson.
It's 1:51 am and I'm still up. My eyes are closing in front of the screen and my body aches of tiredness. Why am I still up? I wonder. In the last few days I've gone to bed very late. 5am and up. I've been working yes, partying not so much. The guilt I feel sometimes is big but not so big to make me change my unhealthy habit. I tell myself constantly "go to bed now," "wake up now" "go running" but my own voice gets quiet and dies inside of me very quickly. After trying a lot of self-punishments without success I've decided to accept my reality and live it to the fullest. The truth is this: Someday I'm going to have kids. They are going to go to school, wake up early, eat lunch at noon, go to bed at 8pm, etc, etc, etc. My messy schedule wont be allow anymore for bigger reasons with louder voices than my inner one. So I better take full advantage of this un-organic NYC-rhythm that I absolutely love right now, why? Because it wont be there for ever. That goes for you too dear reader. Whatever it is that you are going through right now, good or bad, enjoy it as much as you can because it will be gone soon.
Now I can go to bed and finally rest. Alone. Jose is back with his father. He never sleeps with me but I miss him anyways.
Es la 1:51 AM y yo sigo despierta. Mis ojos se cierran frente a esta pantalla y mi cuerpo me duele silenciosamente del cansancio. Por quE sigo despierta? Me pregunto. En los Ultimos dIas no he dormido lo suficiente. Me he acostado tardIsimo (de 5am en adelante) por trabajo si, y por fiestas no tanto. El sentimiento de culpa que me inunda no es lo suficientemente grande para hacerme cambiar este mal hAbito. A veces me ordeno a mi misma "vete a dormir ya," "levAntate temprano," "sal a trotar" pero mi voz muere en silencio dentro de mi sin crear reacciOn alguna. DespuEs de muchos auto-castigos fallidos he decidido aceptar mi realidad y vivirla al mAximo. Tal y como es. Para quE esforzarme tanto en cambiarla si igual una parte de mi la disfruta? Espero que usted querido lector haga lo mismo. No hay otra manera de vivir la vida. Hacepte su realidad y disfrutela. Esta es mi verdad: AlgUn dIa espero tener una familia y eso me obligarA a vivir bajo el rEgimen de un horario fijo. Los ninios se levantarAn temprano, el almuerzo a las 12, la comida a las 7 y a la cama "con pacheco" no mas tarde de las 10. Mi horario actual desordenado no podrA seguir su rumbo gracias a razones y voces mas bullosas que la que tengo adentro. Asi que he decidio aprovechar al mAximo este horario inorganico new Yorkino que amo con pasiOn, por quE? Porque no estarA ahi por siempre. No es eterno. Eso tambiEn es una lecciOn para usted lector mio. Cualquier cosa por la que estE pasando en este momento disfrutela al MAXIMO, sea buena o mala, que importa. Absorvala, aprenda, hAgala suya porque muy pronto se le va a ir y nunca regresarA.
Ahora si me puedo ir a dormir tranquila. Sola. Jose esta con su papa y aunque no duerme conmigo lo extranio.
After asking the limo driver today's date to start writing this post I realized that even though I've seen the date a million times in my phone and facebook I cannot remember it. I also realized that being in a limo right now (the short type. Black interior and black exterior) makes my day a bit bizarre. The rain made it impossible for me to find an available taxi in NYC so I had to negotiate a deal with the limo driver; they are known for ripping people off. He pulled over to the corner I was standing up, lower his window and ask me to get closer. For a minute I felt like a street worker. Instead of pointy boots though I was wearing rain-boots and instead of a sexy-free-spirit outfit I was covered head to toe with a huge hoodie and a yellow raincoat. The shower I didn't take this morning was giving to me by the Boss in the afternoon, in the street. I asked the driver if he had a meter and he said no. I looked away ready to walk back to "my corner" when he said: "where are you going?" I told him my address and he said $10. A pretty good deal from the west village to the upper east side. I'm now riding in this black limo looking at the drops slowly roll down the window glass. I can stare at them for hours. I write, stare, then stare and write. I just realized that rain slow things up, even my brain. I think rain is the reason why I couldn't remember the date. It's the reason for the traffic jam. I'm singing/wondering: Where do you go when you're lonely. You go no where in a black limo and stare at the rain... bizarro, very bizarre.
Hoy no quiero traducir este post por una simple y sencilla razOn. Lo escribI cuando estaba viniendo a mi casa desde el west village. Como estaba lloviendo no pude conseguir un taxi - en NY es imposible conseguir taxi cuando llueve- asi que un senior de limosina negra (las cortas) parO y me ofreciO sus servicios. Como no tenIa taximetro lo ignorE. Me preguntO para donde iba y al darle la direcciOn me dijo que me llevaba por 10 dolares. Eso es baratIsimo conociendo la distancia entre el west village y el upper east side. Sin pensarlo mucho me subI y mientras estaba en la limo observando las gotas de lluvia que bajaban por el vidrio de la ventana me diO por escribir la nota de arriba... ahora, horas despuEs del suceso, no tengo ganas de volver a leer mucho menos de re-escribir la version en Espaniol. Perdonen el incoveniente y la falta de profesionalismo. Les prometo que va a volver a pasar.
I just got to the Sax hotel in downtown Chicago. My room is not ready yet so I've decided to very carefully write a few words from my phone. I'd described the hotel as a classic-punk rock. A mix between your grandmother's house and Bam Margera's house. I love the fact that is right next to the house of blues. I don't love the fact that my room is not ready but thanks to the wait I'm writing, so it's all good people. Everything happens for the best. The reality is: I'm writing from my phone for the first time in Chicago. The trone I'm sitting on is red. gracias for being here with me.
He decidido escribir la versiOn en Espaniol trEs dIas despuEs del original y desde mi computador en casa, por quE? No sE. La verdad es que ese dIa estaba escribiendo desde mi telEfono y como ya saben no soy muy experta en el asunto. Mi temor a borrar accidentalmente lo escrito bajo inspiraciOn divina me impidiO proseguir. Por esa razOn - y por pereza en general- decidI escribir solo la versiOn en InglEs. De esa manera me asegurE que finalmente pudiera usar mi telEfono como medio de publicaciOn de escritos websodiales. Damas y Caballeros, funcionO! Desde la sala de espera del hotel Sax de Chicago sentada en una poltrona roja pude publicar por primera vez un escrito celuliar. Gracias por acompaniarme hipotEticamente en ese momento tan apoteOsico.
Yesterday I wrote a descriptive piece about the happenings of the bus I was riding to get home. I was able to do so, thanks to the improve navigation system of my new blackberry touch. It's like the Iphone with the exception that it's from verizon + it's great when making phone calls. I was excited to know that from now on I could connect to my site and write anything at anytime. By the time I got home I was ready to post my new story. Gently I touched the "update" button on the screen of my phone without realizing that the image had moved and my finger ended up touching the "cancel" button instead. wow! In that ONE second I lost 45 minutes of English writings, translations, detailed descriptions of my surroundings and more. I got so disappointed at my new phone that I had to put it down over my night table for a while (avoiding a destructive behavior towards it - I felt like throwing it out the window). The addiction to the device is notorious and during that time I felt liberated, but also naked. Quietly I went back to my night table and looking down I grabbed my phone. Yes, the picture was painful. Today, more enthusiastic and from my computer at home I decided to write about yesterday's writings to sadly not say much - unlike the erased-ones that said a lot. "Yesterday" always seems to be better than "Today." Por que?
Ayer escribI una historia muy detallada de los sucesos sucedidos en el bus en el que venIa hacia casa. Pude hacerlo gracias a mi nuevo blackberry touch que tiene una senial increible y el acceso a internet es rApido y seguro. Para los que no saben el bb touch es muy parecido al Iphone con la diferencia que como telEfono es excelente. Yo estaba felIz de saber que de ahora en adelante podIa conectarme a mi website desde cualquier lugar y escribir lo que quisiera. Cuando lleguE a casa estaba lista para "tocar" el botOn "update" y asi publicar mi nueva historia pero la pantalla es tan sensible que al tocarla mi dedo moviO la imagen y terminE espichando el botOn "cancel." Wow! en un segundo perdI 45 minutos de escritos en InglEs, traducciOnes y descripciOnes especIficas de lo que pasaba en ese momento en el bus. TratE por todos los medios de regresar a la pAgina inicial pero mi maravilloso telEfono nuevo no cooperO y no pude recuperar nada. Furiosa y decepcionada entrE a mi cuarto y lo dejE sobre mi mesita de noche por un rato para evitar un comportamiento destructivo hacia El. Lo querIa botar por la ventana. DespuEs de un rato de sentirme liberada porque si, la addicciOn que tengo por mi telEfono no es normal, me empecE a sentir desnuda y regresE como perro arrepetido hacia mi mesita de noche. La escena fue triste y dolorosa. Hoy, con mas entusiasmo y desde mi computador decidI escribir sobre el "ayer" escribiendo mucho y diciendo poco. Ayer habia escrito mucho y habia dicho muchisimo mAs. AUn me duele pensar en eso. El "Ayer" siempre parece ser mejor que el "Hoy," que el "Alhoy." Por que?
So I sent Terry Richardson an email the day after I met him as I had mentioned. I told him to take pictures of Natalia dressed as Magdalena -the character of my movie- and myself dressed as a big-furry red elephant, and guess what?! Nada. I think there is too much clothing in my idea and Terry is more into skin. He has not answer me yet. Maybe if I write him again saying Natalia and I will poss naked hugging a big-furry red elephant I have a better chance to get an answer from him... If he writes me back one thing comes to mind: Do I really want to do that?!? Maybe I should, before I turn 30.
Le mandE un email a Terry Richardson el dIa despuEs de conocerlo como lo habIa prometido. En el email le dije que yo querIa que nos tomara fotos a Natalia y a mi. Natalia vestida de Magdalena -el personaje de mi peli- y yo vestida de elefante-peludo rojo. Adivinen quE? Nada. Creo que mi idea tiene mucha ropa y Terry se inclina mAs por la piel. AUn no me ha respondido. Creo que si le escribo otra vez diciendo que Natalia y yo posarIamos desnudas abrazando a un elefante-peludo rojo tendrIa mas chance que me respondiera... Si me escribe surge una pregunta, serA que lo hago? DeberIa, antes de cumplir los 30.
Today I met the famous and controversial photographer Terry Richardson. I've been fighting a cold for the last two weeks with very weak results. My lifestyle is not helping out. I don't have a crazy lifestyle it's just a bit messy when it comes to my sleeping and eating schedule. My immune system seems to be lost in my veins like my parents in the metro lines of NYC. Last night for example I was feeling better so I decided to go to the Dave Mathews Band concert -organized by Fuse. The tickets were impossible to get and ultra expensive so you can imagine the energy of the people there. Everyone was jumping up and down. I'm sure after expending thousands of dollars for a ticket you better make sure you have a blast right? Luckily for us the tickets were a gift. After the concert we went out and talked in the street for a little while. After that we jumped on a taxi and drove home, nothing out of the ordinary. Once at home Natalia and I got distracted talking and sending emails until we realized it was 5am so we went to sleep. Now, why am I telling you this? Because today I woke up sick, very very sick and I want to know why. Was it the late-night? Was it the energetic concert? Was it the moon mist? I don't know. All I know it's that after following Richardson all through Soho wearing a warm sweater and a scarf in a warm-humid afternoon we met him and he was actually very nice. Natalia wanted a photo with him so that was our mission. I tried to give him a business card but couldn't find one in my wallet. Surprisingly Natalia had one on her wallet. I was amazed by Natalia's team work and symbolic patriotism. He gave me his email address and told me to email him. I will. Tomorrow. Right now I'm going to bed to continue a silent fight against this cold and of course to dream of him - h: home - i: imagine - m: mine - him.
Hoy conocI al fomoso y controversial fotOgrafo Terry Richardson. He estado peliando una gripa en las Ultimas dos semanas pero mi falta de organizaciOn espiritual y corporal no me ayuda mucho en esta lucha. Horarios de comida y dormidas descuadrados hacen que mi pobre sistema inmune se pierda por mis venas como mis padres en las lineas del metro de New York. Anoche por ejemplo me sentI mejor y decidI ir al concierto de Dave Mathews Band que organizO Fuse. BuenIsimo el concierto, la energIa de la gente era tal que me sentI en un concierto de mUsica bailable de pueblito colombiano en Epoca navidenia. DespuEs me enterE que los tiquetes eran carIsimos y casi imposibles de conseguir. EntendI entonces el porque del furor de la gente blanca. Claro! Si pagas hasta dos mil dolares por un tiquete lo menos que puedes hacer es pasarla del carajo. Por suerte nuestros tiquetes fueron un regalo. DespuEs del concierto salimos a la calle y nos quedamos hablando un ratico para despuEs montarnos en un taxi e irnos a casa. Nada loco o extraordinario. Una vez en casa, Natalia y yo nos pusimos hablar hasta las 5am cuando por fin decidimos irnos a dormir... Se preguntaran por que escribo tanta vaina que "nada que ver," pues porque hoy me levante super enferma OTRA VEZ y no estoy segura por quE? SerA porque fuI al concierto? SerA que me entrO un chiflOn por hablar hasta las 5am? O fuE el sereno de la calle? No lo sE, lo Unico que sE es que esta tarde conocI a Richardson despuEs de seguirlo por todo Soho con saco, bufanda y sin voz (por la gripa y porque Natalia querIa una foto con El) lo conocimos y me cayO muy bien. QuiEn lo creyera, es tImido y buena gente. Le quice dar mi tarjeta pero no tenIa ni una en la billetera, afortunadamente Natalia sacO de la nada una de mis tarjetas y se la diO. Me alegrO ver su trabajo en equipo y patriotismo simbOlico. DespuEs de darme su direcciOn de correo me dijo que le escribiera un email. Le escribirE. Maniana. Ahora mismo me voy a dormir para peliar en silencio esta gripa y asi mismo soniar con El. con quiEn? e: Elefante - l: loco - con El.
Thank you all for coming out last night. The premiere/party/concert/karaoke/break dancing battle was amazing because all of you where there last night.
Thank you to those who also accompanied us from the distance with their heart.
Blessings and flowers.
Gracias a todos por venir anoche. La premiere/fiesta/concierto/karaoke/competencia de baile fue todo un exito por la precensia de todos ustedes. Gracias tambien aquellos que nos acompaniaron desde la distancia con el corazon.
Bendiciones y flores.
Natalia Reyes is here! I am very excited about her visit. She is the main actress of my film and even though she only brought summer clothes for cold-rainy-NYC she is ready to rock our BIG event tomorrow night: The Premiere of El Elefante Rojo.
Colombian musician Gregorio Uribe is going to be our special guest. He will perform for the first time in the history of humanity the main song from the film also called El Elefante Rojo, among other of his original songs (Thank you Gregorio for such a big favor). Good times ahead people and you are all welcome to join.
A poem:
Good-times-ahead are moving inside my head, yes
I can only dream and wish for the best,
trying hard to ignore the thunder storm that quietly awaits, but no!
Nothing will ruin my good-times-ahead.
It's supposed to rain tomorrow, be cold and gray
but my thoughts are sunny, clean and yupi hey!
I am great at writing poems; writing poems en Ingles.
God bless America, el sur, la family and los pets.
Natalia Reyes esta aqui! Estoy feliz con su visita. Ella es la actris principal de mi corto y aunque solo trajo ropa veranera para esta ciudad fria y lluviosa, esta lista pa' brillar como estrella-en-el-cielo-de-Dios-padre-amen, en nuestro super suculento evento de manana en la noche: La premiere de El Elefante Rojo.
Uno de nuestros invitados especiales es el musico colombiano Gregorio Uribe quien va a tocar -por primera vez en la historia de la humanidad- la cancion del corto llamada tambien "El Elefante Rojo" (gracias Gregorio por el favorsote).
Muy buenos tiempos nos esperan en un futuro no muy lejano y todos estan invitados a disfrutar.
El poema de arriba solo es en ingles asi que toma un diccionario y pratica un poco.
Mira este link y lee esto:
look and read this link:
Yesterday I got a phone call from The New York Post. Journalist Shari Logan interviewed me about "El Elefante Rojo." The interview was long and sweet; I talked about everything, maybe a little too much. Today I am here waiting to see what she wrote... anxiously waiting...
Ayer me llamo la periodista Shari Logan del New York Post para entrevistarme sobre "El Elefante Rojo." La entrevista fue dulcemente larga; creo que hable mucho como siempre. Hoy estoy esperando a ver que escribio... ansiosamente esperando...
I just finished eating a delicious lunch in my cousin's house in Atlanta. My time here has been warm and very funny. Yesterday at a BBQ my uncle Jorge "stole" a sweet plantain that was slowly cooking on the grill. My political aunt Claudia was waiting anxiously for the plantain. She was carefully guarding it but the moment she looked away my uncle Jorge committed the crime. When she realized the plantain was missing she jumped inside the house looking for it. I have to clarify the BBQ had a ton of chicken, meat, salchichas, chorizo, potatoes, yuca, guacamole, salad, corn, etc. But it only had one or two sweet plantains. Trying to be smart Jorge cut the plantain in three pieces, he gave one to my dad, another to Helena his wife and kept one for himself. Claudia then saw my dad eating a piece of plantain and got mad at him. My dad unaware of Jorge's actions told Claudia that Helena gave it to him. Helena saw Claudia's face and knowing the truth she run to the second floor to secretly laugh. Claudia got mad at Helena. My uncle Jorge confessed to her it was him who took it but Claudia didn't believe him. She stayed mad at Helena. Then Karina - unaware of the situation asked out-loud- Is there any sweet plantain? I laughed out loud by myself because no one else noticed it.
It was a moment of a funny TV show probably not-so-funny to you right now but laugh anyways; laugh-out-loud so no one can hear you.
Acabo de terminar de comer un almuerzo delicioso en la casa de mi primo en Atlanta. Todo aqui ha sido calientito y chistoso. Ayer estuvimos en un BBQ en la casa de otro primo y mi tio Jorge se "robo" un platano maduro del asador que mi tia politica Claudia estaba cuidando muy sigilosamente. En el BBQ teniamos un monton de pollo, carne, salchichas, chorizos, maiz, yuca, guacamole, papa salada, etc. pero platanos maduros solo unos pocos y cuando Claudia se descuido mi tio Jorge aprovecho el momento para cometer el crimen platanero. Usando su inteligencia medicinal decidio partir el platano en tres partes, una parte se la dio a mi tia Helena, la otra a mi papa y la otra fue para el. Cuando Claudia se dio cuenta de lo sucedido entro a la casa corriendo a buscar su "platano perdido" y al ver a mi papa comiendoselo se puso furisa con el. Mi papa sin saber la realidad de los hechos le dijo que Helena se lo habia dado. Helena al escuchar su nombre salio corriendo al segudo piso porque no se aguantaba la risa. Claudia se dio cuenta y se puso furiosa con Helena. Al ver esto mi tio Jorge confeso la verdad pero Claudia no le creyo y hasta el sol de hoy peinsa que la roba-platano es Helena. Minutos despues y sin saber lo sucedido Karina pregunto: hay platano maduro? Yo me rei y creo que fui la unica porque nadie lo noto.
Fue un momento como de show de television y aunque no suene muy chistoso ahora, riete; riete duro para que nadie te oiga.

Bad news today - From Yesterday.
My grandfather passed away yesterday. A lot of "familiar" sour feelings came back to my heart. I heard the news while walking down a street in Soho, tears started to fill out my eyes and looking down I got quiet. A friend that was walking next to me didn't say a word and loud NYC become mute instantly. I started a mental prayer to my brother "Please receive grandpa with your arms wide open" a sudden breeze made me lift up my head and surprisingly enough a "familiar" face was standing right in front of me. Nothing less than Brad Pitt was exiting a "familiar "super market. What a powerful face- I have to confess he made me smile. The tears that were about to run down my face magically disappeared and my heart started to pump faster. It's a sign from my brother I thought. He did have a sense of humor and always managed to make me smile during the worse times. He said to me "Cheer up fool, life is beautiful like Brad Pitt (hehe) Grandpa and I are walking next to you." This is my interpretation and I liked it. Pitt got into a black car and drove away. I continued walking feeling the breeze on my face and thinking positive about a negative... Now I just wish I could bring Pitt home so mom could feel the same way, or Julio Iglesias? or Jose Luis Perales? or just grandpa Costantino.
Hoy hay malas noticias de ayer.
Ayer mientras caminaba por Soho me entere que mi abuelito habia fallecido trayendo otra vez a mi corazon esos sentimientos amargos que con tanto esfuerzo habia logrado canalizar. Lagrimas empezaron a brotar de mis ojos que mirando al piso escondian su dolor. Empeze una oracion mental a mi hermano pidiendole que recibiera al abuelito con los brazos abiertos. En ese momento una brisa fresca levanto mi cara solo para darme cuenta que Brad Pitt estaba justo al frente mio. Brad pitt! Su cara poderosa cambio mi tristeza por sonrisas; mis lagrimas desaparecieron instantaneamente y mi corazon empezo a latir mas rapido. En ese momento entendi que no era Brad Pitt sino mi hermano el que me estaba dando una senial. Me decia "Deja de ser boba que la vida es hermosa - como Brad Pitt jeje, no te preocupes que junto con el abuelito caminamos contigo." Esa es mi interpretacion y a mi me gusta. Brad se monto en un carro negro y siguio su camino. Yo sonriendo camine con mi cabeza en alto sintiendo la brisa en mi cara. Deje que lo positivo le ganara a lo negativo... Ahora solo deseo con todas mis fuerzas llevar a Brad Pitt a la casa para que le haga el mismo efecto a mi mama. O Julio Iglesias? O Jose Luis Perales? O simplemente mi abuelito Costantino.
Good news today - From yesterday.
Last night at the Dusty Awards ceremony I won two awards: Best Director Achievement and Best Film of the year -the Dusty is a film festival organized by the School of Visual Arts.
I couldn't believe it! There were so many good films this year, it took me some time to realize what was happening. Kevin Kline gave me the award for Best Director after saying during his speech "please hire me."
Today, Sunday-mother's day I want to say: Happy Mother's Day to all the mom's around, and around. Thank you God, family, SVA, thesis advisers, Colombian actors and crew, brother from being here, the infinitive and beyond. Thank you all for such sovereign benefit.
Hoy hay buenas noticias de ayer.
Anoche en la ceremonia de awards del festival de cine organizado por la Escuela de Artes Visuales de NY llamado "Dusty" me gane dos premios: Mejor Director y mejor pelicula del anio, que tal?? Aun no lo puedo creer porque habian muchos cortos fabulosos. El actor Kevin Kline me dio el premio de mejor director despues decir en su discurso "Por favor contratame."
Yo hoy domingo dia de las madres quiero decir: Feliz dia de las madres a todas las mamas de todos los alrededores. Gracias Dios, mi familia, SVA, profesores de tesis, actores y crew Colombianos, gracias hermano por estar aqui, en el infinito y el mas alla. Gracias a Todos por tan soberano beneficio.
Two very important things are happening today, ONE it's the screening of El Elefante Rojo in a real theater for the first time (333 W 23st 9:15pm) and TWO, the interview I shot and edit of Tilda Swinton (really nice lady) is online in a website I like a lot.
Check it out:
Dos cosas muy importantes estan pasando hoy, UNA es la proyeccion de El Elefante Rojo en un teatro de verdad y DOS es la entrevista que filme de Tilda Swinton ya esta online en un website que me gusta mucho.
My first post in May should had been May first. That day is my mom's birthday and today she's coming to visit from Colombia. That's why I am writing today and not May first... In other words, I am very happy she's coming with dad.
It's easier to understand than what it seems.
Debi haber escrito el primero de Mayo pero ese dia es el cumpleanios de mi madre y como llega esta noche a visitarme desde Colombia escribo hoy y no ese dia. Mejor dicho, estoy muy feliz que venga mi mama y mi papa.
Es mas facil de entender de lo que parece.
My thesis film has been delivered on time and the waves of the pacific ocean are now calmed. Yesterday I met with some guys-producers from Colombia and they invited me to participate in a Latin Film Festival in Queens. This coming up Thursday "we will have a press conference at 1pm" one of them said "so be prepared to answer some questions to the media." Be prepared? What did he mean with that? I think I'm prepared. Microphones make me feel really small though. I would much rather him not to have told me that so my mind would have stayed as pacific as the pacific ocean and I wouldn't spent time thinking about it. Now I'm nervous. This coming up Thursday I have a appointment with Oliver at 1pm. No joke.
Time and mind arrangements need to be made pronto. Si Senior.
Mi tesis ha sido entregada a tiempo y las olas del oceano pacifico estan calmadas otra vez. Ayer estuve en Queens en una reunion con unos productores Colombianos y me invitaron a participar en un festival de cine latino en Queens. Uno de ellos me dijo que me prepara para una conferencia de prensa este jueves, creo que ese tipo de actividades me ponen nerviosa; los microfonos me hacen sentir diminuta. Hubiera preferido que no me dijera nada asi no estaria pensado en eso en este momento y mi mente estaria tan pacifica como el oceano pacifico.
El Jueves a la 1pm tengo una cita con Oliver. Me va tocar cambiar de horario y de mentalidad pronto. Si senior.

My friend David is going to take photos of me next week. For a possible painting...? I hope so. Quack Quack.
David me va a tomar unas fotos la proxima semana. Sera para hacer una pintura...? Eso espero. Cuak Cuak.
Oh boy, a lot of birthday drama that's not worth writing about. I only want to thank everyone that made my day special and I want to show you something that changed my mood that night; it went from good to great in a matter of seconds. I was partying at Santos when this band started playing. It's one of my favorites. I quickly went on a search for J-uliana L-a amiga mia and I found what I was looking for. It made me smile. Let me introduce you to "Francis and the Lights" - They played this song:
La noche de mi cumple tuve el placer de oir tocar esta banda en vivo, lo mejor no es solo que me encantan sino que no sabia que iban a tocar; fue toda una sopresa. Tambien vi a alguien que no veia hace mucho y aunque no "salude" me hizo sonreir. Aqui les mando uno de los videos de "Francis and The Lights" para que conozcan este nuevo talento.

Today is my bifday.
Hoy es mi cumpleanios.
The "Gray Era" has officially started.
I've been deeply depressed and only until today I can recognize it with pride. It's very difficult to recognize that one has a problem so when you do, you do it with pride, is that right?
A series of gray paintings are going to follow this healing process hoping to one day sale them all and never see them again. Now, that's very unlike me who only sales or gives away paintings to people I know. From time to time I feel the need to see certain pieces of work again. This time is different though. Something has changed inside and for the first time I need to "let go." Allowing the grayness to come out could be a way of liberation. This is an experiment that I am deeply hoping it works. We will see; only time will tell. The series starts with a painting of gray sunflowers.
(I don't want to do the Spanish version of this post so the lovers in the south don't get worried. By lovers I mean my parents, the newlyweds, and the others.)
The message for today is short and clear. After realizing how life can give unexpected turns one learns how strong one is. Often one feels lonely, specially during these times of change, but remember the answers and the company always come from inside; inside the heart of one or others.
El mensaje de hoy es corto y claro. Depues de darnos cuenta como la vida da tantas vueltas inesperadas tambien nos damos cuenta de lo fuertes que podemos ser. Muchas veces nos sentimos solos especialemente en esos tiempos de cambio pero hay que recordar que las respuestas y la compania siempre vienen de adentro; del corazon.
I just found out the package I sent to Paris was not delivered on time because UPS made a mistake. Sad, disappointing, confusing. Why? I wanted to cry, I was even rude to the UPS representative. I couldn't understand why my package is not where it's supposed to be after doing everything possible to make it happen. Do you think this means that is not the right time for me to do this?
Me acaban de informar que el paquete que habia mandado a Paris con tanto afan y desvelo no llego a tiempo por un error de UPS. Debe ser un mensaje de Dios.
Monday seems to be the day people navigate the web the most. Is it because they work in an office and they're avoiding their Monday duties? Or because finding out about a "special" someone is a good way to start your week? Is it because you need to find some answers to explain the weekend? Or just because? Answers will be post here.
Los Lunes parecen ser lo dias en los que mas visitantes tengo en mi pagina. Sera porque algunos trabajan en oficina y evitan por todos los medios su trabajo rutinario? O sera porque quieren averiguar algo nuevo para empezar su semana mas frescos? Querran encontrar respuestas a lo que paso el fin de semana? Mandenme sus respuestas y las publico aqui.
- Esta es mi primera historia en espaniol, sin tildes,con mala ortografia y algo entrecortada - disfrutenla.
The package has been sent. $91.58. Now please pray with/for me. I'll tell you about it when it comes true.
New lunch recipe for healthy hearts: Take a hard boiled egg and cut it in small pieces. Place it in a plate with half-can of corn (small can) and half-can of beets. Add olive oil, salt and pepper. Mix well. Place over a wheat toast and enjoy it with some grilled tomatoes on the side. Delicioso.
PS: If you are watching your cholesterol - use only the egg white.
It's 11:11am. I am back in NYC and today I had a hard time waking up "I am way too tired" says a song of The Strokes - good song to listen after waking up.
My thesis film is almost ready and after three weeks in Colombia life seems to have gotten a bit better. The family is growing. My sister got married and for those who have been reading this non-sense the M&M's never came: She was upset - I was upset - for 5 minutes only because the ceremony was beautiful and the party was amazing.
Also, the blessing of having a new "baby" took away a lot of negative feelings. Ok people, "the baby" is a new song. It's called "Tres Noches" I have to confess I enjoy writing songs as much as writing scripts; maybe even a little more...? The work at the studio is unbelievable! Now I understand why K-Fed chose to be a rapper. He could have done anything else and be successful but instead he got seduced by the studio. I understand him now. Do you understand?
The wedding was a total success. Tears run down my face for the emptiness but the light was over our heads. The day was beautiful and loving. My sadness went away when I danced with my red dress and my purple shoes.
Happy Birthday Pollis and Dima and Dima and Pollis.
Yesterday I started to write I new script. It's a love story between two women that fall in love with each other but they are not lesbians. It starts at a funeral.
On the other hand, my sister is getting married this March 7 and I am going to Bogota this Saturday. I haven't found a dress yet and a even though I am extremely happy for them a feeling of emptiness accompanies the preparation for this event. Something-Someone is missing here - No more comments on that.
The truth is that I am really worried because I ordered some M&M's with their names on it and they have not arrived- My sister really wants them.
(Sometimes we have to make the bigger issues smaller and the smaller bigger, that way we get confused and end up focusing on whatever passes in front of our eyes. It's a way to avoid suffering as much. Cachai?)
I got a picture from Los Angeles, CA. I couldn't post it here so I am going to describe it:

Imagine a Russian man in his early thirties squatting down in a soft-gangsta-type of pose outside of a deserted alley in some random area of LA. He is wearing black jeans and a white t-shirt with rolled-up sleeves. His hair is puffy and out-there; it looks great even though he's going bald in the back - but we don't see his bald spot in the picture.
His bear and sunglasses contrast with the working-out-machine that seats behind him. His skinny arms reveal very little contact with the machine.

Overall it's a picture full of life and California sun. I wish you could see it, or I wish I could see the one you imagine after my description. None of the above.
My friend told me this story:

"Did i tell you the story when I broke a girl's ribs?
St Patrick's day, we are all out, we went to a private club. I was really drunk. and they had balloons, I was with this girl who is a very prominent lawyer, she's in the news in the morning and everything, so we decided -for whatever reason- to belly-bump each other with the balloons. At some point -for whatever reason- I knocked her out of balance hitting his ribcage against the bar, she bent down in pain but we continued partying. Once we were home she fell asleep and started snoring like a bear... I started calling friends telling them "dude, I'm hooking up with this girl, listen" I put the phone up to her face. I even left voice mails, it was funny... next morning we had to go to the hospital, not so funny."

(These are his words... a bad story over all. But hey, bad stories are good to share sometimes. Thanks to the "bad" we appreciate the "good".)

Sanks so much-uch-uch
I bought some salsa verde.