Thursday, October 28, 2010

On Spooky

I came from a place where Armageddon was upon us every other Monday. Everything would be alright, until somehow the rumor was spread: on Monday, Satan will arrive. As the sky turned red and demons and spirits run amok, people needed to stay at their house for three days. If you were outside your house, you were doomed to be drag to hell by the horned one himself. If a love one begged you to open the door, screw them. Opening the door, meant to let the devil in, by the way, nothing will work, not even matches. If you didn't have food or water, it was going to be a hard time.

The priest at the local church had to make a sermon addressing the rumors. He stated that the world was not going to end on a Monday. He also refused to bless matches and/or electrical appliances. Still, the rumors continued for several months, until people got tired of waiting for the world to end any other Monday.

At that time, my aunts had a conversation about the subject. One of them asked the other if she would allow her to get in once Armageddon arrived. The other replied no.

Now, just imagine for a second to grow where the line between fantasy and reality was non-existent. I was scared as hell. The good thing is that not all my family was insane. Indeed, one aunt defiantly declared that God did not exist. And at that moment, the light bulb exploded. She said that it was casualty. Back then I thought it was not. Now, I know it was.

Still, the draw of the supernatural is strong. Mostly because, unlike science, is easy to understand and fun. Another little legend runs among my hometown. A woman hated to go to church. One day, she finally decided to skip the sermon and stay home to cozy up. Everyone left and she was her most comfortable when she heard a sinister voice. Finally- the voiced said- we are alone. Clearly is an urban legend created to coerce people to go to church.

Still, a sister of my atheist aunt said something about a young woman wearing black. She was working on a bus station and often had to work pass midnight. She slept in the living room which back then had huge open windows to the exterior. She was in the sofa still with work clothes when she looked at the partially opened curtain. A young woman clad in black was outside our house. Her face covered with a black veil. She thought it was a weird dream. Still, a couple of minutes later we found out that our elderly neighbor died that same night.

I am pretty sure it was a dream. I think many in our family have this capacity for lucid dreams. I was still a child when I was both dreaming that I ran across the street and listening to a soap opera. I remember well because Veronica Castro got shot in her wedding day while I was falling to the ground and waking up. My mother also has this capacity, although she is not sure. She kept talking about her child memories of being in bed and hearing the voices of children playing. She also heard someone hitting the wall. She didn't know what it was until some day she peeped. The house had no door, only a curtain. It was something covered with a white blanket. It took a rock and kept hitting the wall of the house.

I still think is a dream. Besides, children have a very vivid imagination. I used to confuse my mother with other people, simply because they had curly hair, like my mom. I was very little a toddler still. I saw this dead baby. I thought it was a baby inside a public toilet but if that ever happened, it would have been huge news but never heard a word. Children see monsters, we adults, call shadows and leaves and branches.

Dreams can be really vivid though. Still this year, I was in bed when a little girl got under me. She said she was cold. She was indeed cold as a cadaver. I felt her cold skin against my stomach and breast. I wanted to cuddle her. She was no older than fiver. She did not allow me to move. I wanted to see her little face but could not see it. She came back again angry because I told my mom my dream. My mom was scared to death. She pulled my hair and I told her to leave because I was tired. She left and never came back.

Now, this might look like the lucid dream of a crazy person. Indeed it is. During the time where I am half awake and half sleep my mind is at its peak of creativity. The best segments of my writing, the most compelling stories, the most beautiful thoughts come at this moment. It is the moment where I decide that the next day I will visit my aunt who is in Mexico, eat at grandma, who is death and make sure to use a rosary to protect myself against vampires.

Sometimes I miss those years of insanity. Reality mixed with fantasy and fantasy with romance to explain those things that are hard explain. After all, humanity still has a long way to go towards wisdom. I like to draw my conclusions on what I see both in real and abstract form. That is not much to brag but is all I can given the limits of my own humanity. Still, I do not believe in ghost unless I am half sleep. I am more afraid of humans. Mostly because no one has died of ghost attack while many have died of a stab wound.

Which reminds me, I was a little girl when I was fighting with my brother, he claims to forgot the event. Well, he was like six years old. He ran to the patio and I followed him. The door was closed and he knee on the floor and I did the same. The door was a curious thing. Made of heavy word and painted minty green, it could only be open from the inside by pushing heavily. It was so hard that if it were not already opened, my brother couldn't have opened by himself. The door started to open. I could see the feet of my grandmother wearing a blue dress, carrying a white bucket. I asked them to stop because they were going to hit my brother in the head. My brother pulled the door and there was nothing on the other side. We ran outside. My mother came back 15 minutes later, my grandmother five minutes later. There was no one on the house. She was in an aunt house two blocks away and it was impossible for her to use other door than the front door. She was not even wearing the blue dress.

I am pretty sure that I imagined her. The same way I imagined so many things. Still, one riddle still stumble me: how did the door opened?


Friday, October 15, 2010

On Lucky

Ok, so I went to drop my sister to school and when I came back my dog Lucky has been hit by car. Before anyone starts awing and feeling sorry for the damn dog, let me tell you, he had it coming. The damn dog likes to chase cars and it was a miracle he was not horribly killed before. He is stupid and smelly and lame and, more important, a damn dog.

Well, apparently, Lucky made honor to his name because from all the possible terrible outcomes, he only got a broken leg and road rash testicles. He still managed to gather all the sympathy and pity from strangers and relatives alike. While some family members were already willing to give every single damn dollar for the dog's cause, I was ready to put him to sleep if curing him cost more than five hundred bucks.

Five hundred bucks is the value of my love for Lucky. And no, I am not the vilest person, you have ever met. Do you know what it means to go all the way for a person?

I am not taking away the rights of the dog. By all means dogs should have rights but why should the pain and suffering of dogs, salamanders and chia pets be ahead of the pain of suffering of men, women and children. This peculiar aspect of the human condition did not pass unnoticed by the Cohen Brothers. Indeed the subtle, dry joke of No Country for All Men was the pity everyone felt for the slaughtered dogs surrounded by death people. We are willing to spend thousands of dollars to rescue a dog or a cat but somehow it is an offense to adjust the status of an undocumented student. After all, the dog is kind of innocent and the child is kind of guilty.

The dog is fine. It limps around the house and swings its tail to inform us that he wishes to be scratched in the ear. He is so well, that a couple of days ago, he escaped as I got into the house and chased a dude in a blue bike. I grab him by the neck and brought him back. That is when he remembered that he had a broken leg because he started cry like the son of a bitch he is. "Well" I said "you got a broken leg and your testicles were rashed by the road, the sad thing is, you learned nothing from it and will die a stupid death unless I save you from yourself."

Yes, it has harsh but I don't care. He is a dog and he has it coming. Still, I know that if you got a broken leg and your testicles rashed by the road, I would feel more empathy for you than for Lucky. Because you know, you're not a dog.

Tuesday, October 5, 2010

On a little intel.

To all my loyal readers, my mom and Juang, here is a word on tips to make this blog a little more time wasteful.

First, you probably did not notice that recently blogs start with the word "on." No, I did not join the Illuminati and drop secret codes for wannabe Tom Hanks to figure out. I was trying to copy the Spanish version of The Simpsons were they read the title like "The Simpson on: Who Shot Mr. Burns?"

Well, after realizing how dumb it was, I change the story, in my mind. So, every time there is some possible entry, I always start with: My Two Cents on….

It might not help you but it definitely helps me. Sometimes two cents is exchange for the word rant. I wish I could change the name of the blog to My Two Cents or Rant of the Month or something like that since my topics are more diverse than the Dream Act. Oh, well too lazy to look for a solution.

Also, when a word is underlined and in color, it means that it has a link. No, is not for a porn site but close. These are usually the sources for any given comment, see, I'm trying to not write the first thing that comes to my head or rephrase someone else argument but to bring my own thoughts into the plate and use different sources to reach one opinion. Although, I withheld my right to rant to my heart's content. Feel free to look at them; many of them are videos and lectures that are much less boring that what meets the eye.

I am trying to write a blog per week but is often difficult given the time constrains. When I put the time to write something, it definitely shows, and if someone took the effort to read my opinion, it is fair that I spend some effort making something worth reading. Sadly, lots of things are going on at home and I need to fix them. Every time there is something to fix, script writing time and blog writing time end up losing the battle. I have been rude enough to ditch many of my chat room friends and even flesh and blood local buddies.

So, that's all. Please stay classy until next time.