La gringa chilena

That is what Pablo Escobar says, and then he shoots them, not even in the back. You blame the person who got shot, because it was so obvious that they were going to get hurt. Men typically say this, trust me, I know. See, you could tell me you like me a million times, and maybe I'll still doubt it. It is probably karma. All my friends warned me that it would eventually get me if I kept messing around with heads and hearts. It started when I was about 18, and boys really really started to notice me. I don't know why, I looked exactly the same, was kind of shy, and I still sucked at flirting. And it was always the same type of guys. A a guy with a girlfriend, or just a bad guy. And so, I decided to start a little experiment. I began with trying to manipulate the sociopath, tried making the bad guys fall in love, and have the guys ignore their girlfriends because they were taken with me. I was surprisingly successful in some aspects. For example, the sociopath ended up with a cr...

Oye patron, recien termine mi serie sobre PABLITO EMILIO ESCOBAR He fascinates me, now all I have to do is go see Colombia to see all these beautiful places that they talk about. I dream of going off to Argentina, Brazil, to Peru. Seeing how people live, learning about how they see what I see. Basically, my dream is to culturally competent (you are welcome college). I also had a dance party in memory of the day that I went to see SSLYBY with my friends back in Springfield. We were only in town for like two days that month, and luckily we had gotten back just in time for the concert. Amelia and I danced through the house in our pajamas (even though it was already 2 pm). I sang her my favorite songs, and she insisted I pick her up and rock out with her. It was v lovely. Here is a haibun 4 you: Looking back to the times I was afraid of take off, grabbing my little brothers hand until we were safe in the sky. This time, I was going to a new place, and as I looked out the w...

I began by writing in my diary. I hadn't written anything in a long time. In fact, I had only kept diaries when I traveled. But I thought, constantly. I couldn't turn my brain off to go to sleep, my dreams were just a continuation of the thoughts that would race through my brain, and as I woke up, I would analyze everything that I could remember. It was a constant state of thinking, of trying to understand something, anything. I wanted to make maps to try illustrate if anything I was thinking of made any sense at all. So I began to write. I remember starting out.  It had been a long time and I was rusty. With no idea, where to start, I began it dear diary style. I wrote three pages the first day, and as I read it over, I realized I wasn't one hundred percent crazy. Only like 39 percent. I wrote about my friends and why I needed them: about my family, in hopes to understand them, about things too dangerous to say out loud. It was a place to hide my secrets, to clear my clou...

Inquietos, saliendo del túnel en una multitud de gente en el centro de todo. Subir un tramo de escaleras, otra más. Rutina sigue como lo normal pero yo he cambiado. El hombre que vende cigarrillos, permiso, CIGARILLOS, CIGARILLOS. Doblo en el callejón, una mujer que se ve simpática me da una biblia, acompañado con un hombre en un traje. Gracias, doblo, sigo caminando. El McDonalds se va en un torbellino, fuego saliendo de los basureros. Las mesas se dan vuelta cuando llego a la calle de Republica. La gente esta gritando a todo boca. Algunos siguen caminando, es un día común corriente, como todo los otros, sin la sonrisa que nunca estaba ahí para empezar.  El sol brilla entre las hojas de los árboles que bailan en el viento suave, la transición de temporadas. Venden bufandas coloradas, ordenadas una a una. Escalofríos que duelen cubren mi cuerpo, la nieve fría me escoce, cae una llovizna libremente de los cielos. Las bancas empiezan a derrumbar, las hojas quitadas de los árboles ...

Feeling like home 5,000 miles away No one likes sleeping on a plane. The seats never lean back as far as you want them to, and there always seems to be a baby crying or an old man snoring next to you. After a one-hour flight to take a 10-hour flight, you’re ready to be home—a place where you are completely content. That place for me is 11 air hours away from where I have lived for most of my life. As strange as it sounds, and even though I’ve only been there five times, that place is my home. Every time I step off the plane in Chile I feel alive. It’s a feeling of contentedness and bliss that makes me want to head out into the world and see what it has waiting for me. It’s the feeling of a new beginning in my life. I love adventure, and I know that once I get there, I’ll find it. Everything is different there: the sunny winter climate, the sounds of Chileno po, and the surroundings. I am amazed at the beauty I see everywhere. In Springfield I see trees, grass and midsized buildi...

As he lied down on me, using my lap as his pillow, I didn't know what to feel like. But you must have felt safe  nice, as you nibbled on my fingers, gifting kisses on my wrists. It made me nervous, anxious even, but okay at the same time. I will admit, I am not used to those affections. I mean, I don't even like hugs, and hand holding kind of stresses me out (in a good way). As we talked about things that mattered, I felt confident. And I even started to feel safe too. I took a picture of the day, of the night sky and the park and you. A while ago, I realized that I forget things too easily, and if I could whip out a camera and remember the times I want to, then that is what I am going to have to do. Although my camera isn't real, I take my hands and make a CLICK noise, and know that this memory will be stored for when I want to see it. I like this memory. I told my father I have a blog, I want him to read it. He is always the person I send my papers to, my poem to, and I...

I CAN'T It was the year that it snowed all winter. I worked at the ice rink, so I was used to the cold, enjoyed it even. There was a parking garage next to where my best friend and I worked. Not that special, but the thing I liked about it was that it was always empty. It had these old stairs that as you climbed up to the top, it made you feel like you were in a movie, like you were climbing up the back way, and the hope that no one would catch you made it exciting. As we climbed up the back stairs, we would laugh because we knew that no one would be at the top. It was icy that day, and we stood by the ledge, looking over our town. We could see all of downtown, and that day I wanted to see more. I wanted to feel more, to be more daring. Usually we would sit on the ledge, looking around at the people who were down below, but this time, I stood. I stood up on the icy ledge, to my best friend's surprise, and I didn't realize how easy it would have been to fall, how easy it wo...