PERSONAL BLOG

*This piece was written on June 5th 2024 and was published on June 8th 2024 because I do not have an editor or a team. I am just one woman with a lot of emotions, grammatical errors and long winded sentences to work through.
[…] and while food was and is the heartbeat of our family, emotions have made this relationship even more complicated. Unlike drugs, alcohol, sex or shopping - things we’d much rather live with than live without - we can manage without them. We can give up drugs, alcohol, sex and shopping. Food is a basic need. I can’t give up food, quit eating or feeling - so I have learned, and am still learning, to live in a delicate balance of understanding. I live in a delicate balance for my father, for my well being, for my freedom from food - to simply love it in an unattached way. 

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Thank you. Thank you to my heart, which cannot be seen in this weird collage. You have carried me, especially over the last two years. My smile is a reflection of you. To my gray hair, you are the beautiful passing of time; a silver song with strings of light that dance on their own - apart from all of the other strands. You help me stand out. To my arthritic feet and knees, you won’t stop moving. Every day you surprise me with your ability and stamina, with a grace I didn’t even know you were capable of. To my skin, scars and stretch marks, you have a great story and you’re also not your story. I want you to remember that.

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Dear Reader, This week, once again, left me hot and sticky. Hot and sticky like a dumpling in a steam basket. On Saturday, doughy and perspiring, I stood in my kitchen cooking in my underwear for the better half of the day. I unwillingly put on clothes (it’s been too hot to think about actually getting dressed) to celebrate my mom’s 74th birthday dinner on video chat. We ate dinner, had dessert and sang happy birthday over the course of two calls. It was virtual and beautiful. After the day’s events came to a close, I was left hot and sticky with a side of tears.

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In two short days I will turn 44 years old. Officially mid-life and taking much into account. 44 is known as the number of death in Chinese numerology; while if you add 4+4 together - you get 8. And, go figure, 8 is a lucky number in Chinese numerology. We, as humans, with a logical and emotional brain, can choose to look at things as we desire - from a positive or negative perspective.
In my 44th year I decided that I am not choosing death but, rather, rebirth. And I am choosing to let luck find me along the way. May the old parts of myself that no longer serve me or anyone else fade and pass on so new life, love and opportunities may enter.

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If I had to give a name to the era of my life, I’d be in the carbohydrate, chai and romance period. I think this phase of life begins for a woman when she’s been on her own long enough to know she can trust herself and her decisions. Of course this period only arrived for me after approximately 18-25 years of terribly toxic decisions (usually involving men), low self-esteem, long days of corporate work and half a lifetime of retail therapy.
And, of course, there’s the childhood trauma that existed before that - but we won’t get into that right now. 

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Dear Reader, It has been 686 days since I’ve had sex and 339 days since I’ve been kissed. My last experiences with romance and passion left me vulnerable and, honestly, I’m still learning to trust myself and my decisions again. This countdown is coming on the heels of my birthday and turning 44 in t-minus 9 days. This is quite an opening statement of truth.  I hate math. But this is the math that sometimes happens in my brain.

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1. Buying yourself flowers

2. Taking yourself on a solo coffee date

3. Having an entire cafe to yourself on a Sunday afternoon for your solo coffee date

4. Feeling sweat roll down your back in a loose sundress

5. A day without wearing a bra or underwear 

6. Not wearing make-up and showing the world what your face looks like naturally

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Call me crazy, but I’ve always found breakfast to be exponentially more romantic than dinner. I am, now, wholly sure, after 23 years of dating that the way to my heart is to invite me to coffee or breakfast. To date, my longest relationships have been with myself, girlfriends and family. We’ve always had breakfast together, so there must be something to it, right? 

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Next, the ceremonious opening of the tamale de mole. Oil slicked and covered in a banana leaf, I planned to reveal the masa layer by layer and devour the tamale as though I was effortlessly reading a new novel that I couldn’t get enough of. Turning page after page until I’d be done. Oil slicked masa filled with chicken and Dona Cande’s Mole, undoubtedly the best 40 pesos I would spend all week. As I sat and continued to eat, I was not full, not greedy, or excessively eating - but content and comfortable. I dug into the masa, carefully, as though performing the most tender of operations.

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Two nursing students joined the terrace. They’re spooning coffee drinks into one another’s mouths, and they just kissed before they split their torta - smothering it in hot macha. “Estoy enamorado de tu vida. Estoy enamorado de tu amor. Y cada vez que pienso en tu dulzura. Comienza a florecer mi corazón.” There is passion everywhere. Every day it surrounds me in the wild trees, flowers and locals. And, sadly, I can’t remember the last time I saw so much lust and kissing; or felt it for that matter. Another tourist has replaced the English man and she is alone and lost in her phone. 

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Every morning, since I’ve arrived in Oaxaca, I’ve taken about 6-10 photos a day of the beauty around me. I would also do this in Queens; often finding beauty within the cracked paint that covered another Mary in a half shell, the homages to the Virgin Guadalupe with faux flowers in front of them, flocks of pigeons on the street feasting as though it was their final meal. There was beauty in all of it.
Beauty is a strange word. Mainly, well, I don’t know about you, because I used to associate it with people, physical bodies and looks. And in this association beauty had to be perfect, flawless and pristine.

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Dear Reader, I’m now exactly 3 weeks into my arrival to Oaxaca and the last week proved to be challenging because I was missing my friends. This trip, already, has been different than the last ones. Maybe knowing I wont be going back to apartment B2 has had some residual impact on my psyche? As I felt this way, the universe and God must have been conspiring in my favor. Has that ever happened to you? Where you’ve been longing for something or feeling a certain kind of way and, like magic, the thing that you’ve been desiring suddenly appears?

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