piedras: melancholia

When I reflect upon my life, I always try to see it from the perspective of an outside force.

Because truly, no one else’s perspective matters. I no longer question “why” I went through or go through things. I just accept my challenges and blessings as they present themselves.

Also really grateful I haven’t been married/had the need to and that I have no kids.


I’ve learned to wash my clothes on rocks since as early as I can remember, probably 10 years old I started to really get the knack of it and at 17, I was pretty skilled.

At 17, I had already made friends with other indigenous and mestizo girls my age from my grandparent’s village. My cousin, them, and I would go as a group together down to the riverbank, hauling either a sack or cart-full of laundry as we walked down the unpaved roads.

We’d be laughing, joking about, well, teenage girl things. Our favorite time to go was about an hour or two before dusk. We knew they’d be almost no “Ama de casas” during the early evenings, meaning we could be free to talk about what we please without fear of being eavesdropped.

I didn’t care about others hearing my conversations, but then again I didn’t live there year-round and being a USC gave me a pass on many things that would be considered offensive if done by others.

The Sun never seems to want to go away when you’re near the equator, I’m glad there are parts on Earth that relatively unscathed by European bull shit.

Our favorite parts of the banks are were the water was the calmest and not so deep. Out of our group of 3-5 girls, only another girl and myself could swim. Both her and I were able to dive into the deeps of the river and find the best rocks to throw and scrub our dirty clothes on.

I recall diving and finding the perfect slab, a bit porous, but not overly so, just enough to be abrasive. I’d grab the slab with both my hands, wiggling it around, and prying it up from the sandy bottom without disturbing the water or bottom too much. Its hard for me to imagine that I actually could go longer than 2 minutes under water while making an extraneous effort to lift a 20 pound slab of rock stuck in clay and sand. It was no deeper than 10-12 feet underwater, but my cousin and the other girls were afraid of the current.

I’d usually help my cousin and dive one for her as well, but sometimes she was a bitch and it was sweet revenge to see her wash her clothes on a not so perfect rock or a boulder.

The best slab should be about 2-3 feet long and wide.

We’d place them against the roots of a tree if the river was overgrown or against a boulder, ensuring ourselves it was sturdy before continuing with our task. Optimal condition is when the river is a little overflowing, enough that the water is at or just above our knees.

  1. Hardest articles should be washed first, as to not tire yourself too quickly. Things such as jeans or towels. (if you were lucky though, your parents owned a small plug in washer for towels and blankets)
  2. You submerge the article of clothing completely, or you had a little bowl to use to scoop up water from the river to pour over the clothes.
  3. All about arm strength, baby. You sprinkle laundry detergent over your clothes and use every muscle in your arm to froth the article back and forth, flipping it over after your done with one side.
  4. Once it is all frothy and suddy, you can either submerge it in the water or use the bowl again.
  5. You twist and squeeze the article until it is barely dripping any water and you throw it into a clean large bucket, sack, or cart.

Maybe some will argue that this is polluting, but I’ll counter argue that polluting is when governments allow transnational corporations to use these same rivers to dump their waste.

If I ever went in the mornings, it was with my grandmother. It was like, a communal event to wash your clothes in the river in the mornings. Almost every woman in town would be there, if she wasn’t there already yesterday. Some would be done with their laundry for the day, sitting at the high banks breast feeding their baby or catching up with a friend or sister. Some women, mostly the older ones, would go shirtless or completely sans-bra. It was a safe place, free of judgement. No men. The only males there, if any, were under 5 years of age.

Matriarchal.

I never experienced anything as similar to that, and I don’t think I ever will again.

I can thank transnational corporations (again), narcos, and politics for that.

Hate men, mostly white, rich men. You ruin everything. I enjoy ruining your cookie-cut life.

06/04 – “Xica da silva”

Vanilla life has been kicking my ass the past 10 days, and I have a 6 day vanilla work day coming up u_u but it does end with 3-day weekend. Most likely will take a technology detox on Catalina Island.


Surprise, surprise. I got back with my ex.

We spent the last weekend fucking, and when we weren’t messing around we were out in nature, cooking, or watching movies. I’ll add that -I- fucked him first the night before I let his silly cock slip inside me again ‚̧

We talked the day after Father’s Day and put everything on the table. I don’t ask for much, but expect a lot. If that makes sense. I didn’t compromise (I’m not at fault lol), but he did.

Its upsetting to realize that I am profusely in love with this middle-age, capitalist white man. I used to be anti-white in my teens till probably 20; very Chicanx, a self-proclaimed socialist and vocal about issues in the brown community until my abusive ex broke me lol. I wouldn’t even engage with white bois unless it was to humiliate them.

I think in part why I am so enamored by him is because by learning about him, I learn somewhat more about white American culture. As a rule of thumb, I am indifferent towards all new white Americans that I meet. I think the brown narrative default is to hate them, but personally, they don’t deserve that much passion from my part.

I don’t even hate Trump supporters. I just have no respect for them.

I do hate the Eurocentric values that were forced upon us, and the patriarchy. The darker her skin, the more value I place on Her views and desires.

Race doesn’t even exist, its all social constructs created by men and the Catholic Church.

The whites wipe out races, animals, and ecosystems… how do you not deserve to be punished lol. White women have furthered racist rhetoric throughout history, so when it comes to the topic of feminism I don’t really care what they have to say unless they are speaking on behalf of Brown and Black womxn to reach a larger audience.

I do love my boyfriend though, because he is always willing to learn. He has said very insensitive things, but only because no one told him he was wrong and luckily he now has me to make him a better human being ūüôā


Currently, I’m contemplating whether to add a minor or double major to my degree. I’m taking summer classes, working, and still have to study for the LSAT! I probably won’t be able to take the LSAT until 2022 it seems like at this rate. I wonder what its like to be born with a silver spoon in your mouth sometimes.

— H

walt whitman

Este es mi diario, de los amores de mi vida y mis mas íntimos deseos.

Aspiro poder escribir versos hermosos y impactante, para compartirlos y ense√Īar que bonito se siente amar y adorar.

Yo no quise venir a este mundo, no fue mi decision.

Pero al fin al cabo estoy aquí.

Creci en tierras calientes, entre el Sur de California y la Península de Yucatan. He visto al hombre mas humilde, y al hombre con mas poder y dinero que tiempo.

La vida me ha quitado todo, y me ha dado todo.

En mi corazón, se que voy en camino al éxito.

Quisiera compartir mi jornada con ustedes, para que vean como crezco y obtengo mis metas. Aveces siento que tengo el favor del universo, porque ya me ha ense√Īado lo mas feo de la vida. Ahora me falta ver lo mas hermoso.

El poeta Americano, Walt Whitman, escribi√≥ el libro “Leaves of Grass” durante el transcurso de su vida. Muchos veneran a este libro como su autobiograf√≠a.

Gracias Walt, porque usted me ha inspirado y usted me da ánimos en escribir casi todos los días.

Yo se que su libro era una obra viviente, siempre mejorando hasta que usted estaba satisfecho; o el día de su muerte.

En mi mente, hay miles de im√°genes y memorias que reservo.

Unas buenas, que me traen alegría o placer; otras que me dan miedo y rabia.

Mi vida no es como los de los dem√°s. Y por eso lo relato. Necesito recordarme que yo sufri y gane mi estancia, sino me hare una malagradecida. Y eso repugno.

24

The summers between us.

The age that I am.

At times, I wish that I never met you.

At times, I wonder what would be of my life now, if you were never in it.

I do not want to owe any of my successes to you.


We spoke on Father’s Day and we saw each other for the first time in over 3 months the day after.

When I saw you, it felt as if my heart was a field full of budding flowers that suddenly bloomed. I have only been a fool for one other man, and he ruined me. I fear the same with you.

I don’t want to depend on you. I don’t need your help. I don’t want to owe you anything.

I wanted to hear what you had to say and see if you were sorry. After an hour of hearing you, I asked “why” with frustration and a tear streaming down my face, and another ready to fall. I would have left if I didn’t feel you were sorry, I would have left if I didn’t see you be human for once.

Your eyes weld up while seeing mine, I don’t really remember what you said.

Thats all I wanted to see.

I want an FLR, I want a full and happy life with you.

rome

you are my downfall, I hate to admit it.

what is it about you that brings me to my knees? Figuratively though, because I never let my legs touch the floor when I’m pleasing you.

My balance surprises you sometimes. Leaves you breathless, maybe?

It would be so much better if you didn’t know what you do to me…but a dumb man you are not, even though I lovingly call you my dummy.

I refused to cry for you, or over you, and I held it in for months. One night, it all burst through the stronghold and I cried senselessly, realizing and accepting that you did not love me with the same intensity that I loved you. How foolish I am, for falling in love with you.

I am seeing you today,

and I have to admit I am a little nervous.

As strong as I know I am, you are my downfall.

You are the spear that pierces through me and brings me down. My final blow.

I am not sure what will happen after today.

It feels almost as if this affair was a complicated game of chess.

I am unsure how I was able to get this far. Pure luck, most likely, as that tends to be the foundation of all my successes. Because I don’t know anything about this game, I played it cool. But I had you fooled though, in the first half, enough to make you nervous and believe that I did.

now its me who’s nervous, I have no counsel. but god, do I love a challenge and the adrenaline of having everything on the line.

narciso

tw: DV, nc, rape, abuse

B,

you are not the gorgeous hunter in the story, but maybe you were in your youth.

I am constantly thinking about you, only because I am trying to forget you.

H


I hate it when a brown or black man leaves his brown or black significant other for a white woman. As they say, “when he gets on, he’s going to leave for a white woman”

I had never thought too deeply about my skin, until I met Eladio.

He was an afro latino man and a few shades richer than I. He looked like a bronzed god whenever he was working outside on his yard or car. At 17, to me he was what a man should be. He had just turned 20.

At 17, I was already a romantic. I was enamored by life. I was able to find poetic beauty even in the ugliest things.


At 17, I was outgoing and the opposite of shy. I was the one who started to flirt with you. You weren’t very receptive. You later admitted to refusing to believe that I was indeed, seriously flirting with you, so you just ignored me.

One of my friends told you that I liked you. The beginning of our story was very playful, almost cute.

I realize that its the relationships that start from meaninglessness and nothing that evolve into passionate affairs.

You were my first love. Serious love. Strong love. It was a love that struck me and made me blind, deaf, and dumb.

Our love was something that honestly should have never happened.

You courted me, spoke me to on the phone for hours almost every night, telling me beautiful verses before I go to bed. I felt like I was living an Aventura song. Your love made me feel like I was a princess and you were my prince.

We started dating a couple months prior to my 18th birthday, and you convinced me to live together.

The first night living with you, reality set in and I refused to accept it. You raped me that first night, and afterward I was just in shock. I didn’t understand why you had to force it when I was so willing, just not like that. I had just turned 18 that week. We didn’t celebrate.

What I lived with you was like an epic poem. I cannot tell people the full details and extent of it in one go, because a quick relay of the story does it no justice. You built me up and destroyed me for 3 years.

You lied to me, flirted with other women in front of me. You destroyed my self esteem.

You crumbled my dreams and aspirations.

You made my life a complete misery for 3 years. I am still trying to build myself so no one can ever hurt me like you did.

I never hated my skin until I lived with you.

Whenever I was about to leave for good, you would switch it up between begging and bawling, on your knees, pleading for me to stay or insulting me until I couldn’t go outside because I was too embarrassed to let people see the state I was in.

Crying into my shirt and feet, as if you were Mary Magdalene and I the messiah. Begging for my forgiveness.

Throwing words that struck like knives, piercing through my skin and embedding themselves into my heart and soul. Grabbing a fistful of my hair, holding my ear close to your mouth telling me the most degrading things. Dehumanizing me. Making me cry until no more tears came out. Making me cry to the point I was gasping for air.

No one knows the extent of damage that you have done to me. You take the medal for the man that has most hurt me. The trophy for the most disappointments, that one belongs to my father.

You said I was ugly, and that no one would want me. Already down, you would say nonchalantly that a G√ľerita is waiting for you and in a heartbeat you would have her living with you instead of me. You lied and cheated on me more than once, and your friends, always covering you.

They would only tell me things when they felt especially bad for me. It was so embarrassing to go out looking for you on an empty stomach.

Why did I deserve to live that at 18?

You are gone from my life for ever, and every day I work hard to make sure I can elevate my lifestyle to a degree that seeing you again is an impossibility.

“When he gets on, he’s going to leave you for a white girl”

Every time I fuck a successful white man, I win. Because those white girls you fucked, were trailer trash and I feel silly for ever thinking they were better than me.