Aquí sentada en la sala de mi casa pensando en tantas cosas que siento y quisiera decir... y sin embargo, debo ensayar el difícil acto de hacer silencio.
¡Qué insoportable se hace callar cuando el alma se desborda y nos incita a gritar!
I wish I were an anonymous blogger when I feel the need to express my inner struggles more openly. In other words, to write about my desires, conflicts, pain, frustration and disappointment.
I miss the freedom that came with anonymity, but I blew it.
I was driving down Ditmars Boulevard as I was pondering Why don't men articulate clearly what they want? I do not enjoy being a mind reader. I need to know what is expected of me, and what I should expect in return -anything else is not fair game.
We, women, have a reputation of "being difficult to understand." We never say "what we want", and so forth. Even though, I can only speak for myself, I strongly reject that notion. I don't expect anyone to decipher what I want, I openly say it. The receiver of the message may not be in a position to accommodate my wishes, which is perfectly fine; but please, don't think that by not saying anything you are telling me something. In my universe that means absolutely nothing. I do not like to assume what other people are thinking, I rather have them tell me.
I was lost in my thoughts, trying to find an explanation to this very elusive matter -driving is the perfect activity for exploring these kind of unsolved mysteries of the male universe. But then, something totally unexpected occurred: a wild driver cut me off violently, and snapped me out of my labyrinthine quest.
As I was about to get annoyed with the driver -not only for his/her reckless behavior, but also for interrupting my thinking-, I turn my attention to the bumper of the car, and I heard myself yell "hell yeah." By no means, was I endorsing the crazy driver's maneuvers. It was an unfiltered response to the statement printed on the bumper sticker: "Well-behaved women rarely make history." I smiled, pulled over and I made it my Facebook status.
I have been sharing my apartment with a Dove. She keeps me company, even when I wish she would go away. Is it possible that she senses my solitude? I did not ask her for company, and yet, there she is, singing to me, annoying me, and never freeing me of her company. If she were human, I would ask her in. I would offer her some tea, I would even bake her some cookies, but she is only a bird. I wonder what she wants from me? Why has she stationed herself on the outside of my window, constantly serenading me? Aren’t there better places for it to be?
I was driving down Ditmars Boulevard as I was pondering Why don't men articulate clearly what they want? I do not enjoy being a mind reader. I need to know what is expected of me, and what I should expect in return -anything else is not fair game.
I have been sharing my apartment with a Dove. She keeps me company, even when I wish she would go away. Is it possible that she senses my solitude? I did not ask her for company, and yet, there she is, singing to me, annoying me, and never freeing me of her company. If she were human, I would ask her in. I would offer her some tea, I would even bake her some cookies, but she is only a bird. I wonder what she wants from me? Why has she stationed herself on the outside of my window, constantly serenading me? Aren’t there better places for it to be?
