La Primavera.

En la madrugada sentí la lluvia, me trajo un sentimiento fulminante de calma y amor, me sentí en casa otra vez. Hoy amaneció soleado como nunca, un calor que no sentía hace ocho meses y las flores nuevas llenaban las calles. Extrañé tanto este amor, pero desperté triste, el vacío en mi pecho creció mientras dormía y al abrir los ojos caí.

No quería salir, pero tuve. Pensé "si voy rápido y vuelvo nada malo puede pasar", me sentí tan débil, pero me convencí porque merezco tener frutas y verduras en mi casa. Merezco hacerme un pastel de choclo, merezco mi amor propio.

En el supermercado al ponerme a la fila no ví a una señora, o eso dijo ella al menos. La pequeña Alemana con mascarilla en vez de decirme, decidió ponerse al frente mío con actitud de niña orgullosa, sin ni mirarme.

"Disculpe" le dije. "Yo estaba ahí, tu no me viste." fue su respuesta, en tono cortante y aún sin mirarme. Un hervor subió por mi cuerpo, estuve atónita unos segundos, conteniendo las lágrimas que se me venían enrabiadas desde el vacío en mi pecho, contenidas por tanto tiempo, y al fin respondí: "Podría haberme dicho, fue un accidente, no haría algo así con intención."

No recibí respuesta ni reacción alguna, la miré poner sus cosas en la banda de la caja, como en cámara lenta, esperé y puse las mías, y mientras se alejaba murmuré: "con razón los viejos Alemanes están tan solos."

No sé si me escuchó, espero que no, me siento culpable por decirle eso a una persona tan antigua, probablemente muy dañada por la vida, por la guerra, por una cultura fría. Una niña orgullosa que cree que todos están en su contra y siente que debe proteger su lugar que ha sido removido incontables veces. 

De camino a casa repetí demasiado la situación en mi cabeza para un camino tan corto. Me topé con otra señora en la parte estrecha del cruce ferroviario, me miró con cariño, la saludé y la dejé pasar, me dio las gracias, sonrió, yo también, seguimos nuestros caminos. Quisiera haberle dicho algo más, agradecer su humanidad, su fuerza para no dejarse llevar por el dolor de estas tierras tan lejandas a mi corazón y que piso todos los días. 

Este idioma me contiene y la ansiedad social con el miedo a sus reacciones me tiene siempre andando con cuidado. Es un miedo distinto del que vivía en mi patria, allá podrían asaltarme, matarme, abusarme... Aquí solamente van a ser agresivos y violentos en lenguaje, tratarme como externa, no es una amenaza física, es al corazón, un dolor intenso, sobre todo para los que, como yo, siempre nos hemos sentido alienígenas en este planeta, sin importar la cultura que nos rodee.

Quise vomitar, subí las escaleras y cerré la puerta con llave como siempre para no olvidarlas cuando salga otra vez. Necesité apoyarme contra la pared en la debilidad que me dejó todo esto, dejé las bolsas en la cocina y me puse pantalones cómodos, volví a revivir la situación. Quisiera haberle dicho "Lo siento, no lo hice a propósito". Me sentí frustrada, detesto esta cultura, este idioma. Miré mi casa, mi cerebro se fue a disociar pensando en el orden, el deshacerme de los cachureos, el papel mural que quiero cambiar, el pronto cambio de casa, que la casa está mal distribuída, que, que, que... 

Lloré, con la cara roja y arrugada, con lamentos audíbles, y en cada lágrima fui honesta al fin:

"¿Por qué no soy una persona normal, por qué siento tanta rabia cuando me equivoqué, por qué no pude decir simplemente, lo siento y que pasara, por qué sigue conmigo y no se va y no se va y no se va? ¿Por qué mi cerebro no se calla, piensa y busca y sigue? Estoy exhausta, chata de mi misma a veces.

Quiero estar en casa, esa utopía en el sur de Chile que no sé si es posible tener.

- "quiero morir", pensé otra vez, lloré más porque mi resolución de año nuevo era dejar de desearme la muerte. No quiero odiarme más, no quiero morir más. Pero lo deseé igual, otra vez.

Este tiempo sola o me va a sanar, o me va a matar, y es mi decisión al final.

I'm an Earthquake

 I would be getting ready now as the sun shines. I would have had my healthy breakfast, done my little meditation and exercises, drank a liter of water already. I would have picked the long flowered dress, with boots and the black shirt you gave me. I would have taken a long shower, brushed my skin and done a scalp peeling. I would have carefully chosen my perfume, rubbed cream on and even put on a little make up and done my hair in some nice way.

I would have flossed even though I only do it at night, and I would have smiled at the mirror, even though I can't stand my face, but at least you liked it. At least you loved me, and your face is the one I like too, it's you the one I love.

Instead, I decided to sleep longer and it worked, though nightmares haunted me and my period pain arrived. I still meditated and did my little exercises, I still had my smoothie and drank a liter of water, I still take good care of myself because even without you, I need to prove to myself that I'm worthy, even if I don't smile at the mirror because I hate how I look, I deserve love.

What a rollercoaster it is to be in this world. Even my dreams shake often with the earthquakes of my wounds, no wonder they do when in my veins runs the same soul of my land. The home of earthquakes and volcanos far south, deserts, mountains and the raging ocean splashing on rocks and streets alike. 

I am soil of Chile, lost in the heartless, silver north, where now there's nothing else for me. I hope my beloved friends can keep the dreams for me in this tremor I am, so when the aftershocks fade, my heart still stands ready to move on with them.

Lovender

Finally I had a sex dream of you.

You were sitting there, pants down and your big hard penis, I had a dress and no underwear. I opened my legs and sat on you as a horse, as you slid inside me, I noticed all the people watching us, they watched and watched, so I got off to close the curtains, so many faces and eyes, it was a moment for us yet the whole world got involved. 

My mustard curtains were broken, I closed them and walked back as they opened again slowly. I did the trip twice before freezing in the middle until I thought: "Fuck it." And went over to sit on your now wet, big hard penis. 

I woke up before sitting back down.

In this life, I believe, I've laughed as much as I've cried, so I fear being in complete balance, it may be my time soon. I'm soaking up the full moon's light, topless and missing you. 

I mourn the love we could have had. If I wasn't so blind and you weren't so deaf. If I had a brain and you had skin. What a curse to love so deeply, what a pain to see you part from my side, what a stab to see so clearly how it could have been if we weren't who we are.

I hope after this life, we can grow together as trees, those that live for thousands of years, but in a world where nature is god, so our love roots as deep as it could have been and feeds blessings to all who come near.

I wish you sunshine, I wish you love. Goodbye, my lavender love.

Black hole

I wanted to help you heal, 

yet all I did was hurt you deeper. 

I wanted to coat your heart with my love 

until only scars were left.

I wanted to kiss your harsh edges 

for to show you their worth.

I wanted to bathe you in my warmest embrace

scaring violent memories away.

I wanted to feed you kindness and song 

to free you from self-imposed chains.

There was so much I thought I could 

bring to your wounded soul,

so much I wanted to hold for you.

Yet all I did was to hurt you deeper, 

stab your brain with panic, 

nail your armour down in steel,

erase your golden heart,

and smash your fire till you

no longer could shine.

That is my curse,

all I touch dies, 

slowly, 

and you

were my victim, the one 

I hoped would end this cycle.

Yet history repeated itself, for

my void swallows it all,

and you of all creatures

deserve the sun, 

not 

a black hole.

I'm sorry amor, I promise

I won't hurt no new hearts.

I promise I

won't spread death no more.

I'm sorry you,

love of my all my lives, 

there won't be more 

after you.

No one else,

deserves better,

and despite it all, at times

I wish I'd never been summoned

into this fever dream I

made of you and I.

I'm sorry to have destroyed 

your precious mind.

El taxi.

 A taxi almost ran over me and I just wanted him to. I wanted to get into a fight, I wanted to smash his windows and hit him until he couldn't do anything anymore. I wished his love death and cycled further.

I had already been holding back the tears, I kept doing so. 

Your stress your stress your stress. I want to kill someone with my bare hands, I hate myself.

I want to die. 

As I sit in front of the Volksbühne (they/them) I imagine how I'd murder him, matándolo con mis propios puños y dientes.

Veo sus lentes rotos, su cara de dolor, de desconcierto. Veo su sangre en mis manos, sus dientes rotos contra el pavimento. Lo sigo golpeando hasta que veo su terror, sólo entonces despierto a ver qué hice y me doy cuenta de lo que estoy haciendo. Y ahí viene la culpa, me envuelve y ahoga, me agarra y golpea tanto como imaginé hacerlo yo, sangro invisible, mi alma duele.

Loneliness is hard and it feels unimportant against life in this place, just because I'm quiet when I'm there it doesn't make it non-existent. His words had the same meaning.

I'm alone again. 

Eres fuerte y lo que sientes es válido, mereces que te respeten y te amen como tú quieras y lo necesites. Mi hermanita preciosa, no sabes cuánto te extraño. Llevo días llorando y ni siquiera lo sabes.

No quiero estar más aquí, no hay espacio para mi aquí. Todo es sobre ellos. Su estrés, su estrés, su estrés y no supe decir que no había espacio para mi. Quiero estar afuera, pero sola. Mañana a la una tengo que ir y ayudar, reír y usar la máscara social, pero la verdad quería que me atropellara ese taxista. No quiero estar más aquí.

Abuelita

 I wonder for how long I could write if I just let my mind roam freely through the keys, I miss my piano, even if it was plastic and shitty, it was given to me by my mother and the holder by my grandmother. It was a nice birthday that one, they picked me up from school and as I walked into the house I saw a massive present all wrapped up in a colourful paper, leaning against one of the wooden chairs of the dining room, which was also the living room. It was a warm and bright day, unlike where I am now. I was wearing my sports clothes, white, grey and red, it was still the fancy school I was in. 
I didn't use to get big presents, not since my dad had moved out, after all the failed businesses, the fried chicken store and my mother's anger because of my dad's "wish to help" or his lust... I will never know; the gym that never existed, but the machines were in our back yard, unbuilt for several years; I am sure there were more, but my memory isn't that great.
These days I remember with a darkness that doesn't match the light of my home country, unlike where I am now.

I was shocked as I saw this tall, thin wrapped present there, I looked back at them, my eyes shining as if I had discovered that magic was real, they smiled and nodded like saying, go ahead, it's yours. I walked to it carefully and began to meticulously open it.
The shape was so strange, I had never felt something like that, it had weird rough corners, attached to metal tubes and a middle knob that one could turn: It was a stand for a piano.

The thing is, I only had a tiny keyboard for children, its keys were so small I could barely press one without touching another two with my skinny girl's fingers, they giggled as my mom told me to go upstairs to get the toy, but I didn't realise the meaning of those laughs. I ran up and then down, placed the toy on top of it and said a hesitant thank you, I wanted to be polite. That was the present from my grandma, and no one, on any side of the family had much money.

I had learnt to play "Für Elise" on that tiny thing, it had a button with which a part of the song could be heard and I found which key made what sound. My mother thought I was a prodigy, I was about 8 and it was indeed a toy piano, but still, the idea of being a prodigy because of that makes me laugh nowadays cause in a way, she was so desperate to have a child who would be special that she lowered the bar really low for the typical things in which a child would be deemed as such, instead of seeing our actual talents and helping us go for them.
To be fair, there were no "white sheep" in our family, we are all very strange and quite fucked up.

They asked me to play it for them and it was really hard because the shape of the stand was an "X", so the smaller the piano, the higher it would be, and I might have dropped it even, I can't quite remember. 
This is the part I don't remember so well, they were expecting me to be more "viva" and see that there was another massive box at the other side of the table, but I didn't, so they only sent me to get the toy, to come up with a plan to make me see the real thing.

After I sadly played the damn bit of the song, my mom said they were going to get me an electric piano and asked me to go get some magazines that were on the other side of the table. I was so excited that I went there, took the magazines without looking at what they were on and went back to sit down with them on the couch from which they had seen my entire performance (of the whole birthday so far). 

I opened the first magazine and noticed that they looked at each other funny, but I still couldn't really tell what was going on, I just felt very anxious and nervous, too many emotions in the room, so much hesitancy. 
Suddenly my mother said: "Oh look, you forgot a magazine!" 

I looked over and replied: "No, there are no other magazines", to which she insisted: "Go and check WELL". I walked over, right under my eyes a big rectangular box, wrapped in wrapping paper, I looked at its right, left, over, under, behind and in front, there we no other magazines... "Mom, there are no more magazines", they laughed now together loudly, and I was just confused, that is until she said:
"Alright Dani, bring me that box in front of you"

And as if her words were magic, I finally realised that right in front of me was a big rectangular box, wrapped in wrapping paper!! My eyes shone, my heart lightened, the anxiety and hesitancy of the moment had dissipated, the mystery was solved and their emotions were lighter, no more tension!
My mouth opened in awe as I took the box, which at that point in my life was way more than half of my height, and barely carried it to the middle of the red carpet in front of the couch, where they were still sitting.

My mother and my grandmother, my two beautiful carriers, at different times, with different pains. 

I wish I had had you for longer abuelita. I wish you could have taught me to knit more, which I love so much today still, I wish you had told me what your favourite book was, or if maybe you didn't like to read, it could be since you had to work from a young age, like everyone else. I wish I could have enjoyed you more, we could be so close, we both love tea and sweets, to bake and play "rapidito" and "carioca". Maybe we could have gone for walks at the beach and told me stories of your childhood, maybe baked some cakes. I wish I could have your "arroz con pelotitas" just one more time. It's strange to think that I didn't really know you, though you were with me until I was 12 or so. It's strange to feel that I miss you so much sometimes as if a part of me was missing. Maybe though, it's just that wish to have someone to talk to, that wise old woman I never really had.

I unwrapped the box, opened it and plugged in the most beautiful, amazing and best gift I ever received, I started learning "Menuetba", Menuet by Bach it meant, but all the names were minimized since the screen was tiny, those old screes like calculators. That song makes me think of you, your "After Eight", and anis candies, the sugar cookies and the smell of the knitted vests you gave all your grandchildren every year. I loved the little bows and that you made blue, yellow and pink ones, but I always had all the colours. Your knitting was supremey beloved Elsa.

I still remember later on, when you fell off your bed and it began, the end. It was a big concern, the blue eye you got and stayed for a long time, the constant doctor visits, the tests... It happened so fast when they found the lumps on your throat and couldn't tell what they were. It was supposed to be a quick operation, just to take a sample for the biopsy, just half an hour. And I couldn't say goodbye.
It kept taking longer, hours, the whole night. When my mom went home to take a shower, to rest from the tension, she walked out in a hurry, calling everyone because she could feel the exact moment in which you left this plane of existence. Right after, she got a call and broke into tears.

My dad was there, but I can't remember much after that, some "velorio" at the church, the cremation and taking the urn to the beach house, the one my grandpa and his uncle built, the whole complex for people to have holidays at "El Quisco", I miss the smell of that house, the red cold waxed floor, the scary room at the back, where he made experiments with cables, solder and electricity, the lemon trees in the backyard, collecting and burning the leaves in autumn and the eucalyptus forest beyond the fence which was just some sticks and we used as a shortcut to get to the beach. I can't remember the end of the forest, only a tree where my mom took pictures of me.

Did we leave your body there, at our little chapel? Did we take my grandpa out when they took the house away from us? Our story is filled with injustice, isn't it? How can I let this go?

Did you meet Matilda? You would have loved her, such a beautiful, charming girl, just like all of us in the family, definitely coming from you.

I miss you abuelita, I wish I could talk to you again, heal the wounds, fill in the gaps, learn your perspectives, get to know you, make you laugh, make you feel loved. I wish I could eat your rice again, I couldn't ever make it like yours. Before the frozen "primavera" bags came into existence, you used to take so long to cut the carrots into tiny perfect millimetric cubes, says my mom, and in that meticulous trait of yours, I find myself. Or do I find you in me? It depends on how we decide to understand time.

Thank you abuelita for plotting that birthday present with my mom, it's one of my favourite memories of that time. Thank you for all the vests, for all the little sweet treats, for your love and your warmth. I wish someday, I can give you my gratitude in a hug, those tight and warm ones that you know I can give. I miss you more than ever today.

Beloved

There is the person you want to be, the way you want to feel, and the person you are, the way you feel.

It is good to have goals, to be self reflective, to know where you want to get to. But you also have to know who you are.

"To get anywhere you have to know where you are."

When the expectations are too high you have to take into account that your goal may be impossible and play with the idea until you are comfortable with just moving forward. And what can I say, who I want to be will probably never be who I am, or will be: My expectations are too high.
Yes sure, you all want to hear about "everything is possible" and all the stories of people who overcame all their issues and were happy forever, but not everything is possible.

"Not everything is possible."

There are things you can change about yourself, but there are things that come with you and with work, yes, they will change, but they may never be exactly as you want them to. And that is ok.


"Accepting yourself", that is stronger than we think. Accepting that we are sad, accepting the "stupid" reasons we are sad for, accepting ourselves as we accept others.

"It is okay to be sad, for any reason. It is okay to be."

Accept the way you feel, feel the way you feel, go deep into the sensation, ask yourself: "why?" not judging, but being fully open, fully honest. Admit the truth to yourself, feel it and cry it, then you can start to know where you stand, and only then you can move forward, at the pace you can.

Feel your feelings, don't go against them, they will hide deeper and they will get more confusing and unstable.

You are a boat trying to stay afloat in this ocean of emotions, and running from the storm will never lead you home. Go through the storm, feel your feelings, taste the waters, open your heart, let the wind and the rain help you unveil your own lies. Accept your truth, the one you have been hiding from your own self, and learn.

I promise it will start to get better as you find out where your boat is, where your heart is. Be patient, be acceptant of yourself, see your problems as someone else's if that helps, give compassion to yourself as you give it to your loved ones. See yourself as one of your loved ones.

Feel yourself as one of your loved ones. 

I am here for myself.