Poem: Abricot

I thought I saw
You, last night,
This morning,
Wearing next to nothing so well

I thought I heard
You, yesterday afternoon
A murmur crept off your lips
Tiptoed across the room
Slipped onto my lap

I thought I tasted
You, just earlier,
Succulent and divine,
Apricot ambrosia,
Nectar of my vision.

Un 'Naco En Madrid: Una Curva (A curveball)

My journey coming to and arriving in Madrid was mired in complicated circumstances.

My friend, we'll call her Mary, convinced me to come here, told me all about how cheap Madrid was with its tapas, how living in Madrid enables you to see Spain and visit other parts of Europe more easily and how liberal it is when it comes to the consumption and production of marijuana. She was also in love with me. I was aware of the last bit yet I made it clear that if I were to move to Madrid it would be for my personal growth, not for romantic reasons.

We were paramours. Since my last serious relationship I've known many women who were amazing in so many distinct ways but for some reason or another I liked the relationship the way it was, with no strings attached. It was no different with Mary, she was intelligent, witty, pretty and I could spend hours with her watching tv, playing games and drinking, just having a good time. She was also possessive, though, and even though I made it clear where I stood, my feelings toward her and what I saw for our future (just being friends), she was still territorial, jealous and intrusive, looking through my emails and messages. I tried letting her off easy yet the message went ignored, no matter what language I used.

Maybe I didn't try hard enough to sever ties. Maybe I shouldn't have continued our physical relationship long after she'd grown attached. Maybe I was wrong to accept any gifts or help she offered, no matter how tempting or alluring. Maybe I shouldn't have come to Madrid. Whatever the uncertainty or regret I feel, the path only moves forward. The recipe for disaster had come to fruition and it was only a matter of time before I tasted the meal.

There was a fallout. I am to blame, demonstrating poor self control and poor judgment, perhaps it was self sabotage unconsciously manifesting itself. Whatever the case, she hates my guts, an eventuality that I'd imagined but one I lament nonetheless. Even though Mary and I had our problems it's always incredibly painful to lose a friend.

I'd always been a bachelor but suddenly I was truly on my own, owing nothing to no one. I thought I could finally breathe, finally go out, flirt, hook up, go on dates, bring home whoever I like. I had a bit of success but I also found Spain challenging, I've never really had hang ups about my complexion or race but Spain is a different beast. Here, I can pass for east Asian, Latin American or Middle Eastern, none of which are particularly appealing to most Spanish women. Oh, with my haircut I can also pass for gypsy (imagine where they stand in the hierarchy). Normally I'd take pride in being confused for these other ethnicities but instead it only made me second guess myself. It would be a lonely year, it seemed, and what was never an insecurity of mine started to wear on me.

I fell into despair. Normally reasonably confident, I felt ugly here, unattractive, thinking that I was part of that undesired group of dark-skinned people that go mistreated, misunderstood and marginalized much like in other parts of the world. I'd resigned myself to my fate and felt that if that's how it is, I would not let it change me, let it mark my attitude, I would be the same person I've always been and see who responds to that.
Just when I'd moved past the maelstrom of Mary, crossed the desert of despair and found solace in my self confidence I found her. It was lust at first sight, like many relationships first start for me, but I could tell she had something special about her.

I met Armelle at a free salsa class at La Tabacalera, as we swiveled our hips together and flirted. We spent time together whiling away the days chatting, taking strolls and becoming closer and closer when the thought that'd eluded me for four years now began to take hold on the cliffside of my mind, a mountain rose sprouting. When you least expect great things, when you least expect to meet that special someone, life has a way of throwing you a curveball. And I'm thankful.

Un 'Naco En España: Con El Ojo Apagado

Me empezó a arder jueves en la noche, después de la clase de salsa. Normalmente vamos a algún lugar con el profe a bailar más, esta vez fue en la misma Calle Embajadores a una manzana de La Tabacalera. Estaba platicando con unos tíos mexicanos cuando me empezó a picar el ojo. Pensaba que era simplemente un caso de las lentillas secándose pero al ver mi ojo en el espejo vi una pelotilla en el iris. Suponía que estaba en la lentilla pero al ponerme las la próxima mañana vi la pelotilla en el ojo sin la lentilla.

Seguí mi rutina, fui a mi clase de español y regrese a mi barrio pero antes de ir al piso pasé por la optometrista. Después de comprar más lentillas me reviso los ojos, diciendo que había roto las córneas. Me puse pálido, especialmente cuando me dijo que tengo que ir inmediatamente a la sala de urgencias.

Que lo había causado? El jueves fui al cole en Cercedilla, termine al mediodía y regrese a casa. Comí un burrito (el almuerzo de campeones barrigónes) y me fui a dar mis clases particulares en Aluche. Una amiga de la clase de salsa me invitó a una práctica de breakdancing en Nuevos Ministerios, algo que me hecho falta, entonces fui a hacer un poco de ejercicio. No se si al tocar el piso me toque los ojos sin fijarme o si fue algo que tomó mucho tiempo en crecer, ni los doctores me pueden decir que es al momento.

Y que tal del sistema de salud aquí en España? Vine a Urgencias, di mi tarjeta de seguro y la enfermera me pregunta: " Sólo un apellido?" Si, soy hijo ilegítimo. Aparte de distinciones culturales de verdad es más sano aquí, te tratan bien y no tuve que esperar mucho para ver el médico.

Me vio el ojo la enfermera y la doctora y me dicen que tengo una úlcera en el ojo, pero aquí dicen úlcera para todo entonces suena peor de lo que es. Sin embargo tuvieron que raspar, si, raspar, una muestra del ojo usando una punta, me sentía como el protagonista en "A Clockwork Orange". Me recuerda del tiempo que mi primo me disparo el ojo con una pistola de pelotas de pintura, tuve que ver un oftalmólogo varias veces y lo peor fue cuando me inyectaron el ojo. Al menos no me han inyectado el ojo.

Thinking behind "Crazy Eyes"

I should've figured that the response to my blog post Crazy Eyes might not be so warm, after all, there's def a touch of scumbaggery to me. I even got a response from someone that was potentially interested in me on how that post completely turned them off and I can't blame them. I won't, however, censor myself. We all have beautiful, gorgeous elements to our personalities and, correspondingly, ugly, scumbag ones. Perhaps that's a bit eastern in thinking but I embrace it, what I wanted to write was an honest portrayal of what happened on the date, irregardless of how I look in it. If I only wrote about the stories where I look like a perfect gentleman, and I'd like to point out that at no point did I disrespect her, would that be true to character?

I also think that sometimes you meet someone and you think it can go somewhere, their combination of looks and personality mean that just being in their company would be great even if it means friend zone. Others have a great personality but aren't your cup of tea visually, so maybe you become friends. Lastly, some are lookers but there's something missing personality-wise, so it's only something physical you're interested in. I know I'm not the only guy that feels that way and I know plenty of women that think the same way, so am I so wrong for being honest about Crazy Eyes?

People like to throw around the term "nice guy" and yeah, I can be a nice guy. I can also be an asshole too. Most days there's a smattering of both and while I try to do the right thing most of the time, some days I get it wrong. I ain't a saint but I'll acknowledge my sins and that's all I aim to do with my writing, be sincere with myself.

Un 'Naco En España: Sin burrito

Hay un lugar en mi zona, Moncloa, que se llama Tierra. Hacen uno de los mejores burritos que he probado, aquí o en los Estados Unidos. Ellos tienen una oferta que si donas sangre a la Cruz Roja, te dan un cupón para uno gratis. Hace meses done y me encantó mi burrito de carnitas.

Un lunes fui a donar, listo con mi NIE y un apetito salvaje. Llegue al bus, pedí un formulario pero la enfermera me empezó a hacer algunas preguntas.

" Que comiste de desayuno?"
" Un bocadillo."
" No, de desayuno."
" Un bocadillo."

La primera vez que me ve con cara extraña.

" Vale. Que comiste de comida?" (Debo de mencionar que en España no usan almuerzo, lo llaman comida.)
"mmm.... Otro bocadillo."
" No no no, de comida."
" Un bocadillo."
" No puede ser, voy a llamar al doctor a ver que dice, pero eso no es suficiente."

Viene el médico y me hace las mismas preguntas y yo le doy las mismas respuestas.

" Lo que tu comiste no fue comida. Una comida es el primer plato, después el segundo plato y de ahí sigue el postre, lo que tu comiste no fue suficiente."
" No pero en los Estados Unidos un bocadillo es grande, le llamamos sándwich y viene lleno de carne y verduras, es una cultura diferente."

No quedó convencido el médico y me fui sin donar y sin cupón, esa noche no cené burrito.

El día siguiente comí con mis colegas del cole y les conté lo que me paso. Chema, el profesor de educación física, comento: "Sólo faltaba que te llamará ' tonto'."

The city that takes siestas

From 2 pm to 5pm roughly, or 14:00 to 17:00 as they say colloquially, everything is closed. Need to get a haircut? You better wait. Wanted fruit from the frutería? Better make do. There are a few things open, like supermarkets and franchises, eateries and bars, but the majority of places are closed. The doctor's office, for example, and most things that are important, are closed because the Spanish value siesta time the same way they value their holiday breaks, when there's a holiday break 95% of the country is off with you (a statistic I pulled out of my ass but it's prob not far off) .

In some ways I like this, it shows that Spaniards value their free time, they're not machines, and use that time to spend time with family and friends. Some might say that this lackadaisical attitude is what got them in a crisis but I think that's a very simplistic and capitalistic way of looking at it, what's wrong with taking a break from work? It's the same thing with lunch, as an American I'm used to eating quickly or even working and eating lunch, something considered absurd abroad. You give your meal it's due respect, that means not looking at your cell, not multitasking, just sitting down to eat and chatting with colleagues, family or friends. This is a regular thing, a way of life, and Spaniards are staunch in this respect. It reminds of growing up, how when I was younger my family would eat dinner everyday together, no tv, just food and conversation. I miss that, there's something simple about it but it's a beautiful thing to sit and eat with your fam. That's how I regard siesta and coming from The City That Never Sleeps, a little downtime ain't so bad.

The real OJ

Spain, like much of Europe, tends to go for natural alternatives when it comes to food as opposed the US where the corporations rule and shove preservatives, GMO's and chemically-constructed foods down our throats. So it surprises me that it's rare to find actual oj not from concentrate almost anywhere.

In other culinary respects Spain has no equals, bread being one of them. There's nothing like grabbing a fresh loaf of bread from the bin and it's still warm! The ham is serious too, jamón ibérico is cured for months and the pigs they slaughter are typically free-range, having gorged on acorns anywhere from 2 months to every breath of their piggy life. The olive oil is great, the Mediterranean climate produces the best in the world, and the wine flows like water from spigots, dirt cheap and fantastic. And yet I can't get a bottle of oj that's natural, sans artificial crap? I guess I'll have to hold out for some Tropicana from the carton from back home (and don't get me started on the dearth of smoothies, haha).