I met a king

0610-2017-0545100337498012053.jpeg

I met a king, yes it is true.

I was at work and I hated the three days it took to prepare for his arrival.

I have always disliked the prestige and better treatment people may give to someone in a position of power for no other reason than their title. It took no more than 60 seconds to, once more, cheat on my values.

I was at work when I first heard about the king’s visit, I hated him. We were going to welcome him with a red carpet, what a shame to myself was going to be standing there keeping reverence to a King I don’t even know. It made me feel denigrated. I was instructed to not call him “Señor” which is the title we use to call everybody, they even told me to not mention his name. I felt that the sign of respect they wanted from me was to make myself less than this King.

On the first day, the security of the king visited us, they checked out every single aspect. I just thought to myself “nobody has ever heard about this “X” kingdom, If I see this man on the street, I won’t even notice his royalty, all of this is BS”.

The second day I simply ignored them. I saw everybody trying to impress this people and the king was not even among them. All these arrangements and accommodations for the king reminded me of my childhood in church and how people talked about the exiting time when meeting the king of kings. Probably that is why I hated so much the preparation for a king’s visit, who reminds me of a battle with my childhood God which I do not respect.

On the third and final day everybody was nervous, I checked that everything was perfect. I heard, “the king is coming” and suddenly I found myself on one side of the red carped making a reverence while the king entered. I hated myself for doing that; not really, I was jealous. I wanted want this king had, respect.

I escorted him to the “room”–which wasn’t the best one we had, but we made them believe it was the VIP room. I walked with the king for less than 60 seconds, I felt the reverence, the respect, the looks, the silence people had while I was walking with the king. It took me less than 60 seconds to once more, cheat on my promises and desire to be treated as well.

At the end of the day I was relaxing at the king’s pool, and I enjoyed it.

 

 

 

 

I met a king

Stupid Fortune Cookie 

I don’t remember how many years have passed since I was at my favorite chinese restaurant, probably three… I’m not sure. What I can still recall is the feeling with which I opened the fortune cookie at the end of my meal. Me and most of the people, I think, have no interest in being told their future by a cookie. However, there is always this intrigue that invite us to open the cookie and read what the future may be – although five minutes later you won’t remember it. Today, a few years later, recent events on my life make sure I keep forever what that cookie said,

Prepare to change your plans

How drastically plans changed. I have tried so hard to hold myself on the past, (I still do) and I justify myself thinking that it is ok because I am not missing any new good things, what I had, was and forever will be so much better than anything new happening. 

Recently I had another fortune coockie, I was afraid to read my future, last time I did it went horrible. I red it hopping for a miracle, I don’t believe in miracles but I believe in hope.

If you wish to, you will have an opportunity 

I just hope my opportunity has not passed already. Besides, how can I stop wishing for something I can’t go a day without thinking about?

P.S.

Beware of the stupid fortune coockies.

Stupid Fortune Cookie 

The Bookshelf

wp-1487454739058.jpg

Last Saturday I went to the grocery store, when I got to the parking lot I saw a furniture store next to it. It was an instinct what made me walk inside. I walked through the lighting section and a shot of memories exploded in my mind, I kept walking. I wasn’t looking at anything nor paying attention to my memories, that because were so many it was impossible to think about them, it was easy to just feel them.

Suddenly I saw it, right there, in front of me, the bookshelf. I read its description trying to find something that would tell me it was a different piece of furniture. But the color, the size, the texture, everything was exactly as I remember, it was the bookshelf. There were no feelings, no reaction on me, I was in shock.

I looked at it and admired its perfection. I kept my distance because I was afraid to touch it, if before I liked it, now it was a sacred thing to me. Something inside told me to be quiet, if the bookshelf realizes that I was there, it would get mad. So in silence and in secret I stayed there, just looking at it.

Not so long ago, when I was in college, I wanted a bookshelf. I looked in many places, I saw a few that would do what I wanted but they were just missing something. I could not find the right one. Some friends told me to look for it online, that in that way would be easier to find what I was looking for. But I wanted a different experience, I did not want my bookshelf to be something I saw for first time on a screen, I wanted to see it for real, and to know that it was what I was looking for in the first time. I wanted to touch it, to feel it, it was something I could not do online, it was required to be a face to face search.

The third day of February I found it, before jumping on it I read its description and it was perfect. I wanted to take it home right away, but not wanting to rush things up I decided to be back the next day. That day, I couldn’t stop thinking about the smell of the wood, that day I walked over its sillage all day long–I still do.

For years I went back to the store to look at the bookshelf. I made plans, I pictured in my mind how it would look like in my room, what things I would put on it, I even imagined a plant named Argos on top of the bookshelf. And the bookshelf was always there waiting for me. But I was afraid to buy it; I knew it was what I wanted, and it wanted me to, but that fear of making the decision to take it home was always present. The bookshelf got tired of me and one day it wasn’t there anymore. I didn’t know if someone bought it or if it was sent to another store, I just knew it was gone and with it my plans to have it.

I emailed the company requesting them to bring it back, but no one gave an answer. I did not hear back from the bookshelf ever again. Its departure taught me the overwhelming of a NO for an answer. It was not until I faced its abandonment when I knew the perpetuity of a NO.

That is why, out of nowhere, in a different country and many years apart, I was in shock when I saw the bookshelf again. I knew that the bookshelf didn’t want me anymore, and I knew that I should not touch it, I should not make any move, I should not get any closer. I knew that all I could do was to keep my distance, and in silence and in secret I admired the grace of its curvy finishes.

Soon will be Saturday, and again I will make a detour on my way to the grocery store to, in silence and in secret, look at the bookshelf once more. 

The Bookshelf

Average

My favorite quote from Mad Men:

-I watched the sunrise today. Couldn’t sleep
-How was it?wp-1484356379124.jpg
-Average

That quote came to my mind yesterday when I was at the lagoon watching the sunset. It makes it sound as if “average” is not important or worth to remember.

In Six Sigma average is a measurement tool, it determinates the control you have in a process. For a Manufacturing Engineer average is an essential thing to pay attention to.

Average can be both, essential or not worth to see at all.

Just as a sunrise can always be average, there are days, weeks or longer periods of time in our life that are average as well, but it doesn’t mean it isn’t beautiful to see.

This post turned out to serous, so let me share with you this short story of and average chat. It is average because that is what I used to do; talk about serous things and then watch iZombie every Tuesday.

-There’s this woman at work who is vegan, and when I asked her why, she told me about one time when she was on the train and out her window she saw a chicken break out of a cart next to the butchers, and she shouted, out loud:

“run you little bastard!”

Average

Thoughts on death

It is uncertain where death waits for us, but we wait for it everywhere. The premeditation of death is premeditation of liberty. He who learns how to die has forgotten to serve. The knowledge of death frees us from every constraint and obligation. There is nothing bad in life for he who understands well that the withdrawal of life is not bad.

Montaigne

Thoughts on death

Ojalá

wp-1481843688356.jpg

I am at the end of the hall, in the cornet to be precise, of the building in which I have spent the last four years of my life. This place has closed its doors to me, yet I am here trying to finish with little dignity. I see the two people sitting in front of me and I wonder what their motivation to keep going is, what their wishes are, what is their hope. Now that I am at the end of this journey I think: If only I could do something different, what it may be?

I think about it and I feel this vertigo pass over my whole body. It is a lost cause, it is hopeless and yet, I believe in my own lie that there is still hope. I think in a word that describes having hope in a lost cause, in Spanish the word “ojala” is used to describes those situations.

In an interview, Silvio Rodriguez said that “Ojala” is a song dedicated to his first love. I understand that this is not a love song, but a song that asks for a miracle to make him forget that love; hopefully that love stop being so pure, hopefully that perfect smile disappears, hopefully something happens that suddenly erases that memory.

This is a song to the lost cause of loving what you once had, what a better word to describe the wish and the hope for the love that is already lost… ojala.

This is the best translation I found (original post), I edited a few lines.

Ojalá que las hojas no te toquen el cuerpo cuando caigan
Para que no las puedas convertir en cristal.
Ojalá que la lluvia deje de ser milagro que baja por tu cuerpo.
Ojalá que la luna pueda salir sin ti.
Ojalá que la tierra no te bese los pasos.
May the leaves not touch your body when they fall
So that you don’t turn them to crystal
May the rain cease to be a miracle flowing over your body
May the moon be able to rise without you
May the earth not kiss your steps
Ojalá se te acabe la mirada constante,
La palabra precisa, la sonrisa perfecta.
Ojalá pase algo que te borre de pronto:
Una luz cegadora, un disparo de Nievi.
Ojalá por lo menos que me lleve la muerte,
Para no verte tanto, para no verte siempre
En todos los segundos, en todas las visiones:
Ojalá que no pueda tocarte ni en canciones
May your constant gaze fade away
The precise word, the perfect smile
May something happen suddenly to erase you
A blinding light, a shot by Nievi.
May at least death take me
So that I won’t see you so often, so that I won’t see you always
In every second, in every vision
May I not be able to touch you, even in song
Ojalá que la aurora no de gritos que caigan en mi espalda.
Ojalá que tu nombre se le olvide a esa voz.
Ojalá las paredes no retengan tu ruido de camino cansado.
Ojalá que el deseo se vaya tras de ti,
A tu viejo gobierno de difuntos y flores.
May the dawn not bring the shouts that fall down my back
May your name be forgotten by that voice
May the walls not hold the sound of your exhausted journey
May the desire follow you
To your old government of death and flowers
Ojalá se te acabe la mirada constante,
La palabra precisa, la sonrisa perfecta.
Ojalá pase algo que te borre de pronto:
Una luz cegadora, un disparo de Nievi.
Ojalá por lo menos que me lleve la muerte,
Para no verte tanto, para no verte siempre
En todos los segundos, en todas las visiones:
Ojalá que no pueda tocarte ni en canciones
May your constant gaze fade away
The precise word, the perfect smile
May something happen suddenly to erase you
A blinding light, a shot by Nievi.
May at least death take me
So that I won’t see you so often, so that I won’t see you always
In every second, in every vision
May I not be able to touch you, even in song
Ojalá pase algo que te borre de pronto:
Una luz cegadora, un disparo de nieve.
Ojalá por lo menos que me lleve la muerte,
Para no verte tanto, para no verte siempre
En todos los segundos, en todas las visiones:
Ojalá que no pueda tocarte ni en canciones
May something happen soon to erase you
A blinding light, a shot of snow.
May at least death take me
So that I won’t see you so often, so that I won’t see you always
In every second, in every vision
May I not be able to touch you, even in song
Ojalá

Badlands

img_0250-2Religion played a big role in my life, it does not anymore. I am not a religious person. However, I find religious stories fascinating and sometimes absurd. Not too long ago I heard a local religious leader talking about Adam and Eve:

When Adam and Eve disobeyed God’s commandment they were afraid, they wanted to hide. When God call them, the snake told them to grab some leaves and cover their naked bodies. Because Adam and Eve disobeyed, it would be required to have someone to bring us back to God, someone who would show us the way; Jesus.

This religious leader explained how when we fail we feel ashamed, we want to hide and segregate ourselves from the people we love. Shame makes us to submissively accept failure.

One day after the U.S. elections of 1980 in which Ronald Reagan was elected president, Bruce Springsteen was giving a concert in which he said, “I don’t know what you guys think about what happened last night, but I think it’s pretty frightening” then he played “Badlands”.

Badlands, a song that call us to not give up and submissively accept failure, a song to not waste our time waiting for something good to happen. This is a song that call us to keep pushing until the badlands start treating us good, and it is love and hope what one day may raise us above these badlands.

Badlands