Liberating Drafts, Part I: The Nightly Crisis & Recuerdos

“The Nightly Crisis”

Written on September 5, 2011

I used to be the kind of person who knew what I wanted in life.  I had everything planned out for myself.  I was gonna be successful, happy, healthy.  Much to my disappointment, things have unfolded differently.

A switch turned me off.  Something went terribly wrong.  Sometimes I wonder who this is, the person inhabiting my body.  How did I become so dull about things.  I don’t ever go out anymore.  I’ve truly forgotten the feeling of the weekend nearing, the fun air it sprinkles at night time.  Or even things so minimal as feeling excited for spending a little while of the day on my own, a piece of solitude that has always made me happy.  And I know I may be just rumbling, but I need to jot this somewhere, because then I forget and it’s more things I need to remember to do.  At least letting it out brings me sort of peace.  Even if the story is all over the place.

I miss my old self.  I have difficulty bringing her back for a lot of reasons.  I’ve  matured in several aspects of my life.  There are many things I wouldn’t do now that I would have probably not thought about twice before jumping into.  For that I’m grateful.  At least the obstacles I’ve found in my path have served me.  For example, [and this is a really big deal for someone who had been in multiple relationships for 7 consecutive years] I no longer have this need to be with someone.  I wont lie, I do sometimes long for company, just someone to go to the park with, or grocery shopping with, or cuddle.  But I’m shit scared to even think of getting close to someone new.  And that had never happened to me.  I was always unafraid of new things, new people, new relationships, so eager to go from one thing to the next, nothing ever stopped me.  I never thought twice before doing, I just did.  I no longer do that.  I’m unable to trust the unknown.  I’m usually scared or anxious to the thought of not knowing.  I think too much.  Being like this now has brought me to think about what have I really accomplished in my life.  I often end up not getting things done and I’m sadden to feel like all the things I wanted have been delayed.  Delayed because I still hold on to hope, which is an attribute of mine that hasn’t changed (thank goodness, or I would be dead by now).  So my dreams have been delayed, they will still happen.  Maybe I dreamed too big.

I hope to, in the next months, find parts of my old self. I’m gonna hold on as I slip away.  I need those parts of me back to be complete again, without devaluing the new me.  The new me is a wiser Maga, one that’s been hurt enough to know better.



Began writing September 8, 2011.  Edited December 13, 2012.

De ellos vivo.  Del olor del árbol de damascos al frente de la casa, del pasaje, del aire que corría por la ventana del segundo piso cuando me asomaba.  De la reja negra que nos protegía y de mi perro Cupido.  Los vecinos, mi colegio, mi jumper, el pelo corto que me estaba empezando a crecer, del miedo, la angustia que desde chica comencé a sentir.  Los recuerdos viven en mi, los olores de mi casa, los sonidos del parquet, el ambiente denso que se percibía cuando las cosas no andaban bien.  La tierra mojada del patio recién regado, la pieza de atrás llena de polvo, la ropa tendida entre los postes del parrón, la baldosa burdeo, el bamboo.  Los días antes del viaje, el cambio del milenio, las maletas, la ropa, mis amigas.  La ansiedad de que no vería mas al niño de la esquina que me gustaba y al que nunca le pude decir lo que sentía porque era demasiado tímida y callada confesarme.


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