"Closing Time. Every New Beginning Comes From Some Other Beginning's End"

This is for someone who needs no introduction.

**

Flexibility can be learned, you see
Reach farther, arch lower, grasp further
Your muscles lead the way, its matter over mind
Elongate the spine, you can touch the sky if you tried
But keep your feet planted, it’s the view from below
that you need to keep in mind, for it’s what you’ll return to in the end

What would you say if I told you my limbs
Were all just extensions of some heartless machine
Churning away in my chest, working indiscriminately
All movements involuntary, driven not by thought
But by precision lacking emotion, by carnal instinct
Is it better for us this way
That I be a function of science rather than romance?

Tell me what you found
When you explored my body like a new jigsaw puzzle
Did you finally piece me together? Was the picture worth the trouble?
The time you took to learn me, to feel me out
So tedious, like a writer proofreading a story that
he didn’t even remember he wrote, with words he doesn’t recognize.
Trying to remember who he was when it poured forth from his pen.
Was it I who inspired you to recreation?

What did you see when you closed your eyes right before the shock?
Stretching and aching for your benefit, you teach me flexibility
I would not have achieved on my own
The night sky is hovering between us like a broad finish line
And my mouth on your neck, silently murmuring your praises
I thought of how this would feel for so long
And the newness of you ignites every nerve ending like a live wire.

Guitar riffs resound in the hollow space between the machine in my chest
And the heart beating somewhere amidst the metal
You shared them with me, I never knew the sound
But now I can’t do without them. They echo and ring all for you
The music you chose, the songs in your head, I want them all
Play them for me, don’t keep them tucked away
My one gift is that I can harmonize with anyone who sings for me

I never had expectations for this, or you
Yet you exceed them all anyway, as you move above me
And light up all my hidden contours, kept in shadows
Even the most deliberate attempt to detach mind and heart
To treat this just as a fix, a double-blind experiment
is abandoned as you catch each of my breaths in your hands
and ease the air back into my body, you’re my iron lung
I never knew I was so intricate until you showed me

The covers are askew, as we fumble through a maze
of limbs and sheets, we meet in the middle
I don’t want to know what it feels like when your skin isn’t upon mine
Or what the air would taste like when you don’t breathe for me
Science and common sense escape me now
The deliberate way I conducted each movement, functions of the machine
They are reborn with foreign influence, I try to name it
But it evades distinction, it transforms reason
And in its place, I find that in spite of my inner structure
of metal and gears and lifeless things
I am helpless in this, and for the first time
I know fear, and hope, and what it means to dream
And as we settle down and sleep, I dream of you

How thin can I stretch before I risk a fatal tear, a mortal wound
You could stitch it together but it risks a scar, so I’d rather you keep me whole
But leave a mark somehow, teach me heartache
Push me, I can handle the bruising. It gives me character
You test me in dizzying ways,
the world moves in waves when you’re near
Our days are numbered and pinpricks of fear remind me
that every touch, though it feels like the first, will be the last
And I’ll be left with insides of melted steel, chaffed beyond recognition
Another story I forgot I wrote, but mine all the same

Though self-preservation keeps me stagnant
If you lead me, I’ll follow you anywhere
I want all of you that fate will offer me
And I’ll give you all of me that I know exists
But I know you, and you’ll find more than I knew was there
All you see is possibility, when all I saw were limits
And as you kiss the parts of me that the tangled sheets reveal,
I know that with you, walls become windows, locks become open doors
And I’ll always know that the written story of my life
Surprising, sometimes foreign, but always mine
was once so beautifully touched by you

So sing of all the places you’ve been
Speak of broken watches and long hair
I’ll touch old scars of yours in wonder and awe
So strange to think there was a time when you didn’t exist to me
or I to you. And I’ll marvel at what’s become of us now
and the chance encounter that first crossed my path with yours
in a dingy van in the wintertime, with a shared destination
As you showed me what it feels like when it’s midnight all the time
The clock stopped, so we’d have a chance to be.

To think that time was so kind to us then,
and mocks us now. How feeble we are in the end
Because with the flutter of an eyelid, mountains crumble
and with a touch, stars fall to the ground.
But I’ll relish every moment, let every touch sink to the bone
and forget nothing, from the moons of your fingernails
to the curve of your jaw. And as you run your fingers down my spine
I’ll reach, arch, grasp, stretch, with my newfound strength
Flexibility beyond my wildest dreams
Of mind and body, heart and soul.
All this and more you taught me, all this I learned from you

Remember me, and the way I raced the traffic
Remember that first meal of mussels, in your fancy coat
Remember the way the bass thudded in our ribs, the guitars that sang
and the lights that flashed, songs I cried along to in your arms
Remember how I jumped at every touch, how I yelped at every jab
and the way we meandered like lost poets through the streets
The maps, the top ups, the arguments and tickets
All serving as proof that London was ours.
And while this city lingers on without me, carry me always
In the watch on your wrist, the sleeve of your leather coat
Feel me, in the smell of rain on pavement
and the hum of streetlamps. And while you still have me,
while we’re lying here with the shades drawn and the window open
Map out my story with me. Guide my pen, write my life
Touch me, hurt me, heal me.
And may every stroke of midnight bring me back to you
so I might once again touch the sky.


- LAP etc.

Anyway the Wind Blows, Doesn't Really Matter to Me...

Came across an old song I wrote after an epiphany I had this past November. Forgot all about it, and recently went browsing through old Word documents, and realized that this really was a turning point for me worthy of a second look a few months later. It's a remarkable and humbling thing seeing how much you've grown, and knowing you still have the power to surprise yourself.

**

You came in without rhyme or reason
Holding my youth in the palm of your hand
We melted together in the hottest of seasons
And traced our names together in the sand

We didn’t worry with the petty fact
That the sand erases itself each day
We thought as long as we wanted it to
The bond we etched would somehow stay

I never disliked the wind or rain
Nor scorned the high tide of the shore
But as I saw our names fade from nature
I loathed it like never before

What is it I could do, I wondered
To keep what we’d written in tact?
In defiance I went back each night
And scribbled our lines right back

Afterwards as the tide rolled in
The sand was reborn with the morning
And though I never gave up on my duty
You approached me one day without warning

You deflected my gaze from my sandy canvas
And tilted my chin up to the sky
As I saw where the sand is engulfed by the sea
I shook, knowing this meant goodbye

Though it tore my small heart to pieces
To be told that my efforts should cease
I saw there was something inside of you
That needed some steady release

I pondered if that day would ever come
Where you’d need more than me to feel whole
And though it took strength unknown to me
I knew I must relinquish this role

The sand seems so new to me now
As the sunlight rolls in over head
And though I’m still tempted to love you
I see beauty in oceans instead

I spent so much time on the shoreline
That I never got lost on a wave
So though my heart once was aching
Sand no longer makes me its slave

The cold water bites at my toes
But I venture in deeper each day
And I know I’ll teach myself to swim
Until the shoreline I knew fades away

There will be many sunsets to witness
I will swim across so many shores
And though memories never shall leave me
I have faith that I’m meant for much more

My darling, I am no longer yours.

- LAP etc.

Sure to Raise a Few Eyebrows....

In a recent creative project I've been involved with alongside my favorite British boy, I wrote a scene for a 'film' we're creating. Can't say about what, in fact, I won't say another word on the matter. But for one scene, the main character Lola is asked to give a speech on the following prompt: in your own words, describe what you consider to be the most obvious fault of today’s society, and offer suggestions on how to rectify the situation. I now present you with her dialogue. ATTENTION ROMANTICS: read at your own risk.

Our country’s most potent vice is our senseless obsession with aesthetics. We value appearances over quality to an extent that is just plain embarrassing. Here I am, standing before all of you, and in the 30 seconds you’ve had to check me out you’ve all already formed countless opinions about me. I have no idea what they are, and frankly I couldn’t care less. But the truth is, all we need is a glance of someone or something and like clockwork, a thousand assumptions run rampant in our minds, unhindered and dangerous. Even worse, these assumptions irrevocably clout our opinions of people – first impressions often take a long time to alter or disprove, even when those impressions were based on absolutely nothing but our own convoluted thoughts.

As a result, being the uber smart people we are, we’ve found a way to cut corners – to cheat the system, if you will. To feed into this process, we abandon any desire for real integrity and instead focus on perfecting a first impression, putting up appearances, for as long as it takes to win people over. We all do it, and what’s worse is we’ve even stopped realizing when it happens. The stupid pick up lines you use when you first meet someone at a bar, things anyone with half a brain would never say to anyone they truly know or value, is a ubiquitous example. And although we know it’s all bullshit, we play the game so well that we allow ourselves to fall for it time after time. It’s all part of the plan, the rehearsed interaction between male and female, the appearances we put up so we don’t have to worry about revealing anything unique or intimate that might challenge these societal norms.

This is how we live life, and although I know I do it too, at least I can admit that it’s pathetic and utter crap. However, the one saving grace in this potent mess is the bond that everyone praises as the most important in the world, the one thing that transcends the bullshit and allows us to be genuine and true for the first time – the bond of two people in love. Once you find love, we believe that you immediately jump light years ahead of the rest of the population and engage in real, intimate interactions free of external influence. Suddenly, putting up artificial appearances for your own benefit isn’t necessary, because – what have you? – there’s actually someone in the world who seems to be able to tolerate your lame ass self for exactly what you are. Once that happens, you achieve a feeling of completeness, acceptance, and a genuine well being beyond your wildest dreams. So once we find love, we’ll all be dandy, the sun will shine and we will all hold hands in the shared union of our lives’ fulfillment. Love will save us all!

So for anyone in the audience who actually believed any of that, you can escort yourself out of the room and spend a few minutes pondering how you could have been so incontrovertibly stupid. For all of you hopeless romantics, I know it’s tough at first, but there are some things you can’t dance around, and this is one of them – love doesn’t work, doesn’t last, doesn’t exist. Love isn’t a tangible thing you can measure, there’s no love-o-meter that will tell you “oh, look! You two are officially in true love.” Love is a fabrication created by lonely people who know they cannot achieve a sense of self-fulfillment by themselves. It’s a state of mind used to make hollow, fake people who have lived artificial lives feel better about themselves because, gee wiz, if somebody wants to spend their whole life with me, I can’t be that bad! We judge our self-worth based on how much someone else can tolerate us, and we call this contrived bond “love.” And we sing and dance about it as though it was some never-ending party, one where everyone’s invited! How wonderful! But the truth is, everyone thinks this “love” thing is the only bond that’s free of all the false pretenses, the phony personas we emulate to impress others, and the like. Actually, it’s the opposite. Love is by far the biggest culprit of all. And it’s best that you all see and understand it now before it’s too late.

Let’s consider loves best ally – marriage. If I asked how many people here have divorced parents, almost half the room would have their hands in the air. The proof is in the pudding when it comes to marriage, and the way it’s become the world’s most failed institution. You’ve been told day after day that you need to find a special someone, fall in love, and tie the knot and till death do you part, live every waking second on his or her behalf. But why would we, fallible creatures we are, put ourselves in the position of constant interaction and intimacy with another fallible creature for the rest of our lives? Because of love, we say! When you love someone, these sacrifices don’t hurt, don’t mean anything! So what if we lose every sense of who we are as individuals? Who cares if after years, the passion dies, the feelings fade, and we’re left feigning a sense of commitment and attraction out of some fucked up sense of duty? It’s all in the name of love!

Well, if you’re okay with living an empty life in the name of love, be my guest. But I implore the wise people in the audience to avoid this at all costs, or regret it forever. And you will regret it. Even if you find yourself with someone wonderful, someone who seems to get the real you, someone you are genuinely excited to spend time with and can see yourself caring about down the line, you are not exempt from this untimely fate. I am not saying your feelings aren’t real and shouldn’t be pursued, but I am saying that those feelings will never be enough. If millions of people day after day can look each other in the eye in front of their loved ones and family, and legally proclaim that they will love each other forever, then find themselves arguing over who gets to keep the coffee table once they divorce, you know something is terribly amiss. Why do we put so much faith and so much of our lives in an institution that has a failure rate that is downright pathetic? I don’t know much about poker or gambling, but if I had those kinds of odds staring me down, I would laugh in the dealer’s face, book it out of there and never look back. We are consciously abandoning all common sense to promote something that is just a waste of life, time and effort. We are giving up everything we stand for as individuals to embrace this idea of love that hurts more people, breaks more hearts and screws more people over than anything else in the world. I don’t care if you’re dating the reincarnation of Jesus Christ, no kind of love is worth that feeling of emptiness. Until we learn this, and until we stop basing our lives on this piece of shit idea of love, we will always be those droning, artificial robots that meet and greet each other with rehearsed sayings, act out of a sense of duty rather than individuality, and live based on false pretenses rather than true self-awareness. If you’re into that, by all means, stay the course. But if you want to actually do something with your life, take the reigns in your own hands and die knowing you didn’t back down or compromise for anyone, take my advice. Ditch the rose-tinted glasses already. Grow up, man up, and get up. And join me in saying: Fuck love.

Thank you!

- LAP etc.

One Day, Some Day

If there's one thing I absolutely cannot wrap my mind around, it's people who don't see the beauty, triumph and inspiration in sports. Even if you're the most nonathletic div to ever have a pulse, how can one not appreciate the passion, skill and kinetic genius that makes up the core of every athlete, and the epic lessons that are to be learned with every victory and loss? Nothing builds character like seeing your opponent celebrate and rejoice when you've just given up your mind, body and soul for the game, only to fall short. There's a feeling of immense disillusionment, remorse, anger, jealousy and hopelessness. You try to turn it into inspiration to do better, but the truth is, some losses will sting forever. There are some defeats in which it's hard, if not impossible, to see the bright side. Time eases the sharpness, but it still jabs at you with its blunt edge from time to time, reminding you of what you'll never have. The pain is self-inflicted, but it's real. I've felt it more than once, during particularly brutal losses during my 12-year soccer career. But I doubt that any of those combined could ever amount to the emotions that must have been felt by tennis player Andy Roddick after today's defeat at Wimbledon.

When you look at Andy, you're overwhelmed with the desire to hug him. His tousled blonde hair, youthful candid smile and handsome face all exude a very specific kind of charisma, one that is surprisingly genuine for such a successful man. Fame tends to wear down the edges of one's integrity, but as soon as you hear Andy talk you know he has avoided this fate. Well spoken, eloquent, heartfelt and passionate is his speech, all these traits are reflected tenfold in his playing. Known for his unfathomable 155 mph serve, when you see his back arch and his racket slice the air in two, you start to wonder if Roddick is the reincarnation of Christ. The way he manipulates the court and the ball are magical, and seeing his shameless reactions after every point makes you realize that this man lives and dies for the sport of tennis. That kind of devotion is something you rarely find between people. It transcends the bonds of humanity, and it delves into something more intricate -- the love of courage, the need to be tested, and the willingness to fail. Sports often illuminate the very best in people, in a way even the ones we love most never could.

Roddick's shining moment in his career was his Grand Slam victory in 2003 US Open. Since then, he has reached the finals of 4 Grand Slams -- Wimbledon three times and the US Open once -- each time losing to Roger Federer. Federer has been a dream snatcher for Roddick all these years, so it was only fit that in this Wimbledon final, emotions would get involved. Feds was tied with Pete Sampras for having the most Grand Slams in the history of tennis - 14. The man is a beast on the court, but what makes it hard to relate to or root for this fantastic athlete is the fact that, throughout his epic career, he seems to remain somewhat stoic in the face of his accomplishments. Although you will see Federer become extremely enthused once in a blue moon and pump his fists, or maybe even cheer or raise his voice, Federer is an uncannily nonchalant individual. He seems to lack the unbridled enthuisiasm that makes passionate players like Roddick so likable and relatable. By disallowing himself to get lost in the game, be vulnerable or be overcome with emotion, Federer has isolated himself in a place that none of us can really comprehend. He seems to be elevated far above our reach -- the fact that he might be the greatest tennis player of all time, coupled with his rather drab personality, make it seem as though he is too good for us mere mortals. The fact that he doesn't seem to get excited about his unbelievable success makes it hard for us to do so as well. On a personal level, it's hard to root for Federer; on a tactical level, it's easy as pie. The man is a genius, albeit one we wouldn't necessarily enjoy as a dinner date.

In this year's Wimbledon, Andy became the unsung hero for all of the broken, battered, restless souls who needed someone to look up to. The British Andy Murray was a huge fan favorite and, since the tournament was on his native soil, held all of the United Kingdom on his shoulders. A Brit has not won Wimbledon in over 73 years, the longest drought ever. But with Murray's emerging success, everyone harped their hopes and dreams on this formidable man from Scotland, hoping he would catapult their nation to greatness. However, the alternate Andy defeated him in the semifinals, in a heartfelt and tireless display of powerhouse tennis. Hearts broke across the land, but for some reason, they found a new hero in Andy #2. Roddick became their surrogate favorite, and they all fell under the charm of this young American who was dying for one more Grand Slam to put to his name, eager and ready to face the one man who had so many times caused him dissappointment. One fan expressed this new love perfectly with a sign that was displayed during the Wimbledon finals -- it said "Let's Go Andy Murray!" but the "Murray" was crossed out with a big red X, and to it's right was scrawled the name "Roddick!"

Thus, Roddick won us all over. We were able to build up an emotional attachment to this man, the underdog, the Yank kid with nothing to lose and everything to gain. We knew it was a long shot, but we became invested in his every move, and found ourselves, despite all better reason, feeling, hoping, predicting that he would stun the world with an improbable victory. And, when Roddick took the first set against Federer 7 games to 5, we were convinced that a miracle was well underway.

Federer is all about ease, grace and composure, while Roddick takes chances, plays with less tact and more heart. Throughout the match, we saw Roddick roll around on the court, diving for balls and almost twisting ankles, while Federer appeared to listlessly prance around the baseline as though he was barely exerting himself. Though this could be attributed to his unprecedented skill and athleticism, to the untrained eye it just seems boring and heartless. It isn't necessarily Federer's fault that we perceive him this way; after all, the man must be doing something right to be number 1 in the world. And he certainly has established a solid fan base that has been loyal to him since his first Grand Slam years ago. But, to me and countless others, the 29-year-old doesn't get my blood to boil, doesn't make my heart pound or my stomach flutter. He just plays tennis really well.

After his victorious first set, in which he broke Federer to pull ahead 7 to 5, things were looking rather glorious for Andy. Even though he was literally sweating through the brim of his white Lacoste hat, he seemed like he had all the energy in the world. However, the next set proved a bit of a downfall as he fell to Federer in a nerve-racking tie break, 7-6 (6). Despite the fact that the match was now even at one set apiece, we thought back to Roddick's victory over Murray and remembered that, after being tied in identical circumstances, Roddick was able to come back and reign victorious. Hoping history would repeat itself, we were eager to let the third set commence, with the inkling that Roddick would reward us. However, our hearts broke a little when, in tiebreak style yet again, Federer just barely nudged ahead of Roddick 7-6 (5). Close-ups of Roddick's face revealed a man who was swimming in thoughts, trying to psych himself up, keeping the faith despite almost insurmountable obstacles. Being a set behind Federer is like being 10 sets behind any other player -- his prolific ground strokes and solid serve could intimidate the pants off anybody. But if anyone could put this stoic Swiss man in his place, we knew it was the adorable, sweaty kid across the court.

After two straight sets of defeat, the fourth set was an amazing showcase of magnificent, beautiful tennis that put Federer in his place. Roddick beat him by a large margin of 6 games to 3, breaking Federer's serve twice more, for 3 breaks in the match. Feds had yet to break Roddick on serve, which was a testimony to Roddick's composure and skill under pressure. After seeing Roddick kneel down and pump his fists after his fourth set victory, who didn't want to jump down from the stands and high five him? His passion was infectious, and before long, even Federer fans had to admit that today might be Roddick's day.

The fifth and final set was a mental, physical and emotional test for both players. Unlike other grand slams, the final set of a Wimbledon match does not end in a tiebreak. A player must win by 2 games. That said, no one was surprised when, after 6 games a piece, both players were tied and extra games were needed to determine a winner. However, nobody counted on the unforgettable display of tennis that would ensue afterwards. During every point played, nobody dared breathe, as these two athletes tried their hardest to gradually wear the other down. At this point, victory was so close that you couldn't help but wonder what your reaction might be if Roddick were to beat the best player in the universe. I pictured him slamming one of his trademark aces into the grass, falling down in an unadulterated display of raw emotion, shedding tears of joy, jumping up and down. My heart burned to see it happen in real life, as tears were already starting to well up behind my eyes at the thought of such a stunning victory. I was ready to jump, to cry, to scream with Roddick, to taste his success in my mouth like it was my own. Every nerve ending in my body was ignited with the anticipation of this moment, and having it so close was torture.

But we all know that life isn't fair. And if that's true, that must mean sports is not only unfair, but downright cruel. It doesn't make sense by any stretch of the imagination that a man who outplayed, outserved, and outlasted his opponent could possibly fall short at the end. It just doesn't sit right that Roddick, after breaking Federer thrice and never having his own serve broken, and winning the fourth set by the largest margin in the entire match, could actually falter and see the championship dissolve before his eyes. But, as we were forced to see, such is life. Roddick fell to Federer after playing, battling, churning, fighting, for 4 hours and 16 minutes, miss-hitting a forehand and losing the match 14 games to 16. It was the longest men's Grand Slam final in history at 77 games total, and the longest fifth set in a men's Grand Slam final in history. To put it simply, it was unlike anything the world had ever seen. And, with that victory, Roger Federer's Grand Slam titles rose to 15, giving him the most prestigious record in tennis -- all time Grand Slam leader.

The match had absolutely every detail in line to be one of the best upsets of the sport -- Federer going for the record, Andy having not won a Grand Slam in 6 years, and the reason for that 6 year dry spell due to Federer himself. Everything about this match today was aching to exist in Roddick's favor. Brits and Americans alike all held hands in support of this man, which is no easy feat. However, Roddick fans were left feeling absolutely crestfallen as the match ended, and our united hope proved not enough. But as slighted as Roddick fans felt, it was but a trifle compared to the expression on Roddick's face, as he himself comprehended the loss. His head hung low, arms crossed over his knees, he embodied the most bitter kind of disappointment. And as he slowly raised his head and tears squirmed out of his eyes and down his face, I felt my own throat close up and my entire body quivered with the loss. It was like hearing the most beautiful song in the world, and suddenly having the last 15 seconds of the track skip and lag, the discordance almost unbearable.

However, although we felt cheated out of an amazing emotional victory through Roddick, something spectacular took place with the loss -- as Federer watched Roddick's forehand drift out of bounds, he actually jumped up and down, pumped his arms several times, screamed out loud and smiled big and wide for all to see. The world had now seen something entirely new -- Federer got lost in the moment and let feelings sweep him away. And while tears aren't enough to save poor Roddick from another disappointment, seeing Federer jump around, dance, cheer, feel, was a small, redeeming victory in its own right.

The two great players congratulated each other during the awards ceremony in amiable, genuine ways that made the ending more bearable for everyone. Andy turned to Pete Sampras, the previous record holder, and with a smile said, "Sorry Pete, I tried to hold him off for you." And we all laughed, knowing that this charming man would be just fine. And as his name was announced as the runner-up of Wimbledon, the thunderous applause from everyone in the audience was proof that his efforts were not in vain.

Roddick, stay the course. One day, some day, your time will come.

- LAP etc.

Don't Give Away the End

I wish I had stuck with my piano playing a little more. I could have actually been pretty great. I stopped taking lessons in 7th grade because I didn't have time between all the soccer teams I was on, and now when I sit down and play it's like trying to reinstate an old habit you've already kicked. It takes so long to remember how my fingers are supposed to move, and before long my pinky finger cramps up and I need to take a 10 minute break until it regains mobility. But sometimes I'll sit at my keyboard and let lots of songs flood my head and before I know it, my fingers have a mind of their own and they're dancing around the keys, mimicking the great melodies in my head with expert ease. I don't know how that transition happens, but I can't really duplicate it at will, it just happens. Maybe if I practiced more when I was first learning the instrument, I could have established that bond early on and avoided the annoying interum between warming up and kicking ass. Piano for me is like a lot of things in life... there's greatness lurking there somewhere, but my own lack of ability makes the effort to achieve that greatness a real chore sometimes.

I wish I kept in touch with my pen pal from Guatemala. When I was younger, my family did one of those "save a child" things where you donate a few bucks a week to some starving infant across the world and as a thank you, you get pictures of how the child is doing, health reports, report cards from school, etc. When I was 6 my pen pal, Marta Julia Bunchen Perez, was 8. I was intrigued by her photographs... she had very clear black eyes, even blacker hair, and unevenly tanned skin, but her smile was just magical. She would just slightly curl up the edges of her mouth, never showing teeth, but smiling this sly grin that was hopeful and cheeky at the same time. I would write to her all the time, just telling her about my every day goings-on. I remember it was the time when my family got their first good computer, so I would beg my mom to let me type a letter to Marta and sign it in pen at the end. They had a person in her village translate my letters for her, and she would respond in like, getting the same person to type up an English version of her Spanish text and shipping it off to me when it was all over. She would always include some kind of drawing with her letters... it was sometimes an original crayon drawing, other times magazine clippings all pasted together, sometimes a collage of stickers. But she always included something or other. I wrote to her for a few years, and we'd talk about pretty benign stuff -- school, sports, food, our hobbies, our family. But even though we never wrote about anything of real substance, I felt a serious connection to this stranger from a strange land, one I knew nothing about and couldn't even imagine. Then, like many things in my life, one day I just stopped. I got her letters but never found the time to write back. After a few weeks passed by, I remember getting a letter from her that ended with something like, "It has been a while since your last letter. I would like to hear from you." Nothing cruel, nothing serious, just a simple statement that was to the point and honest. I remember vowing to write her back, but for some inexplicable reason, it just never happened. Thinking back now, I don't know how many letters she continued to write me after that. But in retrospect, I'm kind of disgusted in myself for not feeling extremely guilty and awful about the whole thing. I kind of just let it slip by, not feeling any shame for being too goddamn lazy to type a paragraph to a girl whose entire month was made better by a few words from me. I wonder where she is now.. she's a woman by now, about 22 I think. I wonder if she has a job, if she found someone to love, if she's still living in the same dilapidated village as before, if her favorite color is still green. I wish to hell I had her address and could find an answer to all these questions. But I guess the burning curiousity and peculiar sense of loss is my load to bear for my actions.

I wish I could grow the balls to just cut my hair already. It's ridiculously long and looks like a tangled mess and the ends are so dead and frayed and unseemly. All I need is a quick trim, but for some reason I really don't want to. Have you ever noticed that when you ask a barber to "take off as little as possible," they always end up taking off a minimum of 2 inches and you're left to watch in horror as wet clumps of your hair go cascading to the floor around you like a brunette hairball hurricane. I really fucking hate that. I'm paying you to do something to a part of my body, why can't you just listen? Also, I've become pathetically more invested in my looks lately, which I don't really understand. I'm fine with my appearance, but now more than ever I find myself literally walking out of my way in order to catch my reflection in the windows of stores and stuff. It's sick and stupid and I don't know why I'm suddenly this appearance freak. But I have this compulsion to keep checking over myself that wasn't there before, at least not at this magnitude. I don't know if it's the fact that it's summer and therefore people generally weare less clothes, or if something set me off recently to make me feel insecure out of nowhere. But I am now on a quest to train myself to ignore windows, stop pretending to go to the bathroom so I can look in the mirror, and stop being such a dumbass idiot vain bitch of a person.

I have a lot of wishes, apparently. I won't ask if they'll ever come true, because I know at the end of the day, I control whether they do or don't. And that's the hardest pressure life will ever throw at me.

- LAP etc.