The Missing Piece

"We must praise the god Love, who is our greatest benefactor, both leading us in this life back to our own nature, and giving us high hopes for the future, for he promises that if we are pious, he will restore us to our original state, and heal us and make us happy and blessed." Plato

How many hours of our lives do we spend in the search of that perfect one who would make our light shine, make us “whole,” “complete,” a perfect circle? How many years of my life have I spent convincing myself that I need no one else to be the fulfill-powerful woman I believe myself to be. “Everything is within you.” “You are complete; you need no one to be whole.” “There is not a missing piece.” “If you love yourself, if you are true to yourself then another just comes to share, not to complete.” Then, why in hell after all the work; “the drink this, read that, go there, do the other, don’t do the something else;” why after countries, therapies and meditations of days, I still feel that the ice cream taste better when is shared?

Could it be at last that Aristophanes was right, and that we indeed were originally two in a perfectly round body, with two faces, four arms, four legs and one heart, born attached to our other half, happily content for eternity because we were complete from birth, and no search, nasty dating or blind dates were necessary. Until one day we perfect humans threatened the gods, and Zeus as punishment for our insolence, separated us to make us weak and constantly restless, too busy to fight the gods while aiming to find the missing piece hopping to reestablish the original balance and glee now gone from our lives.

And if such luck is our truth, how can we find it, or better yet how do we know when we have found it? since it is not just anyone who would complete us, but it has to be that original half that was part of our divine perfect circle. Could it be then that the “soul mate” story is true after all?

God knows I have kissed frogs, rhinos, and lions, and tigers, and bears. I have followed my cousin’s advice like one of the ten commitments for years now, “you don’t denied a kiss even to a dog,” yet I still alone on Sundays and nights, and worst yet SUNDAY NIGHTS! … by far the most terrifying single time of all, or at least it is for me. I have also kissed frogs that I had believed to be princes, to later find myself yet facing another mirage on a “desperate” search, and a mouth full of frog goo. Could the gods be still playing merciless games at us simple mortals? Are they laughing at us somewhere over the rainbow? And when I say us, I’m not only talking about we single gals, but I’m including our male counterparts as well.

For years now I had believed that all this concern for love, The One, the happily ever after, the intertwine legs in a warm shared bed on a rainy night was solely a copyrighted hunt of my spice. I was almost certain that men just simply didn’t have the need for warmth; their thermostats were always in high. Their hearts just weren’t big enough to really care; therefore, they simply couldn’t feel like we do. They didn’t care for THE one, except for the one to fuck tonight. But trying to put away my sinicism, hard to tame after age 30, I heard a male friend’s call for love few nights ago. A friend who I consider to be very manly, straightforward, and even cocky, confessed to me, to me disbelief, how tired he was of being alone in the exhausting world of singles after 30. It got me thinking that although we may not have the same modem operandi, perhaps at the end we are all longing for that arm to shelter us from a cold winter night… attached of course to that desirable body that will bring up the heat day and night.

Lets face, it may be true that we females long for love, generally speaking, more than men. I have seeing even my most liberal, commitment free, love phobic female friends breaking down into famous lines like “where the fuck is he!!!??” I’m tired of kissing frogs! Just show your God dam face already!” But although that may be true, it is also true that we women want the whole package. We want the love, with sense of humor, stability, looks (whatever looks is for each one of us), taste, intellect, romanticism, connection and not just sex; we want GREAT sex. While men can be ok with just the sex, the ladies want the hot, juicy, heart melting, intuitive, imaginative, creative, unconventional, steamy, butterflies flying, with great foreplay, sex… We want perfect soft passionate kissing with the right amount of tongue, the accurate touch, the amazing lip service, the rhythmical body fusing, the sexy words, the complements, the dirty words, the hair pulling, the panties tarring, the push against the wall… and then… softly finishing the sexy love making with the perfect spooning, where at last the divine ancient circle is completed once again.

This makes me wonder, maybe it is only in those moments of intimacy, of complete body fusion that we can go back to our divine past, thus, we faithfully keep up the search. Or at least we do for a while.

In a world that is slowly falling apart by wrongly used technology, bad politics, environmental issues, sickness, hunger, and… well, you name it, could it be that the main ingredient to make us whole is L-O-V-E? Could it be that simple?

Doesn’t seem like it when we check divorce’s rates. Unless we are willing to believe that it can only work when you find your real half. But as life gets more complicated so it gets to find the one. In our teens we dealt with “he likes me, he likes me not?” then our twenties was “would he marry me, would he marry me not?” and in the lovely thirties is: “do we really match, can he offer me all I want and most importantly deserve, is he going to help me on my growth, does his job fits my life style, does he share my interests, is he single or am I willing to break up a marriage or relationship, or simple become the other in my “the one’s” life… our maybe that should be a signed he is not the one?… Oh whatever, lets just ignore those stupid signs!”

With so much a stake, is not wonder why me, as many others of my bread still single. Because really, what are the odds one can find all those needs covered by one human being? One in a million in your twenties I said, and probably one in 10 million in your thirties, and equally proportional the older you get.

Most of us exhausted of so much hunting simply throw the towel and just settles for whatever one can find, instead of sticking around for what we are really looking for. And just like that our other half, our rightfully divine “soul mate” is forever lost in someone else’s body, which will “kind of” fit the square, but will hopelessly leave few sad empty corners. We even go as far as to /married them just in case, because, “what if she or he was the one and we let them go?” However, undoubtedly at some point sooner or later after the magical wedding day is over, we’ll sadly recognized that our “what if” love was in fact the wrong fitting piece. Worst yet, to our horror we realize that we had not think through a contingency plan, incase of if the “what if” went sour. I’m not making this up, it actually happened to me. This “theory” -muy a mi pesar- comes from first hand experience of what happens when we say in a rush of spontaneity, “what if we say I do?” instead of “what if we leave the things the way they are and we don’t play with fire?”

Maybe we are not looking for any myth or any ancient stories. Maybe we all just have needs and desires that only few people in the world could fulfill, but unfortunately we wont stick around long enough to find that right person. Time, society expectations, loneliness, economy, excessive desire of belonging to someone, past experiences –mostly those bad ones,- and peer pressure (consciously or not) makes us rush into making bad decisions when it come to chose our life partner. With each year of maturity, the thought of "more time wasted in a fruitless search will be childish," increases, and inevitably sooner or later most of us will give up hope. Hopeless, we are left empty of the energy that kept us going, and the long years of neglecting our heart’s desires will shape our future. We’ll settle for what’s handy and convenient, and trade love, passion, desire, and magic, for friend and companionship. The butterflies?… Well, we tell them to take a walk into some naïve-young lover’s stomach, because really, at the end all would be left in every relationship, no matter how fiery it had started, will be in fact friend and companionship, thus, all we are doing is escaping one step.

It is true, the butterflies wont last forever, but as someone said once “at lest you will have the memory that you once had them,” and in difficult times, reminiscing about those first flying wings can fill you with the strength to keep the fire going. Because finding the one to love is tricky, and time consuming, but maintaining the love is a lifetime job.

So, maybe there is only that one half, that soul mate, or maybe we have few perfect matches to choose from in the market of love, but whatever the theory, the truth of the matter stays unchangeable; it will take time, perseverance, determination and hope to find our missing piece. In the mean time, all we can do is develop ourselves and our growth, hence, when the prefect actor to fill our lover's shoes walks into the room, we will be prepared to step on the plate and share our divine circle, smoothly rolling down together for eternity thru life’s bumpy roads.

Now… thinking of all this makes me wonder one more question. Why do we need this other half so badly?… Could it be a need for validation, or a desire to...? Ah!!!! Who cares? It feels great when you have it... so, go find it, and in the mean time, enjoy the ride!

A Superior Hijab (veil) Free Race!

Who made Us a superior race, whoever that “Us” maybe?

The Muslims think they have the moral superiority to call white women whores because the way they dress and handle their freedom. The Westerns think they are superior because their women NOW have many of the rights they were denied of for centuries and only until 50 years ago. The Jews think they are the chosen ones, and therefore, everyone else is inferior. Who the hell do we all think we are to think us better than others we don’t even know, much less even bother to understand???

There is a debate if Muslim girls should wear the veil at school or not in Spain. The argument is if boys can’t use their baseball caps, or beanies, or whatever is cool and hip in their heads, then Muslim girls should have no right to wear their veil. Where should we start… maybe by differentiating a fundamental difference? The cap is a fashion; the veil is a cultural-religious symbol. Who are we to tell others that wearing a cross is ok, but wearing a veil is insulting. Insulting to whom? It is pretended that the discussion has nothing to do with religion, and the truth is that indeed is more complex than just a religious affair, yet it can’t be that easily separated when the veil is use merely for religious reasons, therefore is the first thing we most face. If we fight against this tradition we are not only having a cultural or fashion or manners debate, but also a religious one, just like if all of the sudden the government decided to prohibited the use of crosses at school, or made orthodox Jews to cut their sideburn curls (peyos). The veil represents the culture and the beliefs of a nation that bases its everyday life in their religious book (The Koran), we may not like it but that is what it is, therefore culture and religion is one of the same, just like it was in Spain until not long ago, and in most “superior” countries for that matter.

Now, the problem here goes farther than a question of religious beliefs. It seems to me to be also a fear of losing battles already won in this nation. Women feel threaten that by allowing such a “disrespectful” custom to women’s right in this soil, they may lose freedoms for which they had fought so dearly. How is that we think we may lose those freedoms in our own country by letting this “oppressive” men from another culture “force” their women (from their same culture I remind you) into using a veil? Is it that we think they may set a bad example to our men? In which case it makes me wonder how much faith do we have in the values of our male population if it really troubles us that much? Do we think that by allowing such a “chauvinist and sexist” practice, our men could be “infected” forgetting all about our rights? Maybe then our men are not as advance and superior as we think they are if we find that by letting others profess their way of life, ours are going to put us back in the house with the apron and the flip-flaps. What are we so afraid of? If we are supposed to be so “superior,” the actions of others shouldn’t make us go a step backwards, but should only shine the light on our “enlighten” lives.

I’m sure there are Muslim women who are not happy and are even outrage with the use of the veil and in fact finds it oppressive, and I’m also sure for a fact, that are others who see it simply as part of their lives; just like at one point in time some of our women thought we should had the right to work, and others found it ridicules, or a bunch wanted the right of getting divorce, while others fought against it. And frankly, if the female Muslim population are so appalled by this practice, specially those living out of the borders of Muslim nations, where they know the will be supported and encouraged, then let them lead their battle. One day just like my mother’s generation did, they will summed the courage to fight for what they believe is their right, and no matter how horrible the fight maybe, they wont stop until succeeding, such is the spirit of women once is awaken, but THEY have to be ready for it. I’m not an expert in the subject, nor is it my argument here. I simply find it absurd trying to change some ones else’s traditions and life (which are not really hurting anyone) when the time may not yet be right, just because we think our ways are so much better.

It is well known that the success of the Roman Empire was in great deal accredited to their “openness.” They learned than fighting against other’s beliefs and culture was detrimental for conquering. Even if they had an autocratic form of government, which may have enforced people to adopt some of their traditions and gods, they also integrated in their pavilion the traditions and gods of the conquered nations. Hinduism is, next to Buddhism, one of the most peaceful religions, and the one with more gods, why? Same concept, adopt the beliefs of others and integrate them, in this way, others will be less threaten and more comfortable adopting yours. With this I’m not expecting Spain (or any other country) neither to pray 5 times a day facing Mecca, nor making their girls use the veil, but what I do expect from them is to give the respect to others they are asking for themselves. And if you want to take the veil away, then be French and take all religious symbols and celebrations out of school and politics, that means no crosses, not Jesus in schools, not religious class, no virgins, no celebration of San Mateo, San Jose, San Bartolome, etc as national holidays, and then we will have equality. Which brings me to the last step of the problem, immigration.

As a new immigrant’s welcoming nation, Spain is not quite sure yet how to handle the integration of new cultures, and it is by no means an easy task, specially in a country so culturally and politically polarized within their own nation. And I am definitely not suggesting that they must modify all their own traditions to fit all this new ones, but immigration does bring transformation at all levels of society. USA, a country of immigrants, built by immigrant hasn’t figured it all out yet and has being dealing with the issue for hundreds of years. People, cultures, nations have their own way; time and history, there own rhythm for growth and development, even within the boundaries of one country. We (all human race) want to insist in molding all other cultures to our own, at the same pace and time, just like we want to mold our friends, children, coworkers and lovers. Everyone criticizes USA for taking over a country and try to force them into democracy when they were obviously not ready for it (and we have seen the results), but most cultures try to do the same to others at one point or another, and Spain if we remember was the king of that at some point in time. Every nation and culture has there on way of living just like they had their own food, entertainment, or fashion depending on their geographical position, their past, their religion, their weather, etc and yes, when they move to another country they take all that with them. Some will integrate easier than others in their new society because preconceived shared views, language and traditions will allow a smooth transition, but to others integration will take longer because the differences are simply too great. And even the host country will actively part take on the process by helping one group to integrate, openly welcoming it, while shamelessly bulling another.

The veil is just a veil, WE are making it mean so much more than it needs to be. I feel the problem is being faced by impulse instead of reasoning and most importantly, true understanding. These immigrants, with there on set of beliefs and moral codes are not coming here to purposely change us, although unintentionally they will. They are not telling our girls not to walk around with very little clothes covering themselves when they obviously find this fashion inappropriate. They are not asking for everyone to do as they do, they are not expecting Spanish women to wear the veil, they are just asking for a little respect to their culture and values, which as far as I can see they are not hurting anyone, or at least not the issue in discussion. We have the Opus Day tangle around our society with a set of very strict values, including long skirts to avoid showing skin (just go to a job interview to teach in one of their schools) and no one seems to care because at least they believe in the same God. People, it wasn’t so long ago when we Catholics had our women using veils, and long skirts, and high necks to cover themselves, in fact most of our nuns still have to dress like that and cover their heads at all times for that matter, and I don’t see any priest doing the same. And it wasn’t long ago either when daughter number X was expected to become the nun of the family, wanted it or not, while the daughter number Y was supposed to stay single to take care of the mother and daughter number Z was supposed to marry so and so to safe the family’s name or fortune. And was not long ago either that we had to be virgins until marriage, or at least fake we were, and I’m talking my generation here. It wasn’t long ago when talking about masturbation was something evil and shameful, and many of the girls of my generation still have fights between the ghosts of the conservative past vs. the liberal present. We just have a very short memory of who we were only 50 years ago. So, we are 50 years ahead of the veil, and?

All I want to express is that we need to stop feeling so superior because we are not, our divorce rates, and drug addictions, and teen violence, and murdered, and our priests’ problems for God’s sakes, show us better. So why don’t we live and let live? Is that veil really ruining your life? Something tells me that not in the least, but we just want to be right over those we think are wrong. We want to force a square into a circle, when maybe we should just let the circle be a circle and the square a square, and maybe learn from the beauty both shapes can offer to this world.

Is just a veil, no a clitoris clipping.

Merry Christmas to all!

What a year my dearest friends!

January: India-Los Angeles
February: Los Angeles
March: Los Angeles-Miami
April: Miami
May: Madrid
June: Madrid
July:Madrid
August: Miami-Georgia
Sept: Miami-Madrid
October: La Rioja
November: La Rioja
December: La Rioja - London

With all those places came a set of different homes, beds and warm arms ready to help...

Sometimes even from the most unexpected places... like a friend's mother home, or a stranger on a plane, or a friendship built within few emails, or a backpacker tired to walk with no place to go, or a friend met in silence, or a childhood friend reunited by technology, or an old love that has always been there even if I didn't know, or a clone that mutual love ones thought them to be soul mates and made them walk the walk together...

And of course in the nest under the wing of mother bird!

Experiences, tears, laughs, encounters...

Pain, decisions, change of minds, break ups, heartache...

Seldom waves of certainty...

Jumping without parachute to life adventures...

Leaving things behind, leaving love ones faraway, searching for new meanings, dreams and ways...

Looking through different glass shades, trying other people's shoes, eating others foods
(soul, body, and livelihoods)...

Searching, searching, searching... What for?... I'm sure no more...

But a drawer full of experiences and some conclusions I have... they may be of no more help than building some perspective... or maybe they have hidden meanings that I'm still suppose to decipher and decode!

Life has a bizarre way to speak to us, much like Dumbledore to Harry Potter... in clues that are meant to take us to the "Horcruxes" of our souls, which we need to destroy before we can find that which we all so fervently seek for ... whatever that may be for each one of us!

That was the last year of this decade for me... a year of change one could say... I like to call it a year of reinvention, of closing and opening, of recharging, of gaining while losing, of going back to basics.

Thanks to all of you who have share this ride with me, who have been one of those expected or unexpected shelter in the storm, and warmth in the cold... to the ones that gave me that right word even unconsciously...

To those who I have left behind, you know that you are not... you are all carved in the grooves that composes myself, so how can you be far when you are part of me?!

Have a very Merry Christmas and I hope we get to cross the path again someday!

DAY 19: The Day I met Miss Emmy Part II...

     Where the hell was the Fashion Police when I needed them!

The Super 007, now even happier with his date selection, grabbed her hand and proudly walked in. The girl was bewildered, she could not believe her eyes, and much less her luck. The whole “Soprano” cast, all the “Sex and the City” chicks in their fabulous dresses, a rock star here, a movie star there. Wherever she walked, wherever she looked there was a BIG celebrity with a smile welcoming her as part of the team. No one knows whom you could be, if you are with the big you most belong, and so you should be treated! Spago in Beverly Hills was the host of the event, so food was superb. Stars here, champagne there, orderves everywhere, and Cinderella went from aspiring-actress/waiter at day, to a Hollywood “starlet” at night!

Then, as all good stories should end, or began, Prince Charm entered the picture. While 007 was somewhere with someone else, the girl was about to experience the first celebrity flirting moment of her life; and just like normal mortals’, the flirting ceremony began.  She eyed him, he eyed her, and eyelashes fluttered like butterflies wings. He smiled at her, she smiled back at him, and shiny pearly teeth held the gaze. They both turned to see where their dates were, and little by little he walked towards her. Her legs were shacking, “thanks God for long dresses” she thought, as he kept moving across the room to talk to her. When he was finally closer, maybe only five steps away, like in a movie montage, 007 got back. “Well, Bruce Willis can’t take his eyes of you” he said. “Really? Where? I hadn’t notice it,” she calmly replied, and turned to see Prince Charm, who for last time raised ceremonially his glass at her, cheering for a moment that could have been, just before his date stepped in front of him, curiously looking back at the girl, who had already turned away.

After waking up from her slumber, her and 007 went right to the buffet table. Classy was her walk, making sure that if Prince Charm was still looking he could at least leave with the memory of this “superb” girl with the best walk on earth. A Venezuelan talent to be precise, I mean the walk, like Guaco would say: “esta manera de caminar que me hace suspirar!” And walking she was when all of the sudden the clock turned to midnight. And we all know Cinderella most leave before then, or tragedy will strike. Well, this Cinderella forgot how the story goes and tragedy stroke! Walk, walk, walk, crack!… She almost fell, but Super 007 rescued the moment. She looked down, and pulled up her long-to-the ground, A cut-flowy skirt that covered her feet, and confronted the inexplicable truth, Cinderella was turning into a pumpkin. Her fabulous Gucci shoes where BROKEN! “You have to be kidding me” she said, “this shit only happens to ‘Pretty Woman.’ ” “The only actual piece of clothing I have that resembles a star, brakes!?” She loudly thought in her burning oven like head.

In tipi-toe she walked to the bathroom to see if there was a way to perform a miracle, but nothing, it was broken beyond repair. “How is it possible that a $500 dollars pair of shoes can break after only few years, and how can it happen on this F..ck night!!!” And the thought crossed again, “thank God for long dresses, because this is my night and I’m not leaving… you hear me, you funny joker God!?” She joined 007 with the thin metallic heel on her hand, because the purse was too small to hold it, but the shoe stilled on. The skirt covered her feet, so for the next hour she worked out her calf muscle, secretly tipi-toeing all around. When finally was the time to go, she walked out again through the now empty and “gloriousless” Red Carpet so charmingly alive just few hours ago; and like that Cinderella left the party.

The Limo drove them to his apartment because the rental was over. Super 007 was going to drop her off. Yet, “lets have one more drink at my house” of course he said. The girl liked 007, but not wanting to put-out just yet, declined the “indecent proposal.”  Dracula insisted, it was time for dinner, but encountering resistance he agreed to just go up for the car key. Playing the best of moves he “passionaly” kissed her in the elevator, and she kissed him back for the first time. Confronted with one of those “don’t choke me please” kind of kiss, a mix between an Iguana and a dog tongue when down her throat. Happy she was when the elevator finally hit the right floor, “ting.” And the kiss was over with a huge and deep inhalation on her part. They went in, and knowing better than to sit, she waited standing while he looked for the keys. Rapidly he came to kiss her again, knowingly that she would lose control once in the coziness of his flat and the warmth of his arms. Once more, however, he was wrong, and she… gasping for air. In a soft and kind tone and push, she slid away from him. Nervously giggling, hoping not to show the discomfort, she walked to the door and asked him please to take her home. Super 007, known to be a playboy, couldn’t believe his ears, but nonetheless he did the right thing and followed her wishes. He dropped her off back to the same steps where hours before he had sighed at her sight. A last kiss and off he went to never be seen again!

And that was my first meeting with Emmy, a fascinating moment of fantasy that will forever live in me like the best of chasing-romantic-realistic-flying dreams.

Moral of a story: Don’t spend $500 in a pair of shoes, they break just as the $100 ones. Don’t go up to a guy apt unless you have kissed him previously. And don’t trust a Califirnicator who tells you “I don’t care about those parties” unless he/she is a start and therefore sick and tired to be in one, because he/she is lying… admittedly or not, it is all part of the dream!

 Guapo: Venezuelan Music group.                                                                                                                                                Lyric: “This way of walk that makes me sigh!”

DAY 17: The Day I met Miss Emmy Part I

It is madness how quickly we human beings get used to things in life. It has only been a year since I have been off the Hollywood's loop, and I already forgot what is important… at least for us Californicators!!!! The Emmy’s were on today, and if it was not for a mobile Facebook download of a very sharp looking Super 007 Ex of mine, and a casual click of the TV control, I would have never known. What a traitor! But there was a time when these things were cool, and even important to me; to know, to watch, but more importantly… what a disgrace, I must confess... I can’t believe I’m saying it. Please God make my fingers stop!!! Here it comes… most importantly of all was… TO BE INVITED! If not for a nomination, well… what the hell, at least to the Red Carpet and the party.

During my years in La, la, land I only got to be part of this glamorous day twice, never directly invited, always as the date of one with the connections. But hey no complains, most people don’t even get in as the date, so I guess it is “touch down” for me! Anyhow, my first Emmy’s party was actually a night I will never, ever, forget, for more than one reason. But as every story, we most start from the beginning.

Once upon of time there was a girl with big dreams, like all the girls who move to the land of Oz; and the best description of Los Angles I ever heard would reiterated this: “The smog in Los Angles is created by evaporated dreams,” because La, la land may have absence of many things except dreamers and their big dreams. Once Alice went thru the Rabbit’s hole, or Dorothy realized she wasn’t in Kansas no more, or that girl moved from humid east coast to dry 7450 Hollywood Blvd, life was destined to never be the same again… and for neither of the three ladies never was and never will, even after being long gone and back home. The girl had only been in the city for less than a year when her Red Carpet fascination became all too real, for… well… not merit of her at all.

A friend had recommended her to a Super 007 for representation, and so she ended up in the Super 007’s office one day. The handsome, suit ready, Richard Gere’s hair like Super 007 was not sure about much, but as a good vampire he was certainly sure of one thing: he wanted some of that new blood. He presented his best façade and pursued the   –by then- almost “retardedly” naïve girl. On her 26’s birthday she got roses at her work, and presents at her door, and pretty words in a card, and a dinner with all her love ones. Yet, one more present under his sleeve he had when he dropped her at her steps, and no it was not the year exclusivity contract for what they had first met, it was the invitation to the most important party of that years Emmy’s, the acclaimed HBO party. That year HBO had launched the first season of “Sopranos” and also had the second season of “Sex and the City.” HBO in less than two years had managed to change prime time Television forever, and the girl was going to be there to celebrate it. She was part of the biggest, and for a minute the Cinderella story didn’t feel all that impossible.

She couldn’t hide her excitement, although she tried to play cool. She does that a lot you know; “less not show too much emotions, I’ll scream in doors.” But next day the search for the perfect outfit started. There was no much time, nor too much money, and no connections yet to the rich and famous’ wardrobes, so it was time for improvising. Black always does it, and long always fakes it, and a good pair of Gucci shoes always makes it! She pulled her shorter hair in a tight ponytail, and wrapped a longer extension-hair around it, got make-up ready, and dressed to kill. The limo with Super 007 waited outside her door, and a sigh of surprise unexpectedly escaped his mouth when he saw her at his side. Limo got them to the party and down to the Red Carpet they went. The girl’s heart was pounding fast when she saw Sarah Jessica Parker just finishing her glorious entrance in a flame of flashes and screams in front of her. When the fire was down, the couple when up, and grabbing hands they started the walk. Seconds after, the fire regained slowly its intensity; screams, and flashes blinded the girl, and in the chaos of fake summer sunlight, the friendly hand just let hers go. For a second confusion crippled in. Where did the 007 go? Why she was just left alone in an ocean of strangers? What was going on?  When suddenly hit her that the screams, the flashes, and the hands with microphones stretching out were all for her. For no apparent reason all this people wanted her. She was not a star, she hadn’t even work in Los Angles once yet, she didn’t even have a 007 for Gods sakes, but the press was crazy about the girl. 

After few minutes, which seemed to last an eternity, she got to the end of the Red Carpet, but the madness was far from over. The HBO’s camera was fully interested in this new "star" who they had never seen before, but apparently all those other photojournalists had. “It is so great to have you here… You look as beautiful as always… How was the show, what do you think about the winners… And tell us please, how did you prepare yourself for such an important night.?” Now she really was about to crack up in tears of laughter. “Who the fuck they think I am, and what in life should I answer? How did I prepare myself for a night like this?… ‘Well, just like everyone else, took my dog for a nice hike to Running Canyon, and got all dress and ready when the time came'…” smiles, smiles, smiles. “You have a lovely evening, enjoy the party Miss…?” And her face was a big question mark, Miss…? 

Once the girl finally finished the unexpected, unbelievable, incomprehensible, glorious walk, there it was the Super 007 waiting for her with another Super 007 colleague, both with mouths open and the same question mark face, “what was that all about?” he asked. “What do I know,” she answered, “but see, I’m not even famous yet and they already love me, I told you, you should’ve sign me,” laughter, laughter, laughter.

To be continued... Read DAY 19 

DAY 14 & 15: Becoming a Slave!

And he beats you, he hurts you, he makes you worthless, he breaks your spirit, and empties your soul. Since his “glorious” arrival the mirror only shows a shadow of the heroine that is now gone. You forgot what you liked, and how you were like. If the eggs were better scrambled or fried. You cry, and only his touch will bring a slight smile. His approval is God’s love, his disdain apocalyptic flames. For your “lover’s” kiss you will condemn yourself to centuries of shame. But what to do when Cupid’s arrow strokes in? There is not hope for such a girl, because the truth will simply be … she’s… just…in LOVE… with him!

You gracelessly move your disfigured body, and harshly inhale with a forward step. You feel ghastly and sick with your reflection, your self-esteem vanished and so has your health. Diabetes took over, and shooting the leg became a normal affair. Your feet are so swollen that no shoe will fit. You fear your friend’s presence, and depression rooted deep. No clothes can now hide it, no mirror will lie, and grotesqueness has your identity kidnapped. And all that it’s due to stop the destruction is running some miles, eating what’s right, kicking bad habits, finding a new approach to life. Yet… you simply can’t!… the LOVE for food has you by the hand!

You spend more nights in an emergency room than in your own living room; gasping for air you contaminate. Your clothes, your house, your car, your hair, anything that surrounds you distils the fatal smell. Your husband is disgusted with the gray cloud above. Your neighbor complaints that it’s even creping his walls. Your cough is well known all over the place, and even your kid gives you the face. The ash dry thin skin that covers your body replaces the beautiful athletic woman you once were.   You saw your mother die with her lungs tired to fight. Yet, you still say, “sorry it is just stronger than me, I guess I LOVE Marlboro much more than to live!”

Your credit card has lost the magnetic band, but you don’t know why. You hide all those bags in the trunk of the car; your fiancé mustn’t know that once again you were back. There are bills to pay and a wedding to prepare, but with lost control you go from sale to sale. If the tag is red, it just can’t stay! What is so wrong if the price is right? ... Oh wait, yes… maybe that I have no way to pay all this credit back. But how to restrained yourself you ask, if I just really LOVE to buy!

Love?

Then what is it with that little thing call love that decontrolled your senses to the extreme of self-destruction? The more you love something or someone; the more harm it seems you will self inflect… That first love, remember? The one that took your breath away if the air wasn’t share, the one that made you feel million butterflies and the empty stomachache. The same one that after many dreaming moons brought you down to hell, showing what dreams may come once the love has been spent. Its sole memory still today makes you faint, or at less weakens your legs. And yet that twister that twisted the grief, and set a Hiroshima whole in what once was a green fertile field of grace; it is now shamelessly the ruler by which you measure every creature who painfully strives to conquer what’s left. You keep searching for that sense of lost, emptiness and abandonment of oneself, as profoundly as if it was the quest for the Holy Grail. Wishing you didn’t know that you like fry eggs best. And your days are spent looking for the savage feeling that made your heart break, because life was lived the deepest when you were an addict of Him.

LOVE: All addictions start with that imprecise, delusional and fragmented four-letter word, a tiny utterance more prevailing and supreme than the last prolific uterus on Earth. When you truly, madly and deeply love something, someone, anything, you fail to remember the most important love of all… love to oneself. And it is right then when you lost the war, and become a slave.

 

 

DAY: 12-13 A fight for Land... "The Garden"

On April 29 1992, the United States armed forces confronted one of the biggest riots the country ever experienced, known as Los Angles South Central Riots, or Los Angeles Civil Unrest. A year before, Rodney King, a black motorist on parole, was brutally beaten by four white Policemen after a high-speed chase. A year latter, the court finally acquitted the four Policemen. South Central in responds to what they felt to be a racist based verdict, rioted non-stop for three days. The result was 53 dead, more than 4000 injured, and 1 billion dollars in material loses. Looking for ways to appease the people of South Central, the City gave 13 acres of land for public use as an Urban Garden.

“The Garden” tells the story about a plot of hopes and shutter dreams. Since 1992 about 347 families, mostly of Mexican origins, adopted this public land as their own. Like all immigrants, they came to America searching for a dream, and they had found it in this uncultivated soil.  The city gave them a land full of rubbish and waste with what was left of the foundation of an old warehouse. 15 years later they took away the largest urban garden in United States, a green lung in a concrete city, years of people’s hard work and the pride they took on doing it, food for many low-income families, a way of life which they were trying to pass along to their new generations, and the trust in justice and a government they thought to be “of the people, by the people and for the people.”

In 1986 the land was privately owned. The City had bought it from mister Ralph Horowitz for 5 million dollars to build a trash incinerator. Because of the efforts of a group of women, the City was forced to stop the project since it was detrimental to public health. However, almost two decades later corrupted politicians, including LA Council of 9^th district Jane Perry, in a bureaucratic conspiracy sold the land back to its old owner for the same price paid 18 year earlier. In 2004 the farmers of The Garden got the first, of many notices of eviction they would get in the up coming years.

What the City, Miss Perry and Mister Horowitz didn’t expect was that the farmers were determined to fight for what was morally and legally theirs. They got united, they got organized, they got informed, and they look for help in all the right places. When they thought they had almost won the war, after founding the sale to be illegal, the court turn the verdict around and again gave the right to Horowitz to take the land back. Once more this ultra capitalistic system was proving that land was more valuable and had more rights than people’s hard work. Horowitz gave these humble families 60 days to raise 16.2 million dollars, at which price he promised to sale the land; a price that was more than three times what he had paid for it, and realistically impossible to achieve in such of conditions. Against all odds, the farmer with the help of Hollywood artists and activists like Daryl Hannah and Danny Glover, in two moths raised the asked price, 16.2 million dollars. They had won; they had proven that perseverance and will makes impossible dreams come true. They achieved the unachievable. Yet, they still lost. Mister Horowitz, for “unknown” reasons rejected the offer. In 2007 the last drop of hope hydrated for one last time what once was a green paradise in the middle of a concrete jungle, and was soon to become a storage building. Until today the land still empty, and the project in blueprints.

Kids, adolescents, adults and elderly cried and screamed and fought the entrance of the tractors in what they consider their temple. But they just simply came in and destroyed in an hour what took years to build. All the now grown and strong apple, guava, banana and papaya tress said their last goodbye. The cilantro stunk the air, and the beet and carrot juice colored the earth of pain. The beautiful flowers were stepped on just like the powerful stepped on the poor. Once more injustice prevailed, unfolding an unwelcome truth; no matter how hard and honestly the humble and powerless work, and how many battles they win, at the end the will rarely win the war.

The Garden is a documentary about bravery, family, pride, love, strength, perseverance, hope, pain, achievement, lost, laughs and tears. It also taps in important subjects as racism within minorities. The incapacity or unwillingness of Politician’s to fight against capitalists for the well being of its citizens. The power Hollywood has to support important causes. And lastly, reflects on the importance of education, activism, community and reform. Yes reform, because until the world doesn’t understand that we most learn to utilize the little land we have, until the world stops giving importance to all the wrong thing, until the world ends discrimination in bases of raze, gender, class and religion, the course to destruction will continue. The experts say global warming is a consequence of industrialization, pollution and many other things I don’t need to list here because they are of general knowledge. Yet, I say Global Warming is the conflicted heart of Mother Earth who sees her kids becoming Cain and Abel in a constant war to destroy each other for power and greed.

This 2008 Oscar nominated documentary has a special place in my heart because it was the result of years of hard, frustrating and devastating work of a dear and always inspiring friend of mine. She, as a producer had to live this fight as an observer of constant injustice against her own people (she is a proud Mexican). 5 years of work didn’t give the farmers their land, but at least their story is now history and a precedent that may help change the destiny of many.

If you want to watch the documentary it is now available in stream video at www.netflix.com. You can also rent it in Blockbuster.

Writer, Director: Scott Hamilton Kennedy

Produced by: Scott Hamilton Kennedy, Vivianne Nacif, Dominique Derrenger