primer aniversario

Yesterday was my one-year anniversary of living in New York.

To say that time flies is an understatement. While I'm only a few inches closer (than I was a year ago) to figuring out what I'm doing up here, away from every element of comfort and stability I had in Miami, I can state with certainty that I'm enjoying every moment. Or, at least, a vast majority of those moments. I've definitely forged and found new comforting elements, ones that I wholeheartedly appreciate, but it seems that new surprises keep rolling (spiraling? crashing? pummeling?) towards me. I guess that's the nature of being a New Yorker. So far so good, as I have yet to fill my "transistasis quota," which has probably grown exponentially in the past year.

An old friend sent me an iChat convo we had in September 2009, when he was having what I'll refer to as a minor identity crisis and asked me for advice. So rather than try to poignantly and sufficiently detail my experiences in NYC from the last twelve months, I'll just post a line that struck me upon re-reading. I will admit that a large part of my time in New York has been spent questioning myself...but I still think what I said is true for everyone, especially people that move to or visit new places hoping to "discover themselves." Our experiences and situations may change, but at the core we are the same person we have always been and will always be.

Mozartda2nd: look. I tell this to people who I meet that are hippies and whatever and say "oh look! I went to india to find myself" - "yourself" isn't sitting in a little box on top of a mountain in the himalayas. you are who you are and by the time you become an adult you are developed, life molds you in small ways but we are ourselves and nothing can change that.

Signed, 20-year-old Mau, tactlessly and at times inappropriately serving up life advice since the moment he could speak in complete sentences.

funny how life works

Just a couple of days after my emo "I'm broke" blog post, I got a call from a legal agency about an immediate job opening. (They called me last Wednesday afternoon and I started on Thursday!) It's a contract paralegal gig at a giant financial services corporation in Midtown. Today was Day 4 and I. am. exhausted. I'd rather be tired than funemployed, though. Or so I tell myself.

I have to admit that the work day is somewhat of a blur. Between intense New Yorkers speed-walking to get to their destination, cramped subway cars and the increasingly cold climate, the morning rush is not my favorite part of the day. The job itself is easy, but tedious and lengthy as well. However, this is a legit place, unlike the chonga-ass office where I worked in Miami. Back then, the days were marked by my boss' mood swings and inappropriate comments, antiquated ways of getting stuff done, and strict lines (colored with mutual shit-talking) between the attorneys and the staff. I'm thankful for the job experience but I'm more thankful I can look back on it and say I got out.

This is a lot of adjusting to do at once. (To go from apathetically job-hunting to working full-time; to wearing a suit every day instead of jeans and a plaid shirt; to bracing the "cold" on a daily basis without choice; etc.) I'm almost positive I'll make it out alright—but I won't know for sure until I've survived the winter.

what I've learned after two months in nyc

Umm...being broke is humbling, I guess?

packing up and moving on

I'm perched on my bed, in the middle of my room, staring at the multitude of boxes blanketing the tile floor. I can't stop thinking. I hate admitting it, but I have packrat tendencies. My minimalist father loves to throw things away and "spring cleans" on a monthly basis. My mom, however, hides away anything of remote sentimental value. I acquired the latter's genes.

When it comes to throwing away junk and going through old miscellany, my ADD kicks in full throttle. I find a crumpled handwritten note; a stained photo from two decades ago; a certificate from the third grade. I have subconsciously injected memories and emotions into every single one of my possessions. This is when my sense of recollection works best. I glance around my room and I see more than just furniture, clothes, and images; I see stories.

The Ikea lantern in one corner that I picked out with my ex-boyfriend over two years ago. The Hialeah Haikus book Carolina lent me a few months ago that represents where I come from better than most people even know how to point Miami out on a map. The Broken Social Scene poster I ordered on eBay in 2009 that became the first wall art in the first room I lived in outside of my parents' home.

Two weeks from today—if all goes as planned—I will be sitting in an apartment in Brooklyn, New York. I don't know much more about this plan than I did several months ago, when the blueprint first started being drawn. With a little dollar and a lot of dreams, I am leaving the only place I call home. In five days, my brother will be flying to Lima, Peru, to join my parents who moved there about a year ago.

While I had already been living on my own for a couple of years when they left, their move still hit me like a brick wall. Before, I always knew that I could go back "home" and see them. Our relationship improved tenfold when I moved out. They say that long-distance relationships are hard. It's not just true for significant others. But moving in with my brother, to the last apartment I lived in with my mom and dad before I first moved out, made the transition a lot smoother. We've grown closer in ways I never imagined. Eleven years my elder, the kid who used to babysit me and burp in my face has become my best friend.

Moving away from Miami and experiencing life in a new city have always been top priorities for me, but inaction via comfort has kept me here. (Roughly translated as "a job" and "an apartment.") With the notion of my brother's move gradually peering over the horizon, I realized that it was time to do something new. Living in this apartment for the past year has been a kind of limbo. I have partied a lot less than I did when I first moved out, stayed (mostly) celibate, and worked 50-hour weeks for months at a time. When Victoria told me she was moving to New York City at the end of the summer, I discovered that I didn't have to keep being one of those people that wished they lived there.

When you realize you have nothing to lose, chasing your dreams becomes instinctual.

nola is the real magic city

My trip to New Orleans last month was definitely one of the top three greatest experiences of my life. I can already feel that nothing I write will do it justice. Here goes.

Purpose of my trip: to see Cut Copy (and Holy Ghost!, who were touring with them). Their tour stopped in Miami in March but only to play at overpriced Ultra Music Festival. Guillermo won tickets from Holy Ghost! to go to the festival on Friday—which was a lot of fun and further cemented my growing love for Holy Ghost!—but Cut Copy were playing on Saturday. I felt empty that night, knowing that they were playing in my hometown and I was missing their show. I booked the flight a couple of days later. Their NOLA show was only $20.

I have never been to a more musical city, ever. I knew it was the birthplace of jazz but had no idea I would be hearing music everywhere. Street buskers adorn the city with the sounds of their guitars and woodwinds. From the strolls around the French Quarter, to the packed yet quiet rides on the streetcar, to the late-night bike rides through dark roads for a couple of beers, I quickly realized that New Orleans was and is the most laid-back city I've ever visited.


In retrospect, the whole weekend seemed like a movie. I had no idea where I was going to stay for those four days until the day before my flight, when Chanel told me I could stay with her friend Henry, who was a great host and remarkably nice considering we were strangers until I got to town. The day before I got there, he offhandedly mentioned that A-Trak and Kid Sister were playing the day of my arrival. I bought two tickets, one for myself and one in exchange for crashing on Henry's couch for the weekend. It was a blast. But even though the concert was on my first day in NOLA, it wasn't the first show I saw that day.

When the airport shuttle dropped me off at Tulane that Thursday afternoon, I could hear music in the distance, like I was standing near a stadium. I called Henry, who told me he was going to class but that I should follow the sound of the music because "this band YACHT is playing a free show on campus." I flipped. And ran. And dropped my duffel bag on the grass and laid down and had an amazing afternoon, watching crazy Tulane kids dance their asses off to YACHT and trying to get a grip on everything that was happening. I couldn't stop smiling the entire time I watched them perform.

Friday was spent relaxing, eating, sleeping, biking, and drinking. We went to a bar in the evening that reminded me of my favorite bar in Miami and saw P.Y.M.P., a local hip hop/funk/electronica duo, perform. For free. At that point I had been in NOLA for 24 hours and had been to three different shows and seen five acts in total. I was overwhelmed, but in the greatest way possible.

Saturday was the day of the Cut Copy show. Henry obliged my request to "do touristy shit" during the day, so we took the streetcar to the French Quarter, had beignets and café au lait, and later sat in a park drinking beer (NOLA pretty much has no open container laws) and met some crazy punk kids who had just moved to town from Mississippi. I think we spent the rest of the day drinking until dinner and the concert.


The line was insane. We waited almost an hour to get inside, but once they opened the doors it was easy to get close to the stage. Holy Ghost!'s show was a lot better this time around, most likely because it was more intimate (their stage at Ultra was huge and the crowd was meager). I didn't know until that weekend that it was the last stop of their tour. I also don't know how I had enough energy to dance to all of their songs and then survive Cut Copy's performance. When they played "Jam for Jerry," Alex Frankel (lead singer) jumped down from the stage to sing with the crowd, but only one person knew the words. I freaked out. We had a moment. No zoom whatsoever for this picture, which I was somehow able to take during my fangirl-esque seizure:


The moment finally came. Cut Copy came on stage, blowing my mind and blowing the roof off of Republic. I wish I was a better writer and could properly express how amazing their set was. They played some old stuff, some new stuff, some dance-y stuff, some slower stuff...all of it was beautiful, eargasmic and electrifying.


After the show, I went with Henry's friends to Maison. At that point, I was ready to collapse but I was on such a high from the show that I could have done anything. We went, danced some more and had a great night. Before the night was over (some time around 3am), the most ridiculous thing happened that I have a hard time believing to this day.

Cut Copy and Holy Ghost! had come to Maison. There was Dan Whitford, having a beer and watching the small crowd dance around. I've never been one to idolize artists or celebrities, but after the amount of deliberating I did about dropping the cash for the trip and after having one of the greatest weekends of my life, that was the icing on the cake. Needless to say, I approached him to tell him how amazing their performance was and that I had flown from Miami to see them. I got an enthusiastic "Thanks man! I appreciate the support." and thought I had died and gone to heaven. What I heard in my head was, "Of course this trip was worth it you dumbass!"

The show was exactly one month ago. I swear it was one of the greatest live music moments of my life.

this blog could use a little suspense

So my flight to New Orleans leaves in less than 48 hours (Thursday around 3pm)...and I still don't have a place to stay.

two months later

Had a great time in Gainesville last weekend, as always. Been listening to a lot of Chopin today. Feeling very fragment-y. Don't have much else to say. Here are some pictures from Christmas weekend last year, when my brother and I went to Palm Beach.

6am, can't sleep

There is an inverse relationship between age and how much you care about what other people think of you.

en la jaula de mis pensamientos

On March 19, 2005—almost six years ago—I wrote the following in my blog at the time:

And thinking of that life in the future makes me smile, because one day, it'll come. One day, I'll wake up and be thankful that I have full control over where my life turns and will be able to look forward to new things and new life lessons – every day.

So that day came. Sooner than I anticipated, I'm sure, for my 16-year-old self. But it came, I'm genuinely content, life is mostly great, yadda yadda. Tonight, however, before taking a trip down Memory Lane and reading through old LiveJournal entries, I sat here asking myself if I'm working too much.

A brief perusal of some old school writings indicates that was the case back in the day. Some things never change. But this year, I can feel it.

It's starting to catch up to me.

twenty-ten in twenty pics

I realized today that I don't post many pictures here. I also realized that my sporadic posts about what's going through my mind the days I blog don't do justice to the things that happen in between.

2010 was an incredible year. I traveled more than ever, met a ton of awesome people and made a bunch of memories I won't soon forget. Not only did I visit Atlanta, New Haven, New York City and St. Louis, but I road-tripped to Gainesville about 10 times and Sarasota twice. I managed to do all this exploring despite working Monday-Friday, 9-5. In case you (whoever you are) didn't know, I love lists. Here we go.

1) Towards the end of 2009, I stayed with a friend of a friend of a friend (seriously) in NYC. The plan was to spend New Year's in New York, which turned out to be epic. Aside from eating great food, walking around and seeing new places, I got to see snow for the first time in my life.

2) I turned 21. Not having to use a fake ID from Venezuela that looked more like a library card was pretty refreshing. For some reason it gave me more incentive to check out new places in my hometown. One of the events I discovered was Art Walk, where a circuit of art galleries in the Design District/Midtown/Wynwood open to the public once a month. Not all of the galleries change their exhibits on a monthly basis, so it can become a bit familiar, but there's always new stuff to see. I saw this a few weeks after my 21st birthday at my first Art Walk.

3) I made a pizza from scratch for the first time. (This isn't entirely a list about first-times. Promise.) It was my friend Guillermo's suggestion for a random Friday night, and it was delicious.

4) I drove a LOT in 2010. One day I'll sit down and write about why I like road trips so much. Over half of those drives were alone, which has its pros and cons, but getting to see the same routes at different hours of the day is interesting. In general, though, Florida is still pretty boring to drive through. (Unless you're driving to/from the beach, like I was in this picture.)

5) As I'll describe in a bit, 2010 was the year of live shows. I can't get enough. I saw a shitload of my favorite artists and discovered a goldmine of new music. Needless to say, Bonnaroo tops the list of last year's best live music experiences. It was my third year there and the greatest one so far. Last year's trip was particularly fantastic because I flew to Atlanta a few days before the festival. I explored, shopped, ate, drank...and fell in love with the city. Plus, I was on a pre-Bonnaroo high. I think it's fair to say my life is structured around Bonnaroo: the first six months after the festival I'm trying (and failing) to get over how great it was, and the next six months are spent looking forward to the next 'Roo. That's where I'm at now, anyway.

6) Summer of 2010 came. That's when the traveling really began. But not before some much-needed weekends on the beach.

7) After Bonnaroo, my first major trip was to New Haven/NYC for Manoli's birthday weekend. I literally headed to the airport after work on Friday at 5pm and flew back Sunday night. We had the most delicious brunch ever in New Haven. I had brie-stuffed French toast with caramelized berries, pears, whipped cream and cinnamon. (My sense of recollection is totally random sometimes. But really. Would you forget that meal?! Didn't think so.)

Although it was my third time in New York, it was my first time driving into the city as opposed to flying. Besides stumbling into some unknown cafe (that had a bluegrass band playing—perfect for a Sunday afternoon!), there was this really cool exhibit at the New Museum which had people's wishes printed on ribbons that hung from this long wall. After pulling a ribbon from the wall with someone's wish, you would replace it with your own wish written on paper.

8) I've always wanted to see Interpol live. After years of listening to them, I got to check them out at The Fillmore in August, and I got to see them with two of my biggest Interpol fan friends, Iris and Erika. They were really, really, really, really good.

9) Second major trip of last summer was my St. Louis visit. Broken Social Scene (my favorite band on Earth) was going on tour but they didn't have any shows scheduled in Florida, so I decided I would pick one of their weekend shows and visit a new city before the end of the year. Joanna, one of my best friends, goes to WashU, which meant I wouldn't have to look for a place to stay. Moreover, BSS' St. Louis show was at this new music festival called LouFest (first music festival for that city, I believe). Music festival? Visiting a friend's college town? New city? First time in the Midwest? The choice was easy.

After working eight hours and flying into a different time zone, maybe I should have been tired. Giddy from being in a new place, however, I spent my first night checking out the Thursday night college student scene, which included a stop at the rooftop of the Moonrise Hotel. The place has a bar (with bad caipirinhas, though expectations weren't high to begin with), a nice view of the city and a big, spinning (and appropriately corny) replica of the moon.

Broken Social Scene played an amazing set later that weekend. I didn't care that I was at the show by myself. Five years after hearing "7/4 (Shoreline)," the song still gives me goosebumps from time to time. Forest Park is also beautiful and probably the largest green space I've ever seen.

10) Sometime last summer, I heard about Miami Horror. (No, it's not a local Halloween orgy.) They're a disco-influenced electro-pop group from Australia and they have some of the most contagious, catchy and dancey songs I've ever heard. After the release of their first album last year, they toured the U.S. Their stop in Miami was at LIV, this ridiculous, snooty club at the Fontainebleau hotel on Miami Beach. (I quote, from their website: "The quintessential, 21 and older nightspot fuses the appeal of an ultra exclusive lounge and a high-energy nightclub. LIV is home to celebrities, VIPs and Miami’s local party crowd.")

The fact that admission at LIV is as ridiculous as its ego goes without saying. Two (male) friends and I waited at the front of the line for over half an hour, mostly ignored as hordes of girls in colossal heels and circulation-cutting skirts glided right in. Hey, maybe we weren't females but we weren't bros either. WTF? Anyway, soon after doubt started setting in, I felt a tap on my back. I turn around and this REALLY pretty girl (with three really pretty girl friends) says, "Hey, can you get us in?" I didn't even have to think; my Miami genes clicked like clockwork. I beamed and said, "Absolutely." Once I flagged down the bouncer and nodded at the girls, it was smooth sailing from there. Despite the fact that Miami Horror's set was only 20 minutes long (LIV truly is lame), the night was a blast and a new musical obsession was born.

11) A week or two after the Miami Horror show, my parents flew back to Lima. I've written so much about their move in this blog so I won't go into detail. But my memory of their going-away lunch sticks out in my mind more than most of the meals we ever had together.

12) The next show in the "spend a sinful amount of money on concerts" season was Sleigh Bells and LCD Soundsystem. I had already seen LCD at Bonnaroo, but like most bands their own show was completely different compared to their festival set. Also, since they're a musical project (not so much a band), who knows when their last show will be? Sleigh Bells were intense, awesome, and I'll probably see them again in April when they come to Miami.

13) A week or two later, I saw Massive Attack and Thievery Corporation but I didn't get any good pictures. (They rocked! My 2C-I-induced perception of Thievery at Bonnaroo left a pretty cloudy memory, so seeing them again was worth it.) A week or two after that, I saw Matt and Kim at the Culture Room in Fort Lauderdale.

Let me preface this by admitting how often I throw around the same general adjectives: fun, awesome, and incredible. But Matt and Kim SERIOUSLY blew the roof off of the Culture Room. They have more energy than any live duo I've seen before. Kim walked on top of the crowd while people held her up with their hands. They played a cover of "Better Off Alone" by Alice DeeJay, which threw our inner nineties child into a pseudo-ecstasy-ridden frenzy. The place practically exploded when they finished their set with "Daylight." I got pushed around (if not trampled) and lost my friends, but the show was amazing.

14) Life went on as I spent the months of August-December in a live-show-stupor. Last year was my first Thanksgiving without my parents, and I wasn't throwing in the towel in terms of having a traditional feast. With help from my brother, I cooked my first Thanksgiving turkey and made cranberry sauce, sweet potato casserole, couscous, gravy and chocolate cheesecake—all from scratch. Everything tasted amazing and there were leftovers for days. My parents joined us via Skype and were both proud and jealous. (Thanksgiving is nonexistent in Latin America.)

15) December started with Art Basel and an event called Art Loves Music. They set up a large stage on the beach the first night of Art Basel and the event was free and open to the public. It was my first concert on the beach (literally) and my first time seeing Metric, who are somewhat related to Broken Social Scene. I was excited, despite knowing only a few songs. The beach was packed. Besides Winter Music Conference, Art Basel is one of the most exciting times of the year for Miami. I saw Diplo later that month and went out every single night of the week of New Year's with all my friends who were home from college.

I'm really glad I wrote this. In high school, my LiveJournal was titled "La Vida Es Buena" ("life is good" in Spanish). Having completed this lengthy and detailed post, it's comforting to know that in light of these countless new experiences, some things haven't changed. And although I still want to live somewhere else later on, last year I finally came to love Miami and appreciate everything this city has to offer, in spite of its flaws. It took 21 years but eventually I learned that—like a lot of things—you just have to look on the bright side.

obsession #2

Is this becoming a habit?

obsessed

I can't stop listening to this song.

It's been 12 hours...

...since I deleted my Facebook account. Not just deactivated, but deleted. It's "deactivated" for 14 days and then if I can fight the temptation to log in until then once the 14 days are up they erase everything. Permanently. I'm not sure how much of that is true—they probably keep your stuff hidden away on some server for an indefinite amount of time—but it feels good to know I've gotten rid of my largest internet time-consumer.

I first went through all ~950 tagged pictures of myself and saved the ones I liked, then went through my ~350 friends and made note of e-mail addresses and contact info for the people I actually care about. Unsurprisingly, there were only 30 people. So either a) I'm a douchebag, or b) my distaste for the intense amount of insincerity that exists on Facebook is justified. Or c) both.

What will I do with all this time? It's going to take a while to get rid of this habit of rapidly typing Command-T (to open a new tab in Google Chrome) and then typing "f-a-c-e down-arrow enter" whenever I'm bored...

hi.

Keeping up with this blog has been a difficult task for me for a while now.

Today I went home for lunch. I had leftover ravioli from the night before that I made with (among other things) Smart Ground Original veggie protein crumbles. They resemble ground beef, but they're made from soy and wheat (and are therefore meatless). Every once in a while I like to please the part of myself that was a vegetarian for six years. I always wonder when I'll make the switch again and stop eating meat.


Anyway, the point I was trying to make was that I had lunch at home. Sitting on the balcony and eating by myself was really relaxing. I was alone with my thoughts, which is a luxury I don't get to enjoy too often these days. I started thinking about how much I miss my parents, how strange it is that they're in Peru and how they've been there for almost four months. I talk to them almost every day, thanks to Skype and cheap long distance phone plans. Our relationship has changed so much with them being over 2,500 miles away.

On the surface, I think my mom is more relaxed. She would always worry about me and, to a lesser extent, my older brother. I don't know if this perspective is ridiculous or not, but I feel like my presence was a constant reminder to her that I don't live my life the way she wants me to. The thing is, she has no idea. She doesn't know how often I smoke weed, or how much sex I've had in the past, or how much I enjoy going out and drinking with my friends, or how much I dislike religion, or how little faith I have in the idea of a "supreme being."

On way too many occasions, I felt like the mere mentioning of my friends would remind her that she had no idea what I would do when I wasn't with the fam. It was an ever-present pressure, only a portion of which was lifted when I moved out two years ago. Another, slightly larger chunk was lifted when they moved to Peru. But I still have a lot of guilt. I definitely feel like I have a lot of morals(?), but a large part of those "morals" are based in guilt. Is this a good thing? Is this normal? I may never know.

What I do know is that I had no intention of developing so much on this subject. I actually sat down to type a brief summary of what I've been up to the past six months and to discuss my goals for 2011.

I guess what I'm trying to say is that without seeing them face-to-face or interacting with them on a regular basis, I think about my parents a lot. Today was one of those days. I had so many flashbacks from the past 21 years, birthdays from my childhood, family trips, weekends on the beach, piano concerts of mine that they attended without skipping a beat, deep conversations we had about human nature and societies across the globe, that time my dad paid me $100 to throw away my bud/bowl/Zippo, the day I decided I was going to try LSD for the first time and the day my parents "discovered" my sexuality (they were the same day, although the latter happened first), the day I graduated high school, the night I got broken up with for the first time (8th grade—no big deal in retrospect but disastrous at the time) which was also the first time they found me crying and I couldn't/didn't tell them why…

It's funny how I wrote that I "think about them" a lot, but everything I just described above is a moment from my life. I guess those were moments in their lives, too.

Well, this is my blog after all…so I guess it's OK that I write about me a lot.

This is getting really long and I feel like I'm weaving through topics like…okay, I was about to make a joke about Peruvian drivers. The stories my 'rents tell me are scary. Four cars side-by-side on a two-lane road, all trying to get in front of each other. No llamas on the street, though that would probably make the constant near-death-experiences worth enduring.

I still don't know what I want to do with my life or what path I'm on at the moment. I'm doing what I do as best as I can and figuring it out one learning experience at a time. On an unrelated note, I need to go to sleep. So I'm going to make a list of what I meant to write about today and what I'll write about in my next post.

New year's resolutions for 2011, in no order whatsoever: go back to being a vegetarian, stop burning bridges and attempt to fix a couple of them, save money, get some exercise, always be on the hunt for new music, find a place in which I can comfortably and happily live on my own.*

Good night.

--

*Okay, I need to expand on that last one. My brother has decided that he's joining my parents in Lima in a few months. Could be as early as May but more likely towards the end of the summer. Regardless, I AM SCARED SHITLESS. A little. Moving in with my 32-year-old brother after not having lived together for several years was a great help in the transition to having my parents on another continent.

I still have time to make a choice between moving out of this apartment and getting my own place (ideally a studio in Coral Gables or Midtown/Wynwood) OR finding a roommate to take my brother's room (our apartment is in South Miami). But since I'm crazy and like to plan everything centuries before it's necessary, I can't stop thinking about it. I'm sure I'll get over it eventually. Maybe if I focus on those resolutions I'll relax a bit.

--

Oh, and this.

so I realized...

"Wisdom comes with age" is something I will never doubt after knowing my grandma.

That's all for now.

new trend

What? Blogging again? That's right.

Maybe this is the best place to blab about what's going on in my mind in terms of my parents moving away. Without further ado...

I'm scared. When I moved out of my parents' place, it was because my mom and I weren't getting along with each other. I left, we had our ignoring-each-other phase, and then our relationship improved a bunch. We both put a lot of effort into trying to accept one another and put our roles (mother/son) first. From that point forward, I always knew I had my parents to look towards for anything I needed. They live like 20 blocks north of my apartment. In a few months they'll be in another country. Clearly living with my brother is in the best interest for us both, but it'll still be weird not having our parents around.

Ever since I started cooking (a little over a year ago), I never actually made a meal for my family. One time I brought over chicken curry leftovers, but just so they could taste a bit of Indian cuisine. Baking, on the other hand, was something they almost expected; back then I felt like I was spoiling them with how many times I brought over banana bread or brownies, but now I feel like I didn't do it enough and have to make up for it. Anyway, tonight I decided to cook for the fam.

I had to pick a recipe that would go a long way (since my dad and brother are human garbage disposals, not to mention how much I can eat if I try hard enough), and something that they don't eat often (Peruvian recipes are 50% of my kitchen repertoire) but nothing too crazy (no curried lentils or mushroom risotto)...so I decided on baked ziti a-la-Mark-Bittman, columnist for the New York Times and national foodie. (Apparently he's won several "Julia Child" awards...what the hell does that even mean?)


The recipe is pretty basic and leaves a lot of room for creativity. I added minced carrots, zucchini and mushrooms, along with Italian seasoning for the meat. Making sure the pasta and the sauce mix well is essential. Ignore the part about letting the meat sit and cook "untouched," as you may end up burning part of it (like I almost did). And I've learned that, with this recipe, the more cheese the better.


I haven't been cooking as much as I used to, and I've decided that needs to change. Also going to make sure I get as many recipes out of my mom's mind as I can over the next couple of months.

15th

Epiphany: after spending years of high school thinking that every word that came out of my mouth and made its way into someone's ear or onto some piece of paper or internet page was worth gold, I've become almost afraid of blogging or writing. I've always been a compulsive over-thinker about my writing, but now instead of thinking about how many funny quips I can fit into a LiveJournal post, I question if it's my place to crowd the world wide web with my ramblings. I blame that on pausing my education.

Not being in school is tough. I want to keep learning but right now is not the time. I need patience. I've found purpose in what I do—helping my boss be a kick-ass lawyer and preparing high school kids for useless but unfortunately important college admissions tests—but every day seems like a variation of the same thing. I'm growing but not as fast as I could be if I were studying. The funny thing is that I know what I need to do so I can have less difficulty focusing on both the importance of what I'm doing now and how it's contributing to my long-term goals.

Change is coming. My parents are planning on going back to Peru in October, while my brother and I are going to start living together. It would seem that the time to leave Kibbutz Aish has come. I have so many memories from this apartment, both good and bad, so the change will be bittersweet. Living with my brother will definitely be different, but I know we're going to get along. The quest for a place begins August 1.

I think it's funny that I only blogged twice last year. This is my first post of 2010. So much has happened since December 3, 2009. I took my first mostly-on-my-own trip (went to NYC the week of New Year's Eve) and had an amazing time. I ended the first and only serious relationship I've ever had. I started working full-time. (note: more responsibility is worth being on salary - paid vacation days, paid sick days, paid holidays…it's awesome.) I saw Sound Tribe Sector 9 live. I turned 21.

I learned what it was like to live on your own and be single. I rolled at Ultra. I went to Bonnaroo for the third time and had an amazing experience as always. (Everyone should try 2C-I at least once.) I traveled quite a bit (Sarasota twice, Gainesville five times, Atlanta right before Bonnaroo, New Haven and NYC last weekend) and committed to doing more of it (going to St. Louis, MO next month to visit a friend at WashU and see Broken Social Scene).

Progress.

P.S. This random post was inspired by the soundtrack from A Single Man. If you haven't seen that film already, watch it. ASAP.

past due

Need to start blogging again! I've been procrastinating for too long and thinking too much about starting to write again. I need to just sit down and type away whatever's on my mind—isn't that the nature of blogging anyway?

Currently at work with no boss in the office. Then at 2pm I get to leave to go tutor spoiled private school students so that they don't fail the quarter. After that it looks like I'll be coming back home to pack (light), then picking up my aunt and heading to South Beach for the night. Looking forward to this impromptu family hangout!

OK, at this point I feel like I sound like a moron.

Holidays! I find it hard to explain how much or why I love this time of year. Everything slows down, most people seem to be in a good mood, and most people come home, which means they get to spend time with me--err, I get to see my close friends who've gone away to college. The only downside is the consistently dedicated airtime that Christmas melodies receive in December, because my coworkers like to listen to the radio and no station plays "Mi Burrito Sabanero" or any other non-American tune, for which I'd have slightly more tolerance.

Finally checking this off my to-do list...hopefully a more coherent, if not mentally stimulating, blog post is on the way.

kibbutz aish

Where do I start?

Instead of summarizing the last six months that I haven't blogged, I'll start from where I have found myself at this point.

I've officially begun living on my own, and saying it's the greatest feeling ever is a ridiculous understatement. Family situation got a bit out of hand, and the opportunity for me to move out presented itself, so I took it and ran with it. I was waiting for the right moment, and I didn't wait for long. I moved into a friend's house for about a week; his family was very warm and welcoming, but moving from my family's house to someone else's family's house, I learned, was not the experience my soul was yearning for.

Two of my best friends have an apartment that's literally a block away from my job, and one of them had offered me a place to stay if I ever needed it. From one day to the next, I was essentially moved in. I spent a lot of time here before I moved in "for real," but actually living here is a different, much cooler experience. Needless to say, not having parents to depend on is more expensive, but I can't even begin to express how much happier and at peace I am with my life and myself.

If I think about it hard enough, I realize that I could have moved out earlier. Actually packing my stuff and peacing out was a risk—perhaps one of the biggest, most uncertain risks I've ever taken. But everything has worked out for the better. I've learned so much about myself and about life in the past month, more than I have ever learned in such a short period of time.

Do what you need to do. Do what makes you happy. Don't limit yourself. Don't let others limit you. Money is ephemeral.

You will reach points in your life where you test the strength of your friendships and realize who your "true friends" are (thankfully, I've found them, and while it's hard not to be timid about it, ultimately it is a more satisfying experience). And hey, if you realize that those who you thought were your true friends ended up not being so, why does it matter? It may suck, but the learning experience from it is more rewarding than a façade or an uncertainty.

Learning is important. Educational institutions tend to be full of shit, but rather than dwell on that negativity, it's better to reach a balance with this fact and try to extract whatever good you can from it. In other words, while The System has its cons, there is good in everything. This is my last semester at Miami Dade, and each semester I had at least one inspiring, wise professor who has in one way or another changed my philosophy on life.

Back to educational institutions—the slightly unfortunate reality of life is that most of us need to acquire some sort of academic knowledge and experience in order to do the things we want to do. (Unfortunate because it forces us to buy into The System, not necessarily because there are better, less work-involving alternatives.) But the four-year-college-right-after-high-school-graduation route is not for everyone, and after four semesters I've realized it wasn't for me. Two years at Miami Dade is enough, for the time being. I'm ready to take a break.

Have I mentioned that learning who your true friends are is a great experience? (Rhetorical question.) It took me eighteen years to comprehend the fact that before you find your true friends, you need to find yourself first. In retrospect, a part of me had been trying to do that all along. I don't think humans ever stop learning about themselves, but you have to develop some understanding of who you are before you can even begin to realize who your true friends are.

I wrote a quote in a journal I bought for Fernando a couple of weeks ago, one that I feel poignantly expressed my post-move-out emotions. I'll end here with it:

"If you spend your whole life waiting to be ready, you will forever remain stationary. The very nature of taking risks in life is that we do so unaware, unprepared, and unexpected. But it is through risks that we learn and live."

coffee in concert?

I just spent the past half hour talking to Suhong, a 43-year-old woman living in Chengdu, China. She's lived there her whole life and wants to travel the world, and she's trying to learn English. She doesn't know much—and I can barely speak Chinese at all—but I was able to help her pronounce some of the lessons from LiveMocha.com, which is how this all started. There's a 12-hour difference between here and there, but she labeled herself a 'night people' early on in our conversation.

It's 2008. Even the idea of the Internet is barely 30 years old, and today I can log into a website and connect to random people 24 hours a day. I can be sitting comfortably in a chair at my desk, in my room, having a snack and relaxing in my PJ's, and at the same time be talking to anyone practically anywhere on Earth, without a phone and despite a distance of hundreds or thousands of miles. I can actually use the 'net to find people learning English—people who speak languages I'm trying to learn—and exchange 'knowledge' with them.

I think it's pretty easy to forget how mind-boggling the convenience of the Internet really is, considering how important of a role computers play in our lives. How often do we check our e-mail or text message on a daily basis? (Needless to say, I do that a lot, but that's because my iPhone makes it even easier than getting up and checking anything on a computer.) Our society is constantly wired to the WWW. Pun intended.

It's almost scary.