Run Away

 I want to run away. Again.

Forever.

I am my complete person. Aren't I?

Run away. Run with me, Lau. 

Away from the science fiction stories, away from chains or the agendas of others.

Run away. Run with me, Lau.

Away from fake pedestals, away from the public eye and the status quo.

Run away. Run with me, Lau.

I will protect you, now and forever, away from the alien language of romanticism and "love".

Run away with me. 

I will defend you. 

I will build you a fortress where you can thrive and feel safe. 

Only I can understand you. 

Only I can feel your throat closing and your eyes diving. 

Come with me, once again... 

We were never meant to have an owner.

We were never meant to fall in love. 

It always feels wrong... at one point or the other. 

Run away with me. 

Once and for all...

Me, myself, and I. 

And the world...  

Deja Vú of Me

I'm the broken promise, 

the forgotten scent, 

the rush of adrenaline that fades 

later or sooner...

sooner, sooner. 

I'm a bunch of letters, 

a thousand stories, 

dozens of countries and hundreds of cities

closer or farther, 

farther, farther.

I'm a thousand excuses, 

a collection of glasses,

multiple interpretations that never get anywhere

found and lost,

lost, lost. 

I'm oceans of tears, 

a pain that doesn't let me walk,

getting up, making sense over and over and over again

over and over,

again, again.

I'm wrong timing, 

always late or too early, 

the one that got away or the one you let go,

away and away,

go, go... but I will not return.

I'm only human, 

a struggling soul with sincere sight. 

I'm only human, 

a continuous effort to stay in this dimension

hoping to eventually understand why my existence took place at all. 

But I'm tired. 

Worn out. 

Done. 

I'm the maze of my own making, 

a complicated identity marked by humanity. 

I'm the person you keep because it's useful,

the boost of energy that lights the room

bright and sweet,

sweet, sweet nothing. 

Is there any end to this?

Does it get any better?

The more I try to connect, the more alienating it gets. 

An eternal Deja Vu in a binary world,

and the offline as well. 

And the white noise,

and the echoes,

and the glimpses, 

ghosts and monsters,

fairies and pixie dust, to which I believe I'm allergic now. 

I would do it over again. 

The planes, the boats,

the trains, the coasts...

But I'm tired.

Hurt.

Punched.

Is there any end to this?

Does it get any better?

The further I go, the more the stakes rise. 

An eternal Deja Vu in a race against myself, 

and the rest of the world. 

And the time zones,

languages,

and translations... 

things that are common in my life, 

in a place where I want to belong, once and for all... 

Only me and I,

I and me. 

And the world. 

The Third Act

Today, I wanted to sleep a little more, and then I could not. 

But this time, it was not that I could not sleep more; it was that I did not want to. 

Incredible self-destruction took place during the last 4 weeks of my life. I call it self-destruction because multiple things that went wrong in different areas of my life happened because of me, and quite a few only happened inside my mind (I created negative thoughts and conclusions, which, of course, were inaccurate). A few days ago, I really felt sick and tired about my behaviors and pattern of reactions. I felt hopeless, unfixable, unlovable, unrequited. As a little abyss that had no beginning or end. 

But this time, I did not stay in my room crying alone. I went out, accepting my pain and my imperfect self, and realized that I am not alone. As much as I tend to dramatize my life (I always feel as if I was living inside a film), I have realized that this journey does not need to be so hard or epic. I do not need to be so strong, flawless, put together. 

My friends were there, not only in Mexico and Australia but around the world. How beautiful it is to see that in so many latitudes, people can connect with you. People remember you. People are kind. 

My family listened to me, gave me advice, and made me feel that I still belong among them, regardless of how alienated I sometimes feel. Home never leaves us; we carry it with us. Home is within each of us. 

My professors, colleagues, and even the management of my accommodation made me feel taken care of. I am not alone, and now I understand that I am privileged to live, study, and work at The University of Melbourne. 

So, I have been trying to practice something I have been putting aside, something I have not done enough: Be grateful. 

I have been learning new things, and I believe this year will really open a lot of doors for me if I am brave, disciplined, and enthusiastic enough to keep on this path. It is a daily journey, a daily effort, a daily bliss. 

I have also realized that my time in this country might be temporary; life might take me somewhere else upon completion of my degree. This thought was scary and unbearable, but it was also necessary. 

Everything is temporary. Always. I learned this in Vipassana, and somehow, I keep forgetting to truly interiorize this undeniable truth. Realizing that everything can change at any time makes us realize how precious the present moment is. 

So, whenever I feel despair (yes, I still feel it at times; it's not a magic formula), I go out and walk around, trying to remain grounded in this moment where I exist in this country. I see the trees, I see the sky, I see the architecture, I see people (from so many different countries!), and I see myself: my feet, my hands, my hair... I am still alive. 

I do not know exactly why, but I wanted to write about these feelings and thoughts today. I am not sure if they will help anyone, still, I just want to say: If you ever feel that all is truly messed up and that you have disappointed everyone, this is not the end.  Do not give up, this is just a small fraction of your existence. We all go through struggle; we all go through failure.  Do not close yourself up; you are not alone. We all have someone who will remind us that we matter and that we are not our mistakes; that does not define us. What defines us is how we learn from them, how we become a better version of ourselves. 

And just as with any screenplay, I think this is the beginning of my third act. I feel this growing in me, and I want to stay in this moment of hope and inspiration as long as I can. And this thought has made me wake up early every morning for the past few days. If life can be so mesmerizing why would one want to sleep longer?

I want to thank all the people who have embraced me every time I am in the middle of a storm. I would not be here without you. 

Thank you,

Laura

AIsiendad

Ansiedad... Pensé que era una palabra de moda hoy, que la gente la decía de sobremanera durante el COVID. -Dios, me cuesta trabajo escribir en Español, de pronto, como si mi writing-persona sólo pudiera conjeturar pensamientos en inglés. Pero hoy quiero escribir desde mi lengua madre, porque me doy cuenta de que vivo en continua ansiedad y me está tragando. Diario. Mi garganta es un desierto y mis ojos se desbordan al compás de mi arrítmica respiración. Esto está pasando más seguido cada vez. Más y más. ¿Tal vez articular en español me haga más sentido hoy?

Me estoy convulsionando, me hiperventilo y me siento totalmente estúpida, totalmente incompetente por dejarme avatir así tan frequentemente. 

Breathe, breathe, breathe... fucking breathe!

....

......

.........!!!!!

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And a friend saved me. A conversation can change everything. At least to feel less alone. Less alone in this world that continuously challenges you, mientras te das cuenta de que aquellas idealizaciones de instituciones se desbaratan. Y te cuestionas... ¿qué hago aquí?

Aún siento mi corazón contracturado, lo siento sofocado dentro de mi tórax. 

Mi cabeza explota y mis sinusales se inflaman...

Pero siento que todo va a estar bien, voy a entender porqué vine a aquí, lo sé. Esto es una mísera parte de todo lo que vendrá. El futuro puede ser tanto más que esto, el futuro puede ser lo que cada quien decida escribir. 

Creo que tal vez mi historia no está escrita aquí. Tal vez Australia sólo es un turning point, un espejo, un despertar. 

Sigo creyendo que sigue siendo uno de los años más difíciles... también presiento que sólo es difícil porque así tiene que ser. Tengo que ser fuerte y encarar lo que venga, con la frente en alto y la seguridad de mil guerreros chilangos. He trabajado tanto por llegar aquí y entiendo que aún me falta un chingo-me está aflorando lo Mexa, disculpen-pero no importa, carajo. 

¡Chingao', que vengo de la tierra de Quetzalcóatl! 

Let go, let go... just breathe. The sun is out, the clouds are moving. I'm so much more than a degree, than a mark, than a passport, than a stereotype, than my flaws and my virtues... Soy cambio, amor y locura errática, una ola que te lleva y te deja ahí, revolcado en la arena. Con miedo y ganas de que te vuelva a revolcar otra vez. 

Quiero ser un océano. 

Sé que todo hará sentido un día, un día a la vez, un día a la vez...

De pronto, ¿me tomo un tram y me voy a la playa hoy?

Y mientras ningún algoritmo extraño pueda replicar mis letras chilangas, creo que no me preocuparé de ser suplantada por un ser inanimado creado por el ser humano. Me aferro a mis letras, me aferro a mis memorias, a mis convicciones, a mis sentimientos, a mi sueños y la vida. 

No pienso arruinar un día más de mi devenir en este continente preocupándome más por todo. Enough. 

La ola rompe, se disipa y retorna al centro del mundo... Sé que seguirá rompiendo, lo sé, lo sé bien. 

Si un día me muero... que donen los pocos órganos que aún sirvan y tiren mis cenizas en algún lugar donde vivan orcas o tiburones ballena o mantas... pero no delfines, por favor, no soy un cliché. 

Me vuelvo a recuerdos de buceo... me vuelvo a la paz del mundo a 30 mtr. bajo el nivel del mar... 

Paz... paz y mi respiración...

Just breathe, just breathe...

Breathe.

Respiro y luego clamo: ChatGPT... me la pelas, güey!

Maps to the Past

The same voice, 

the same song. 

We used to listen to Karen O when I was not even twenty...

Where has time gone?

Where are you?

Wait, they don't love you like I love you, 

Wait, they don't love you like l love you...

And now, you are galaxies away in space and time.

And I am here, living in the future, I place sublime. 

I wonder if you are waking up now, 

I remember you as an early riser. 

I wonder... why clarity doesn't last enough?

So eager to connect. 

So eager to forget.

So eager to exploit, and let go, and move on. 

But I'm still here, my friend. 

I'm still here, thinking about us, about those days when my life was pink, 

my parents were together, my dreams were more than digital ink. 

Times before social media, with a landline and no sim. 

But time has passed, and we lived our lives, 

We did what we believed was right, 

We did what we thought was bright. 

You are on your own, and I am alone,

always alone.

Are you ok?

I wonder, I do. 

I miss you.

I do. 

Wait, they don't love you like I love you...

maaaps maaaps maaaps...

I hope you remember.

I still do. 

That night, somewhere a view of Mexico City, 

The car of your mother... and us. 

I remember that feeling, 

the feeling of simpler times,

Times that will not come back, 

Only in my mind, only in my heart. 

Confessions & Wine

I am fucking tired. Absolutely, effin, bloody, extra, duper, hyper, re-contra, harto, mucho, muchísimo, greatly, terribly, pinche, irrevocablemente... cansada. 

It is really exhausting to even try to write this right now. 

What is it so hard to understand? Why is it so fucking complicated?

It is not that I am too proud, nor that I feel that I am really that special, pero supongo que todo el indescifrable universo no puede estar mal. I am too complicated. Unfixable. I don't blame anyone anymore for turning around after understanding how fucked-up I am. 

And yet, I hope, somehow. 

Anyways. 

I'm nothing special. Just another person. A contribution to global warming. 

I don't get myself many times, which is why I don't blame people for giving up on me. And yes, I know it is personal; it's totally on me. 

Maybe that is why I run away every couple years, every couple months, every couple hours. I just want to find myself somewhere, below these layers of meat, bones, and more fat than my doctor would agree to be healthy. 

I take planes, I take boats, I take ubers.

I drink wine, I drink mezcal, I drink... water?

I dive, I run, I sleep. 

Sleep too much, to be honest.

Or sleep nothing at all... 

Where do you see yourself in your eighties? someone asked me a couple hours ago. 

To be honest. My mind is still blank. But my heart is full. I cannot foresee where my future is going. I really don't give a fuck, to be honest (explicit language truly intended). My life has never been planned. Every single meaningful decision was a reaction to something that did not go as I expected, or to a last-minute opportunity, or to a leap of hope. 

Hope. That's it. 

My eighties feel like hope. Hope that I will understand why everything happened. Hope to be able to leave this dimension soon. -Sorry, world, you are great, but I don't mind exploring the afterlife. 

Why are humans so fixated on leaving a legacy anyway? Does it matter? Why am I so worried about everything all the time? It is exhausting, really. 

Hope. It should be that. 

Love? Maybe that's something I should let go. It feels like a wise thing to do. 

And there it is, again: tears. 

I think I would make a great actress; I can cry at cue. Effortless. It is like breathing. Is it weird that sometimes I think it is my hobby? I even cry when I feel happy lately. It's as if crying helped me release all the love that I have to be containing all the time. 

Love. I wonder if I will ever fall in love. I guess yes, I will. I will fall in love many more times. As I have had all these years... And I will fall in love alone, or with impossible people, or with anything but the correct person. 

The right person. Does that exist? Stupid. (No offense to the 8.3% of the global population that found such a person. 8.3% seems accurate to me). It is never the right person or time for me, ever.

Time. Keeps passing.

I guess I will stay here, in this moment that I am still alive, that I am able to work in a beautiful place. That I don't have terrible back pain and still can pass for a 25-year-old. I wish I could say that this is it, that I am giving up. 

I'm not going anywhere. 

I will cherish my time, contain my love, and nurture the hope I have for the future. The hope for growth, for connection, for purpose, for change. The hope to keep having fun with myself and the stupid little things I write, think, and do. I think I am a good person. A kid sometimes, to be honest.  

Change. The only constant. Even a stubborn creature like me changes. Really, I swear! 

Alright. Those papers are not going to get marked alone. Enough of my little writing moment to release my anxiety. 

Thanks for reading, whoever you are. And... if you know who I am, I hope you know that beneath all the layers of complexity and ego, I am only human. A fragile, insecure little person (I'm truly short, it's not figurative). A little human with a baby dinosaur inside (if you really know me, you will get this). 

I'm just hope, love, time...change. 

Don't give up on me. Not yet. 

Little Lu

Bleeding Salt

I wanted to write in Spanish and I can't. 

I close my eyes, tired and swollen. 

They shake, they tremble... so tired after the waves, the waves of salt.

Taste in my mouth, intense and rotten.

It bleeds, it crumbles... so defeated after the flood, the flood of blood. 

Blood and salt,

Salt and blood. 

Love that fails.

Fail to hope. 

I want to make sense of us. 

Sense of what I want to forget.

Forget what used to make sense. 

Blissful amnesia, never found

Through years of inclement conquers.

Dressed to kill, 

just to be undressed to surrender. 

Surrendering to the enemy,

beneath layers of makeup and layers of lies. 

His lies, not mine. 

But make up always falls,

and the truth always floats. 

I swim in tears of dark mascara

Bleeding from the inside, 

my lips lost the red but my insides are...

Red, red, red.

My red, not his. 

My body feels disjointed, amorphous. 

Sometimes I wonder where I went, 

not even makeup can hide the truth today

the truth of the lost battle and the wounds

But I still hope, hope for love.

Our love, was it even that?

Never to be held,

Never to be owned,

Never to be helped,

Never to be loved.

Without help I swim,

Without love I emerge. 

Without you, do I win?

There is no revenge. 

Floods of tears, 

tears that bleed. 

Lovers that fear,

now are freed.

Farewell, again.

I hope you had a good use of my sincere affection

that your next conquest goes well.

I will remain.

I will remain.

I will remain.