No Hero to Fix the Leak

There is no hero in this story. Time after time, there is only me, being here, in China, India, Cuba… Living the life, people think—but I fall, and no one picks me up.

Only me. 

And I convinced myself that I could do this, that I could be extraordinary, limitless… change the world. Can I really? I can’t even get a job as a bartender. 

I’ve lived everywhere and belonged at the cost of losing any sense of certainty of who I am and where I am going. The institutions that I thought would support me have their own agendas, and little seems to matter about what my life plays in them.

And you are gone. My unconditional cheerleader. You never gave up on me, not once. You were not perfect, but you were my mother. I wish I had been the hero you needed, but crossing the ocean was not enough. The Writer of our lives had another end for you, and only They know what the hell They are planning for me. But They are having the time of Their eternity seeing the melodrama of my existence. 

So, I am in this little room… leaking like a defective pipe. I have tried everything to fix all these fissures, but tears flood the place without any weather forecast on my phone. AI has not figured out how to tell me if I will finally have a good day. 

I wonder how that feels… It’s been a while. 

And I pretend to be ok. I talk with multiple therapists, take whatever pills I should. I even joined a school group to deal with anxiety. But this fog just comes and takes me… sometimes it’s for a second, and other times, like today, I’m just functional enough to perform. I went to a council meeting in a union I belong to, and I could not understand anything written on the motion. —Is this Russian? No, it’s just mind fog. So, I just asked my friend and did the least democratic thing I had ever done: follow her lead. And yes, we lost. The motion did not pass. It did not surprise me; maybe I jinxed it by attending in the first place. 

There is no hero in this story, and I paid the premium on Hinge to see if it finally finds someone who appears to be right. What was I thinking? My dad would tell me that I should not be looking for love, that I should be writing my thesis. I guess that is all I am: a thesis and an empty degree that, I sometimes wonder, will get me nowhere. In this economy? Who even cares about preserving humanity when we have AI to replicate whatever we want at the drop of a hat? 

But let’s try again. C’mon, you have come this far. Right? —Literally, you are in Melbourne, en el culo del mundo, amiga. 

So, I just opened my computer and free-wrote, the only thing I seem to do right when I’m losing my mind. 

But no prince will read your letters, little one. Haven’t decades of searching demonstrated that? But ok, I’ll let you have this one… go write. 

No one prepares you to lose your mother, and those who haven’t lost her… can’t even grasp how much it can tear you down… There is nothing more than my mother wanted: for me to be happy. She wanted me to finish my degree and to find love. The former one seems reasonable; the latter resembles science fiction now. DreamWorks science fiction—Disney is overrated and corrupted now.

So… here I am, looping a song that repeats that “everything will be alright”. The leak seems fixed for now, but my mind is still scattered… 

Can you hear me, Mom? And do you understand me now? Have you learned English in the afterlife? Because there is a serious anomaly in my system, and now I speak to you in a foreign language. ¿Y mamá, le puedes pedir a mi Abue que me desbloquee? I didn’t mean to hurt her, but there is no way I will ever hate my father. And yes, Mom, more importantly, will you even find me here, in this little room at the end of the world? You never got to come here, so just find the Pac-Man light I lit on; it looks like the ghost, though. What a coincidence, una luz fantasma para pedirte que vengas del más allá…

I guess no one gets to win against this… not even me.

There is no hero in this story. There is only me. And the fog.

Chateau

Estoy aquí.

Eterno devenir que me mece en un espiral sin fin. 

¿Cuántas veces he estado en este escritorio escribiendo de ausencias? No lo sé. 

Pero hoy escribo de ti por vez primera, en una lengua que no entiendes, desde un corazón que bloqueaste y olvidaste. 

Estoy a más de trece mil kilómetros de distancia y escucho una canción que me robaste, porque era mía y de mis tiempos de maestría. La tomaste y profanaste y ahora recuerdo cómo me tomaste mientas la repetíamos en un loop como en el que siento ahora. 

"...I just wanted you to see everything that I could see..."

Hay días que ya no te siento, no te pienso. Y cuando llego a hacerlo, como hoy, sé que extraño a un extraño. ¿Realmente eras tú la persona que me tomó mientras cantaban Angus y Julia Stone? No lo sé. Dicen que los narcisistas sólo pretenden ser... ¿Eso hacías? ¿Fue todo una mentira? 

Quisiera llorar, pero no puedo. Mis ojos mojados se tragan de vuelta las lágrimas que ya no mereces, mientras los rastros de afecto que aún me quedan se quejan enterrados en espacios que aún no encuentro. 

Y pienso si esta vida de vidas me hará sentido finalmente. Una existencia que mido en países y en versiones de mí en ellos. Una condición que me trastorna y me hizo renunciar a muchas realidades que pude vivir. Una vida que también me alejó de ti, posiblemente, para bien. 

"I don't mind if you want to go anywhere, I'll take you there". 

No eras tú mi final, creo que siempre lo supe. Mi libro, que sigue pendiente, lo tengo pensado diferente. No termina en una torre, en el piso 61 de un rascacielos metropolitano, atrapada contigo como una Rapunzel sin trenza que tirar. No termina como tu sombra, como un objeto que engañar, como un vaso vacío del que puedes abusar. 

Sólo de recordar la última versión que vi de ti, tu verdad, siento que voy a vomitar. Náuseas me da entender tu realidad y aun así echar de menos el fantasma de la máscara que decidiste usar. 

"Don't go wasting your time..."

Así que termino esta carta sin enviarla y sigo. No me defines tú y no soy lo que querías que fuera. Me despido sintiendo nuevamente esta canción mía y de mí. Y, lejos de esa torre, en la que te jactas de vivir por encima de los demás y de mí, te digo adiós. 

I'm not going to lie, a phrase you used to say resonates in my mind as a reminder that you were actually a perfect liar. Someone who smiled at my tears and made me barricade my door. Someone who called me crazy and mentally unstable. And someone who guilted me for wanting to pursue higher goals. You canceled me, and it took me three months to recover from you. 

But I'm done with your world. 

Ya no perteneces al mío. 

 

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.