The Perks of Being a Cuban.

Why do I try so hard. I mess up so hard and can't pick up the pieces. it's so frustrating. and i end up losing.


Why try
To be heard
Whisper softly
Go unheard
And try again and again
Endlessly

Keep on
Going unheard
Whisper softly
Apologizing
Trying harder
Uselessly

So I whisper and I scream
Going crazy and it seems
That I am wasting my breath
Tearing at the seams
From a whisper to a scream

Waiting
To be heard
Screaming loudly
Impatiently
Wasting time after time
Till the end

So I whisper and I scream
Going crazy and it seems
That I am wasting my breath
Tearing at the seams
From a whisper to a scream

In this time of reflection on the past year, my family always forces us to say aloud what we're thankful for. It's always the same every year, a family, friends, bonds, togetherness. But we never really think about that until we hold hands in a circle. All throughout the year we are burdened by bills and dates and deadlines and dilemmas. We are under pressure, so much that we refuse to stop and give thanks for what we cannot control. So are we ever truly thankful aside from this one day every year? I think so. The thanks is implied in the kind words we do have time to share. I'm thankful for the bonds I've managed to keep in tact with friends, though far away. Though we have so much going on in our lives , so many changes, so may memories still unknown, we mange to keep in touch. I hope to never wonder how a best friend may be doing. I always want to know how they are. I'm thankful for awareness. Every night I pray to be kept aware that I am blessed despite things that may cause me to feel otherwise. I'm thankful that I have such a strong support system, parents, siblings, cousins, old teachers, friends. People who believe I can do anything when I am in complete doubt of myself and my worth. I'm thankful for so many things I would never know I was had I not written this down. We forget, we take for granted, we ignore our feelings and ourselves until we are forced. I guess subconsciously we all procrastinate, even for good things.

the recent images of fidel castro have Cubans making bets, making plans, cashing in jars of pennys for plane tickets... this seems too goodto be true. i'm so excited to see whats going to happen to my little country. it will be such a tremendous timne, historically. i'm still unsure of the outcome. his death was something we cynically have been awaiting for decades. now that it is near, it's hard to believe. it's something that's always thought about, dreamt about, but now, i'm a little afraid. things could be worse. things could also be better, and make every livinfg cuban, and also those who sadly never witnessed this day, dreams come true. it's a tremendous time, i'm so worried/thrilled/nervous/ecstatic. I can't wait to make my pilgrimage.

Esta la cosa bien difícil para celebrar
No tienen lechón pa’ azar
Ni arbolito de Navidad
Es que esta la cosa bien difícil para festejar
Dicen que el Niñito llora
A ver su gente no gozar

No tienen nada pa’ comprar
Ni tienen con que regalar
No tienen ganas de bailar
Con lo sofocantes que están

Es que esta la cosa bien difícil para celebrar
No tienen de comer esta Navidad
Esta la cosa bien mal para olvidar
Que se han huido llorando
Dejándolo toda al azar

No tienen razón pa’ cantar
Ni tienen con que regalar
No tienen ganas de bailar
Con lo atrapados que están

Aunque esté la cosa bien difícil esta Navidad
Se ponen a hablar, y a nostalgiar
No necesitan regalos, se ponen a soñar
De libertad y alegría
Y un arbolito de Navidad.

I have no words. Which apparently I don't need a blog to prove-- just an essay. I got my first essay back today, and it totally crushed my spirit and my confidence. Writing was the only thing I had, I thought, over some people. I could turn a phrase, and write a killer sentence. I had my own style, my own cadence. I knew how to flow. I I I I I . Repetetive. It's like all the praise I've reciweved about my writing could possibly be false. It's? It what? Vague Pronouns. I'm feeling an overwhelming sense of uselessness, overthinking things. But I'm so goal oriented and so many of my goals have to do with my (in)ability to write. And if I'm not as good as I feel I am, or as others have told me I am, then where now? Maybe I am Stockton material. Maybe I think too much of myself. I may be no better than the changelings. I'm mediocre. I'm an averge writing with an average capacity towards knowledge. When you are constantly being reminded of your talent, or your gift as Walter put it, and meet someone who thinks you're giftless, talentless, "stupid", it's shocking, and shattering. When he gave me back my essay he said "youre not stupid" which hints that he thhought I was. My essays showed glimmrs of promise. My essays for Walter showe d "glimmers of brilliance" fucking brilliance. Where did that all go? Where am I supposed to go? I'm so confused.

Cierras los ojos
Para ignorar
Que esta vida es llena
De llanto y soledad

Estrechas los brazos
Te pones a volar
Fuera de esta vida
Persiguiendo la verdad

Das reino suelto a lo que sientes
Te pones a llorar al no sentir
Buscas otra vida en vez de este
Te pones a llorar al no vivir

Hoy no se encuentra nada
Caminas, caminas, sin parar
Hoy buscas lo perdido
Buscas lo bailado, y lo reído
Y estalla tu corazón
Por lo que no se ha vivido

Pasas por frío
Para poder sentir
Algo de la vida
Algo físico, algo emocional

Te encierres por dentro
No dejas a nadie entrar
Desde el día que te fuiste
Todo se puso a cambiar

Das reino suelto a lo que sientes
Te pones a llorar al no sentir
Buscas otra vida en vez de este
Te pones a llorar al no vivir

Hoy no se encuentra nada
Caminas, caminas, sin parar
Hoy buscas lo perdido
Buscas lo bailado, y lo reído
Y estalla tu corazón
Por lo que no se ha vivido

Hoy te encuentras con nadie
Ignoras, ignoras, y pierdes
Hoy buscas a un amigo
Y los ha perdido todos
Y estalla tu corazón solitario
Por todo lo que has perdido.