Hola desde Cancun. Man it feels good to be here. It's been almost 4 years, hard to believe. I've practically grown up here, it's been my second home since birth. One of the few things that has remained consistent in my life.

But my, how to see how things have changed. Not Cancun specifically, but myself and society as a whole. It looks so different to me now.

Four years ago I was in a completely different place. I consider 2008 to be my last year of childhood, of a reckless, clueless youth with a giant paper bag over my head, testing theories through trial and error but mostly error. It's not that I was unhappy, but I definitely felt lost inside myself and needed to find a path that would lead me to some sort of successful career and not just another job for the moment. On my last trip to Cancun May 2008, I remember making my decision to accept the teaching position in China. I remember thinking, Well why the fuck not? Good god I'm glad I did.

Fast forward three and half years later. Just flew in from Madrid late last night. Had no real problems getting here. In fact, there were a couple of moments that I was cutting close in the airport (wrong terminal, plus too much time sniffing Duty Free perfume, etc) but never once even thought to panic about it. On the shuttle to the correct terminal, I wasn't even sure which terminal was the correct terminal (two were printed on my ticket), but I just smiled because deep down I get a little thrill from travel anxiety, plus I still had a little bit of time to fuck up.  Saw a luggage cart fall on its side with a baby sitting in it. It had to happen just as I was walking by, and after hearing his head hit the hard floor as his family was waiting in the super long line to fly to Buenos Aires, I hurried away as fast as I could.

Time flies a lot faster on long flights than it used to. I learned that after spending hours, days on buses and trains, like that 28-hour trip back to Beijing from Xi'an with Slava. That was long. This one seemed to breeze by in comparison. But then again everything does these days.

This is the first time I've been to Cancun bilingual. Managing conversations with taxi drivers, concierges, and other staff around the resort has been a real pleasure, because I can see them in a different way and vice versa. "Con padre" is an expression that means you're close with your mom or dad. The Spanish think their dialect is ugly but the feeling seems to be mutual, caught a few sassy comments with the th th th in my grathias. English and American, Spanish and Mexican. We all speak better than everyone else.

Being around other Americans and hearing some of their conversations, I sort of miss being able to flip that switch like I can with the Spaniards if I don't want to listen. I guess I understand a little more why so many Spaniards give me shit for my accent. The American accent is definitely not romantic. It often sounds bossy and matter-of-fact, while other times lazy like the enthusiasm just isn't there, some syllables are exasperated like it took work to put them out there.

It's weird being here after the influx of computer technology. I remember being here and carting my large book of CDs so I could try and pop each one in my Discman at least once during the trip, sometimes one CD for each song, a manual shuffle of sorts. I remember when the flight attendant on a flight from Mexico City made me take just two of the D batteries out of my boom box for safety reasons, and the look on her face said she was as serious as a plane crash. I remember the old man (he was probably 40) bitching me out for kicking and splashing water and getting the page of his book wet while I was swimming zig-zags with a snorkel in the pool. Now the punishment would be so much worse if that book was an iPad and my careless freedom had somehow destroyed it, or at least posed a threat to the person holding it, out by the pool. Now, go downstairs to the lobby and see a group of people huddled around with their laptops and tablets in a place with good connection, because in other places it's not and that's the number one complaint. Everything else is fine, the sun is out and it's almost Christmas. Feels kind of nice to not be so connected, if you ask me.

First time in almost four years and I feel the difference. This is the first time I'm looking at Cancun with adult eyes. It's fascinating and feels more real, yet a distance away as so much has changed, and we're staying at a different spot than we normally do. So it feels new, yet still has that same smell the moment you step into the airport and it follows you all around town. I love that smell. It's on my top three list of the most distinctive smells that I associate with a place...Cancun, China, and my grandparents' old house in Dover, Delaware. In some ways I feel like those scents belong to me, even if the China smell sometimes made me want to collapse or shove my head out of a taxi window in order to breathe.

My mom's taking a nap. She's giddy like a teenager. I like seeing her "enganchada."

More to come later...I have a feeling I'll be doing a lot of writing now that I have a space to sit and collect my thoughts and not be in a rush with things to do, nor have a cloud of people surrounding me. Now that I'm connected...

it feels good to do something you're good at.
it feels good to make good become better.
it feels incredible to grip the reigns and feel your own pulse
like a pen that signs the official letter.
it feels different to be in control
it feels familiar when correlations are made
like living in a town where you do not drive
but to still using your foot to brake

or to accelerate.

and the cars become motion
on your timeline.
brushing past like moments
with colors that shine,
too fast to be heavy
too constructed to be weak.
are they worth telling a story
are they worth stopping in the street?
are they the kind to spin crazy eights
because a good song played
or are they the type to stop
just to make you re-evaluate
your time, your knowledge,
do they cloud your sense of self?
do they set an example
to ride with class and stealth?
or do they become the passerbys,
the lessons left unlearned
only to find yourself standing alone
feeling like nothing has been earned?

counting cars. bicycles and trains.
transport by connection.
minus those insignificant
due to natural selection.
it feels good to finally understand
the art of navigation
to find the pace and set the speed
without giving an explanation.
listening to your own drills and hums
and knowing just how much to give
before you slow down
to make it home in time for dinner
and to have a moment's rest...

i'm standing in the driver's seat
because i passed the test
to understand why your 30's are the best.

gotta go back to work now

i push people away.
not everyone, but most
keep them at arm's length
form the protective barrier of boundary.
i don't like phone calls,
i show up late randomly
i try to pretend nothing's wrong with that
but i know i owe a little more respect.

the biggest fear, a driving force
is hurting someone, is hurting myself
when someone gets close the other feels
involved, motivated
to grow the chain around someone else's arm
and make it stronger and important.
when something becomes important it races
to the top of your list of things to do
places to go, people to see
even if it's in the darkness of your own room
just before dawn.

what if i'm just not ready for all of that
or what if i'm already involved
why can't it work both ways just once...?

meanwhile i'll do my best
to continue furnishing my own resources
making layers out of needle and thread
just to protect my head from the brash cold.
weave a net just tight enough to shroud myself
yet still be able to connect.
to secure the ability to trust a person long enough
to let them stand, without either of us trying to
drag the other along. that way maybe
we'll both have the chance to look into each other's eyes
and know we're doing the right thing

little me standing
in big girl shoes
sometimes i don't recognize myself
when i brush by
flying through time like a whistle blown
i've found a place to call 'my home'
and i don't feel so scared this time
to just stay put and actually enjoy it

i've got so many years to think about.
i hear it in the stories that compulsively leap from my tongue
to a dozen heads more or less,
it's a quest for some serious interpersonal connections
forming relationships.
and when i think about the faces that have come and gone
characters on pages passed, chapters of delight and deceit
when we didn't know the meaning of discreet
it makes me want to read the book out loud
and share my secrets

look at me standing
in big girl shoes.
mildly professional,
but you know i can't just nod my head
it's two steps from dead
i prefer to live with the feeling it all just might stop
so i dig my fingers into the open air
and ride the atomic wave

sometimes i don't recognize myself.
no longer that sad, sometimes too vulnerable girl
with lots of meat on her bones,
i feel like a cheetah.
i'm the opposite of stupid
and deep down i'll always be a brunette at heart

those characters in my story,
what's become of some of them?
i imagine one layered in thick clothes like he always was
except in that foggy summer when i bid zai jin
or the one who lead me there to begin with,
what's his name again? and how the first person
to ever break my heart was a girl
sunburnt in the swimming pool
these beings have given me some onion layers
soon to flake off as i've started peeling

but their aromas are still there.
i smell it in the air.
an undertone in my breath
because i have yet to complete my tale.
a cheetah, chasing the wave of a whistle blown
not so eager to finish first,
and surely not last
just fast enough to savor the adrenaline
and still feel young

por caso si olvido.
por caso si mi boca no puede abrir.
por caso si las palabras solas son
ellas q has escuchado de mi
otra vez
no kiero nadie estar cansado

pero la verdad es q estoy un poca cansada,
mi mente roga para trankilidad
y la verdad es q ultimamente he lo encontrada.
no kiero disruptir esto momento
pero al otra mano siente tu ausencia.

no kiero poner nuestras lineas
y combinar al uno justo, no ahora
not just yet.
no lo se la dirrecion de tu linea,
puede ser de camino ala bosque
o a un punto por la playa.
cual prefiero? yo no tengo ni pipa
porque no conozco el conductor
detras tus ojos y palabras ricas
de higos a brevas.

por eso solamente kiero decir
(despues un monton de palabras)
es q me gusta tu cara, tus ojos
y tu boca. parece natural cuando
me tocas, picas como un mosquito cariñoso
hay cosas q no kiero q paran.
pero dentro tu boca kiero la habilidad a explorar
aprender mas de quien eres y quien vas a sera
los posibilidades como las plumas
y observar sus colores, observar tu
y escuchar. la problema es q no puedo estar de pie
sin andando, sin progresion.
me gusta bailar, hasta la cancion final
empeja su elegancia con uno mas aliento,
y voy a irme a camino entonces.

nadando en su lugar
como siempre
q nada puede molestarles.
imagina un pais
como asi
donde libertad es todo
antes la caña.

vamos a ver los colores
y aprovechar de las diferencias,
q marvilloso como la luminosidad
parece mas fuerte q ninguna idea
como quien eres esta mas importante
q cual hiciste

vamos a vernos por la cara
es como las palabras quedan
como las ropas, han cambiado
cada dia, con nuestra decisiones
y ilusiones antes el sol va a dormir,
solamente leyendo los aciones q estan
detras de los explicaciones,
y los razones q parecen flojas,
es como si tienen un voz, el voz esta rompada.

quiero leer tu cara,
solamente por las palabras de verdad
solamente las ojeadas q pausan mucho,
para los momentos cuando no tener a hablar
y matar el espacio, cuando momentos silencios
dan la paz q he necesitaba

y los peces, un monton de varidad
nadan cerca de mi, como siempre
los recuerdos de la mar de fondo
q da igual las palabras de una boca
cuando hay canciones de otras
esperando para un turno
a nadar en un paraiso nuevo
sin

i sit upon the empty plastic seat
perhaps it's vinyl, i'm not really sure
i try to ignore the details of the mundane
even if it's not.
maybe i'm searching for too much poignancy,
as though that'd make looking back feel worthwhile

like before i sat down.
before i paid with my last drop,
before i walked to the stop.
before this neighborhood became familiar
when it was just some mall with a parking lot
before, when it was mundane and not a bit surreal
before i came here.
before i tried to slowly let myself go,
opening up was like learning to crawl
after years of dancing in the street
and losing track of time

maybe it went still, or went too quickly
he used to say time lost its concept when he was with me
not nearly as cleverly, but seemed to mean it.
so i lost resistance
and somehow now, the trees around this park nearby
all seem to wail, shaking their branches and
throwing away their leaves, as if they're saying
"you disgust me"
yet they're equally as likely to stop and straighten up,
mash the wrinkles out their trunks and pretend it's all right,
that all of this was worthwhile,
if it's just a chance to save a weathered face

i'm in danger of sitting here.
the driver's reading the newspaper on his break
so i sit and i wait. feeling like i've been stuck here
for way too long. it's cold out now. summer's over
so don't keep me here half-naked, yet covered in layers.
i know i'm a glutton for punishment but the sting has stung,
this place is all but new, the trees are gloomy and
the lights outside the doorways say,
this history can't be yours so keep out
crawl your way back to dancing in the street

and as the bus begins to stroll along,
the doorways grow smaller while the lights dim behind.
he was just something pretty to catch the eye.
thank god i'm alive.
the whole concept of movement lets me know i'm
going somewhere, or at least getting away from
that sense of obligation to make something shitty seem
just a little poignant

Buenas dias. Octubre ha estaba de puta madre. Me alegro que septiembre esta fin, era un mes de mierda. La ultima semana era las Fiestas del Pilares, y yo pasé muy bien. Cada noche estuve con grupos diferentes de amigos y todo de puta madre. Voy a poner fotos pronto.

Mi vida personal y profesional esta mejorando cada dia. Tengo un monton de amigas nuevas, españolas y ingleses. Las amigas son muy importantes a tener en la vida, y hace mucho tiempo que no he tenido muchas aqui en Zaragoza. Y tambien mi horario de trabajo esta mas lleno, por eso estoy agredecida. Tuve nuestra reunion primero para la revista q tengo ganas a hacer. Cuatro personas llegan y parecen muy interesadas a contribuir. Tambien he estaba cantando--EN FRENTE DE LA GENTE--en dos sitios, La Boveda y the Highlander.

Por esos estoy mas contenta y relajada. Mi problema sola es que necesito hacer mas dinero y ahorrarlo. Pero imagino que despues un rato tendré mas horas de trabajo y estaré mas segura.

Bueno...otoño ha empezado bien. Besicos no microscopicos!

strings, where are the strings?
stuck to the wall
glued to my conscience
barriers of trust
a web of attachment
funny when i let some of them go
they return, threaded in my bag
or tangled in my hair
as if they don't want to leave
no matter how hard i plead for them to go

and my trembling palms
don't know what to do when he touches them
aching sore from the death grip i once had
pulling on those strings, a hundred piano keys
anchors harboring a restless heart

there's something to be said about feeling weightless
and breathless, curious of the moon and why it holds still
when there's no string to attach it,
as though it's there because it wants to be

dark days have found their way back to me.
they weave their way in out and out of my life
like thread in a blanket to cover up the stars
in the sky. in my eyes.

as summer takes its dying breath
i feel burned.
tearing my room apart, looking for
that lesson learned

and it seems to be nowhere near,
only the shouting resistance inside
when i first laid eyes on it,
and how i should've listened.

it takes everything i've got
not to shout to the open air
of the wrong you've done me
when all i tried to be was right

now darkness fills the room,
a shadow of my stolen trust
an undercurrent eager to pull me under
while i search for the good,
the lesson that makes all this shit worthwhile