to turn on. a light bulb.
the stars.
my eyes to the sky.
thinking up. feeling hot.
aroused. electricity.
a standard chemical reaction
which cannot be changed

to be on. funciona.
it works. a connection.
a spark that makes you glance twice
then turns into a flame.
lucid dreaming,
elusive pyromaniac.
bends you over to light you up
because you can't seem to stare at anything else.
so good, the ultimate punishment
when the lights suddenly go off.

black stars.
the crescent of a heel
kicking the door shut behind it.

apagar.
when you squeeze your eyes closed
and your retinas are still burning
because you stared too long
after a two-second spark.
turn off. crawl around
while you search for the switch
in other voices.
in nervous twitches.
anything that might make
your eyes find the sky
without asking how or why.
feeling up. thinking hot.
dry-humping the moon.
for it is what it is
and cannot be changed

somehow it's become a secret
and i can't share it, no.
just how subtly discreet
like passin on the street
where the wind blows
in case it snows.
and time has got to bear it
when the absence isn't shared
and the heart grows
fonder
you're lurkin close behind
this is like braille for the blind
and i can still smell you
sometimes

sometimes.

close the door to my room
let's make some noise
let's feed off one another
for just one second of our time.
a fraction of our blessings
comes from the product of a rhyme
let's wail away
let's wail away
wail away

something in the air
says it's OK to feel all right,
to relax and unwind
to intertwine in arms and lock in legs
while outside is as cold as nighttime gets
it's the season to forget the past
for just one second of our time
which rhyme you wanna try out now?

i'm feelin gracious to say thanks
over and over,
i'm just not used this
over and over
to getting treated well
it's a bell of clarity
above the chain of subpar
that felt like necessity
over and over
collapse and collide
my ankles on his wrists
and our mouths open wide
i am young, i deserve this.
a tasty piece of cake
i like to wind my finger in the icing
and watch it ripple like a wave.
there's a richness to knowing
(it's something i now savor)
that i deserve sweetness
in the fruits of my labor

if a rhyme is a pattern,
then i want to start a new one
not the old tired shit
of a stupid sad love song
of boys treating me wrong
not knowing what they had all along
a better rhyme makes a better tune
a happy girl can still belt the blues
because she knows what it's like
to collapse and collide
to once be bound to something
when that something wasn't right
salty sweet experience,
i know what it's like to choke
and fight for air so i wouldn't get snuffed out
and be left broken.

i prefer a calm, lackadaisical rhyme
the one that takes its time
and makes me feel more alive than any
of those soul-crippling ditties.

look at you wearin my hat.
bet you don't know what else i got
when i got that.
so hip, so direct
you must be fashionably correct
to have a hat quite like it mister man
so keep smiling, keep on smiling

and you, with your blank stare
as though we've got no space to share
you look bewildered, i see it wildly
i'm afraid you look really scared
and innocent, yet snotty
as though your persiana has you shaded
from the rest of the bright light world.
baby girl you're like porcelain,
preciously fragile
so weak inside slivers of thought
inside your brain

lately i've noticed
these little discrepancies
subtly hostile, non-urgent adversaries
in people i know
who can boast with their own tongue
but won't dare try on someone else's...

unless it makes them look good,
makes 'em look real good.
unless they can wear it like an accessory
for time well-spent,
(even if it's just a fragment of a second)
a chispa.
a moment to fill you up then suck you dry
then makes you wonder why you became such a novelty,
a fucking trophy.
to stand out while others stand back,
can't look you in the eye and see
that we both have two eyes,
and we both have lives.
just some are colored differently

but i've realized a little discretion
goes a long way with discrepancies,
like i'm in on the secret they never shared
because they haven't yet received it.
i'm gonna boast with my own tongue
that flickers in my mind
just how boring i think they really are.
boring, and cocky.
seemingly satisfied in their cozy nest,
their circle of friends in their sunday best
wearin MY hat. oh god, if only he knew
what else i got with that...

it might displease or it might haunt you forever.
however, a little discretion on my part,
a persiana, protection from the bright light.
as precious as the womb when reality is questioned

tightly tucked in,
my secret, my shelter.
your bite-sized world

Goodbye 2011. How you came and went.
A remarkable year you were, really.
I'm not here to summarize.

Funny how two months pop up
like blemishes on a clean complexion
puberty, a downside to maturity
two months, September and February.
I don't consider them to be the worst,
for I've gone further in discourse.
Aside from those this was a very fruitful year.

I feel like a different person.
Brave and unstoppable,
yet sometimes cowering in social anxiety.
It's a blessing really, don't want to suck all the air out
until the ears pop
unless I'm underwater or alone in the park.

2011, you pressed my nose up against the glass
and sometimes it hurt.
Bending cartilage to unbend the mold,
I broke the barrier between me and myself.
My hands, even when empty
have so much to give, like the time.
My personal stock market has gone up,
pushing out the bottom feeders
forsaking my breath.

2011, you taught me a little about love
and all those tiny little differences
that separate small plants from trees
and the sake of sustainability.
sometimes i feel hardened as though
i've absorbed all the soil, enriched by lessons
with slight aggression. but i've learned not to be so heavy
as it's important to shake off leaves to obtain humility.
i desire an exquisite landscape,
one with time and care and reason and
the emotional capacity to endure the driest of drought
or the annoying occasional cringe of self-doubt
as though i'm not meant to deserve something so prosperous.
yet another useless thought gone by the wayside such as you.

2011, thanks for helping me feel more alive than ever.
those growing pains were worth it

feeling weak and lazy
dizzy in my own skin
a barrel of laughter in a shotgun
echoes long and wide
i'm safe from myself,
i know that already
yet i can't help but confuse the tide
left, right, which side the sun rises and sets
is the night time sky really the peaks of a ceiling in a cave
is night time the end or just the beginning of something else?

and in one moment i'm dancing like a court jester
winking eyes with bells and whistles
and bright-colored clothes
formatting my plans with hand motions,
tongue rolling r's, taste the sweetness of extremity
purring like a cat, glowing eyes wanting to be petted
waving my tail around to keep things from going still, stale
in a hurry to be loved so i can run away when i want, free
before the moment changes and i'm back in rags
with no desire to entertain anybody

it's a genetic fender bender.
it grips me like an airplane and shoots me off,
licking the delicious stars until i'm face down in the gravel
when the moment grows stale and i want to cry for no reason.
not a court jester, but still feeling foolish
as though the joke's on me
for thinking i could climb to the top of a tree
and escape the darkness under me.

and the dizziness? sometimes i confuse it with adrenaline.
maybe it's both. maybe it's what keeps me sane
it's the inner voice saying, get a grip and balance yourself.
this is why i know i'm safe

happy birthday mom

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