The Manicheans

I didn’t sleep because of this. You were in my thoughts every minute of every hour I spent tossing and turning, desperately trying to find peace in my dreams. You gave me no escape. I felt scared, trapped in your web, unable to move nor to scream how much I wanted out. You forced me down a path I never thought existed.

These words are to you, all of you, who claimed to have taken me out of my shell and opened my eyes to new realities. You played a game while ignoring the rules. You believed you wanted me no harm, but you still hurt me. My fears of seeing you again are growing steadily.

I’m no devil, just an angel with a lot of vices. I know what I’ve done. I don’t regret anything but maybe the fact that I acted too nice, too friendly, and you misunderstood my kindness as a sign of weakness. I never was into you, and never will. Please leave me be. How can you create such fantasies about me while I’m talking to you? I never meant to make you think that way of me. I never meant to make you forget that you had a woman waiting for you at home. I bear the guilt of wanting to be friends, and only friends, but you simply took it too far.

I cannot tolerate this pain anymore. My heart wants to shout in your face how much I despise you for abusing me like you did. I said no and you went ahead with your plans anyway, completely disregarding my refusal to join you in your indecent proposal. You violated my trust. You shredded it to pieces and spat on it like an angry bandit.

I’m so hurt I feel like I’m nothing. I have to ignore you now. This is the only way for me to survive.

Foreword:

I’d like to thank my mum and dad for giving birth to me, because you truly did an awesome job, guys. I’d like to thank the United States for allowing me to live my dream. I’d like to thank God for inventing the holy game of baseball, and last but not least, I’d like to thank my followers for “pressuring” me into writing a second post about “bases” just because they loved the one about French kissing so much. For all these reasons, I’ll work my butt off to deliver the best post in the history of posts, without any graphic violence or adult scenes that would ultimately require an “R” rating. I’ll keep you entertained and will make you laugh, hopefully. After all these months of writing very personal stuff, I’m opening my soul to you and will reveal my darkest secrets. Everything that you’ll read is based on movies I watched, books I read, friends I talked with and mostly, my experiences. Please don’t judge me. God bless. Now let’s begin, shall we?

Dating. Love. Falling in love and wishing for the best to come, this is what we all live for, folks. We can’t avoid it. It’s in our faces every day of our lives, as we have been programmed by Mother Nature to thoroughly follow every step, and it’s very difficult to opt out.

Everything starts with a field and players. Each of them occupies a specific position, and abides by specific rules. You’re playing offense, and you stand by the home plate. Bat in hand, you’re waiting for the ball to come your way. You hit it well in your strike zone, you go for a run (and if you hit really really well, you score a homerun). You miss and get a foul, you get to try again. If the other team catches your ball before it touches the ground, you’re out. If you get three strikes against you, you’re out. Bear in mind that the defense team will do anything to kick you out of the field, so stay sharp. Any mistake will cost you time and energy.

Alright now that you’re aware of the ground rules (I’ve omitted a few additional technicalities, such as stealing bases, so that non baseball connoisseurs could follow too), let’s talk business.

As the batter, your goal is simple: you want to score. How can you score effectively without ruining your chances of becoming the greatest player of all times? Practice. Learn how to watch the defense throwing you balls like bullets, aimed right at your face, curved, fast, soft…. You need to quickly assess the situation and get your gear ready if you want to hit that baby. So keep looking. Pay attention to the pitcher’s moves, the way his arm swings, and focus on the moment where the ball leaves his hand. Now breathe…. And count down the seconds until the ball flies within your reach… Ready? Now hit!

If you’re successful, you get to run to first base. Let’s take it one step at a time here. I know you know you can also score a homerun during the first try, but let’s discuss the scenario base by base first, shall we? You’re not Derek Jeter yet (sorry guys, Yankees’ fan).

Now, you manage to reach first base. It feels beautiful, and tastes delicious. The girl is totally into you and you’re twitching to get more because kissing for you is like an appetizer. The whole meal is still miles ahead, and you’re starving. But like we said yesterday, if you take it slow and let the girl lead you in her game, you know you’ll get to your final destination sooner or later. So please be patient.

After first base comes second base. Aha. Yep. Let’s talk dirt here. You will probably not run to second base on the same night, but who knows, maybe the girl is really cool and lets you go that far down the field, so take the opportunity. Reaching second base can, however, be tricky. Lots of obstacles can be put in your way, such as intricate pieces of clothing, and you can’t really do that in public unless you’re on a deserted beach somewhere, therefore, you’ll have to play it by ear. If she takes you back home, well you sorta know the deal is sealed. If you stay out, ummm, maybe you can try to sneak in there but who knows how far you’ll go. Girls can be nasty at pretending they want you to go to second base, and make you run out of breath, trying to grab onto that freaking base but you get outed first. Yes, I know, this defense team is really devious.

Getting to second base is fun though. It’s like an adventure down a waterpark slide. It’s exciting and crazy, you scream because you can’t take all that water in your face anymore, but when you finally ride all the way to the bottom, you want more. It’s very addictive. The offense team loves to run to second base because it brings you closer to your goal: scoring a homerun. My advice would be to be gentle, smooth, fast but smart, very smart. Don’t go there like you would wrestle; stay aware of what you’re doing. Girls like gentle. They don’t like rough. Well…. We’ll get to that later.

So here you are, you successfully reached second base and you’re drooling to go down to third base now. It’s so enticing, you see it from afar and you know you want it bad. It needs to happen or your team will hate you forever. You’re ready to go for that run. Now you watch your batter hit that ball from the corner of your eye and you see that it’s going to touch the ground, or it’s flying too far to ever be caught, and you seize that precious moment. You start running, ideas rushing through your mind at 100 mph, sweaty, leg muscles tired, but you know you can do this, so you go for it with your heart and soul…. And you’re there. You made it. Congratulations, now the hard part comes.

Like for first base, reaching third base requires a lot of skills and discipline. You can’t go down there as if you were driving a snow plow. Gentle again. And yes, it’s difficult to please a girl, so don’t give up. These things take time. Think of the whole process as touching a delicate piece of China porcelain. You wouldn’t want to break it, would you? It’s really fragile and really expensive. If you hold it right, you will be amazed at what that China porcelain will do to you. If you handle it wrong, it will break in million pieces and you will run away for your life. Third base is the most difficult and sensitive area on the field. You don’t want to rush there because you could still be outed at any second, yet you want to make sure you go there quickly enough so that your prey doesn’t lose her interest. You’re the hero of the game here, so stay in control. A good player knows when the time is right. A bad player just screws around and gets kicked out. Stay on the lookout, and pay attention to any hints she will throw at you. She doesn’t need to speak to let you know you can go to third base. Her breathing can be the only clue. Be smart about this, I won’t repeat that enough. And gentle. Slow, take your time, appreciate the scenery, enjoy the crowd cheering for you, as if it was the game of a lifetime.

Now… you successfully made it to third base. There’s still the possibility that you will get outed before reaching the home plate, so be careful. Roughness in your game will definitely be a down factor. Play it smooth… Watch her move, listen to what she’s saying (she must be making noises by now), and wait for the perfect opportunity to run to that last base.

Scoring a homerun will usually be pretty self-explanatory. There’s nothing complicated about it, and everybody has their style, so for that one, I can’t say more about it. Once you know you scored, you’re pretty much well off. Your team loves you, you love your team, you’re a hero and you feel great.

Your prey will maybe love the way you score homeruns, maybe she won’t. It’s very subjective at that point. Some like it rough, some like it gentle (wait you’re gonna tell me that I said be gentle all along, and now I say some like it rough….). Yes, you need to be gentle 90% of the time, but 10% of the time, you can be rough. If she’s ok with it, go for it, buddy. Don’t wait for my permission to tell you it’s ok to do it. Play it by ear once again.

I’d like, however, to give a very serious piece of advice for all players out there:

I know you’re excited to score, but if you rush too hard, you’ll lose any chance of scoring at all. Follow what the girl tells you. Listen to her when she says something. If she says no, even drunk, don’t do it. She’ll have horrible memories of it, and she’ll hate your guts forever. Seriously, drunken girls are very tough to handle, because you think she’s ok with you touching her, but she’s really not. A no is a no you guys. Don’t make it sound like it was a hidden yes. Or that she was confused. Nobody’s confused. I know that alcohol enhances everybody’s needs, but a simple flirt can transform itself very quickly into a tragic event. Nobody wants this, especially not her. You have maybe no idea what it feels like to be taken by somebody, and to be forced to do something you don’t want to do, but the best analogy I can give you is prison, alright? Picture several other guys wanting to grab you and play with you like a doll. Got it? Now back off if that’s what you planned to do tonight. A girl is sensitive. She’s offering herself to you, she trusts you to at least respect her dignity. If you take advantage of her, then you’re a loser, and I have no respect for you. I can’t stand guys who think they own you like a piece of meat. It’s not difficult to be nice. Lots of girls will appreciate it, and will reward you with tons of goodies, so be a gentleman, ok?

I wish a lot of the guys I met had gotten such advice when I was younger, even later in my adult life. I missed many opportunities to enjoy whatever was happening to me, mainly because I was being treated so badly. You know, it’s one thing when you’re naïve and you don’t want to embarrass yourself, but it’s another when you clearly say no and nobody listens to you anyway. I understand why so many girls hate guys; good men pay the price for all bastards out there. You have been gifted with the most beautiful gem on earth, a woman, please don’t step on her like a dirty bug. I know there are some chicks who ruined the reputation of good girls too, but it doesn’t mean that it gives you the right to use a woman like a Kleenex. Booty calls, one night stands, friendship with benefits, and last but not least relationships, need respect to be enjoyable.

Love is really like a good game of baseball. You play your best in order to help your team win, and when you do, it’s fantastic. Whichever base you run to, just enjoy the ride while it lasts. Respect the game, don’t abuse steroids, and listen to the cheering crowd. You’re in the spotlight and everybody adores you. Please, don’t screw it up. Feel like you’re Derek Jeter, and be a hero. You’ll get so much love in return, you won’t believe it.

Ah, another sensational topic my friends, which I hope will make you think a little and mostly laugh a lot. I fell upon a great post yesterday that discussed the art of French kissing, for guys and for girls, and of course, it triggered my inspiration enough for me to blog about it today. Who said I wrote only about sad stuff?

We all have experienced a French kiss at least once in our life, whether it was intentional or accidental, sober or drunk, out of curiosity or out of love. We all know what it is, so no need for me to feed you a picture. What I found incredibly interesting about the post I read yesterday was the male versus the female take, haha, that really was brilliant. I just have to add, however, that the expectations on both sides are very disconnected: for girls, the French kiss often leads to more kissing, and a romantic evening under the stars, when as for guys, and correct me if I’m wrong, it is only the beginning of something much more substantial… follow my thoughts…. Scoring a homerun if possible, and yes, no need for this delirium of “no sex on the first date”, sorry, but you can score a homerun anytime (at least in my playbook). I have no clear idea how people date these days. I’ve been married for many years and have never been on the dating scene a la Sex and the City (what a bunch of lies), so call me clueless, alright, I’ll take the hit. I admit, I know nothing about the right steps on how to date and what to do on the first night, I’m French, I never follow any rules, anyway, so gimme a break, will you!

I must add this though. Date and be romantic not only before but also after you permanently seal the deal, because hey, married people need romantic evenings under the stars too, my friends. They’re neglected for the sake of single guys and single chicks who are too jaded to believe in these fabrications anyway, so come on, give us some fun too. Well…. I can’t really talk on behalf of married people anymore, can I? Oops…. All the same, however, I have the experience of what it’s like to be married, and I can tell you, it sucks big time, because when all the charm is gone, you get pretty bored. Nobody makes any effort to look cute anymore, even less sexy, we both lie on the couch in our pyjamas, wondering what to do next, stuffing ourselves with chips and watching a stupid show on TV. Yeah, we don’t even say “I love you” anymore. It should be obvious by now….. Urgh, now you understand why I can no longer talk on behalf of married people….

Anyhow, I’m not here to vent about my failed expectations, I’m here to talk about…. Drums rolling please….. Ladies and Gentlemen, I present you the best kiss in the entire world: the French Kiss! This is what is going to make you melt in your seat, I swear! So…. Without further ado, what girls want in a French kiss:

Well rule #1: we don’t need a tongue commando in there. Thank you, we know you’re excited to finally apply your mouth over the delicious lips of the girl you’ve been longing for all night long, or all day long, or all week long, whichever, but…. Too much excitement can kill the deal, and you wouldn’t want that now, would you? So chill on the tongue. Just go in there, and be smooth. Think James Bond, not Mike Tyson. It’s not a fight for survival, it’s a dance to make her fall into your lap and like you even more…. (Think second base). I have really no idea how to describe how much tongue is enough, because it all depends on the person you’re kissing. I also know that some girls give no tongue at all, which is a total killer. But if you find the right chick who’s really sweet and awesome at French kissing you, don’t blow the whole situation by being too hungry. Yeah, the image is right, Brian (@CharlieNitric), a girl’s mouth is not a sandwich! Savor her, take the time to listen to her breathing, the movements of her body, because it’s a whole chain reaction happening there. That girl, if you kiss her well, will be yours, and I swear, if she isn’t she’s stupid and you need to toss her to the side and choose another victim. Kissing is an art that can be mastered over time, but true good kissers will never learn how to kiss. They just know what to do, and you know why? Because they let their feelings speak. Although, now that I’m thinking of it, training might be a good idea after all, because I had people who felt strongly for a girl, yet, they couldn’t kiss at all. Terrible terrible terrible. Shame, really.

My first experience (now the good stuff comes) at French kissing was a total disaster. I wondered what the heck was happening to me… It just felt extremely weird…. I questioned myself whether I should just go and leave the guy standing because that was not fun at all. Of course, I wasn’t very experienced myself, but yeah, I don’t keep a very good memory of the whole event. A kiss without real passion equals death to me. And some people are still not talented enough to impress me. I’m a tough cookie, what else can I say?

Kissing well is very hard, but please, follow at least rule #1 and hold your tongue, guys.

Rule #2: ummmm…. No teeth please. Teeth are a total killer, and I’m very serious when I say this. Keep your teeth away, we’re not at a contest of who has the best smile here. And… I must add, keep out if you smoked beforehand. Cigarette butt taste is not fun. Kissing an ashtray is freaking gross. It’s one thing to have one after a drink, but real big smokers who can’t put it down need a serious teaching about much it sucks to kiss them. And if you stop smoking, at least you’ll be able to run this marathon someday… Just saying. Smoking is bad, alright?

Rule #3: no bad breath please. So no garlic. Unless your target ate garlic too, now that’s both your problem. Just take it easy on the booze too. Drunken kisses are not the best either. Enjoy a nice Italian dinner, pasta usually works wonders, you can order spaghetti and do like in Lady and the Tramp… Yeah, that scene was awesome, when they both eat the same spaghetto and kiss each other on the nose in the end. Haha. Love that movie. You can always try, right? It’ll make her laugh and hey, if she laughs, half the deal is won already. Trust me on that one too. Unless she had no sense of humor at all, and then you know what to do… To the curb!

Rule #4: I have no idea how many rules I’m going to write about, because I’m really terrible at following them, but let’s say that I’ll stop at 5. So the fourth rule is about kissing again. When you finally reach the point where she’s going to let you put your mouth onto her mouth, and she’s alive and breathing, chill. Just let her guide you in her little dance. It’s really easy to do. If you try to control what she’s doing, she’s going to lose interest very quickly. Let her tango you to heaven, my friends, follow her lead and play along. The orchestra will soon play a symphony you won’t forget, and it will start going crazy down there, but stay focused. Don’t rush this… Don’t go faster than the wind, or it will be your last kiss with her. Let her take her time, don’t fall asleep either, just enjoy this, if you both have a real connection, it will be fantastic. And hey, like I said, after first base, you have two more bases to go to before scoring a homerun (unless you realize she’s in a rush) so… yeah, time is crucial in that adventure. Be patient and you’ll be justly rewarded.

Rule #5: Last but not least, the whole nibbling of the ear, or kissing on the neck, or murmuring sweet words situation. Yes, these will be your weapons to score a kiss. You can’t always just go for the mouth, you have to be creative too! Plus, it will show her your versatility. I think the kiss on the neck is definitely a winner, it all depends on where and when, you know, but lots of women appreciate it. I didn’t say give her a hickey. Temper yourself out there, she’s not sixteen anymore. Showing off at work with a big blotch is never cool. Plus you need to cover up that stuff with tons of make up, everybody thinks you got sunburnt, no no no, totally undesirable. Don’t suck her up, just kiss her.

So, this is what I think about French kissing and how to perform it effectively so that you get not only a second date, but also a farther run down the field, because let’s be honest, that’s what everybody’s going for. Relax, take your time, enjoy her company, make her laugh and be entertaining, act cute and be a gentleman, ok? Because nobody likes to kiss boring jerks.

It’s all in the kissing you know. Once you got that down, the world is yours. Happy woman, happy life. And yeah, sorry to tell you this, but women pretty much rule the whole game here, unless you’re in some crazy extremist country, then no need for rules, just go for it. Ask and you’ll be given anything you want, even a goat. But that’s not very exciting…. The hunt is the best part, isn’t it? And once you know your prey is yours, it only gets better. (unless you have no connection at all and then it was just a big waste of your time!)

May the force be with you, and always listen to your heart. I’m with you on that last part because that’s probably the only piece of advice I follow…

I’m sad, angry, in pain. I try to stay cool but deep inside I just want to break everything around me. My life feels like a house of cards ready to be swept away by my wrath. When will this hell be finally over?

I can’t cry… Not now, not ever. Don’t let them see that you’re weak. Oh how it hurts, it hurts so bad…

I loved you and you trampled my heart in the mud, leaving me breathless, helpless, alone. You forced me out with your words, and I left because I couldn’t take your screams anymore. You treated me like an inferior, and made me doubt myself. I begged you to forgive my hatred, and you spat your venom in my face. There was nothing to salvage the passion we shared. Everything turned to ash as soon as I walked out of our life.

I grabbed onto the sheets of the bed and I tore them until my fingers bled. We were over, and I still woke up thinking of you. Tell me why I still loved you enough to hate your guts? Tell me why I still loved you enough to miss you at night?

I feel so misunderstood, and nobody’s here to let me hold their hand like when I was a little kid and cried at the kindergarten gate because I thought my mum had left me forever on the first day of school. I’m a grown up now, and I have to experience the journey on my own this time.

You want to know something? I hate being alone. You were everything I had here. I tattooed my soul on my skin to cope with the pain of leaving that part of my life. I love my tattoos, and I feel better when I look at them, because they will be with me forever… to the contrary of you.

I turned on my television today, wondering what I could watch that would not suck my brain into a void of intelligence for the rest of the night. I landed on a little show called “Ghost Adventures”.

First and foremost, I’d like to make a statement to my horror followers: I usually don’t write about paranormal phenomena. I can’t give a good enough reason as to why I don’t, I guess it’s like anything else, ghosts don’t turn me on that much. Therefore, I’m really surprised that I got hooked into a GA marathon for a whole Saturday night, repeating to myself that I had seriously missed the mark regarding “cool” shows. This happens to me every once in a while, last time it did, I was watching a “Man v. Food” marathon.

Anyhow, now I’m sold. I don’t know what these guys do, but hey, I want more of it. It’s actually pretty exciting to imagine these three dudes alone in the dark, having the creeps for spirits, and being brave enough not to pee themselves at every hallway corner of the insane asylum they’re “investigating”. Oh maybe they’re peeing themselves and we don’t see it! I don’t care either way. The main guy, what’s his name, Zak, oh yeah, he’s the best of the bunch. Love that guy. He looks nothing like a geek, yet we all know he’s one BIG time. Love when he wears his glasses to look even smarter… He’s a star in my eyes. Now I briefly wondered what it’d be like to be his girlfriend.  Probably interesting, after a while his stuff would get old though. He needs to find another chick who’s more into ghosts than I am.

My favorite episode so far has been the one where they visit the vaults in the underground of Edinburgh. I stayed extremely skeptical until they showed that little teddy bear move “by itself” in the dark…. For the first two minutes I was frantic. I kept saying “Oh my gosh” like a 12 year old, and then I just got the creeps. This was crazy to see the stuffed animal move knowing that nobody pulled an invisible line (well maybe they did so that people like me would continue to watch their show).

I, however, have a question. Every time that they film somewhere, they always invoke the devil, as based on the Christian concept of heaven and hell and, of course, the Bible. They walk around with crosses, holy oil, prayers and what not, which is fine, but made me think: does the Bible work on every ghost? What if the ghost was atheist, Muslim, or Jewish? I can’t believe that all ghosts they encounter are Christian. As a matter of fact, I’d most certainly offer my legal services to represent any ghost who feels discriminated against. Ghosts don’t need my number; they can find me anywhere.

I’d really hate for the show to be canceled, but the harsh reality of our today’s society forces me to raise obvious concerns as to how spiritual entities are being treated, Your Honor. This is totally unfair for ghosts to be the victims of stereotypes and pre-conceived ideas that are grounded in no way, shape or form on our today’s social standards. Ghosts lived a human life before becoming the haunting spirits Mr. Zak and his team are chasing for a lucrative profit, and who are the real stars of the show, Your Honor? They do not even get compensated for their work at creeping these men out. So many injustices have been hidden under the rug (or the squeaky wooden floor) because everybody took these ghosts for granted. I say today we fight back! Your Honor, I’ve gathered enough evidence to demonstrate that the work of these three fellows is totally taking advantage of these spirits, and I request the Court to award my clients just reparation for the irreparable damage that Mr. Zak and his friends caused them. This will be all, Your Honor, thank you for your time.

I’m sure my career would sky rocket if I launched a series of bullshit lawsuits against the GA team on behalf of every ghost they bothered and unfairly treated. Man…. Now it all makes sense. Living or dead, we’re all here to make enough money out of each other as long as nobody stops us from doing it. Ghost hunters… really?

And, of course, I got sucked into it. Ugh.

I noticed that a lot of my tweeps either guest blogged or had guest bloggers post interesting (and mostly random) stuff on their respective pages, and I thought, is it a new trend or does it really help to get more readers and followers? Will I have to pimp myself out in order to sell my work to bigger masses? The debate is now open.

The thing is that I don’t even know what I’d write about if I guest blogged for somebody else. Like if they gave me a theme, I’d maybe scratch my head twice and look at them with a puzzled look, wondering whether they were serious. If they were, then I’d really have to get my ideas going in the furnace that is my brain, and then hope for the best that they’ll like my stuff. As much as people tell me they like my stuff, I still feel utterly prudent when writing a piece for them. Friends don’t want to hurt your pride…

But if they told me I had total freedom, I’d go ballistic. I’d write about watching whales in Canada, or eating roasted pig with your fingers in the Philippines… Hold on. This is not a travel blog, so why would I write about that? Scratch head again. Could I write about homeless people using the street as a toilet? No….. Too serious. Could I rant about my commute? No…. nobody cares. Could I vent about my personal life? Really? I mean come on, I’m an artist, and my job is to imagine interesting stuff to write. So get going missy!

My other self just scolded me for not being creative enough. What a world we live in. It still didn’t give me inspiration to write a piece for somebody else. I guess I’m not really good at writing random stuff and fill out blank space just with words, because they look too damn good and I cannot resist them, my fingers running on the keyboard like on my piano playing the Letter to Elise by Beethoven or maybe an uplifting piece by Scott Joplin. I like to look at these letters moving fast before my eyes, my brain rushing to push out a new idea onto my virtual sheet of paper, my fingers hitting the keys harder as I feel the excitement of creativity overwhelming me like a wave of pleasure, endorphins making me high… Oh how I live for that, even if I have nothing interesting to talk about. They’re just words, my friends, my allies, who let me toy with them like play-doh as I invent new worlds, traveling to the farthest boundaries of my imagination, opening doors to realms where I sometimes lose my sanity…. To maybe partially recover it later.

I write because I am. Hey, that would be an interesting theme for a blog post! I’m sure people would love to know why I became a writer. Well…. First things first, I didn’t become a writer. I was born one. Seriously, I’m not bullshitting anyone here. I always wanted to write. It made me feel good, and opened my eyes to exciting realities. I held a pencil and words guided my hand.

The first novel I wrote started out of boredom. I was reading many many crime novels at the time, and wanted to imagine my own. The plot was superb. A private detective becomes a spy, he has tons of adventures in Paris, and falls in love with a very sensual girl…. Oh yeah. I wanted to mix elements from Sherlock Holmes with James Bond. My guy’s name was Fred Mat. He was good looking, smart, a ladies’ man and he solved all mysteries very quickly! This guy was my hero. I even wrote a sex scene in that story, yep, I did. They did it in the shower…. How old was I? 9? Hahahaha.

After that, well the world became mine! All my main characters were male, and instead of Fred Mat, my hero turned out to be Mike Myers (I was 17, just watched a ton of movies, thought it would be funny to give my main character a name that already existed in the hero/anti-hero directory….). Mike Myers was a black FBI agent, who lived in New York but got sent to work down in Texas on an investigation involving a cult. Very cool too. The guy was going through a divorce…. I liked my people to be tormented.

Now who’s my hero? My hero is a woman. Her name is Esperanza and she’s me. I like to switch things up a little. Hehe. I also write more about my life experiences, so it’s easier to see everything through the eyes of a woman since I’m one. Duh.

My life is really about writing. I forgot how it felt when I pushed it away for so many years, but it came right back at me even stronger than before, and it won’t let go. I want to talk about this passion every minute of my day, because I have so many ideas. So guys, yeah, I know now what I’d write about! Takers, anyone? Kidding, kidding. Well somewhat. 😉

How did I fall in love with you… I remember these times as if they were yesterday, when my heart burst with a passion that I was unable to tame, and feelings that grew bigger than me. I spent endless nights staring at the moon with a grin that never left my face, and all I did was think of you. You were with me every step of the way…

I’m a hopeless romantic. I can’t help it, I live to feel in love. I had my first huge crush when I was 13. It was the first day of class, and my girlfriend discreetly pointed at a guy who sat in a corner of the classroom, whispering in my ear: “He’s such a hottie. His name is Steve.” I pretended I didn’t find Steve as attractive as he was… Yeah… Sure. I sold my soul to the devil after Steve came into my life. I did his homework, played nice games with him so I’d deserve a bit of his attention. What did I get in return? Nothing. Not even a heartache… Nope. Nothing. I was so blindly in love I took it a step further and I realized my true potential. I simply loved for the sake of loving, just because it felt so good.

After Steve, came Nick Carter from the Backstreet Boys. That guy was untouchable. I fell in love with an idea, a beautiful idea that lived with me for eight years. I perfected my English, because I wanted to talk to Nick someday, and since Nick was American, well, I watched American movies so I’d know what to do once I’ll land in America. I was such a dork. I even copied the way he dressed… Yep. Love, love, love. How did I copy the way he dressed? I was 14 and I wore baggy pants with sneakers and very cute football jerseys. Yep! I looked fierce. Nobody thought I could pull it off, but I did! Nick left my life as soon as I actually talked to the guy and realized he was not the sharpest knife… Life. Ideas are so much stronger than reality.

I had crushes like everybody else, fancying somebody for a few days, then switching onto the next. Brains did not really matter, I just loved the looks. I never even thought of dating anybody. I just liked the feeling of being in love. It was so wonderful.

I smile when I think of how crazy it was to just hope and dream for days on end until my interest faded and picked something more pleasant to love. I never imagined myself getting married, or having babies. No. I just wanted to be in love. The same love I read about in books. The romantic, overwhelming love that would make me fly and feel invincible. The Romeo and Juliet love but without everybody dying at the end.

I remember being so much in love that I felt it grow for the person every day a little bit more. This was a wonderful thing to experience, and I wanted it to last forever.

I got married and everything became different. The love changed. The warm feeling slowly disappeared and got replaced with resentment. I started hating being in love. I forgot how it felt to be happy. It was weird, unexpected, and most certainly unwanted. How could such a beautiful feeling turn to indifference after a while? I really thought my heart had died.

And then, I remembered. I pictured everything the way it was supposed to be, and I smiled. The romantic in me wanted a new chance at falling in love, just because I missed it so much. Yes, I missed it. Maybe one day…. it will come back to me, exactly like in the stories I read when I was a teenager. Just the thought of it makes my heart beat faster, and I let my dreams take over, in a world where love is my life, and makes me happy forever. Yes, that would be really cool.

I read this article about the London riots a few days ago, and it made me think again about people who consider themselves victims of society. I’d love to paste the whole content of the article here, but it was in German… 🙂 So you’ll have to believe me or use Google translate to the best of your abilities.

Here’s the link to it anyway, in case you wanted to play around: http://www.welt.de/debatte/kommentare/article13536948/Pluenderer-sehen-sich-als-Opfer-zu-Unrecht.html

The author made a few very good points in his opinion about the riots, and why rioters and looters thought they were entitled to take back what society had “stolen” from them, while destroying the property and the wealth of others. Mere asocial criminals moved up to the rank of “social revolutionaries”, without really even meeting any of the revolutionary standards. You know, burning shit and breaking windows has nothing to do with revolution. Overthrowing a government is already more like it… and I should know this, I’m French.

But I digress. I’m not here to talk about how my angry ancestors declared war to the rich and powerful by beheading most of them over two hundred years ago, just to turn into a series of awful dictatorships where more beheading happened. Nothing’s bright and shiny when dealing with an angry mob. We see that all over the news, everywhere in the world. It’s utterly sad and depressing to know that men will fight each other without mercy to be in control again, but we have to face reality; the abused want to take over their abuser, because they’re tired of the injustice they suffer from every day.

I, myself, can picture the canvas where that battle takes place. I experience injustice at my own scale. Lots of us do. It’s not uncommon at all.

The article I read made it clear that the situation in England had been caused by several factors, one of them being the lack of perspective for social advancement in poor neighborhoods. Even if international organizations such as the OECD published statistics that a gifted middle class kid had more chances of climbing the ladder than a gifted lower class kid, the truth of the matter is, any democratic society is far from being perfect, and it will always be subject to heavy criticism when dealing with certain issues. It’s maybe easy for me to save face by saying that, but think about it. Look at other countries where civil war is an every day occurrence and children are taken away from their parents to become soldiers; look at countries where religious extremism is so predominant that it dictates everything, and forbids women to get an education; look at countries devastated by earthquakes and hurricanes, where everything has been destroyed and needs to be rebuilt; look at countries where the whole system is corrupt, and where everybody lives in fear of an ever changing ruling class; look at countries where free thinking has been declared unconstitutional. Now tell me: do these statistics really justify causing havoc and killing innocent bystanders? Do they justify burning entire neighborhoods, looting shops and private houses? Do they justify laughing at the face of a frightened population?

Rioters presented an obvious defense mechanism when caught in the act. They claimed to be victims. Victims of injustice, victims of a cut throat system, victims of a capitalist world where only the rich succeeded. These ideas have been fed to them over the years, making it easier to accept the inevitable truth: they were doomed to fail. They looked at a distorted image of themselves for so long, and sought an outside culprit to blame for their unhappiness. These excuses reinforced their behavior, and made it alright for them to destroy everything around them. It’s always easy to break. It’s harder to rebuild. Rioters took a shortcut by cracking windows; it was much faster and cheaper than swiping a credit card. They didn’t care how much work was put into setting these televisions behind the glass; the fucking televisions were here, so they were theirs. Society shoved so much injustice down their throat that it even stole these televisions from them; all they did was get them back.

Some people told me: “But they had no other way of expressing their discontent. What they did was similar to the Civil Rights movement”. I’m not really sure whether committing crimes is rewarded by getting more rights. I’m not forgetting the fact that social issues need to be dealt with at some point in the future, but I can’t bring myself to condone such acts of gratuitous violence. Demonstrating for your rights has nothing to do with burning down entire neighborhoods, and I’m pretty sure that the people who saw their house in flames would agree with me on that one too.

In theory, starting a revolution means wanting to establish and implement new rules to ultimately improve the condition of everyone. The revolutionary movement naturally represents only one part of the population. There’s no revolution without struggle, but a revolution is never centered around the selfish needs of each individual. Look at the United States, France, Russia, China, etc. I’m not saying that the results of a revolution are necessary good, some of them actually turned out to be catastrophic, but causing a revolution does not simply revolve around mere acts of violence, and a complete withdrawal from social responsibilities. You need to fight for something, an ideal that you think will make your life better.

When I see or hear people who claim that they want to start their revolution and destroy everything, I always ask them: “And then, what will you do to make the world a better place?”

They often look at me like I’m the crazy one talking, and they respond: “Nothing. I just want my share. I don’t want to pay taxes anymore. I’m tired of working here. I’m fed up with being a victim.”

Well, you know what I tell them in return? “I wonder how you would feed and clothe yourself if everybody thought like you. You’d probably live secluded in your small apartment until somebody came and tore that stuff down because they were tired of being homeless. Other people would come and steal your belongings, because they also were victims in their own way. Everybody would take until nothing would be left and then, what would you do? Wait like the victim that you are? But wait for what since everything burnt down? There’s no government anymore, nobody paying taxes and producing goods to provide for your comfort. What would you do? Tell me? Does being a victim sound attractive to you? Living in nothingness, in a world where hatred and selfishness are rules… where would it take you? Do you think you’d be closer to heaven or hell? Is that what you’d really want?” But by that point, they already told me to fuck off.

Take responsibility, change your life for the best, not for the worst. That’s all I have to say.

After miraculously catching a cab under a pouring rain, I came home drunk, my thoughts lost in a magical blur. I heard every drop land on the windows of my small apartment, and I felt lucky I made it just in time before getting completely drenched. I enjoyed being safe inside, knowing that nobody could get to me here, in my comfortable sanctuary.

As I sat on my couch, my head started spinning. I dreamt of a world that never died, where I was a captain leading my ship to a confident victory. New York secretly played a mermaid, who beguiled me into changing my route and ultimately making love to her with so much passion that she left me breathless. Once done, she let me fall asleep in her arms, whispering sweet words into my ear. “I know you love me” she said, “and you will always love me. I’m the poison you needed to survive, the only true passion you’ll ever have. I want your all, give me your soul and I’ll forever be yours.”

Despite my obvious drunkenness, I drank more of the delicious liquor she offered me, loving her as the cruel, adoring temptation she’d always be to my eyes, the catcher of my dreams, and the healer of my every sorrow. Deep within my heart I wanted her just to myself, not realizing that I was a selfish little parasite merely trapped in her web.

She let me believe that I was the only one, and I trusted her. I felt doomed, worshiping her beauty, and like in one of my fantasies, she really gave herself to me, and I couldn’t stop loving her more afterwards.

In my tormented dream, New York was my illness as much as it was my cure. I was nothing without her and she was nothing without me. I loved her forever, until I left, and never returned, receiving in exchange for my foolishness the worst hangover I’d ever had.