En lo que te convierte el amor

En el amor, en estar enamoradx, exploras y confrontas tus inquietudes más profundas e invisibles. Te das cuenta de tu impaciencia, de tu naturaleza inquebrantable, y de tu certeza. Que para nada eres perfectx. Siendo fuerte, hechx irrompible, por tus maestrxs, experiencias y sueños, tu fortaleza se vuelve un vínculo que te une con otro ser implacable, valiente.

Siendo fuerte, te das cuenta que puedes llegar a ser rígidx e insensible. Tu fortaleza también es mecanismo de defensa y se presta a alejarte de tu amor, de la intuición y sensibilidad hacía otrx ser, su felicidad y sufrir.

Pero, tras años de desarrollar un amor propio, tan profundo como el pleno conocimiento de sí mismo, un amor por el conjunto de todo lo que te exalta y alegra de la existencia, el amor te obliga a regresar a tu punto de partida y ver como amarte mejor a ti mismx, como a tu amor, como a la vida.

El amor te convierte en tu version más vulnerable, más susceptible a dolor y sufrimiento. El amor te convierte en alegrías que se tornan pleitos, en fiestas que terminan en atacas de cólera, en el pleno ejercicio de todas tus emociones.

El amor te presenta la oportunidad de ver como seguir amándote a ti mismx como amas y esperas amar a otrx. El amor te presenta la oportunidad de empezar, o abandonar, todo de nuevo. Es un proceso que te obliga a destruir todo y empezar desde el punto que creas necesario, de curación total.

Tú decides en lo que quieres convertirte. Tú, en un acuerdo y compromiso con ti mismx, en sintonia con el amor propio de tú amor, con la poesía que escribirán, que experimentarán, que transcenderán.

El amor, nuestro amor, tú amor, contiene promesas infinitas para ser feliz, para crecer, reintentar, empezar de nuevo, empezar de cero, abandonar, y olvidar.

Al fin de todo, de cualquier amor, te podrás re-encontrar. Enterrado bajo todo el amor agotado, podrás coger y empezar de nuevo.

El amor te regala la hermosa oportunidad de ser plenx, apoyar e inspirar amor en otrx, constantemente empezando de nuevo.

Quiero seguir amándote, amándome, siendo sensible al amor, y todo lo que nos brinda.

Mexico City: I moved here to write…

No longer there, I look back and invent the reasons why there was the only place to become me, la escritora. As I move East, my attachment to Mexico City is weaved by gratitude:

Put simply, that’s all I want to do. A privilege, a dream, a luxury, a far fetched idea made reality by pure conviction and stubbornness. Here, the mid-afternoon rainfall that purifies my lungs is unwritten poetry, the urban marvels and wonders nestled at every corner is untapped inspiration, the moonlight and silence and noise is inspiration for prose and ode alike.

Here, lives courage, defiance, struggle and the resistance of people and movements that must and will always make themselves present. Here, for me, journalism is as important as the personal essay because they are one in the same. Survival, resistance, love, and homage. What inspires me irremediably and that I know I must write for myself and for others.

Here, inspiration and love seeps into my pores, fills my stomach, perfumes my hair, salts my michelada, and lets be frank, even pays for my cab ride.

This inspiration is as old and decaying as the baked lake bed beneath my feet. It is also new and flourishing…

todo cambia

Forever indebted to you, Negra.

me siento débil ante el peso del cambio, del tiempo transcurrido desde que escribí palabras ya muy lejanas. busco desesperada la inspiración que antes me inundaba. busco las flores radiantes que ya parecen esconder sus caras del sol. busco llenarme del deseo implacable que me llevó, y obligó a regresar a la ciudad de méxico: convicción irremediable. inspiración casi celestial que llena el cuerpo y hace los extremos de tu ser pulsar en afirmación de que eres, aquí. es observar, de lejos, los caminos que has trazado por Borderlands/La Frontera, queriendo, desesperadamente regresar a dónde estabas más feliz. el incesante andar te lleva por dónde debes viajar, por un dolor que es crecimiento, nostalgia que es lejanía, sabiduría que es aprendizaje. no hay paso atrás. no puedes ser la mujer ni escritora que antes fuiste. transfronteriza, pasajera en trance, mujer indomable: tu camino queda adelante. el ciclo empieza de nuevo, los retos y oportunidades de renacer están incrustados en el territorio que empieza con tu primer, nuevo paso.

Mexico City: A Transfronteriza’s Last Days

“Tengo nostalgia de un país que no existe todavía en el mapa.” Chinatown, Downtown Mexico City.

I’m sitting at Muebles Sullivan surrounded by a few bags stuffed with clothes and toiletries, my dry cleaning, and an incredible lightness of being. As usual, the coffee is delicious and life passing me by beyond the lemon trees brings me a subtle sense of satisfaction. A lemon scented, caffeinated gratitude for Mexico City.

My journey continues and the time has come to lug my clothes and emotions back home. Before this moment I feel I had wandered around burdened by the heavy weight of suffering, anxiety, and the overwhelming desire to live, stubborn and strictly, in Mexico City. I fought for it. Unceasingly, I fought my family, the world, and myself for this moment of fulfillment and sense of completeness.

I will journey back to my family in about ten days. The map of my retreat forward is as follows: I will walk through the National Mall in about two weeks, saunter down the streets of Jackson Heights and Bushwick in about three, sleep in my childhood room in five, roll round La Cita’s dance-floor in six, lay out in Rosarito’s beaches in ten, and move all of my hopes and dreams to New York City in seventeen.

Even from here, it all seem so far away from Mexico City. The retreat forward is decided on and the start of graduate studies at New York University is imminent. It’s wondrous and I’m thankful. Especially to this city. For the inspiration and conviction it inspired in me to try ceaselessly to be here. To explore then destroy my fears, doubts, and anxieties. To tap into my intuition and prioritize self-love.

It taught me to be flexible, to flow, and embrace my condition as a transfronteriza. To push my own limits, extend myself across all the borders that had asphyxiated me since birth. It subjected me to deep suffering, an experience that threw me into depression in senior year of college but one that eventually became the catalyst for my self-sufficiency and independence.  And it taught me to navigate the sometimes volatile, sometimes deeply deeply magical terrain of my own emotions. I explored my spirit and self fully and deeply these past five years because Mexico City enlivened an inexorable hunger and inspiration to live, to feel, to be.

I was heavy with all of these experiences. I held on to that truth, to Mexico City, to the possibility of fully and beautifully being. Because it is such a beautiful lesson and experience to have. And I think it was necessary, to feel the weight of being–to feel how it physically and emotionally imposes itself, reminds us we are alive, and inspires us to navigate the world aware of ourselves, our life, and our creative promise.

Now, I feel light with that lesson. I feel grateful for that weight. I feel happy because this city deeply shook me, woke me, and loved me. It inhabits me and will continue to inform who I am to become. I will be bound to it as long as I remain committed to letting it go, to exploring myself, as I propel myself forward.

Mexico City taught me to be, my beloved teacher and companion in these perpetual journeys as a transfronteriza.

Forever grateful, and in love.

Mexico City: San Rafael

Muebles Sullivan, Colonia San Rafael 

The shadows of the tree branches sway on the smooth white walls of the cafe, creating patterns of fading sunlight across the temporarily out of service expresso machine. Power has been wiped out from my neighborhood so for the first time in eight years, I am alone with my self and with this overwhelming sense of disconnectedness we used to call rest.

Behind me engines rumble and wheels screech to a halt every minute. The microbuses and taxis shuttle several hundreds to the north south east and deep west of the city.

Clouds gather and humidity begins to lightly coat car hoods and the leaves of surrounding lemon trees. We’re experiencing a winter storm in the middle of March. Suddenly the sky is muddled a dirty brown color that warns of fast approaching rain.

The wind feels sweet. Unburdened of its toxicity, it wraps already bundled bodies that hustle in every direction, home-bound.

Behind me the sun quickly sets. The sunlit patterns are fading away, and still no internet.

Decirte que te extraño


Screen shot 2016-03-07 at 5.34.27 PM
Mexico City-Los Angeles (Let’s Meet in the Middle) by Susan Logoreci


To confess that I miss you is to admit that we are bound.

To recognize that the 1,548 miles between us
are threads that traverse mountains and plains and tether us together
pulling us close in a tight embrace

It’s to temporarily suspend time and space to acknowledge a closeness that distance doesn’t permit

To keep you alive within me
An immediacy that keeps my skin sensitive to your warmth
to your vanilla scent
the smoothness of your shoulders
and caresses

I miss you
the way i love early mornings and late nights in Centro Histórico
the way I love the coolness of advancing dusk on my skin
the way I love the smell of lemon trees in my hair
the dancing
the music
all that is

When I say I miss you I suddenly become aware
that what I am really saying is that I love you
That I wish happiness and presence upon you

To encourage you to love and celebrate where you are
To remind myself to be grateful and alive where I am

Far apart and still thriving
Displaced but rooted
Separate and fully alive

Decir te extraño
es decir te pienso
te quiero

Es decir que me quiero a mi misma
reconocer que me alimentas
mi haces más viva

Es reconocer que en cuanto más te extraño
más siento amor por la vida
por mi entorno
y lo que esta en mi

I miss you
because I love myself