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Zeitz

For more than a month since I've proletarianized , and I rise to 6:30 am, and I work from eight to five. Then all life I did before: Test 2 times per week my new work, Miguel test your new work, I piano, I swim 3 times a week, I kind of writing. Sometimes my day ends at 23 pm all day in a row. On Saturdays, check. From 13 to 18:30 busy.

A weight of my hectic life, I'm happy. The morning is developed on the window and I see it coming. The sun is shining on the walls of my house as if it were midday, although 7 in the morning.

And then I go to study, and open the door for all those engineers and architects can leave (enter) to play. I can not say I'm that close and it turns out the light because there is always people, but if am the one who opens each day of the studio / house of Congress. I put coffee in the machine, I take the locks to the windows. The sun also gives strong in the study hall / house is a hallway outside, you see all the metallic covering of the terraces. The ceilings are high and the heart is large. At dawn the wind is fresh and green, as if Buenos Aires was a small coastal town and the sea.

Fall has arrived and with it my piano. Have a name. Geissler called Zeitz. It's big and German mahogany. For now, my only romance of the moment. I especially like how it sounds serious. My first piano.

All my life I wanted to have a piano, I wanted a life with me. Whenever I can, I put to practice. My cat went crazy with the piano, he uses it for everything, to rub, to sleep. When play begins to meow, turns his head against things. My cat is crazy.

Fall has arrived, and as each fall, contains within it the promise of winter. But it will be an exciting winter. A winter premieres and all-out trials. Free fall.

As I like these things to kill or die.

'm terrible.

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do not know where I come from. Like me, most Mexicans are ignorant or at best what we suspect cases. The wealthy classes do know, the most humble as well. The ham sandwich is population who has no idea what pork bore him. Mexico is diverse

but has been named keeper of the bronze race. I do not feel well and I am, I am mixed but not brown. Since childhood conflict caused me the color of my skin and attending a public elementary and popular area is not difficult to imagine the scenario. I was white (literally) of a parade of jokes around my pale that I took the existential trauma, for example, I was nicknamed 'Maria Joaquina ", the famous child character castor, wealthy and rump of the soap opera's most famous child eighties decade. So complex creep like me feel bad for the first time people see me, "blonde sangrona and presumptuous." The excessive desire to be brown I pulled over to the first time I went to the beach and sunny too long without sunscreen to cause me the most monumental burned to remember. Almost could not sleep and my skin was falling apart on the third day was dark but not flaky, red and worse, a ruse. I was eight.

-La ardidez not easily removed, was rooted in the depths of my bitter and pale

be .- Textbooks of the SEP were not helpful. See illustration to majestic Mexica so brave and proud parecérmeles increased the desire of being "Mexican", to be non-stop direct descendant of men who had the most accurate calendar, the city majestic, the most amazing engineering aquifer, the most successful warrior race Mesoamerica. If I was born in Mexico City was the logical. I systematically educated to hate the English and everything about them, I was taught to despise them without knowing them. "Damn Spaniards who came to destroy the Mexica empire." Just shop around the museum of anthropology, "Look what WE WERE advanced, look how beautiful pyramid was, look, what glory was." In high school to read Nahuatl poetry recitation contests, I cover beautiful-indeed, my first drawings of realistic and carbon- the conquest and the independence of Mexico. Oh, Spaniards the devil, púdranse in hell for his sin, unhappy!

spent time and thought that high school history teacher had a more eloquent. In a class started talking about Spain, the identity conflict that occurred in Mexico and should therefore include in the agenda of the History of Mexico, the history of medieval Spain, occupied by Arabs and a Renaissance more serious and deep. I objected strongly to his thesis: "We are descendants of indigenous Mexicans, were conquered in the vilest of the massacres, I flatly refuse you want me interest and study the culture of a country's oppressive, imperialist, and more specifically: full of smelly. "Standing ovation, applause and cheers at wholesale.
" Okay, Olga, did you see what color skin you have? What language do you speak? What religion do you profess? "Blanco-English-Catholic." I replied. Do you see yourself in the mirror and see a legitimate indigenous or see a purebred Iberian?, Why attack that also you? ".

The answers to these questions, I plunged into the deepest concern and confusion of my fourteen years. It was not one or the other was a contradiction. It was not even the prototypical mestizo: brunette, curvy, dark brown hair broken, thin lips and small nose. I whitish, thin, light brown hair, flat nose, thick lips. I "was."

is the eternal dilemma of my country, love-hate relationship with Spain and contempt for worship-Indians.

We are not losers or winners. The Aztecs were the architects magíficos WERE precise astronomers were the invincible warriors. It was they, not we the Mexicans, let's accommodate not filled bags. If eventually the Europeans were coming to America, it's good that Mexico was Spain. With that history I / we are here. Evil While there is Mexico because the English were more hot-blooded. And blessed be the English, the language most beautiful of all (yes, more than French).

understanding then I feel that if we could more properly as we are, this medley is badly done but done and at what, if we accept that for reasons beyond our control we are closer to Spain than we would wish, that yes, rightly bears the nickname "Mother Country": careless, conflict and abuse (but say there is only one Mother, jodímonos), Spain in turn is a country that holds the fragile pins idea nationality, I talked with three English lately and do not see nothing but contempt for each other, if we were taught from childhood that were not even conquerors, who were not more powerful or smarter, but opportunists aprovechadísimos that was Mesoamerica eager to betray, if ... if everything that happened would cease to be the hunched-chauvinist-Marguerite-wipe self-prick-naco-prieto-get away-from-me. The assumption that we can not define given the vastness of our roots, we are more than a mongrel phrase "English + Indian." that nationalism has little to do with skin color.

Until recently I realized the damage that also means mystify the mestizaje in Mexico has been a marginalization even more cruel to the Indians and the optimized comfortable aesthetic and economic altar of the direct descendants of English.

curiosity I enter and begin to investigate where are the people that I have genes?. The state of Guerrero is a mystery, few records, doctored records, trace missing. Cuahutémoc born in Ixcateopan and his remains are buried in the local Church-town attached to the family village -. The area north of the beautiful state of my parents was settled by people Nahuatl (Mexica primitive, tribes who left Aztlan), and Purépecha Chontal. Even I found some information that talks about migration alleged post-conquest Aztec groups to the territory. My favorite childhood place is that place in Guerrero where I realized that my Indian ancestors were immigrants as well as Hispanics.

I walked the main archeological sites in Mexico: Palenque, Tulum, Chichen Itza, Cuicuilco, the Templo Mayor, Malinalco, Teotihuacan, Tajin, La Venta, etc. So it irritates me too much criticism of which I have been expressing my need to visit and know the other part of my roots. "Oh yes, 'now is very European, "ps yeah dude, a piece it is and there is nothing excretable or arrogant. If I can not build a family genealogy for more than four generations, will assume me. My surnames are of central and northern Spain. The mother is Basque, the father comes from the Douro. And both surnames do honor to the trees (oh, everything seems to fit so well). Spain not perceive Mesoamerican below but not above them. I look forward contemplating the landscape for centuries also saw people who decided to emigrate from their country knowing that never again, perhaps I could well imagine what motivated them and if they came to clarify what future somehow return to his homeland in the form of Mexican tourists. Because more than the present and future are diffuse the past, when I sit at my niece Ana Patricia. It fits with gestures such that my mother said that he saw his grandmother, the same way across the leg and reload the elbow on his knee, the exact inclination of the forearm, the hand caressing the child left shin. The brat repeats without knowing, ways of someone who could never know because he died fifty years before the birth, someone who seems to have little to do with her life and early twenty-first century where he plays with an ipod and notes without a trace of surprise in the streets of major google street view cities.

While away, we are also those who were.

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move in the air I

was a summer night. travel plans this year to India had gone to hell thanks to contingency influenza, the freelance impossible to put down, and the lack of enthusiasm of the friend with whom had begun planning such a trip. I decided that for my summer vacation (a rickety week) go north to Coahuila to Four C iénegas . I talked to my friend biologist and liked the idea, but personal circumstances prevented him from go. There was no one who conicidiera time or destination. I did not go alone. Goodbye vacation.

That week was spent at home doing very little. Thursday came and organized a farewell to Lear returning to Cambridge after a few weeks in the city, we stayed to see the Coyoacana . The talk flowed on par with drinking, Nuria told me about Barcelona, \u200b\u200bEmilio talked of the future that loomed for him in Chicago surely Jordy said something from Germany, Carlos can not avoid talking about Tango. and went encarrerados home of Lilian to continue talking, and drinking. We talked about history, Latin America, Mexico gruesome Independence, the revolution confusing. And they gave us one, two, and three ... and six.

I was to sleep there, so Lilian and I spent the day together. I remember we saw " Synecdoche New York " (I have a congenital disease that prevents me synecdoche pronounce correctly.) We walked through Rome, the Juárez and Reform - "Look there is the house of Marcelo Ebrard " - talked more and more. If you ask me what, I could not tell. Everything and anything, just remember one item: Move. What about someone who did not move, and move no I mean not to stagnate, but feel stuck , comply with the known. How can you understand the world if you do not know, if not experience, unless you live?. What is conformity? What is the rule that provides for "did" <-----> "the regaste?. I like the routine, safe, reliable. So far there had been no complaints of not changing many aspects of my life letting the boat called time take me quietly . The routine for Olga of twenty years was good, maybe even thirty or thirty-two. But if thirty-five one day wake up wanting to kill twenty-six for not doing more to wait for the target transport her to a place that does not place?

Back to home Lilián analyze options for the night and decided to go to a party where Jordy had invited us. I felt a little, quite uncomfortable, wearing the same clothes as yesterday. At some point in the meeting, I complained about that fact, I said aloud that he was "whole pig" (but I had bathed, eh). Luis , I asked why and I explained that I had been sleeping in my friend's house. "So you freelance as Lilian ?", "No, I work in (insert name of my Extra-), and I'm on vacation, why not go to the office." Luis with a look of surprise, chides me: "But what you're here and why not ... a beach?".

- "This, then, is that ... did not want to go alone and nobody could travel" ...

- "What's that?" Young

Urquieta proceeds to tell of his travels, many in solitary. Does so in a way that allows Lilián eyes and me staring and mesmerized ... molt. Perhaps they were not great adventures or events or places with the biggest story of the world, but they were different, distant, unknown . He was silent because he could not comment. It's like when I'm drinking with Carlos and Lear and they talk passionately about a book I have not read and only serve semiliterate listening to come out with a stupid joke to be noticed. He spoke of America.

Many who read these lines know what happened next. That weekend and following talks like that, Lilián decided to travel to South America, where is still in Chile.

It took me a little more. Perhaps I also motivated me to hear talk of the Southern Cone, starting to plan the trip, dreaming of Chile, the country that attracts you as a child ("no gamble, pigs). Thinking of Argentina, writers, in books, on streets, in the Andes, in flames, in Colombia ... And hopefully this will work like a big domino effect and there those who dare to travel post read it, so intense and beautiful all. It was nice to go along the path in real time, view photos you've published, or assuming their twits getting a place.

There were more reasons for me yet, but do not concern the topic of this post.

In November I decided to go. I suffer from aviofobia , making it very difficult to determine. I travel alone, I can not wait for anyone not want to. Would not know how many more years to be a friend has the money-time-win. All my life I've been like a little glass bubble filled with family care, routine, conformity. This journey is mine, only mine, I planned it, I paid. I want to see how I am able to do things alone and without depending on others, being away with almost anything. I'm gonna live what I had to experience for at least five years. The maximum satisfaction of doing until now is that on my own, oh, sweet self sufficient. Also concluded that he was leaving to move and thus to live, tie me to people, property, routines. Not that place at the pinnacle of human existence traveling, but I remember one night over the sea the night of Tuesday August 18, 2009 in which probably the most exciting thing I did was go to the movies. I

to Europe (or as I call them "The United Quesque Europas"), and for me is more than a backpacking or tour "fifteen days, fifteen European cities, take the photo with the monument and run "is more than what the Americans have made to tourism standardize and make mass production as a Big mac. It will be my first trip abroad, the first of many, the practice for mere-mere adventurers.

would like to write more about it, but I'm overwhelmed with all I have to end after a certain calm. Motivations, expectations and travel plans, the write soon (like the fact "How the hell is that going to Europe if they swore that your first trip would not be in any way the cliche status?" ). Cof, cof.

I miss the EFE. A month is nothing but when I was so addicted he could not secure I will not be jamaiconeando the third day.

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No praise is better.

"But what a pretty girl!". Answer that is easy for four years, say 'thank you', head down shyly and throw yourself to run with your cousins. Or not say anything and just smile showing a child rather grim grimace but aunts and studio photographers love. If you do this last, for sure again that you're beautiful, or wasps, or harmonica or the beautiful eyes you have Underneath those two eyebrows are the same as Dad.

I feel like I've never been able to react successfully when I cool. If you answered with a thank you red blush and I do not know what to do. It occurs to me to respond with a compliment. It is the worst. Few things can seem more forced (although they are not at all, come on, if I answer a 'your hair cut is also chingón , it is very likely to be true) to respond to a compliment with another. But if I say nothing I feel like I committed a fatal coarseness. There should be a manual "What to do or what not to do when the flatter."

is also believed that the applause is conditioned. Someone who wants to look good, gain confidence, friendship is sought immediately. I prefer to avoid people who flatter me too much of the bat, especially in an aesthetic sense. And if man further.

is so devalued the proper sense of things. If I write an "I'm ugly", it seems that the reaction eloquent or what I'm looking for is "but if you are very pretty" and I will not. No and no and no. Let wallow in my frustration, fuck, damn time of cheerleading superacional . Nothing like accepting the shortcomings without regret or sorrow. It should not be sad to be ugly. Is fortuitous. The beauty also depends a lot on where you stand: in a place I'm the ugliest of the group, I am the most striking one, otherwise the thinner, otherwise the most flabby, otherwise ... depends on the viewer.

prefer to stay cautious with the cheers for accepting so easily drift loa terrible acts of stupidity egomaniac. There are, however naive or arrogant, dangerous match for quality-you do not choose that option. They take too seriously their qualities and sublime to the ridiculous. is overrated the overvaluation capabilities: just shop around bookstores, art galleries, cinemas, plethoric prose are cheap, mediocre script, performances squalid, vulgar music. Sadder is deified the smug ridicule the genuine failure the humble.

Not all hobbies are exploitable. For example, sometimes I write stories, or do artwork. I have fun, get to work the creativity that usually serves a customer desires daze, discovering new things about me, I take courage that bring stuck in the psyche . But that does not make me show anyone or brag about being good at it. I am not and has absolutely nothing harmful. I do it for me, I do not need applause or condemnation. I'm not excited about the idea of \u200b\u200bbeing recognized or be a rough diamond to be polished light Mexican art -how absurd presumption. I feel that the artist or creator who seeks such purposes is not only a diva, aspiration identical to that of a pop star . And there is enough plastic in the world.

transcendence So is it so important? "We looked to be in the center of a stage and be admired, envied, applauded? Is that what has become art, aesthetics, popularity whore?.

Elsewhere geniuses are unknown , who to this bonfire of the vanities prefer to hide. And the more that requires them to "come out of the closet of shame", they celebrate more capacity, less convinced they will be exhibited. Not because they know above, not want to mingle with the crowd high on flattery. Each overwhelms flattery. It is not what they want.