I’m…

The Luckiest

It is told in the Popol-Vuh that mankind went through three creations process in order to achieve the type of humans we are today, for the Gods always found a defect in former materials before using corn, we are “men of corn”, the most sacred grain in native American cultures and consumed today on a daily basis by nearly one-third of world’s population. And even though those Gods formed our species from the same materials they gave us the breath of life, a soul, the touch of heavens. As a consequence, despite biological common factor, I’m not my neighbor.

According with numbers, I have 15x chances of committing suicide, I’m prone to addictions in a higher level that 95% of people and, as a woman, post-partum depression is mostly a certainty awaiting it’s time to come. However, not suicide has been committed, drugs as appealing and often the quick fix they are, never were my cup of tea and if the latter fact happens my individuality will remain the same. However, every time I write two words on a piece of papers I become a dot in a chart for people trying to understand the world, and its people, as “normal” versus “special”, that dreadful code for different. But these two words are my piece of divinity, my gift given by a powerful entity who created you and me. Would you reject and neglect a portion of the universe just because it makes you a separate person from the one sitting next to you? After loving God, love thy neighbor is commanded, furthermore, you must love that person with the same love you have for yourself. Can you love otherness?
I’m not good with magazine information about study cases, I’m good with people and their joys just as much as sorrows for you see I’m 1-4 humans for my two words and so is the human being waiting in line to pay a bill, standing inches away from my arm while using the tube and that student praying to get a decent grade. My days are an exercise of love and charity towards whoever comes to my way, most of those days I fail, but a few are glorious facts aside.

Luck is defined by the Oxford Dictionary as (n) good or bad things that happen by chance or good fortune, and lucky as having, bringing, or resulting from good luck.
My words make me the luckiest girl in the universe.

Religious studies and Mormon studies: Good or bad?

Interesting approach to studying beliefs systems even outside the religious ground. Humans not only have faith in a deity, but also attend to tackle politics and morality with the same fervour.

By Common Consent, a Mormon Blog

MormonStudiesCover_Vol2What’s it like to study about religion in a university setting?

I’ve come to believe that the answer to this question largely depends on what university you attend. Some universities are privately owned and overseen by particular religious organizations. Others are overseen by state governments. The immediate context of scholarly pursuits always impacts the work that results, but not always in predictable ways. As with many academic pursuits, there’s no simple one-size-fits-all definition of religious studies. This suggests we should be skeptical when we encounter generalities like this: “Religious studies is a secular enterprise which excludes and damages faith and dismisses believers,” or “Religious studies is what happens when apologists and theologians try to gain academic respectability.”

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Link

My super power

Too often my ideas can’t find a spoke person, I’m rather terrible at  advocating  myself because I don’t know how to make people outside my circle understand or respect me, so I’m a horrible cynic, despicable woman most the time and for most of the people since I never go out. But I have friends, and I presume they must have at least some sort of sympathy for me or I would have been thrown out of a window a long time ago. Therefore, I must be or I am a person who doesn’t go well around her peers. What’s that? Is it a disease? Defect? No, it’s called “to be an introvert”. Simply put: leave me alone, I’m trying to exist.

I chose a profession where books, writing and loneliness are key rules to achieve success – History B. A- and collaboration if a seldom practice viewed as intrusive and tacky, a researcher has to develop his own projects as fantasies and write accordingly, it’s rare to find teams doing historical research jobs, and when it happens murder is expected. At teaching, the person stands up alone in front of a class and delivers information just known to that person like talking to a mirror with a thousand eyes.
Solitude is my temple.
Here’s a woman who managed to live the life of the deadly needed social relationships to be competitive as a lawyer but then she realized that it kills her. Let me introduce you to an amazing talk, when one person spokes for millions hidden in plain view.

Perplexity

Today I bought a book by Murakami and it’s feels like I can deal with all my problems just fine, I can look forward for words that sounds like music, sentiments wordless until I read them and the possibilities -endless- of one’s mind, for you see I like to read. My air is full of symbols and I love to be decoded from time to time. Being alive right now, 29 years old and counting, has brought many things into my plate for the feast of destiny and I keep wondering what’s next and then I stop because I can’t connect next with rational wordy thinking.

Being alive right now, at 29 years old and counting, has brought many things into my plate for the feast of destiny and I keep wondering what’s future anyway, does it comes labeled? Both with fear and -until this afternoon- a sense of… my persona embarked from Chacaito to  Ciudad Universitaria but still I could not name it yet, but as I took the sub back home at 5 p.m with all kinds of people busy with kids, friends, robbers and schedules to sort my brain found a peculiar word: perplex. It wasn’t fear either calmness, I just wondered why a twisted life it was and began to feel that, perplex.

As I look it up with a dictionary a reality check hit me, the word per se means differently from what I had experienced but then I realized that this: you can create a thesaurus as you talk, think and speak. Meanings are mere suggestions like a pact between you and certain people, however, your brain brings emotions with no real significances for them, just you.

It might have been related with a psychological answer and that’s fine with me. I own my right to collect concepts as freely as those who created meanings. Let’s make an agreement: don’t fight back with you logic and I would not attack you with my dramas.

Life, with cats

I’m a “basic bitch”. Basic as shit. So, I love coffee, Gilmore Girls, pretty nails, vintage dresses and cats.

Given that statement not to be confused with “labelling”, I own cats, three to be precise. One black, one b/w and a tiger like kitten.  All of them came from the streets of Caracas, dehydrated, starving and sick… Not to mention scared, injured and alone. Since I’m not a cat I’ll write from my limited human point of view, a human born safely and loved, cared and protected for almost 30 years, no one had to feel sorry for me, or pick me up out of pity for you see, I’m lucky.

But luck is a strange wild card, it can lead you to life, but that’s it and the rest of your existence is that: yours. Then you have options, choices and decisions, good, bad and beyond, wise, smart and plain dumb, live varies at the blinks of one’s eyes and chance is certain, at least for me regardless my unchangeable nature and constant fear of dying haunting me with every breath I take.

Where Human meets Cat? Right at Scared, Injured, Alone AV. There’s where I relate to their lives closely, intimately and freely. Each cat has a piece of my soul as I have their paws engraved in my hands, no other relationship right now can be as inclusive and understanding as the human / cat is. It’s honest. Brutally honest, born out of weaknesses and loyalty, each furry partner broke my heart and sought me, a fallen girl who cries and can’t manage crowds without rapid levels of anxiety running through her body. In my intimate fears I was brave enough to save them. It’s a victory of unlikely odds over predictable behavior. We won.

Quietly in my house we enjoy a unique way of life, a life of happy solitude. Three victorious creatures and one human that was saved, overcoming  their bad lucks a fault.

Seeing Him in 2014

By Common Consent, a Mormon Blog

[Cross-posted to In Medias Res]

This year our youngest daughter turned eight, and as her older sisters are busy with other things and her mother has been working, it’s been mostly me who has spent time with her, reading Christmas books (J.R.R. Tolkien’s Letters From Father Christmas is the new favorite this year) and watching all the essentials. A few days ago she told me about a friend at school who told her “Santa Claus is fake,” and wanted to know what I thought. I told her the truth, of course: Santa Claus is real. She wanted assurance, and wrote him a letter, asking if he was real or not. I happen to have an advance copy of what Santa wrote back, which I share with his permission with you all here:

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A time to step back and gather yourself together.

While most people are still pass out drunk or heavily drugged on family festivities, I just want to escape, hide myself or simply disappear. It’s not a matter of love for my family and humanity – I’m always questioning that second statement though- or being a simple Grinch, and I couldn’t care less about holidays to be honest. The fact is this: Christmas has stolen my tolerance for crowded, forced and unrealistic happiness.  
Magic is for children and the excessive amounts of alcohol were for me, but like 5 years ago, now my cynicism kicks more than the times I blink, and finding a good place to compost myself after unwanted phone calls, text messages and all the goods given to us by social media gets harder, not because of me per se but rather as a result of the lack of space to mourn childhood before embracing the loneliness inherently attached to any person pass his/her mid 20’s.
Christmas becomes a shriek for my heart as strong as a knife stabbing me several times a day, I think this is a time to heal for 11 months of -mostly and surely- grief, joys, losses and life as it comes. Mourning is not suffering or self punishment just for the sake of it, is how I, we, you, prepare to enter to another 365 days of living in your chosen, designated part of an enormous wheel -destiny, fate, karma- named as you like. It’s a time to seek lost pieces left behind during the past days, to forgive yourself -again- and make promises for a better tomorrow.
Let me lick my open wounds, and I’ll be back on track as my witty self in no time at all.

Welcome seeker, night owl or deeply alone friend

Pleasure to meet you and pardon me for my selfish attitude.
By being alone, jobless and outdated with zero time restrains allows me to become a writer every night. Looking for words to describe the sensations and fears, sadness and some bright points of my daily adventures –as a bipolar patience every day a miracle- . What about this taboo: becoming productive as a conclusive result of falling away from mainstream paradigms of what a successful almost 30 years old woman should be.
I’m 29 living with my mother and three cats, with a bachelor’s degree, History, and a “secure” position as a professor at my Alma Mater, no boyfriend, children or dependable creatures under my care, in other words I’M FREE. Free… Freedom.
A price is demanded by fate, the gods need my humiliation in return so I must pay with fear, loneliness and a despicable ego, what an academic bitch I am. A whore with brains who writes other people’s crap with no credits whatsoever for myself. Poor credentials. Decent life!
To move this girl/woman from a comfortable, but dangerous zone takes a leap of hope, an absolute need, but hope only comes when you behave well…
Salute to you!