I\’m back

Gad, I had forgotten that there are a lot of strange people in a city! It was a cold, albeit, a refreshing realization. I rediscovered this aspect as I proceeded to cross the entirety of the airport in order to reach the subway. And to my mind came back that old adage of mine: “Weirdos ride public transportation.” And I smiled cheerfully.

This time though, I have not chanced to commit the same mistake as before. Whenever I find myself returning to the Bay Area, I always am rushing to cross the span that leads from the subway to the train at the Millbrae Station. Normally, I rush up stairs, my bags firmly clasped, my lungs breathing for air and my mind deploring the situation: in front of me is the train and I have the feeling it is about to depart. I then proceed down the stairs only to realize that my suspicion was true. And as is always the case, because I have arrived late at night, that happens to be the last train! No! Impossible. So I rush over to the schedule and lo and behold, the next train does not come until 3 AM. So I am stuck at the train station for 3 hours.

But as I have said, I have not committed this mistake this time. I only have one bag with me and it is lightly packed; a few sets of clothes and some reading material. And it is not around midnight so I am not stressed about missing my train. Ah the wonders of living in the suburbs of this wonderful metropolis that spans three cities and a frigid body of water.

I love riding the train and the subway … it’s so city-like. I love it. I love public transportation. I recall when Jessica (from LAHS) and I used to ride the bus at 3 AM in order to escape the tedium. Boy, those were adventures! Then we would get off at some random stop, and we’d walk until we could no longer take it, then we’d wait for the returning bus. And I’d twirl in order to make myself dizzy while she would go on sputtering nonsense.

I hope that this event will stir in me passion… no, that it will revive the passion within my soul. Yes. It is only during moments of passion that I am able to say such thing as: I was wrong, they were right. It is during moments of passion that I am able to write: “The thinking process that led me to the conclusion that I needed to leave was flawed and guided by the stupidity that accompanies youth.” Yes… I am young and yes I am stupid. I am much-too-goaded by my passions. Perhaps I can blame Machiavelli for having adviced me to be rash, yet I will exempt him from any blame (though it was right to be rash, Fortuna was not on my side). I will exempt everyone and everything. All that has happened to me in the span of this last year is my fault and my fault only. I am taking responsability for it.

And it is times like this, moments of utter marginalization of the mind, that I need to be rash. Just last night I was telling myself … for all my desires to be independent and brave, all I want right now is to be held and told that I am loved, tears bursting from my eyes. But today I am telling myself that I need to be rash, that I need to be brave and foremost, I need to be independent. Only through sheer tenacity may I succeed.

Perhaps all there is to life is living … what about love? Ah Love! I love. Do you? Yes I am in love. How so? Just like that. Ah. But as I have said, living is the key and living is what I must do … but for now, I must enjoy this cool air, the redwood trees outside the balcony. The balcony brings memories of time long gone, of laughter … of dreams. Oh how right Keith was when he said what he said to me while I stood on the balcony looking at the redwoods in the courtyard … “They are too diferent from us Juanito. Muy distintos. We….” How I wish I had listened to him.

Good times … life is wonderful. Smile. The intensity is amazing. Tomorrow, I am off to Kepler’s, it’s like my favouritest bookstore in town ever! Muah. Besos.