of seemingly eternal Resonance

Here is something I wrote last year that still resonantes. I wrote it in a past tense. I was still 34 years old but I wrote it from a 35 year old perspective. Predictable, but still uncanny.

*I adjusted and edited the content accordingly.

For the past 4 years my life was about waiting. Waiting for the doctor. Waiting for the treatment. Waiting for the treatment to work. Waiting for the results. Waiting for the results to be “negative”. Waiting for the next 6 months to start it all over again.
Then the hurricane came and so the cycle continued but worst because this time I also had to wait for the electricity to come back and for things to come back to “normal”.

I waited.
I waited 1 month to go on a planned Vacation amid darkness and uncertainty in my country.
I waited 2 months for the garbage to be removed from the street in front of my home.
I waited 3 months to visit my family in Thanksgiving only to comeback home and find out that candles were still going to illuminate my night.
I waited 4 months to -FINALLY- have the light back in my apartment.
I waited and waited and built a patience in a way I never knew I could…

When it all ended, I took a deep breath and moved out. Ironically, when it all came back to “normal”…
Moving to another country was the dream of my life. I did it after surviving cancer. I was 34 years old and I chose France to live the experience. I had always loved the language and studied it through my college years.
I did this for myself and for the sake of living and healing. As soon as I finished my treatments, I packed everything and went away. Sort of. It wasn’t an “out of the blue” moment. I had planned it since the beginning of my illness. It was a promise to myself, that I would live to live the experience I always wanted to.

I am here now. In Nantes. This is my present and I can only think of all the terrible things I lived back home. I feel nostalgic in a strange way. I do not miss the Island or my family. Maybe I miss being strange there? Here my “strangeness” is different. Obviously. I’m in a land with people who doesn’t speak my same language and behave completely differently from us, the Latin people.
I think what I miss the most is their empathy. People in Puerto Rico and Latin America are generally compassionate and empathic. They have a sweet voice and a big heart; they know how to soften our sorrows and make us feel comfort and warm even in the coldest and saddest places of our bodies.

But Life continues. Here. In this country that I find a bit cold, in all the senses. I have to grow tolerance every day and not be open hearted with them. It will only hurt me more. I have already seen it, their distance, their seriousness. They don’t know how to deal with emotions. Vulnerability is not in their daily vocabulary. And I cannot change that. And it’s ok.
That is why I feel this country is not for me. I am an open human being; I am a woman that has got through a lot of pain. I need openness and vulnerability in my life. Most importantly, I need to be able to share it, and need to be able to feel understood. Here I feel like a strange tree standing alone in the middle of a cold valley.

Notwithstanding, I don’t desire to go back to Puerto Rico.

I think about how there’s a “reality” waiting for me back home—if I can still call Puerto Rico home. I still need to visit the doctor every 6 months for 5 years in a row, then once a year during the next 10 years.
I think about how I never felt I belong where I was born and, now that I’m in France, I have found myself don’t belonging here, either.
There is a sadness, a sorrow; but there is also a quest, and that is what matters the most to me. I’m not giving up now.

(w)hole

Coffee with milk.
Toasts with butter.
And bread.

My grandmother had the whitest softest hair I had ever seen.
Silky and translucid. Just as her wrinkled skin.
She lost her memory. The old one.
She was now young and worried.
She thought often of her children.
She was scared.
Until one day, she lost it all. Her fears too.
Life has its ways…

Silence became her willow tree and only her eyes could speak the language of her heart.
I remember the breakfasts she would serve me when I was a child.
Coffee
Milk
Toasts
Butter
And
Bread.
My heart was warmed and filled.
I will never feel again this kind of whole.
I was taken care of and I had no worries.
Grandma was there. She was my protector and my saint.

May now the angels rejoice with her presence. You are the lucky ones.
Please, don’t let her down.

mars 2019

Benjamin broke up with me and a week later my grandma died.
I had spoken about her with him.
We talked about family and genealogy.
Our connections. Our history. Our unknown roots.
We were elated.
She had Alzheimer, I said.

This is how I will remember this month:
Like the interstice between a broken heart,
and death.

the real story

Hi, my name is Roxana and I decided to restart my life at 34 years old. I don’t know if this matters to you, or to the world out there, at all, but it does to me, and I feel the need to talk about it. Because maybe, just maybe, this story will resonate with you, too.

At 31 years old I was diagnosed with lymphoma cancer. I went through chemotherapy and all sorts of examinations and treatments, that is, hell. But I don’t want to talk about this. It’s not the real story. What matters is what happened next.

I survived. I quit my job. My money. My beautiful huge apartment. My car. My insurance. Even my follow-up appointments with doctors. Because, after the small but delightful hurricane that passed through my life, I learned that… well, many things really.

First, that life is short. Honestly. We hear this all the time, ALL the time, specially from adults. But understanding this cliché does not really happens until you shake hands with death, specially being so young.

Then I learned that what matters is our dreams. That is why when I quit everything, I came to France.

Let me tell you: I. am. Not. Rich. Not. At. All. Not even close. I was just a normal girl living in the tropics, with a nice job, and lovely cat (well, sort of, but I will talk about Risa later) and pretty much a normal life. (Insert « boring » if you feel that’s the right word). Until cancer said “Hello, stranger”. And then my life became fun, and up side down, if you must, and this black cloud ended up turning up my life in so many good ways. This is when I realized that I needed to change, that I needed to take risks, that what I wanted more than anything was to have no regrets.

And, luckily (this adverb is still small to me), I did it! I came here. Oh la la!

Also, very, very important: I learned not to not take things for granted. Have you ever said “I love you” first? Have you ever traveled by yourself? Have you ever said “thank you”? Have you ever been honest with someone? With yourself? Also, listen, if you think you are fat, or sad, or unlucky, listen to me, please: YOU CAN DO IT! YOU CAN CHANGE! (And trust me when I say that I KNOW that it is easier said than done). But, you have got this! Stop wasting time and believe in yourself! Here is another cliché: (But) it’s true when people say that the mind is a powerful instrument, and every negative thought, no matter how small, how indifferent you think it might be, it isn’t! We all have bad moments. I mean. I had a large bad moment that lasted 3 years. BUT, as my lovely, intelligent, wisest, author, ex-boss, beautiful woman, friend and soon mom-to-be would say to me: “This too, shall pass”. And it did! And it will for you, too!

Life is in the small things. The little things. Ants walking in the sidewalk. Trees dancing to the rhythm of the wind. People walking down the street. You know, those things! So, do yourself a favor and stop watching social media all the time, stop saying that you are fat (even when you only weight 120 pounds), stop envying rich people, stop envy. Stop.

Go out there into life. To the beach. Go read a book, the real ones (because they STILL and WILL continue to exist), meditate, and do the things you always wanted and dreamed of doing. I know there is the issue money. Believe me. I KNOW. I am broke right now and these past two weeks I have applied to millions of jobs and sent millions of resumes (ok, not that much, but you get it). I am working for it. I’m in action mode. And this is no secret. This is how life works: you working for it, to get it. So go! The time is now! Because, truly, what scared me the most when I was diagnosed, it wasn’t dying, it was dying young without getting the chance to live my dream, which was to live in this country. Don’t ask me why, I just knew since I was 20 years old when I came to visit Paris, I knew in my heart, in my bones, that I wanted to come here. To live. To learn French. To have this experience. And, quick note: It doesn’t have to be a big experience. If you always dreamed of eating ice cream, naked, during the winter, in the middle of the snow, well, honey, go and do it!

Moi, voilà! Heureusement, je peux dire que j’ai réussi! It has been the greatest experience of my life! And in the words of the most poetic, strong, and beautiful French woman singer Edith Piaf: “Je ne regrette rien”.

…And this goes with saying: I’m scared, and vulnerable, and sensitive, and aware of every little thing, every single day. Sometimes I’m in anguish, sometimes I feel hysterical. And there is only one reason for this: It’s because I am human, because I am not perfect, because these feelings are normal. Life and healing are not lineal (those are more than one reasons, even better!). But I believe I’m also magical, and charming, and beautiful. And, the most important thing is that after feeling sad, or miserable, and after crying: I get up, I smile, and I show up. I show up!


My name is Roxana, I’m almost 35 years old and I can’t believe that I have been given a second chance, that I get to wake up in this small, cold but cozy apartment, with almost no money, to go to an incredible beautiful art school, to meet the most wonderful and cool team of professors, to create very humble art, sometimes even criticized as naive or fetishist (LOL) but, who cares! I get to live this life, I get to breathe the wind (even if it’s cold), I get to walk in this charming French city, I get to watch the sunrises and sunsets, I get to watch the Loire and the birds flying over it, I get to meet new people with interesting stories, I get to stop and smell the flowers, I get to create things, I get to feel things, I get to live my dream, I get to live, to really live! And this, my beautiful world out there, is what matters the most to me, and what I wanted to share. So, so be it…

love, loss & miracle

I was looking at my window when father told me she was gone.

I decided upon that afternoon that I would mourn her the way the Chinese do, the traditional way. I will not sleep tonight. So, I prepared a cup of coffee and cried afterwards.

And I will go South, the direction my window is facing. I thought. This must be a sign. A calling.

I was alone. Like I always am. I could have called someone, but I didn’t. I couldn’t think of anyone here. I wanted another kind of love. Old love, from my family and real long-time friends.

So, I mourned in silence. Tears were my blankets of comfort. Suffering like this seemed like the right thing to do. Or maybe I’m just a coward and did not want people to see me in despair.

It was 10pm. I was creating a small book and all I could think about was the heavy pain I had in my lower back. I started crying at some point. I felt lonely. I was also thinking how this country doesn’t love me. I am too vulnerable. Too present. Too sensible. Too literal. Too straight. I thought. France doesn’t love me because I am myself. This is the biggest break-up ever.

All the pain I felt it in my lower back. It felt heavy. Like I was carrying everyone else’s sadness. Or maybe it was just mine. And my loneliness.
My vulnerability was heavy. But I embraced it. (Not like the French). Vulnerability was my treasure and secret weapon. But of course, they wouldn’t understand that. They are too proud. Too cold.

I feel puzzled. I don’t know what’s really wrong with me. This country makes me feel like there is something wrong with me.
I feel like a broken flower. Not a rose but a wild one. In the middle of green. All alone, reckless and vulnerable. The sun is shining and I might just burn and disappear. Like my grandmother. She asked to be cremated.

Fire = reborn.

Such a poetic way to go and come-back into this universe.

I remember the day I thought I was going to die. I bled a lot. Also, a poetic way to go… Maybe.
That day I did not think of my past or future. Only my present and how I could survive. I thought of my family and friends.
In 6 days, it will be the anniversary of this event. 2 years ago.

I am a miracle.

Tears entered my ears while I cried on the floor. I was lying down. The ceiling looked pale. Just like my soul today.

Agosto y la danza en luz y sombra

You only need to look at your shadow to understand that darkness is simply an aspect of the light. -Amadeus Wolfe

Prólogo:

La luz tiene que salir de adentro del alma, del cuerpo. Debe brotar de los ojos, de la dermis y la epidermis, de la propia piel del corazón. Debe salir tan fuerte que provoque ceguera y lucidez ante los demás.

Tormeta y Lucidez:

En agosto llegó una tormeta inesperada. Como todas las tormetas, provocó inestabilidad, desenfoque, miedo, inseguridad y oscuridad. Sin embargo, el día que la gota colmó el vaso y sentí que mi barco se hundía, fue el día en que toda la ansiedad escapó de mí. Esa noche, bajo el claro de la luna y una leve lluvia descubrí que yo era un ser de luz. Solo era cuestión de manterme constante y no olvidar que al final de cada camino, mis pies y mi corazón siempre termian pisando el terreno seguro, amable y sedoso que merezco.

La Danza:

En agosto también comencé a bailar. Otra vez. Pero esta vez de otra manera. He dejado el ballet para sumergirme en la danza contemporánea o la pureza del movimiento del cuerpo. Llevaba esperando este momento hace más de un año y lo he acariado con tanto ímpetu que casi se ha convertido en adicción. En el movimiento he encontrado un rescate, un abrazo anónimo, calor y sentimientos que voy redescubriendo y sanando. Bailar me ayuda a salir de mi caparazón de tortuga. Me convierto en sirena estrellada y azulada. Bailo en la oscuridad para que brote mejor la luz, mi luz. Me estoy conociendo. Soy otra. Y es un verdadero placer conecerme así, finalmente.

Ruta: la vuelta al hogar

Ayer, entre la ansiedad y un desespero naciente, sentí la increíble urgencia de querer salir corriendo hasta el final del mundo.

Así que decidí salir de mi apartamento a caminar. Nunca lo había hecho. Soy como los caracoles y las tortugas, me gusta sentirme protegida por mi caparazón. Pero ayer era justo y necesario salir. No me lo pedía tanto mi cuerpo; eran mi corazón y mi mente quienes andaban en un rollo y me pidieron a gritos (¡por fin se pusieron de acuerdo en algo!) que saliera a correr. Les hice caso y, con el mayor ímpetu, me vestí y salí a la calle.

Necesitaba sentir la sesación de estar huyendo, pero al mismo tiempo necesitaba respirar y tener un encuentro más directo con la naturaleza, la vida.

Entre el sudor y el nuevo desencuentro con la rutina, redescubrí mi vecindario.

Los que me conocen bien saben que tengo un olfato extraordinariamente sensible y, precisamente, este fue el sentido que más activo estuvo durante la experiencia andante.

Di cinco vueltas y pude trazar un mapa de olores dominicales que pululaban por cada calle: ropa limpia, marquesina limpia, algarroba, tronco húmedo, gatos, orina de gatos, grama, cigarillo, grama recién cortada, detergente para lavar la casa, goma de carros, escuela elemental, comida criolla preparándose, rincones abandonados...

Cada olor y estampa despertaba curiosidades en mí.

Al llegar a mi hogar me sentí feliz. Sobre todo porque en la ruta de la huida descubrí que la misma trataba sobre un regreso, a la casa, al hogar de mí misma. Me sentí más viva y menos sola.

"Todo está bien, mejor. Y la vida contiúa", me dije. Y me fui a dar un baño con olor a flor de naranjo.