A Not So Calm Sunday

I like expectations to be met. Period. Ask me to do a job, and I will do it, just give me expectations. I fear when I am not given expectations, my work is but mediocre half-attempts. I need a clear direction, else distraction betrays my brain. It is who I am, it is a quality I cannot rid myself of, it is a misfortune, but over all, it is a blessing.

I say needing expectations is a misfortune because someone who needs expectations to meet what is needed is not someone who can say otherwise. Per say, someone who does not need expectations, yet goes well beyond what is expected. That person would rival any that stand in his/her way, because meeting expectations and delivering high above without clear purpose (expectation wise), is more adept than someone who needs expectations to meet. This is not to say that someone who needs expectations cannot exceed high above, but in this society, someone who does not need expectations delivered frequently is in better chance of getting above the rest, to get the job.  It is the way things are, thus, I say, needing expectations is a misfortune.

Now, I say needing expectations if a blessing because once my expectations are set, I know I will give my all to seeing purpose set to stone. I will do what is asked, and I will deliver. As expected or high above.

But this blog is not about expectations, rather, it is about this past Sunday, February 17, 2013. I expected a relaxed day, one I could use to further the cause, (one I will not deliberate! More on that to come…)

Anyway, I wanted to spend Sunday relaxed and doing some work that needs tending. I did neither. Instead, I survived through a chaotic, unorganized, spontaneous day. The way I say this is as if I had lived through the zombie apocalypse. I did not, but now touching the subject, I kind of want to do a “What I Would Pack for the Zombie Apocalypse” blog. Highly unoriginal, but it sounds fun!

Back on topic! I expected a day much different than the one I lived. I do not regret this day, in fact, it was quite entertaining. The way things work in life makes for an exciting existence. Nothing much happened on this day, but I liked it. Time spent with loved ones is cherished.

I look forward to chaotic days, they seem rather intriguing.

(Oh, and I know my introduction was a little dramatic, but I like it that way, it’s not much fun writing about one thing throughout. I would rather touch upon different topics, coherent topics mind you, but different none the less. Perhaps a way to say certain things is by saying them differently. I do hope it worked!)

As a final note, I want to talk further about expectations and work, I want to deliberate further. It will be done sometime in the future. I look forward to it!


An Urge To Write

            I see better with words.

            I’m a firm believer that words are a source of power. I don’t say it because I am a writer. Rather, I say this because I have witnessed. There have been many times words were used for power, many examples that lead one to see clearly why words are so influential. Take a president’s words to his country. They carry weight, they carry importance, and they carry power. If the president were to say “we go to war”, then we go to war. (Mind you, I am not stating I am a political genius, I am far from it, but it is an example that came to mind.) Yes, influential men can bring about the course of action, but his words will embolden our spirits, or crush them completely.

            There are countless examples through the course of time. Martin Luther King, Abraham Lincoln. This list is so diverse, made up of men and women, heroes, legacies, I could never finish this blog, and I have not even begun the topic.

            I have an urge to write. It is a desire that keeps me together. I need to write, it is as consuming as my need to feed. Somewhat dramatic, but true none the less. I find that without writing, I do not stimulate my mind, and it brings boredom, desperation and lack of appetite for anything.  I feel lost in a world of black.

            I love writing. But it was not always so. Back when I was kid, I was horrible at school. Surprisingly, I always had good grades, not the best, but good. It’s is comforting to know that I was not some idiot bound for nothing but trouble. Aside from self-pity, it did not begin with writing. I lived reading. The first chapter book I finished from beginning to end was Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone. I read the book in Spanish, and I was captivated by what I read. I then read The Chamber of Secrets and The Prisoner of Azkaban, in Spanish. I loved those books. Anyway, I learnt English by watching Harry Potter but I won’t give the series all the credit. I actually learnt more from watching The Two Towers on VHS on a daily basis for almost a year.

            But that is another story, another topic.

            I began writing a while ago. I always had an aptitude for creative writing, and I fared well with writing in general. And for a long time, I thought about The Crystal Tower. I wanted to write what I had in my mind. I tried several time, and each was unsuccessful. But at last, I had the premise, and the catalyst. Together, they helped me write my story. But that is also another story.

            Nowadays, I read constantly, and I write constantly. There are occasions when I need to do other things, I am a human being, but for me, there is nothing better than to sit and read something, or write something. It is an urge that I must follow.

The Angels That Left Us


This post is somewhat late, I’ve had it in my flash-drive for quite some time, however, the words I say remain as equal in passion as the night I wrote them.

I’ve been told that man do not cry. But how can I not when there are countless reasons to cry, maybe indefinite. My benign neglect to cry comes from those preaching’s, from those that have been ingrained on me by an idealist society. I say, why conform to society’s definition; why not break free from that norm? I will cry. And I will be the one to admit, I have cried.
Sometimes, the path we must take is filled with hardship, with obstacles, with obscene realities. But then again, are not all paths difficult? Endeavors for all of us to overcome. If a path if filled with turmoil, isn’t that path worth taking? I’ve heard the sky is clearer after the storm. Shouldn’t it apply to the paths we take? That once we emerge from those turbulent and obscure waters, we can see the bright light. The path will be difficult, so along the way, stop for a second, sit by a tree, and shed some tears, because shedding tears does not make us weak, it makes us stronger. And if we don’t shed tears, it doesn’t make us strong, it makes us heartless.
In lieu of recent events, the shooting in Connecticut, I’ve shed many tears, not as many as I should shed, but many none the less. The times we face are hard, they quell with our morale. That we remain strong is in our nature, we have always prevailed against injustice, tragedy, hardship. We are a great people, but we are also a society that crumbles on a daily basis. That we are falling apart is not far from my expectations, all greatness must end, so that greatness can start anew. But I refuse to resign my hopes, I will not give them up, because hope is the only reason I keep fighting, why I keep dreaming of a brighter day. We cannot allow hope to leave our hearts, because when we do, we release our essence, we release our will to move on. In these times, our will to move on is what will make us stronger. I know we can fight a little more, because that bright day is coming, and like all bright days, we will enjoy the warmth it brings, we will manage to remember the darkness that consumed us with bittersweet remorse, because from darkness, the light is born.
Sleep in peace, O angels that have left us.

My Coffee Addiction

I read somewhere that an addiction is something to frown upon. But O Lord help me, I am ADDICTED to coffee! I don’t know what it is, the intoxicating smell, the sweetness, the sheer joy of having a cup of coffee! I love this stuff!

I remember drinking coffee for a very long time. If I tried to pinpoint my very first cup of coffee, I would fail. I do remember it was in Mexico, and back then, I used to hate coffee. I was used to drinking hot chocolate before going to elementary. Now thinking back, I clearly distinguish how it seemed so soft my mother’s hot chocolate was. It was like velvet liquid running down my tongue. The joy of drinking my hot chocolate readied me for what was to come.

And then, I don’t remember drinking hot chocolate anymore. Perhaps I can pinpoint the demise of my love for hot chocolate when I came back to Elgin, IL. Then, I didn’t fancy milk anymore, I grew to dislike it. So no more hot chocolate for me. I tried coffee, without any milk or any of that jazz. Only black coffee and a couple spoonful’s of sugar. I remember even now how bitter the taste was. I didn’t like it. So for a long time, it was juice and water for me, nothing else.

When I moved to Atlanta, GA, I tried coffee once again, with milk to rid the bitter flavor. I sort of enjoyed it, but not as much. The taste of milk was always there, and I did not like it, it made me gag on occasions.

That’s when I discovered sweetened condensed milk. a convenient companion to coffee. The taste of milk was gone, and the effort to make coffee was less that it had ever been. I no longer had to add sugar, it was already in the sweetened condensed milk.

And alas, my love blossomed!

And another aspect of drinking coffee, it was a short family reunion, where my mother, sister and I sat at the table and drank coffee, talking about everything and anything. It was fun.

The small tradition evolved, we bought a water dispenser, and no longer did we have to boil water, we could simply press a button and have hot water ready for coffee, the need for a coffee machine was no longer a need, it was an inconvenience. So, having such a fancy machine, we were joined by my mother’s sisters and their children. We all enjoyed coffee together, talked and enjoyed the company. That’s something you just can’t help but enjoy.

Now, however, for me, coffee is a routine that I can’t get rid of. I need coffee while writing, or before. I can’t concentrate as well for whatever reason.

So this is my coffee addiction. I don’t think it was ever about the coffee, but the time spent with my family, that’s the reason I enjoy coffee, it brings back those memories, sweet and joyful, like a cup of coffee.

I will digress, I want one of those fancy coffee machines where you put the little plastic cup with flavored coffee, and BAM you have a personal cup of coffee much to your liking. I think I’m going to get one!