Estou de volta
Ich bin wieder da
I’m back after two weeks of being away from the computer on holiday, I skipped Christmas and New Years and now I’m back from grandma’s house from down south of the border. I’m not going to say it was a good trip, getting there was hell and being there was a mixed bag so my outing was ‘meh’.
So I have a few stories I’d like to tell, real stories, not fictional ones. I must say I did write three stories, without an internet connection I had some time to do things like drink coffee and read a book on the patio like a classy person. I got inspiration for a ‘Welcome To The Dissidents’ story which I will do a second season for this year so watch out for that.
This was no vacation trip, we went to grandma’s because she has Alzheimer’s and we had to visit before she croaks. To those who don’t know about Alzheimer’s, it’s a crazy disease, a simple way to put it without being facetious is ‘Imagine someone who has their period mixed with a drop of amnesia, and a pound of menopausal side effects, That’s Alzheimer’s in a nutshell in my view. Grandma was sad, she was happy, she was angry and New Years was sad. We young people are known for staying up till that huge shiny orb hit’s the clock in a countdown, we slept early, I mean early early and you could hear the people outside cheering, laughing and lighting fireworks while we were in home trying to sleep. Time in Mexico goes different, they are two hours ahead than the clocks here in the U.S, that’s the way of the world there, stuff is different everywhere.
I hope I don’t offend anyone here when I say this but Mexico is a paradox. I say this because driving through the roads I see ceramic hut, ceramic hut then a Mc. Mansion filled with gates and expensive cars, then another ceramic hut. Maybe it’s living in the U.S my whole life but I always saw the divide between the rich and the poor as separated by something like gerrymandering where one area is full of rich people and is away from the poor, not coexisting in the same place. The way I see Mexico is it’s the same place, same mediocrity as America but it seemed like there was still this old way of thinking and acting in an otherwise connected world with the internet being bigger than it was in the 90’s. In the same spotlight you have people conversing and playing cards along with texting and social networking and internet cafes.
I hate being around people I don’t know (but that’s a me thing) and I was around people a lot because my parents took me and my sisters to the plaza. The plaza, oh boy I’m getting into my inner antisocial soul here, it’s full of stuff both useful and useless. Everyone’s trying ti sell you stuff (mainly food except for Christmas and that three kings holiday. People sold toys that day.) and it’s full of couples and dudes trying to hook up with girls, horn dog crap that makes me look gay (I’m straight, don’t get cocky gay ). The food was good, but I would have loved it if I ate at home instead of standing while eating in public which is my pet peeve.
I got to learn about my parent’s past, Mom’s side of the family was not bad but my dad’s side. That got me thinking, that really got me thinking about the future of my life. My dad is probably the most successful person in his brother’s and mom’s and cousin’s eyes, this really got me thinking. I’m not going to blame dad’s mom or dad but I hate drunks, drunks who are or aren’t related, I fucking hate them unless they’re saying funny things or falling down stairs and dying. (There’s that line from the chick in ‘Pirates of the Caribbean’ who says that rum makes the kindest of gentlement into disrespectful scum. I may have paraphrased that quote but it works.) Then this guy who say’s he’s my dad’s brother comes to me with his slurred speech and red eyes (he be high as fuck) telling me how I used to kick him a lot when I was very young. I don’t even remember kicking him but seeing how he’s a drunk and all there probably was a reason why I kicked him and I won‘t hesitate to do it again. The trip was not all terrible (despite it raining all day), we visited a lake, lit up fireworks, saw hippies playing drums in a street corner, played with fire, were searched by Homeland Security (But I was cool about it, I did not act like a savage in front of these guys. As much as the craving etched my mind) and we visited a Mexican KFC which was full of people. It was a mixed bag of a trip, it was sad, it was funny, it was hell, getting there was mostly hell but I saw stuff which inspired me but does not overshadow the hell I suffered (Try sleeping while sitting on a chair).
After the trip and arriving on U.S soil my older sister went to a Mc.Donalds and I thought “Ew, my hair is messy and the light burns my eyes, I should wear my hoodie.” and mind you this Mc.Donalds is in Indio, California, the same place where the ‘Coachella Music Festival’ is held annualy so people don’t mind hoodies right? (By the way the Mc.Donalds in Indio has a nice decorum of tall chairs and desks and a T.V, but it has a (No pun intended) crappy bathroom! This story is not about the bathroom though) I sit on these tall chairs with my hoodie on, I get stares from the rich customers there (not being racial here but they were all white), they store at me speaking in their silence trying to think I cannot tell what they’re saying. Ladies and Gentlemen, I may have just experienced ‘The Treyvon Syndrome’, BA BA BAUM!!!!!!!! Either that or they mistook me for some guy named ‘Julio’ who probably was Indio’s gardener but that’s a fat chance. For those of you reading worldwide who aren’t sure of ‘The Treyvon Syndrome’, there was a crime committed in Florida where a former soldier/ cop shot a kid who had a hoodie and thought he was holding a gun (it was a candy bar). He was found not guilty and that sparked a long court case, then after that whole debacle you bet that there were people who thought hoodies symbolized crime. You have stores and public places that put a ‘No Hoodie’ policy after the incident, thinking all people in hoodies are the columbine shooter. Overall my older sister got her weird coffee with whip cream, I left, I was not tackled down and no white people were choked and or sodomized the way they thought a young person in a hoodie would react, The End. Just goes to show you, don’t judge a book by it’cover, whisper and look at the cover while it’s there.
So now I’m back, full of content in a new year and I’m not going to talk about that because I love surprising people. Then again I should have kept that ‘Welcome To The Dissidents’ thing a secret, but I’m sure no one cares.
PS: I only got 10 notifications on Facebook, most of them were invites to things I could not go to, one was a like for some status I wrote eight months ago. Hazuh Hazuh!
Goodbye for now!