No, no. This blog is still dead. Carry on.

They, the elder and the young man, had traveled for two days in the vast plain of the strange land from which the elder hailed. After climbing up a hill, the young man with some effort and the elder with a little help from his staff, they had finally arrived to the edge of the abyss.

—So, I just …— the young man stopped to think for a second—. I just jump, down there?

—Well, that’s what we came here for, isn’t it? You needed to find a reason for your presence in this world and this is the only way you can learn it, as far as I know.

—I’m not sure if I still want to know it— the young man looked down into the abyss. It resembled a crater, an active volcano that would erupt at any minute, but that’s not what it was. It shone in shades of light blue and green, covered in white mist. It seemed to reflect the sky, and the young man thought that he could make out some familiar shapes, as one does when lying on the grass and staring at the sky—. I think I can live without knowing the answer to this.

—Are you sure about that?— The elder walked around the young man, supported by his staff—. You made me guide you all the way here and you’re having your doubts right at this moment?

The young man looked into the elder’s eyes. The old-timer didn’t look angry or disappointed, but he was certainly waiting for a response as he stood, staff in hand and with his other fist clenched.

—Look, I’m sorry for making you bring me all the way to this place, I know it must be …

—No!— the elder interrupted him—. I may be old, but I’m not that old. I’m certain that I’ve still got a few good decades left in me. I’m not disappointed in you for not wanting to jump. I know how scary it looks. I’ve been there, myself, and I’ve brought many others here who ultimately decided against going for it. This wouldn’t be any different.

—So, it’s all right by you if I don’t jump and we go back to the village.

—Sure, it’s all right! In fact, I can’t wait to go back. I’m starving. I knew I should have bought more food for the road, but I can hold my hunger until I get back home.

As he said this, the elder went to sit on a nearby rock, right at the edge of the abyss. The blue-green light surrounded him, and it seemed as if a light push were all it would take to make the elder fall into the crater.

—Well, you can have some of my food— said the young man—. I have plenty to spare.

He took off his backpack, which he had brought from his own world, and unzipped the main compartment. As he took out a few cans and packets, the elder leaned forward to take a closer look.

—What is that?— he asked.

—It’s food. It’s what I eat.

—That doesn’t look so fresh. Is it any good?

—It’s perfectly fine. Here, take one— the young man said, as he handed a can of mixed vegetables to the old man—. Just pull from that tab to open it.

—This thing?

—Yes, just … that’s it.

The old man looked into the can and managed to recognize a few vegetables, floating in some strange, cloudy liquid. He leaned over to smell the contents of the can and quickly sat back with an expression of disgust.

—This is what you eat? Every day? I’ll be surprised if people from your world actually make it to my age.

—Come on, old man, it doesn’t taste as bad as it looks. Give it a try.

Saying this, the young man threw a metal spoon, which the elder managed to catch with his non-staffed hand.

—Careful, young one. You can never tell if an old person has reflexes. Lucky for you, I still keep mine. Otherwise, I’d have knocked you down with my staff.

They both laughed, and the young man sat near the edge of the abyss, taking out another can.

—You’re right. This isn’t nearly as bad as it looks— the elder said, as he dug into the odd mix of vegetables and ate silently.

The young man did the same and, after an hour, they had each gone through two cans of food and all of the water in the elder’s leather flask.

—Not a problem, I’ll just fill it back on my way to the village.

—Wait, I’m not going back with you?— the young man quickly responded.

—Ah, so you are still set on not jumping— the elder stood up from the rock and held his staff with both hands—. I would have thought that a quick meal and some time to think would change your mind.

The young man stood up and looked down into the blue-green light.

—I’m still having second thoughts about it.

—See, that’s something I noticed from the moment we met. You’re always having second thoughts about things. How will you get anything, anywhere or anyone when you don’t even try?

At this point, the elder was standing right behind him.

—You’re not going to push me, are you?

—Oh, no. I’d never do such a thing. After the first few attempts at that, I learned that it doesn’t work.

The young man turned around and looked at the elder’s face. They both had a serious expression, but the old man’s mouth quickly drew a smile.

—That was a joke. You need to lighten up, young man, or you’ll never make it to half my age. This isn’t the most significant moment in your life. This is barely a small step. You shouldn’t be so serious about this.

The young man looked back into the abyss. He could hear something … was it a voice? A woman’s voice? It seemed familiar. He turned back again.

—I hear something. Can you hear that?

—A voice is what you hear. No, I cannot hear it. Only those who are ready to take the leap can hear it. The voice of somebody important to them. You can only hear it this one time and never more. When I was about to do it, I think it was my father’s voice that I heard …— the elder looked up, trying to remember that distant moment, when he had explored all of his world and ended up right at the edge, looking for more.

—All right. I think … I think I’m ready. I’ll do it. I’m going to jump.

Determination seemed to flow through the young man’s veins. He was standing right on the edge, and was about to take that final step, when he felt something pulling him back.

—Wait … you won’t need this— the elder said, holding on to the young man’s backpack—. Where you’re going, you won’t be needing this.

—How can you be sure?

The elder placed a hand on the young man’s shoulder and smiled.

—Do I not look old and wise? Trust me on this. Besides, I’d like to have this, as a keepsake from yet another young adventurer who dared take the leap into the abyss.

The young man knew that the elder was more interested in the contents of the backpack, namely the canned goods, than in the backpack itself. Still, he took it off and taught the old man how to wear it. It didn’t look very fashionable, being worn over the elder’s old robes and against the leather flask, but the old-timer seemed to like it, taking a few steps around to make sure it wouldn’t easily come off.

—All right. I’m ready this time— the young man said—. I hope you won’t hold me back again.

—Oh, I won’t— the elder took a few steps back.

—I … I want to thank you for all you’ve done. It’s …

—You don’t have to thank me— the old man said with a smile—. Even without me, you would have made your way here, all on your own. I know this because I did just that, and you remind me of … well, you remind me of me, when I was that young.

—Okay, then. Well, here I go …

As the young man readied himself, wanting to take some impulse to make a long jump, the elder kept on talking.

—This is your time. Seize the moment, every moment. Once you’ve done this, you will forever know that you can do anything. As long as you never forget that, you’ll be able to lead a happy life.

One, two, three long steps the young man took before finally jumping. He heard the old man’s voice, “Never forget that!” once again before being shrouded in mist, blinded by that blue-green light that became so very intense that it appeared white before his eyes.

Suddenly, the light began to fade out. It was white at first, but things quickly became dark as he heard some electronic noises around him. A synthesized voice surrounded him.

—Simulation ended. Terminating program …

The young man was standing on a flat surface. He heard a voice behind him.

—So? What do you think, Jake? Is it any good?

Jake removed his virtual reality helmet and looked back.

—That was incredible, Elgin. I can’t believe you did this.

—Well, I can’t take the credit for all of it. It took an entire team of highly–

—Yes, highly professional developers. You said it at first. But, this … there are no words for it, it felt so real. And this suit —Jake pointed at the black skin-tight outfit, all covered in small sensors, that he was wearing—, it made everything so real. I could really feel that I was falling, and the wind, and the food that actually tasted like food, and …

While Jake kept on talking, Elgin nodded along proudly. He had heard similar comments before, from the many others who had tried this simulation, but the comments from his best friend Jacob meant more than the rest.

—So, was everything all right? Was it fun? Did any part of it feel uncomfortable.

—Well— Jake looked up, trying to think for a bit—, I can’t recall anything that was particularly uncomfortable, or annoying, or …

—Really? What about the elder asking about the food and wanting to keep your backpack? Didn’t that seem a bit silly?

—What? No! That was actually pretty good, I think it added some charm to the elder character. Whoever wrote his lines …

—I wrote them— Elgin quickly acknowledged.

—Oh, well, that was good. That was very good. Of all of the characters, I think he was the best.

—Okay, then. Well, let’s get you out of that suit. I’ve tried it on, myself, and I know that it gets uncomfortable after a while. Not to mention that it looks silly. We need to work on that.

As they both made their way out of the simulation room, Jake asked:

—Wait, what happens after jumping into the abyss? Is that the end of it, or is it just …

—We don’t know yet. We’re writing this as we go, so we’re not entirely sure about what happens after that. I’m open to any idea you might have, as long as it’s good.

—Well, as I was about to jump … you know, in the game …

—Simulation— Elgin corrected him.

—Fine. In the simulation, I thought that maybe …

Their voices faded out as they walked out and the doors of the simulation room swung shut. Voices could be heard down the hallway, as the motion-detection lights went out, leaving the room in darkness.

Let’s see … where did I leave things? I’m cheating a little by counting the previous post –on the Haitian earthquake– as the last one when the last on-topic piece of writing was probably an earlier one. It’s not important to read it, as I’ll probably repeat myself some more here.

Our guests –an aunt and a cousin– departed on the 15th last month, after a two-week stay, bringing long-awaited relief from those inflatable mattresses that my brother and I slept on. That’s the positive bit of news. Now, for the opposite end.

I haven’t picked up a book since that García Márquez one I last wrote about. Plenty of books here, but I don’t feel like reading more than a synopsis on a back cover … and a few blog posts.

My health is as bad as always, probably worse. I know a visit to the doctor won’t help because the last few tests didn’t found anything worthy of note and the medication didn’t really do much. Can’t keep much food down without some serious effort and lack of motion, so I tend to stay away from the solids and go for things that won’t take so long to get past my stomach. The coughing doesn’t help. It also didn’t help that, late in the month, I ate some bad “fast food” –despite articles on that same day about the dubious contents of it– and woke up the next day wanting to die … well, more than the usual, but wanting to die. Took a few days to get back to my usual could-be-much-better state.

On the same day as the beginning of bad-food episode, my father suggested that I take some courses and become an air traffic controller. Putting the lives of hundreds of people flying over our heads in the hands of someone who doesn’t do well under stress? Brilliant. Couldn’t have thought of anything better. (Note to self: give my thanks to the people who advertised those courses in the newspaper. My father kept on about it for a day or two.)

I’ve gone back to getting rid of things I don’t want or need. I initially tried burning something … more specifically, a drawing I made for a 1996 contest when I was in fourth grade. It didn’t work so well and there’s always the danger of fire. Next, I went through a bunch of papers, looking for what to keep and what to destroy. Most of the things I didn’t keep consisted on grade reports from the first school I attended, which went on for several pages. Some of those reports, dating back to 1995-1997, deal with me having problems socializing, getting involved with others in class and doing homework … I guess I wasn’t as great as the numbers told. There was a piece of writing done by my father which mentioned that I’d been suffering from health issues and that I would get better with continued treatment. Boy, do I wish that had been true. Would have been great if my problems had ended back then instead of … never ending.

Fire wasn’t the greatest idea for all these papers, so I went for the next thing. One morning, after having decided what to keep –hardly anything, just a few letters and diplomas–, I submerged all the other papers in water and tried to get it all to disintegrate and dissolve, breaking it up in small pieces and moving them around in the water. Bad idea. After a good while I tried to get all the paper to go down the drain, thinking that it wouldn’t be much trouble and the drain would take it. It didn’t. I spent about an hour trying to get most of the paper out from there, forcing water into the drain so the paper would float out, using a bucket to take out the excess water and sticking an unraveled wire hanger into the pipe and ever getting my whole arm in there to see if I could unclog the drain. Took me a while, but I got it done with a combination of all those things.

Knowing better, I decided that neither fire or water were effective in destroying things that I wanted gone for good. At least I had managed to get rid of most things. The remaining papers, more grade reports –some were copies of the ones I tried to dissolve–, simply ended up torn into tiny pieces and thrown away with the rest of the garbage. One of those grade reports had “promoted to 4th grade” written on it. I remember the day I got that one, and how sad I felt that it would be months until I saw my friends or the school again. Back then, I had absolutely no idea that, one year later, I would be forcibly taken out of that school for good (or bad, because that really was a turn for the worse).

Back to the present, my mother is being persistent about some job thing. She’s not giving me enough details about it and she’s now expecting a curriculum vitae that she’ll pass along to “that lady from work”. I’ve said this before, but I’m just not interested in working anywhere until my health is in order, which it is not. Also, I haven’t done anything worth anything (to me) in almost a year, and this laptop isn’t good for that. I’ve managed to delay the whole thing until just now. My mother expects that paper with my supposed qualifications by tomorrow so that she can pass it along, but I’m not feeling well. Telling her that didn’t help the last few times, as she insists that nothing is wrong with me. Perhaps she should spend a week or two in my place … that would change her mind, but if I really had the power to make that happen, I’d rather use it to spend my remaining days in the place of someone who is healthy. Much better.

Now … I’m lost. I really don’t know what to do. I really wish I would get better, healthwise, so that I could go out there and find what I want, on my own and without people making the big choices for me, as has been the case for most of my existence. I don’t think I want more of that, or that I can take it …

No, I don’t have my dates wrong. It has indeed been one year and one day since the devastating earthquake that struck near Port-au-Prince and its surroundings in Haiti, a country that was already in the buried in misery and poverty. But it has been exactly one year, to the day, since I wrote about it, saying and showing as much as I could about the disaster back then and calling to any and all readers of that post to consider making a donation to the recovery effort.

It was already the worst natural disaster of the decade, with the 2010s being less than two weeks old. Hopefully nothing will top it, at least in the near future.

What has happened since then?

As soon as news of the earthquake and the possibility of the death toll going beyond one hundred thousand became clear, the spotlights of the world were placed on the greatly-affected Port-au-Prince, and almost immediately charity foundations began to provide numbers and links through which people could easily donate. Right here, in the Dominican Republic, phone companies made agreements with local charities so anyone with a decent cellphone could do their part by sending a text message. Many of the injured were brought across the border to be treated in hospitals all over the country. Even the college I attended arranged to have places where people could drop off canned goods, medical supplies, hygiene products that would be sent to those in need.

Twenty-four hours a day, for several days, there was nothing else on the news channels. Celebrities, reporters, politicians traveled to the ground zero of 2010. Took less than a month for a song to be remade as a theme for this most unfortunate event. In the newspapers, online, everywhere you would see an article about someone doing a charity event, a batch of supplies being flown to the affected country and an ever-increasing death toll that has yet to be established, with all the mass-burials that make it an impossible task.

Months went by, and public attention on the 2010 Haiti earthquake began to dwindle, with new things getting more interest. Oil spills, volcanoes, plane crashes, notable deaths, document leaks, sporting events. All worthy of attention, sure, but it’s hard to forget about Haiti when it is one’s neighboring country.

From news about promised aid to the survivors of the earthquake, who resided and still reside in tent camps, we went to news of failure to deliver supplies, misuse of monetary donations, violence, rape and last, but most certainly not least, an ongoing cholera outbreak that has killed thousands and has unsurprisingly made its way across the border, causing fear among Dominicans, while authorities issue safety measures about water consumption and provide information on what cholera is all about.

Now came the new year. Haiti’s national palace is still in ruins. About five percent of the rubble has been cleared. Like I mentioned above, most of the homeless survivors are still living in tents which they might as well call “home”, after residing in them for so long. News reports have only begun to cover the situation again with some degree of notability because of the anniversary of the magnitude-7 quake.

As with last year (and periodically in the days and months that followed), Alan Taylor of Boston.com has compiled an excellent set of photographs on The Big Picture –to which I recommend everyone subscribe–, which illustrates the continuing struggle of Haitians who survive among the rubble, no longer getting as many supplies as they got during the initial response. They strive for recovery, as many images show, but it will take a tremendous effort and a considerable amount of time to bring Haiti’s capital to what it was before the earthquake, which wasn’t much to begin with, and even longer to develop Port-au-Prince, along with its surrounding areas, to reasonable levels of quality of life.

I’m not done here yet.

While the response to the earthquake seems to have diminished, it doesn’t mean that individuals can no longer do their part. Yéle Haiti continues to accept donations (see the brochure at the bottom to learn of what they’re doing), as do the Red Cross (click on How to Help) and Heart to Heart. Photographer Nick Zantop, featured in last year’s post, has gone beyond providing a list of links on his and founded Haitian Earthquake Relief, with shortcuts to various charities to choose from. There is also SocialVibe, with various causes that will aid Haiti (Yéle Haiti, Charity: Water, Direct Relief and so on). You can join the site and pick a cause or you can click on the SocialVibe widget on this very blog and do activities that will earn points –and consequently donations– for the charity currently displayed.

Many more posts on Haiti, with more information on ways to help, can be found in the WordPress page for the Haiti tag.

That’s all I can say for now. Another post on the subject, hopefully in a more positive tone, next year or sooner.

Today marks my fourth year in blogging. Four years, unless you just count count the actual time dedicated to writing the things I write, which probably amounts to less than a month. I guess I got my answer, at least for the first question.

That first post seems so distant now, and nearly everything I explain in it has disappeared, with just a few things staying the same.

Gone are college, Blender, Python programming, the Windows Live Space which initially hosted the first ten posts, my time being spent in chat rooms and the popularity of MySpace –now Myspace or My_____–, which I never used.

Still unchanged are my unemployment, the quality of my work (to an extent, because I branched out a little), the lack of a personal life, or a life of any type –which is funny, because I keep writing under a category named Life, when Mere Existence seems more fitting–, as well the general lack of interesting things to say.

Let’s see if I can make it to a fifth year, on the same year that will mark my twenty-fifth year of survival in this world. Let us see if I make it.

Since the night of the 29th, my brother and I have been sleeping on inflatable mattresses in the living room. That first night was just practice, as the guests would arrive the following day, leaving us with no choice (really?) but to give up our beds for a while. The mattresses aren’t terribly comfortable, and it’s not a good feeling to wake up in the morning and seeing people walking around and talking as I try to get a few more minutes of sleep. Impossible task.

Our guests are currently staying with another relative and will return tomorrow, so I find it best to take advantage of this moment instead of waiting until they travel back home.

I finished reading Gabriel García Márquez’s Doce cuentos peregrinos (“Strange Pilgrims“) on the 30th. The last of the twelve short stories in the book is the one I’ll remember the most because I had read it before … or it had been read to me before, some ten years ago, possibly more. My sister was reading El rastro de tu sangre en la nieve (The Trail of Your Blood in the Snow) on my parents’ bed one day, and I just happened to be around. Not sure about whether she read the whole thing to me or if I did some reading of my own, but I’m surprised that I still remembered most of the story, more than a decade later. Back then, I didn’t know that García Márquez was the one who wrote, but the short story of newlyweds Nena Daconte and Billy Sánchez de Ávila –I admit that I didn’t remember the latter character’s name– managed to stay clear on my mind to the point where I instantly recognized it when I read Nena Daconte on the first page of the story just eight days ago.

When I was done reading the book, I spoke to my sister, trying to tell her that I had no idea that he was the one who wrote that story, the one about Nena Daconte, and that I remembered it well. She didn’t pay much attention –she was busy with other things–, so I had to keep my amazement to myself.

If all of García Márquez’s writings have a similar power to stay fresh on the mind for so long, in addition to being as enjoyable as those twelve stories are, I’m interested in seeking more of his work where I can find it. Just looking up, at the row of books above the computer, I can see that we have two other works by him. Cien años de soledad (One Hundred Years of Solitude), which Jessica mentioned and which I’ve been hearing about for ages, is not one of them. It may or may not be one of the books stored in the back room. I doubt I’ll be reading them right away. There’s already a backlog of books, and I just don’t know if I’ll get some peace and quiet during the day when things go back to normal the usual.

I thought that, it being 2011 and all, there would be some sort of change to my situation, but it doesn’t seem like that will happen. As usual, I’ve been having trouble keeping food down, even when there isn’t any food to keep down. That, in addition to some coughing that at times becomes uncontrollable –but which has somehow receded today–, has kept me from going out with our guests as much as I probably should. Oh, poor old me. One of these days I will get you, Bad Health monster. I will get you, real bad. One … of these … days …

In other news, my nephew is getting baptized. I honestly couldn’t care less about it, and the process of arranging a baptism seems like quite a hassle. If it were up to me, I’d forget about it, but there’s little chance of that happening when the majority would be against me. At least they didn’t consider me to be the godfather. Having to explain myself would be stressful and possibly alienating. Just my mother’s reaction to my atheism is a good indicator.

What else … no, it seems like that’s all I have to say … or at least all I have to say that I can say at the moment. I guess that’s it for my first post of 2011. First post of January. First post of the first Friday, and so on.

First things first. More things have happened since the last post that I deem worthy of note. Well … worthy of note when seen within the boundaries of this blog and not when compared to the interesting content that can be found in that thing called the blogosphere. Hardly a significant speck of dust, if a speck of dust has significance, when seen as part of all things written.

Back to what I was writing. I got a haircut on the 23rd. Despite my health, I managed to get to Hotel Napolitano while retaining a pulse and the ability to breathe. Would have been better if the first car I got on had not suddenly decided to make a U-turn and change the south-east route for a north-west one just before the halfway point. I did get my full fare back as I ran to cross the eastbound avenue and catch another car. Noly was there, reading a newspaper, while Elisabeth was busy with a customer. I hadn’t been there since September, and yet bringing my hair down to a manageable and presentable length didn’t take as long as it usually did. I walked all the way home because the climate and temperature were just right right for walking: cloudy, without the threat of rain, and cold.

The 24th didn’t go as bad as last year, as I actually made my presence known this time instead of spending the entire evening in bed, writhing in pain while others celebrated. No, I stayed in the living room, keeping to myself as others talked. I didn’t eat much of the big dinner and I was able to make a delivery to a fourth-floor apartment before we started opening the presents. I had told my sister that I didn’t really want anything this year and that the money would be better off donated to some good cause. I hoped that she’d pass the message along to the others, but that didn’t turn out so well. I still got presents. Notable ones among the usual clothes, were the Iliad and the Odyssey, reading material for next year.

On Sunday, there was the usual family reunion (my father’s side of the family), which I did not attend last year because of my failing health. I’m really not a fan of gatherings of any kind, as they tend to aggravate my symptoms and, of course, they’re just plain awkward. It took place at a former school right in front of the one I attended. The place, once an all-girls school and now just a convent, had barely changed since I last looked inside. Greeting my rarely-seen relatives took a while. There weren’t as many as I thought there would be when we arrived, so I took my time going around the tables placed in a row while trying to remember as many names as I could.

The reunion also didn’t go as bad as I thought. I did try to avoid it because, as I said, I’m not a fan. Also, because they’re often arranged by my aunt who is a nun, so these reunions have their religious tones, in addition to taking place at a St. Somebody school (pretty sure I’m still the only atheist in the ever-growing family). There was a group dynamic, which I successfully avoided, for the most part, thanks to the cough I’d had for the past day or two. I was supposed to read a small piece of paper inviting people to sing the Spanish equivalent of “Silent Night”, but I managed to get my mother to do that for me. Still had to get up and pretend to sing.

There was something I failed to mention earlier … some time before the reunion, my mother found a graduation present that I had chosen to ignore: a religious book with a card and some money inside of it. I didn’t want to accept just one part of it, because it wouldn’t feel good to take the money and run, so I put it on the bookshelf, where it stayed until this past weekend, when my mother was cleaning up. I tried my best to explain that the present consisted of both the book and the money, but she insisted that it was just the money and that I should call the person who gave it to me to say thanks. I’m not a fan of telephones  –things were so simple when cellphones weren’t as popular … one could disappear and not be tracked down– so I had been waiting to confront that person face to face. Unfortunately, that person didn’t attend the family reunion. Oh, well. I still won’t make use of the money, which my mother insisted I keep.

That’s it for the update. The title suggests that, as with the last two years, there’s supposed to be a look back at all that’s happened in the past year, but Twenty Ten hardly deserves it. There just isn’t much that’s worthy of yet another mention. There was my final college project, sure, but that all seems so very distant that I can barely remember it, as if those years at the university ended decades ago. Also, the long-awaited (and just as dreaded, because I insist on my dislike of crowds) graduation ceremony, which I barely survived. Everything else, from natural disasters, which other sites have covered with more depth, and health issues, which I constantly mention, just lacks the positive light to make for a good retrospective.

It’s only the 28th and I’m saying that I don’t have time for another post, but I doubt I’ll want to write much after the 30th, when some relatives will be staying here for a week, making the place more crowded than it already is and leaving me with little space to think.

Passed the thousand-word mark for this one (“I’ve still got it!”).

I’ll just end it right here, wishing a happy 2011 to those who read this and hoping for a 2011 that’s similar or above the level of acceptable for the one who just wrote this.

New furniture. It’s been arriving for a while new. First the living room got a couch and two chairs, then came some tables and finally a TV cabinet, which I assembled almost singlehandedly. I even had to use a hammer. First time I’ve had to hammer anything with an actual hammer. That was before breaking apart the old TV cabinet by hammering at it at various points, leaving only a pile of termite-ridden, splintery wood that had to be taken out in pieces. It felt good to take out my anger at something. My mother took the chance to get rid of various CDs, VHS tapes and cassettes that were in the old cabinet, and only a few made it into the new one.

Cleaning up. Everyone but my brother has been throwing away things, especially from the back room which is used for storage. For a while, there was plenty more space in that room, in which Kondoleza the dog spends most of her day. I’ve already been doing my share of throwing things away, starting last year. It took a while for everyone else to follow up on that.

Painting. My mother has been buying these large frames and she’s been making me paint the background of them in black, to place some nature photos in them. The first one, with two river photos, turned out all right. The second one, with flowers from an old calendar not so much. She wants me to do a third one which will house just one big photo. It’s been a good chance to use the remaining art supplies from college, namely the black paint. I also painted some bars on the balcony railing. As it turns out, they bought the wrong shade of gold and now the entire thing might need to be fully repainted.

More new furniture. My sister got an expensive bedroom set. Good for her, I guess, but I found it rather upsetting. Not only does the bedroom set not fit in her rather small bedroom in which her toddler son also sleeps, but it’s almost as if she’s settling in even further, when she should be doing the opposite. One would think that after nearly three years of getting married, she’d have her own place, with her husband, and her son would have a bedroom of his own (something that I’ve never had). Her old bedroom furniture is in the back room, taking the recently-unoccupied space.

The growing child. My nephew, my sister’s son, will be three years old next year. Already there’s talk of turning his crib into a bed, which will give him the freedom of getting out of it and running around the apartment whenever he pleases. I’m always trying to find a quiet place in which to read, or just think, but now he’ll be everywhere. He can open doors, he can yell, he can usually get his way like only a child can. Looks like it will still be a while before I ever get to know these things called privacy, peace and quiet beyond their dictionary definitions.

Upcoming guests. Some relatives from abroad will be staying here for about a week, which I guess is the main reason for my mother doing all these changes around the place. They’re from her side of the family, and they’ve stayed here many times before, but I don’t know why this time calls for an even more intensive cleanup and rearrangement of everything in the apartment. It’s usually just scrubbing the walls, but changing every other piece of furniture is a bit too much.

Through the pages. Reading is one of the few pleasures I’ve got left. I already talked about Juvenilia by Miguel Cané, an edition printed in 1984 which had been here forever and that I finally decided to read to see if it was anything like what the title and the cover artwork indicated (and it was, to an extent). Now, I’ve moved on to reading Doce cuentos peregrinos –literally Twelve pilgrim tales, but published in English as Strange Pilgrims for some reason– by Gabriel García Márquez. It’s my introduction to the work of this Nobel laureate, and I’m loving it so far. Last I checked, there were some other books of his authorship in the very bookshelf on which this laptop currently rests, so I’ll have to look and see if they’re still here.

The vibe. My previous post began with a short plug for SocialVibe, a social networking service that allows people to pick a cause and do various activities with the aim of earning points, which result in donations to that cause. I’ve had the SocialVibe badge on this blog for well over a year now, but it was only last week that I decided to actually register and help Charity: Water reach their goal of providing 3.6 million gallons of clean water to those who need it. Once again, you can help by clicking on the SocialVibe badge on the right, clicking here and doing some activities or registering and picking your favorite cause to support.

Aside from the last two paragraphs, the events of the past two weeks have made this place feel different … or, wait, I think it has mostly made me feel out of place. Everyone else has things to do, they’ve got lives of their own, and they’ve got their health. I’ve always been the one who stays here and, after all the changes that are taking place in this shrinking apartment, there are even less reasons to refer to it as “home”. They come back to it after a day of doing things, while I witness all the change and dwell in it. It’s home to them, but I don’t really get a say in what goes on in it, in what changes are made. I’m just another guest here, on a very extended stay.

I close my eyes and I try, I give it my best, to picture myself living in my own place, being in full health as I should always have been, and having more than just a mere existence. But I can’t, either because I’m interrupted by the surrounding noise of everyone and everything or simply because I lack the imagination to create a world, in my mind, in which I can live and do things that make me happy.

What are those things? What makes me happy? I like reading, for sure. I like writing here. I like sitting in silence with my thoughts and staring at the evening sky when I step outside. None of that does more than provide a temporary escape from this existence. I wish I could go back and tell my much-younger self to do things differently or, better yet, provide him with an entire notebook of DOs an DON’Ts which he can use for reference. That would be swell, but the past is the past.

There’s another year, not far away. Whatever it may bring, I’m reaching out, with my arms fully extended and my hands closing at intervals, hoping to catch more than just air and the occasional flying insect … anything better, I’ll gladly take.

I skipped posting for World AIDS Day, but that one post I made is still valid as the situation hasn’t changed that much. There’s also that SocialVibe thing on the right … Haiti is still in dire need of everything, especially now with the ongoing cholera outbreak. If you’re reading this at any moment, please take a few minutes to click on the SocialVibe widget and follow the instructions or, better yet, join SocialVibe!

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Back to what I was writing …

The living room is much less recognizable with the new furniture that’s been delivered. Currently, two chairs and a couch. The old couch is gone for good. The two chairs we had, along with the rocking chair from the balcony, have been repaired and painted (or just heavily varnished). There are two boxes with new tables that have yet to be assembled and, just yesterday, my father removed that phone from the wall and simply threw it in the trash.

I tried my best not to protest, simply uttering that the phone should stay there, a few times, and I wasn’t going to take it out of the garbage, as it was already broken into pieces at the bottom of the trash bag, which I threw away this morning. The space previously occupied by that phone, which still displays the original paint color of the apartment, will apparently become the home for a small wine rack.

Our night watchman was assaulted the other day. A military man, he was riding his motorcycle on his way home when two or more men pulled a wire or rope from both sides of the street, which he caught just at neck level, making him fall from his bike. He went to the hospital to get checked and won’t be back to work, at least for a while. He came here today and was greeted by a few neighbors who told him that he was lucky to have survived, and so on. I didn’t say anything, but if he wasn’t wearing a helmet at the time of the incident, I’ll suggest he buy one. Criminals tend to get creative at this time of the year …

Just today, a woman from the apartment building decided to start preaching. She stopped a neighbor before entering the building. That neighbor, being the nice and patient lady that she is, stood there for a while as the preacher said a few things out loud and even started singing a religious tune. The neighbor had to move on, so the preacher went about finding others who would listen. I closed the laptop, took two of the dogs –leaving Droopy, the more quiet one– and went to the bedroom, so that I wouldn’t be seen if she happened to walk in front of the balcony (it’s the ground level, so everyone can see a bit of the living room). Didn’t want to confront her or be confronted, being an atheist and all.

Apparently, this woman preacher is a housekeeper from upstairs who suddenly decided to let the religious talk fly. She even stopped our visiting guardsman and preached to him from her balcony as he stood in the sun, still with fresh wounds on his face and neck, and then went on to another neighbor who was walking there with his four sons. After the parking lot was clear of potential preachees (not an actual word), I could still hear her voice coming from upstairs. I hope that this is only a phase and not something that will be seen/heard every day from now on.

What else … ah, yes. Juvenilia. I already wrote plenty about it, but I didn’t really go beyond the actual content of the book, choosing instead to save that for later … which is now. Throughout some of the book, particularly during the introduction, its author, Miguel Cané,  writes about some bright fellow students from his years at the school who were overcome with the real world and didn’t live up to the potential they had back then. Once again, that got me thinking.

As I read the introduction of the book, a scene came to my mind. In it, a man in his early- to mid-twenties is sitting in a public place, plenty of tables and occupied chairs. The young man says, to the people at his table, that things in life didn’t turn out the way he hoped they would and that it’s too late for him. He had potential and it all went to waste. Suddenly, a person sitting at another table, just behind him, turns around and says something along the lines of “You’re stupid. Too late for you? You’ve only been out of school for [single-digit amount] years and you’re only [a number between 20 to 25]. If you were two or three times that age, your comments would have some value. But, right now, you’ve got all the time in the world and plenty to work with.” Then, the person turns around, as does the young man who listened to all of this, and the scene ends.

There’s part of me that wishes it were me, sitting there, listening to such a scolding. The other person has probably learned that lesson the hard way and is looking to pass it on, to someone who can still do something about things, who could use the early advice, who still has the chance to live as good a life as one can live.

I’m still not 100% well –will I ever be?–, and I’m not sure which of all of the prescribed medications did the most work, be it alone or in combination, but I’m not as bad as in the last few weeks. I hope that I don’t roll back to where I was when they all run out and that I just stay on the same hill I’ve been climbing, slowly but surely. Maybe this will be the year in which my health problems disappear forever and I can finally start living … or maybe not. I’ll have to wait and see …

In Juvenilia, Cané reminisces about his five years at the Colegio Nacional de Buenos Aires (est. 1863), with the chapters not necessarily in chronological order. He writes about the education he received at the school, founded under the command of an aging Eusebio Agüero, who was shortly followed by Amédée Jacques, of whom Cané speaks highly. With Jacques at the helm, the place became more science-oriented, getting away from the scholastic roots on which it was founded. There’s plenty of positive writing about Amédée Jacques, but this is cut short by M. Jacques’ sudden death, documented before the halfway point of the book.

The above isn’t really the focus of the book, as it is, for the most part, about the occurrences, experiences, events, adventures, misadventures, personalities and even pranks that Cané witnessed or participated in. Every so often, he dedicates a chapter or two to a specific classmate that he deems worth remembering, starting with a description and ending with … it depends on the classmate. Some of them are described as brilliant, highly intelligent, with a bright future ahead. Others aren’t so interested in learning as they are in everything else. The thing is that, while many of those mentioned end up living respectable lives and/or are still friends with Cané, others –including some of the brighter ones– end up in misery or meet their demise during or after the school years, be it because of some disease or due to the hardships of life.

That got me thinking … and looking at the introduction pages again, because two or three of those acquaintances are mentioned there. Cané writes about one, who seemed to have had everything in his favor during the school years, but didn’t get very far beyond that and ended up in a mix of alcohol and desperation, meeting his end not long after Juvenilia was written. Another one, adept at mathematics, doesn’t quite end up in a significant position. Yet another one, of a vivid imagination, who saw things in his own unique way and who couldn’t stop thinking of stories, is mentioned and presumed dead by the author. Oh, what the world can do to those with potential …

The rest of the book covers life at the school, escapades, various other experiences powered by the vitality of youth and it ultimately ends with the author’s desire to leave the school, to live in the world, as he approaches adulthood and studying becomes less appealing. Closing with a visit to the school many years later, Cané quickly walks through various other experiences, invaded with nostalgia for those years past, mentioning a few more names and places, as he now takes the place of his instructors, sitting in front of a new generation of students and remembering that he was once one of them.

Yes, I pretty much told the ending of the book with that last paragraph, but I didn’t actually spoil anything. The book is short, but it manages to say a lot and Cané doesn’t tire of making comparisons or allusions to various literary works and historic events that probably wouldn’t translate so well without careful thought. Not that I wouldn’t recommend it simply because understanding all of those requires some serious knowledge of literature. It just takes patience to understand that the author loved history and stories –after all, literature is what helped him in those first few months at the school–, and to learn how to skip through all those references instead of researching each one if you intend to finish reading it in less than a month.

If you know Spanish, reader, Juvenilia can be read online at Wikisource, though it’s missing the footnotes, some of which are significant, and I don’t think that reading whole stories from a screen compares to having an actual book in hand (so, take it if you find it). The biggest advantage of online reading that I can think of, especially in this case, is being able to quickly research what is being read … but that could be distracting.

There’s more I want to say about the book, including a few random thoughts I had while reading the first half of it, but that’s beyond this poor excuse for a review … or summary. I just wanted to get this all out there and out of the way before going in that direction.

If you managed to get through the word jumble presented above, congratulations: you are desperately bored.