One time I dreamt of snow. I couldn't see myself, but I could see this cubicle-like alternate reality where skies were pouring snowflakes down to the ground, on which I was standing. Clouds went away. The snow slowly turned to milk. Then the clouds came back and there was rain. There were no emotions.
My first kiss was with a boy named Ian behind a backyard waterfall at a friend's pool party. We were in 7th grade; I wore lipsmackers (they're still great) and a Hollister halter top. It was one of many late spring nights in Phoenix that felt like summer. I remember coming home and running to my diary to write paragraphs about the night.
Grandfather came to visit us in America once back in the early 2000s. We took him around to show him the big spots -- Niagara Falls, the Ivy Leagues, Times Square and Lady Liberty. One of our scheduled stops was a famous cathedral somewhere in New York, though I guess my parents didn't consult grandfather about it beforehand, because he refused to leave the car. At the time I didn't understand his stubbornness.
During high school I had a math tutor. He was a chubby guy who loved numbers. And baseball. While I solved quizzes, he would often use my computer to look up baseball scores. He would announce to mom and me that he's "going on a diet," but the second mom sent out dishes of food he pounced. What I loved about this guy I can't really put into concrete reason, but I loved his humility and patience. He understood I had no interest in pursuing a math degree, and asked me about my dreams, my interests.
What usually stops me from giving people advice is a voice in my head that demands, 'Who are you to give anyone advice?' It's so authoritative, so powerful and true, that I don't know, those people who have no qualms about giving people advice, I don't know how they do it.
Guichanaso.
