0-yrs, 0-mo, 3-days, 2-hrs

I thought about getting one of those apps for people trying to get sober.
The ones where you put the date of the day you decided to try quitting, and then it starts counting how many hours, days, months and years you’ve been sober.
Before Sunday, it had been a good five months.
I last saw you on December 21st, but didn’t decide to quit you until February 19.
Since then I could breathe normal again. I was coming back to my body.
I could look at old pictures, the ones we took on the subway when we squeezed into that one tiny seat and I was practically on your lap. The ones you took of me in central park and in time square.
I could look at them and remember how fun it was when we were friends.
I saw them and didn’t think about your visits, the way you hugged me in the night when you got cold, our late night conversations that always ended in telling each other what we were gonna do to next time we were front of each other
You would text me and I wasn’t hung on your every word.
I think you started to notice too because I could sense you trying to call my attention a little harder.
All of a sudden I’m getting a “buenos dias” text followed by a snapchat of you in bed captioned “mi cama te extraña”
I, feeling like the bad bitch that I am, leave it as opened and reply with a side eye emoji.
For the first time in months I feel both wanted and in control
[But I’m still not yearning for him like in January.]
I could finally hang out with my friends and only bring you up as side note joke or not even at all

Then I see you Sunday.
And you look at me how you do.
I’m on the opposite end of the couch avoiding your eyes.
[Looked at the wall, for the first hour and 40 minutes]
We talk for a good 3 hours and I finally decide its time for me to leave.
You walk me out and I’m thinking I DID IT! WE DIDN’T FUCK, HES OUT OF MY SYSTEM!
But then we stop at my car
And you ask me if I really have to go
YUP [le digo super quick before theres any room for thought]
And I’m about to turn around when you finally give me the kiss I had expected all night.
The one I was sure I had ducked.
So, here I am kissing you back with one foot in my car and a hand in your pants.
I stop kissing you and tell you we wasted too much time talking.
You tell me you’re going to me next time, and it won’t be just a few hours.
You’re taking a  whole weekend off for me so you tell me to think about where I want to go.
I text you Monday “lets go to Kino. Quiero ver el mar contigo”
You reply “i’ll keep you posted on my free time. I just got handed another project and i don’t know what my schedule will be like”
A reply that the Flor two years ago would’ve still considered a possibility -is being read by a Flor who knows better.
I’m probly gonna download that app and put you in as some kind of hallucinogen.

Nudo en Mi garganta

   So I’ve been meaning to write for a while. Its been an eventful few weeks since the last time I wrote anything and everytime I think ‘oh I’m gonna write about this’ I end up looking at the screen and saying “nah.” I think its partly due to me being a very emotional person and not knowing how or which words to use when I feel something like in my heart? gut? …I dunno. The other reason would be because of the bitch ass patriarchy that make mujeres like me feel like being a chillona is a bad thing. Like this blog is for my own personal reflections and I still find myself thinking ‘no don’t write that se mira muy cursi o pareces llorona’ en vez de pensar like ‘no, let it out, this is why you started this’ I keep trying to stop myself from being too extra pero like, how can I? EVERYTHING ABOUT ME IS EXTRA.

Anyway, I don’t even know where to begin so I guess I’ll put this in order of emotions from  single tear down my cheek to ugly vomit crying. . . HAHAHA just kidding there is no in between I go straight to the vomit cries. So my Tia’s been locked up in a prison in Hermosillo for about four months now. Se llama El Cereso. I hate looking it up cuz its all messed up shit that gives me nightmares y a la misma ves what a fucking privilege no? decir que me da miedo su realidad. So I have to look it up, to see how shit works, to find out if we can send her money or clothes or food. Turns out you gotta send all of that for survival in mexican prisons. They don’t have uniforms at the one she’s at so my Tata and I went to take her some clothes and mandado. She said not to leave her any money and I could guess why but I didn’t ask either. The website I looked up didn’t tell me how visitations worked so my Tata, who lives in Hermosillo, asked around y nos la rifamos. We waited outside with a group of other people from 6am til’ they opened the gates and just signed in like everyone else. We gave the guard my Tias name and they separated me and my Tata. Then I was in a hall way with two other women and two female guards and the two other women already knew whats up cuz they started pulling their pants off con calzon y todo. So I followed. And holy shit I still don’t know what the fuck cuz I just remember standing there turning around and squating. Like if this shit was natural to me, I just followed the other ladies lead and was too scared to ask questions. We all pulled our pants up and followed an arrow that took us down to some court yard where my Tata had already found a table for us. No le dije nada por verguenza, like he seemed pretty chill so I don’t know if they stripped him too, y’know?  And if they did he wasn’t gonna wanna talk about it so I just played it chill too. Anyway, my tia comes down from this little apartment looking building and tell us thats her cell and she shares it with another lady who killed her husband. She says its not so bad and that it feels like she’s living in the little project apartments down 29th ave. She’s only 32 years old and is so numb to all this shit. She was in different detention centers here twice, for a total of 20 months, fighting a deportation case that ultimately ended in her getting deported. Prisons in the U.S. changed her completely and now she’s in El Cereso for extortion. She could’ve qualified for DACA but she had some petty drug charge from her teen years and no one could help her. She was tainted “she broke the law” and thats a bad look when you’re already existing in a place that doesn’t want you in the first place. Its all bull shit made up so we think theres “good” and “bad” immigrants but I know its just a matter of who got caught doing what and who didn’t. It was a four hour visit and even though we had some awkward silences I feel like there was so much more left to say. When my Nana asks me how she was I have to lie and tell her she looks okay even though she looked way too skinny. My mom is going to see her next week with my other Tia and I haven’t told them about the strip search yet. Im trying to figure out if I should do it in a serious way or  bring it up casually like its no big deal so they don’t freak out.

Estoy

Here to express the thoughts, feelings, stories, chisme, and anything in between that I can put into writing from the perspective of a twenty something Mexican Gordita thats just out here trying to function… Ill mostly be writing about co-parenting with my crazy-heart-of-gold-mom, friends, feminism, food, fuckin’, being broke, work lyfe, more fuckery, my hatred towards various topics such as white people and border patrol, and overall just a brown girl taking up some much needed space. A veces pienso en español so ill be forever code switching too -nimodo¯\_(ツ)_/¯-.

I like to cuss and use new slang, this isn’t an essay for my community college classes so ill write however the fuck i want.

Im not a very good writer but sometimes I get like an urge or craving to do it, sort of like when people binge on something and then feel gross on the inside for a few days… Pero pues yeah, I guess I’ll listen to my body on this one.