Today was a lovely day. It was the kind of day that there wasn’t anything scheduled, but the day meandered and colored itself in. We went to the Union Square Market and decided to eat ‘a la carte in the market. I found these brilliant apples called Cameos. They have to be the sexiest tasting apples made by god. They had this heady intoxicating and delicately sweet flavor. The flesh was firm and succulent. My teeth pierced effortlessly and the juice sprayed into my mouth and onto my lips. It taste like honey and flowers and clouds. I licked and bit into it over and over while waking through the rows of people. The sticky liquid dribbled into my hands. I ate it to the core and then sucked on it just a little while longer. My wet hands were getting cold because of the juice and the brisk winter breeze passing through the market. I lapped at each finger to make sure that I got every droplet of nectar. Heaven.
It been hard this month. I have been feed many poopoo sandwiches, without even a courtesy of a glass of water. I didn’t think it was possible to have such a complex month, I am hoping that my bout of pneumonia will be the end of all of this and now is the beginning of better moments. Feeling better requires effort on my part and so to cheer myself so I have been thinking about the deep past. Thinking when I was awkwardly innocent and moronically optimistic. I always try to not forget who I was, the good parts (sometimes the bad), and keep them close to me. What I have learned is that life dominates us into submission makes us bitter—disconected. I don’t want to be that person. I want to embrace my passion and frivolity. As a teen I had these incredible moments that I didn’t have the maturity to savor as fiercely as I should have. But I suppose their fleeting and un-orchestrated nature makes them so much more sacred and tender. I used to have this group of friends in high school that we did these hilarious and crazy things; we would skip school and go to museums in San Juan. Late night escapades to the beach, skinny dipping. We would have these parties that were full of debauchery and benign innocence. We had 2am parties and all snuck out of our houses and met. Some of us would sing (that would have included me), others danced, others would recite poems. We had a nude party, themed colored parties. We would sometimes laugh, sometimes cry. We all revealed these deeply personal stories with no judgments. The funny thing is that we never really hung out together during the day, we weren’t in each others “clique”, but we found each other somehow. I learned how to become myself with them. After I left PR I never saw or heard from them. I hope that I impacted them as they impacted me for the better. These memories spark that thing in me. The spark starts up that fire again. And that fire obliterates the dark. Each time I hear Being Boring by the Petshop Boys it makes me think of those friends and those times. I also included other videos that celebrate the same type of innocent exuberance. Enjoy.