Autobiografía

Me pregunto por el hogar,

pero hoy no quiero llegar a

casa.

I was born in México City on a friday afternoon in the middle of the summer. That makes me mexican. I was fed from my mother's breast; but the infusions where somo sort of mix between a hot cup of English tea, chocolatito de Oaxaca and a variety of chiles. My body is a true intercultural battleground, if there ever was one.

However, I am from nowhere. I was born under the stars forming the constellation of Pegasus. And as a good criollo, I am looking for a place under the sky, in the cosmos and in history.

Saying I was born in México is inexact. I would love to say that I was born -or at least conceived- over the line of the equator, as a result of a passionate and ever lasting love that reached for each other in the middle of the way -and in the middle of the continent. Maybe I was. There was passion, I give you that. But I am afraid I am not an 'equatorian', and that treacherous thing, 'love', mutated into something unexpected. I am not balanced, and I am not contained. But I try.

I strive for harmony. At least that is what I keep telling myself, with a touch as cold as the night by the river: piercing and numbing.

I belong somewhere else.

My body has no fatherland. And it found the fairytale called motherland a broken vessel. I was not born in México or Ecuador.

I was born farther East and North, on an imaginary island somwhere qithin the triangle that finds its peaks in Xochimilco/Tepepan, Junín de los Andes and Clifton. My mythology draws equally from the motorcycle diaries, a vague third-world consciousness, some calaveritas y poemas, la catrina, 'The Wind in the Willows' and Gerald Durrel. My morals fluctuate between anglican puritanism and catolicismo guadalupano; somwhere between cosmopolitan liberalism and (conservative) revolucionarismo institucional. I am full of contradictions. I don't really believe in the 'God of heavens', but I fear for my soul. And I can't decide between Marx and Nietzsche.

I will call myself 'atlantic' being, though my affections pull me more towards the Pacific coast where as a child I played to build a sand wall to stop the Ocean.

I am quite shy for whatever matters. Dwelling over a fence, trying to gather the courage to say things in the middle of a loaded silence. I'd like to have it all in my hands and set it right. But i can'y have it all in my hands. And I keep getting it wrong.

I try to be open and generous, But I tend to be careless and insolent wit those who actually care for me. I try to be a cheer leader; I am passive agressive: moody and terribly bitter.

I have forgotten how to laugh, how to take me less seriously.

I am hiding behind adjectives. I don't let people get close. I am a little cactus: a forrest of tiniature thorns covering my skin.

My heart is in pain, and I am afraid to place it into the basket. To give it to you. To surrender my arms. What if...

I don't have a team. I long for one. I just fear that if I speak up you won't like me anymore. I would stop then being 'agreeable'. I guess I am not all that generous after all.

I feel stupid. Lo doctor o quita lo pendejo. Yo estoy muy leido. But I am not very wise.

I love ou. I want you. I don't know how to be with you. Can you teach me how? Can we learn to be together? Just being there on the same bench, withought fighting. Simply together, Sharing, circulating the affection. Helping the other to be enchanted, to be charmed into the world. Can I do it? Can you? Will you follow me? Will I follow you? Can we talk? Do you really want to know me?

I can be joyful, but I am terribly annoying. I ache in a place I cannot even point out. What do you want? What do I want? What can we want together?

I better stop now. This was supposed to be an autobiography. It became a long letter. Maybe to you, maybe to me. Maybe to an unexpected visitor.

It's been long. Perhaps you are tired now. Sleep well sweet angel. May the sky keep you warm under its starry blamket. Let the moon stare at you. If you need me, I'll be somwhere under the sign of Pegasus.