So with all this writing and thinking...better word sorting of thoughts, I've realized that I have a fear of commitment, not that I don't want to commit or that I don't believe in commitment and feel that it is an important aspect of living, because I do, I strongly believe it is. Somehow, I cannot give in to it. It is not just a fear of commitment to people, it is a fear of commitment to everything that makes me feel unstable. Like, school, career, HOME, friends, even with God and yes perhaps, most likely, that with my relationship.
I wish I could just trust destiny, I so believe in it and know that it is the way in w hich I wish to live my life because so many times it has been proven to me that, all happens for a reason. Lately however, I end up with a feeling that I do not deserve, that happiness is temporary because I should prepare for what is next to come, I can't just live in utter bliss. I know its wrong, I tell myself, Ana what is up with that!? and more importantly, when you look back at these years so will be hitting yourself against a wall bc you did not enjoy those years....that's a little dramatic, I do enjoy these years and times, I just end up worrying too much about the future and about whats to come because I don't trust that God will carry me through, and that I will be able to identify his love and him being there. That has got to change, I wish to simply give in, to just do to do and enjoy to enjoy, to think about the future, but simply as hope, not as a threat to the events that are going on in my life right now.
Emm...as promised here is the first part of my house series, not as in the tv show but as in all the homes that I have had, it is a recap of what i lived through in these places, the emotions that these have created and left in my heart, the memories I have of these, etc.
I realized that I have more memories from the past, that is, better memories from the past but they are faded, like antique history, sooo long ago that I don't even know if they truly belong to me, but they are beautiful memories, even in their pain, they have shaped me and therefore, i cherish them.
calle pavorreal #77, LAS ALAMEDAS, atizapan de zaragoza, edo. de mexico. Mexico
oh how lovely that house seems, i feel as if i could stretch out and touch it, in my mind it is perfect and yet i know that it was small and full of imperfections, the last time i stepped in that house i cried because i remembered of the last time i had been there and how i had cried bc my mother did not want to leave and my father hugged her like i had never seen. it stands in lovely beautiiful Mexico, in the outskirts of mexico city, it is a duplex home with three small rooms, one bathroom, a small kitchen, a big living room and a dining room. it is surrounded by a black fence all around. The windows have black bars going veritcally infront of the glass, this was suppose to keep us safe, or at least give anyone who ever attempted to break in, a hard time. No one ever did break in. Now I realize that at that time I thought I was safe, that that fence and those bars kept me safe. the back was a concrete patio, the front had a small garden, really only a square of grass, but it was beautiful and my mother took good care of it. here is were I grew up, were i talked and walked and played and learned about the world, it was the perfect little life. It infact was not so at all, at that time I was too young (i lived there till the age of nine) to understand that we did not have a good living situation. Until I was six or seven, my mom sister and I walked about a mile to school everyday because we only had one car. I remember nights of constant screaming between my dad and my mom, those screams still reach the bottom of my soul and make the tears pour out from my eyes. It is distant bickering however, it is simply the feeling of being young and not knowing why so much screaming goes on. My sister and I explored the world through this house however. The best part about growing up, maybe even about being alive is that, I have never been alone. My twin sister and I have shared everything, everything, and without envy for each other, we still share things to this day. We painted an entire wall in our house with markers, my parents laughed and took pictures. We created an entire zoo out of animal crackers in my parents room, she does not remember this, but our mom was not happy. I remember that a lot of the time she would step out of the house to go to the store, or go here or there and we would stay at home alone. My sister hated that, she would cry and run after her, not understanding that mom would always come back, and all I could do was to try to comfort her. It's funny because later on roles switched between us. We also knew how to have fun though. Her and I loved it when it rained and hailed because we would wait for the rain to stop and run out with buckets and collect the little balls of ice, and of course by the time we went back inside the house, we would have buckets full of water, but omg how much fun that was Ana writes as she smiles to herself. We loved to dance and sing. We would have dance parties in our living room and my sister has always been a better dancer than myself but I always loved to follow. The greatest days were when our parents would wake us up early mornings and have us look outside the window and show us how they were setting up our kiddy pool. We would spend the afternoon there and eat cucumbers and pate with crackers. And of course, the christmas season and January 6th, the Three Magic Kings day, when children in Mexico get all their gifts (santa is not so big down there) and mom would play with us and sometimes let us miss school so the three of us could have a play day.
It is sad to say but, my dad is somehow absent from these memories, I know he was there, he always has been, I feel his presence in my memories, but I do not see him as clearly as I see my mom. He has always worked hard, hard, for us and for his own ambitions, I know ambitions has a negative connotation but not in his case, he just always wished to emerge and stand out.
This house was in front of a...smaller than a mountain, bigger that a hill...we loved to take walks up there, it was always a great achievement when we got to the top and my dad would ride his motorcycle up there, which i loved by the way. Later on though, houses began to be built there and oh how we disliked it because it suddenly felt less peaceful and earthy, it felt crowded...
Since the house was up on the hill, our back windows faced the valley and at night we could see all the city lights, and although my sister and I could barely reach, we loved staring out that window, day or night, we loved to observe.
And finally, that kitchen, we were little mice in that kitchen, climbing up on the counter, reaching cabinets, hiding under the sink, pulling up chairs to reach the cereal boxes above the fridge, it was all a big game and the last time we were in that house, this was the memory that made my mother cry.
dream about house.
Nostalgia
mother and kitchen
absent memories of father,
earthy beauty
fences
observing
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