Dear James

What It is to the Core

It's 1.48 AM and the night is cool. The window's open and the nighttime...it has a voice. And it speaks to me. Its whisper penetrates the window screen and brushes past me; I can feel it.. on my arms, my nape, against my ear.

I am listening to Caetano Veloso singing, moaning out "Cucurrucucu Paloma".

And though I understand not a word, my soul can't help but sigh in direct response to this person's crooning out for a lost love, perhaps, I don't know; like I said, I don't understand the words as they are in Spanish.

... And the flow of my blood sings along.

And instead of crooning for a lost love, it seems to be crooning instead for lost days. When innocence was pure and unwavering and solid as a mother's love for her kid.

My last affair was a loss of innocence for me in itself.

And sometimes I can't help but think about it. In retrospect it seems so distant and far-off. Fuzzy, like paint drying on the walls of my bedroom. It's tough to say it out loud, even though there is that mixture of apathy and acceptance mingled with it: He used me.

And yet I don't know what it is, ego or pride that keeps me from believing in it totally. At least, all day everyday. Because there are those moments that you just know. You are jolted by reality and accept it: He didn't love me. He wanted to use me because I have beauty and youth and brilliance and I am a novelty to him. But he will still marry her. He wanted me because I was like nothing he's ever seen before.

And to think that I thought God was giving me a sign... "Sasha, this it it, and I have used a bulldozer to knock him into your path. But here. Here he is. Take him or leave him."

I didn't know that God wanted me to pick Leave him.

But I know better now. That's why I don't compromise anymore. Especially when it comes to men. I am still finding my voice when it comes to my writing. I feel I used to be better at articulating what I felt before, I sounded a lot smarter a long time ago. When I was younger. Before I had lost so much innocence along the way, getting by what life was throwing at me.

But I want to believe this all serves a purpose. And I do, when I have my bearings around me. When I'm not injected with the crazies.

But yes.

I love.

I was borne of love. I will die for love. I love my people. I love my country. I love my planet. I love my passions. I love my frivolities. I LOVE MY GOD. I love.

Maybe that's all there is to me:

... I love.

THAT Year in Brunei

You have to think about it though.

Didn’t it work itself out perfectly?

The year in Brunei. From now on until the day I’m old and gray, April 2009 - March 2010 will be known as “THAT year in Brunei”. For those who are unfortunately visionally impaired, I’d like to reiterate the emphasis on ”THAT”. 11 months to be exact…like Life. Exact, random and oh so spontaneous, but at the same time right on the dot everytime - only you would be able to see this not as you’re going through it but when you look back in retrospect.

I read my writings from each month of the past year and I am amazed at the speed and the intricate beauty of all the circumstances, misadventures and fated things that happened. Even the previously personally conceived weeks of so called boredom. But only the wise know that even in the quiet weeks, fate is working and certain circumstances await to pounce on you like rabid bulldogs unleashed after days of imprisonment. Whatever it may be… like childhood, like highschool, like your first real romance, no matter how long it went for, it always seems it had gone by in a blink.

Not to say I’d do it again.

Like that snap and ill-fated relationship with Mario (sorry I still just have to giggle noncommitally whenever his name comes up) .. I’ve learned so many lessons of importance to equip me for the highway of life ahead of me which wouldn’t have come to me if I hadn’t done the the things I did, and if things hadn’t happen the way they had. I cherish everything and am in awe of everything but at the same time, I am also too relieved at watching all that I’ve gone through and looking at it now from my sideview mirror.

Certain things don’t have to be repeated. Only certain people know what happened. Only a handful know something resembling the truth. And yet only you know, at the end of the day, what has truly transpired in the year of your adventure in a foreign land.

I promised a friend of mine that I would write a book on this one day. Before I left for Brunei a year ago, countless people kept asking me in coffee shops: why don’t I write a book based on my family? They were talking about the Nava clan, my mom’s family and the captors of my childhood and my heart. And now, people are asking me to write about the Rahmans. Those behind that part of my name which have been shrouded from me as if behind a shadow or a passing cloud for most of my life.
But you know.. a light has been shed upon them. With my own eyes, I’ve witnessed the miracle of people and lives and heritage unfold before me. Unfurling like a leaf reaching out to touch a raindrop falling by the grace of God. Mischief, adventures, misadventures, personal catastrophes, and happy celebrations of Life that make up this glorious family that I was unknowingly born into.

On that day, I finally decide to push ahead and write my autobiography, the pages will be so colorful from the richness of characters and exploits that make up both sides of my family, of my friends - of the people who have made up my life, those I’ve already met and those I’ve yet to meet - that I’m afraid it might resemble her very own Majesty the Queen’s float at a Gay Parade.

Needless to say, I’m done talking in definitives. Life and things never pan out the way one plans it anyhow. It usually pans itself out in a more fascinating way than you could have imagined.

And I don’t want to write about Brunei as if it’s a casket being lowered onto the ground. It’s not. It’s a trophy and a portrait hanging on my wall, making me witness to the glory of God’s delight in my life. “Do you see how full it is?”, they seem to say.

And of course, my answer would be - always be - Yes.

I do.

I told my friend Izzy, one day I bet I would make a lot of people in Brunei famous. And we would laugh at our own private joke.

But at the end of the day, you know that you were supposed to go down that road. That there was no avoiding or escaping it. And that you never in a million years would have wanted to anyway. These were people who you were supposed to meet, and love, and contend yourself with, and know, and write into your own personal history books: some because you know their roles in your life weren’t played largely enough for you to remember their names after time has passed and the others, most of them - no matter how short or long the time you knew them - because they have personally contributed to the lessons you now know and as well as to the color scheme of your life.

Regardless, or, to be more precise, in direct response to all the events that have transpired… If I had not gone on a whim to attend my sister’s wedding last April, and en lieu of that had not accidentally stumbled upon the chance to spend my year in Brunei:

Ah, safer and smoother and smaller would be my heart.

The September Theory

I fell in love with a boy who eventually became my first love.

Fell out of love as another boy broke up with me, leaving me to experience my first painfully sober heartbreak.

My grandfather, who I lived with for the first 15 years of my life, died unexpectedly of cardiac arrest. Silently, I began to celebrate the day he died as his birthday in Heaven.

It is a month where something always happens. And those somethings usually consist of happenings I'll most likely remember forever. Good or bad, nothing escapes September.

It is the annual, month-long era of: finding love... losing love...births...deaths...and now apparently I could add reincarnation to the list.

A few days ago, imagine my shock when a boy I'd loved (as only a twelve or thirteen year old can, ofcourse) popped up once more on the grid from out of nowhere.

I stared at the pending Friend Request on my Facebook inbox page, disbelieving.

Ivan Bacungan.

The name held its own myth, history, legend in my mind. If our parents generation had the Beatles to grow up with and be constants in their own adolescence, I had Ivan to bring me into mine.

He was the first boy who introduced me to romantic frustration, secretive glances, butterflies in the stomach, butterflies in the chest, butterflies everywhere, weak knees, the beauty of hearing a song publically dedicated to you playing over the school speakers, the confusing and unexpected ability to cry during love scenes in chick-flicks, tactics at inducing jealousy that would make Sun Tzu sob out loud...

Most importantly we are talking about Ivan Bacungan, the boy who made me first aware of the fact that I carried a poetic license.

God, I can only imagine how many notebooks I've kept hidden dusty and forgotten in my closet that are filled out with rambling and endless poetry about him.

After gradeschool graduation nearly nine years ago, he moved out of the Philippines into the U.S. and completely disappeared. No one has heard from him or about him since.

...Until now.

A flooding of mutual friends' messages came pouring in on his wall and mine and everyone's excited about his reappearance. In the initial excitement I felt like I was part of the LRT crowd at rush hour, trying to keep afloat, as I felt myself being squashed and carried by the current of the crowd rushing up to greet him.

Life is so definitely unexpected.
And it has an advocate in the month of September.

September never fails to stump me and make me realize that no one ever trumps it. That it's Life job to constantly keep changing the game plan. No time to step up to bat? Well, too bad because this curveball is headed straight for you. Awake yet?

So to September, I will close my exposure and love letter to you with the last update I'd typed into my twitter page:


"Being found by an Ivan Bacungan in US Marines uniform gives me the the heartiest laugh and the weirdest expression and the giddiest stomach."

So This is Me.

There's this theory that everything happens at random. Life is random. Deaths are given at random. Animals procreate at random. Events in history occur at random. People choose their passions at random. People meet at random. Car accidents fall at random.

Somehow, I can never get behind that idea.

But when I think about all that love's brought to me...

What am I struggling for, if it is not meant to be?

I can't take a step. But I can't move on. I can't let him go completely. But I can't pull him in. I can't seem to be given a chance and I can't seem to make his chance known to him. Not in the theoretic or intangible but in the:

Come sit here a moment and I will tell you that I love you. Come down and meet my eyes so that you can see it for yourself.

The Salud to '09 (A story)

Some days it’s easy to forget what you tried to build.

‘What are you trying to build?’

‘I’m not sure anymore. I’ve stopped working on it for so long that I forget.’

‘It sounds like some Utopian dream.’

‘Maybe.’

‘Coffee?’

‘No, thanks.’

The park is filled with people sprawled on the grass. The field is endless and you can barely see the roads and smog from over the coconut trees lining the edges. The two people were standing on the hill that sloped down onto the field where Christmas lanterns still clung to the branches like the hands of children trying to grope the stars.

‘I forgot about you.’ He said.

‘That I’m more than an idea?’ She chuckled. ‘That I brought on the crazy?’

‘Yeah.’ He answered, sighing as he drank in the sights, laughing.

‘Well, there’s plenty more where that came from.’ She said.

‘Is there?’ He turned to glance at her.

A slight pause.

‘No.’ She finally answered. Then she sighed. ‘No. I think I’m just lonely tonight.’

‘Do you like telling the truth?’

‘Can’t remember the last time I’d done so.’

She seemed nonchalant when she answered so he bit his tongue. No use pressuring her. She’d

talk when she was ready. After all, their meeting tonight was her idea.

He was sitting on the edge of his bed and about to go downstairs to use the computer. He had just come home from spending the day with the rest of his friends, and he was a just a little bit tipsy. It was 2:10 AM and he was in the lull between kinetic and inertia. Just about the time of day he didn’t know the first thing to do with himself. Then she called.

They met here.

‘I didn’t know that this place existed. Well,’ He muttered. ‘I knew it was here. But I didn’t know that...there was all this.’ His arm swept in the field.

‘Yeah.’ She agreed. ‘I didn’t know about it either. My grandmother told me about it just last night. Apparently when my mom and my aunts and uncle were small my grandparents took them here on New Year’s Eve to spend the night. This place used to be filled with people who were setting off fireworks and they’d bring blankets and tents here and the children would just run around and they’d all watch the sky.’

‘I’m amazed that it’s still allowed.’

‘It’s not.’ She smiled.

He looked at her. But she just continued to smile. She shrugged and the December breeze brushed by the both of them, ruffling their hair, which were both unruly. They looked like a pair of kids just after a game of tag. Or a couple of pelicans ruffled by the spray of crashing waves.

He nearly grinned at the thought. He liked flight. He thought that she did too until, well, she seemed to have lost her nerve a while back and was now just getting back her footing. He honestly did not know what to feel about that. Or what to make of it, for that matter. Not that he really cared.

He said her name out loud. How to phrase this.... ‘Is this illegal?’

‘Don’t worry about it.’ She sighed.

‘What if we get caught?’

‘We won’t.’ She answered, and then finally turned to look up at him. The December night was cold so she stuffed her hands into her pockets. She smiled softly. ‘It’s my dream. Nothing bad will happen to you here.’

Suddenly the pieces fell together.

‘Thank you.’ He told her and smiled.

‘Welcome.’ She smiled then turned to gaze up at the sky.

He studied the midnight as well. ‘There are no stars tonight.’ He observed.

‘Oh, I’m sure they’re out there.’ She waved her hand, smiling up at the ocean of midnight hue. ‘You just need a little light to see them, that’s all.’

He waited, his pulse rising slowly but surely to his throat.

And then...

...she laughed...

FIREWORKS.

Fragmented light exploded across the sky. Everything is illuminated.

People clapped and applauded.

Children jumped, pointed at the sky, shouted.

Everyone was happy and neither of the two observers was aware of the wide smile on his or her face.

‘It’s so real!’ He said laughing, wanting to cover his ears from the noise.

‘It is,’ She breathed softly, agreeing with him. Still watching the lights.

‘Everything is so loud!’

‘No,’ She then turned to face him. ‘The noise you hear is coming from outside your window.’ She was smiling. ‘It must be the New Year already.’ She breathed out his name, her eyes bright.

‘What?’ He studied her eyes, her expression made him smile.

‘It’s time to wake up.’

- 12/31/2008

Who do you tell?

I have just broken up with Nina.

And she may not yet even know.

I sent out the email yesterday, just a few minutes after leaving Sunday Worship at CCF. Yes, I go to church now. I can even say I'm a Born Again Christian without any qualms or bout of angst-ridden giggles.

But I had to leave the relationship that has been with me for a year. Our time was simply up.

For a year, majority of our time together I felt as if I were lying through my teeth.

I loved her, yes.

But who was I kidding?

I'm not in love with her. And perhaps never was.

I have a problem.

I have difficult saying 'No'.

Why is this?

I know that I'm as straight as a rod and yet my playful carelessness and curiosity is now about to come to be a world of pain for somebody else.

At the Christian center yesterday, I had only begun going there around two months ago, I had asked to speak with a councellor for the first time. Tamila was great to me, she did not tell me what to do. But I gathered by reading her that it was probably not in the rules to do so, anyway. She only told me, or rather reminded me of the essentials.

I felt as if I could no longer hold .. This, ME... inside: my seams were bursting and if I did not let it go then there would be a combustion of madness set newly forth into the world from the portal which was my conscience and my being.

I wanted to tell her: Look, Nina. I just want to love God more.

My atheist friends (and in this world we currently live in, there are plenty of those) would snort derisively I'm sure at my expense and my current beliefs and tragedies.

But that's what this is, releasing myself from a relationship that feels and has always been wrong is my Relief, Grace and Tragedy.

I know that I did the right thing. I just feel it in reverberating in my bones. But knowing that Nina would hurt when she reads what I'd written makes my bones feel like ash.

I have difficulty saying No, Tamila observed.

Yes, I answered. Yes, I know that.

So now, that's another thing I am going to have to work on.

I know that God is living in me.

He sees through my actions that I want to live my life for me, and that would in a very direct way once you think about it - be living for Him.

I suppose all I really mean by writing all of this down is:

I wish Nina would not hurt.

If there was someone to blame then it would be me. I would rather she despise me than hurt because of me.

What I pray for today is that God will take care of both of us. That He take care of her and that He would give her everything that she needs.

Dios mio, ayuda me!

Para Siempre.

Once there was a ball of blue gas which manifested itself in the darkest place anyone has ever imagined: the Center of the Universe.

This blue gas was a wanderer, nearly a vagabond...it travelled everywhere, burning a brighter blue with each eternity that passed.

One day as the blue gas sifted and flowed silently, growing fainter and fainter - it heard a voice that was deeper than the depths of the human soul whisper in its ear:

Surprise.

And a meteor shower came down raining upon the vibrating ball of blue gas.

A thousand stars gathered around it and shimmered brightly, the most poetic applause creation has ever encountered.

Slowly, slowly, eternity was locked inside a single, shattering moment.

At the center of the sphere of blue glass a light has appeared. With each second it grew and spread out like a fan, a blush, an ocean...and suddenly there it was. Beautiful, it had become:

Fire.

Thank you for turning me into fire.

..... My whole family, my friends, and especially to my glorious new family in Mexico: Eric y mi nueva amigos. (I hope that I said that right!) - I was so thankful and inspired that I wrote down this story for you.

I would like to thank you all for the wonderful gifts and greetings that you have given me on my 21st birthday. You have made it a world more special than I expected it could be.

It was made even more special with Eric's amazing gift: http://ericrkl.blogspot.com/2008/12/sapo-verde-sasha.html

Eric, that was totally great of you - please kiss your beautiful little Ianna for me (she is a princess)!

Viva la Mexico y mi amigos! (I still hope I said that correctly!)

Gracias. Gracias. Gracias.

With time is Rememberance

What’s amazing to me is that 21 always seemed… you know:

“God, Sasha, you’re OLD.”

And there it is.

21 is staring at me. Eyeing me as if looking for the slightest movement. A flicker of eyelash. A cease in breathing. The hesitant looking thrown over the shoulder.


21: It’s nice to meet you, Sasha.
Me: Uh. Hi. Isn’t your arrival a tad bit… too soon?
21: This is merely an informal introduction. We shall save the grand ceremony for the 10th of December, shall we?
Me: Oh. Ok. (muttering) You just seem a litte too anxious to me.
21: (smiling) And should I not be?
Me: No. I don’t know. No. Not really.
21: And why’s that?
Me: Because I always thought that when I’d meet you I would be in a different place.
21: Is that so? Which place would this be.
Me: A place other than here.

And so I’m turning the big 2-1 on Wednesday.

Let me see.

It would be my first birthday without Uncle Bong greeting me. Without him there to tell me how much of a lovable fool I am. How I should never ignore inspiration. How I should not war against my imagination. How I am on the verge of that freefall which is success. How I should give it my all. How I should never stop running. How I will win the race just by being true to myself. How I am going to make it. How I am going to survive the inflaming passion of my dreams. How he much he loves me and how the world will come to love me too, once I take that crucial step to fulfill my dreams.

“Happy birthday, Sash. I love you. Take care, dude. You are one cool dude.”

“writing that million dollar bestseller is your best chance. keep the dream alive and reach for it. i love you.” - Uncle Bong Japan 8/12/2007 3.09 PM

Just examples of random SMS messages from him that I will no longer receive it seems.

Don’t worry, Dude. I still have your messages and your smile alive and burning clearly in the reddest part of my soul.

I just miss you, that’s all.

And I think about you. Forgive me that.

I love you, you see.

And I’ll go on like this for oh… the rest of my life, most likely. Til I see you again. I expect that great big hug and the giddy rush of heat to my cheeks from your proud pat on my back.


21: You still have that promise to fulfill.
Me: I know. I know. I know I promised him. I’ll do it. Ok?
21: (laughing)
Me: (annoyed) What?
21: Sasha.
It is not your promise to your Uncle.
It is the promise you made to yourself.
The day you were born, when the first breath of air rushed in to fill your lungs, a promise flowed from the earth’s lips and met the one which manifested deep within you on the upon the nanosecond of your creation:
And that promise is what you should keep.
It has been a promise you made to God Himself the moment that he configured your existence.
Me: …Yes.


So now I’m turning 21 in two days. And during the years and mad moments that I’ve encountered and that have encountered me as I write this, somewhere down the road, Life had managed to give me the ride of my life. Upside down and inside out is fun and apparently the ride isn’t over.

There have been more things I haven’t expected to happen that did than those I had foreseen.

I am not the College Graduate I always thought I was going to be at the age of 21.

My family , whom I had lived and grown up with in the same big house the first 14 years of my life is now scattered across the globe.

Two of them, Uncle Bong and Lolo Dad, are now…elsewhere. But hopefully (and I keep my fingers and heartstrings crossed on this one) still watching over us.

I have a thousand manic and mercurial poetry in my books – none of which have yet been properly compiled and sent to a publisher.

I have yet to begin to search for a decent publisher to which I could submit my works to.

I have yet to even begin to burn down my quiet fear and try.

I have not begun to edit and in some cases complete the stories which I have written. (This is bad. And for those who are lucky enough to know their true passion, Having No Time is not a valid excuse.)

I have now come to love World Music more than the popular kind, the ones people had me listening to growing up. Meaning, I love music whose lyrics and beats are set in languages that I don’t verbally understand but which resonates and reverberates within the white of my bones. And shakes my soul to stillness: Italian, French, Cuban, South African, North African, Celtic, Mediterranean, Balinese, every color in the world’s palette have now been painting my soul and writings because of it. (This is one unexpected situation I don’t find myself complaining about so much, if at ALL.)

Maybe this is my way of preparing myself for fulfilling my dream of travelling and discovering the world.

Speaking of which, I am now saving up for that.

I still despise being subjected to other people’s rules.

I have become a cliché. More often now I love to put on the candles, turn off the lights, pour myself a glass of white wine, melt dark chocolate into a cofee mug half filled with almonds, turn on the laptop and turn up the Opera.

God I love opera.


Oh, 21! I am ready for all the mad endeavors and fruitful blessings you will bring.
I’m aware that I have to put out my share on the table.
I will fulfill my promise.
I will take out the old guns, the ones that I thought I have left behind me in a past life.
I will take out the old guns and take a deep dive into the world.
I will not go down.
But I will go enveloped in my own fire and with guns blazing:
Take on the world.

I am watching...Slumdog Millionaire

What does it take to find your first love?

He used to be a Man.

And now whenever I catch glimpses of him, in rooftop conversations, at surprise parties under the blue moon - where the blue moon drinks most of the vodka, and at a midnight cruise into the terrible ocean of forgetfulness and remembrance at different hours...

I can't help but be pulled apart.

Mostly by two things.

ONE, by a grevious and otherworldly sense of loss.

TWO, by a calm and egregious peace that I have moved on.

The Legend of 1900: Playing Love

Somehow I break out in starlit wonder when I watch this movie. I have this particular track on my playlist, it's title: Playing Love, and when I listen I feel neck deep in the daze of quiet awe which is the mist of magic expelled from the tip of Guiseppe Tornatore's wand.

There is a hidden majesty always understated, I feel, when I watch Tim Roth on film. A few of his roles which have been my favorite include this and The Bellman in Four Rooms. There is always a quiet elegance to any of the characters he portrays, which makes me want to throw him a standing ovation all evening.

Cartoons' still got it.

"Let go of what kills you. .

and hold on to what keeps you breathing."

- Spongebob

Llamame Azul.

To hide a passion totally (or even to hide, more simply, its excess) is inconceivable: not because the human subject is too weak. But because passion is, in essence, made to be seen: I want you to know that I am hiding something from you, that is the active paradox I must resolve: at one and the same time it must be known and not known: I want you to know that I don't want to show my feelings: that is the message I address to the other.

- Unknown

In case you didn't know.

I suppose people should learn from this.

If you have to hear Madea say it out loud first in order to realize its truth then you have to recite this to yourself every morning right after you dream and before you wake up so that this message becomes a rule engraved in the armour of your chest.

It's an innate knowledge that you're already born with.

But some people refuse to listen.

So I hope that this reminds you why you're here.

It makes Life so much easier.

Everybody has a Theory.

People think a soul mate is your perfect fit, and that’s what everyone wants. But a true soul mate is a mirror, the person who shows you everything that’s holding you back, the person who brings you to your own attention so you can change your life. A true soul mate is probably the most important person you’ll ever meet, because they tear down your walls and smack you awake. But to live with a soul mate forever? Nah. Too painful. Soul mates, they come into your life just to reveal another layer of yourself to you, and then they leave. And thank God for it.

- from Eat, Pray, Love by Elizabeth Gilbert

He talks about you like you put the stars in the Sky.

Some loves are precious.

Because some things are yet sacred.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YBzoQnwSb9Y&feature=related

Desire. Rhymes with. Hmm FIRE.

What do you want?

What are you waiting for?

What do you WANT?

God. These are just the questions that you dread hearing because you dread to answer. Why, you ask? Oh, not because you don't have an answer, or that you do not know what you want.

It's because you know that what you want cannot be had... And isn't within reach.

Saying what you do, in fact, deeply unabandonedly truthfully desire out loud and knowing that you cannot have it...well. It breaks you. It breaks the walls that the world has created around your being. A wall that has named itself 'Reality'.

Instead... I will step into that mirror and look that girl, a woman now, in the eye and bravely but very slowly answer, as if I were standing on a plank of wood that on which the slightest hint of movement might overturn and send me drowning into the mercurial waters of hopelessness: What do you want? What are you waiting for?

...silence.

And a pause.

Because I want my words to shake the ground that I stand upon with every syllable I'd utter and give to the world which hangs onto every word I say as if already planning my downfall and using them against me; to mourn me, to laugh, to belittle, to spit at me.

Sometimes, the world is nothing but a rowdy crowd that holds up rotten banners which is good for nothing except to bleat loud noises and scuffle outside the Casa Rosada. You don't know whether it desires your undoing or the rise of your being. All that you know is that it is loud and it goes wild when you raise your hand in acknowledgement.

I want...

I want him to love me.

I want him to know how I have been waiting all of these years and I want him to know how I feel: That he is the only one in the world for me.

I want to travel the world. And sometimes, especially as of late, even more than I want him. As if I know that the knowledge trotting to and from places which my soul flies to when I am asleep is enough to satiate my restlessness, my strongholds, my passions.

There are so many things...

I want to write. I want to sample the local fish from Sutri and drive up to Rome to watch the sunset over the Coliseum. I want to walk through the halls of the L'ouvre and hold back tears at the centuries of Beauty and ages that I would be beholding. I want to know how it feels to remember how I had fantasized and dreamed about doing so when I was a little girl and be amazed that I am standing where I would be standing.

I want to travel by train throughout Europe and find myself being surprised at how beautiful Germany is (which I had never imagined it would be) and be blown away by the feeling of peaceful pain that my feet would endure after walking through the vineyards of Marseilles and Provence. I want to walk down the backstreets of Tokyo at night and watch the reflection of the citylights on the stars that would wink down at me going, "Stop smiling like an idiot, Kiddo. You're happy. We get it... We're happy, too." I want to eat with my hands in the Scottish highlands and fantasize about shaking hands with Nessie. I want to visit Manarola most of all and get lost in the simple magnificence of its colours.

I want my writings to be published. I want to talk to people about the stories they would find in my books and explain how my style which they would call Magic Realism is actually just another fancy term for the words Reality is Pure Magic.

I want to buy a house where my family and extended familiy could live, sort of like a private village.

I want my brother and I to fight just like old times when every other sentence coming from our mouths would emit a punch from one or the other or both. It is much preferrable than the adolescent silence we share now.

I want my Mom to be happy. I want her to support herself once more because she still has so many gifts to give out to the world. My grandmother and mother are so wise...so wise...and flawed. Which makes them irreplaceable in my book.

I want to paint the local market scene in Aruba and visit the temples in Cambodia to pray.

I want to buy an I HEART NY t-shirt in New York City and not spend a moment asleep as I flit from one Broadway musical or play to another.

I want to freefall in a bungee jump in Niagara Falls.

I want to stop now...

And listen to myself sigh.

For now, it's best to continue to take the planned steps to realize all these desires, these wants, these unopened treasures I am patiently waiting to open.

Now all I have to do is keep dancing the dance....