Happy birthday baby brother. This one is on your name.

I like when caffeine kicks in. Not that I´m a coffee addict or anything, only that since I don´t drink a lot of coffee, when I do I can tell the difference. When the caffeine starts to run through my veins I would feel more energetic, a lot more, especially after a double espresso in Milan, Italy. No child´s play here; coffee is a serious matter in this country. 

The energy hits my entire body and I imagine the sequence of the movie Limitless when this wonderful pill hits the brain and everything seems more colorful and clear, and the mind is sharper. I can tell why people drink coffee. I feel as if my eyes are abnormally open.

I have a brother and a sister. My brother died when the three of us were little, he was the youngest; an unexpected gift from the universe, one that stayed with us a little time, but of which I´m eternally grateful with life.

Last night as I went to bed I thought of all the wonderful things the universe provides for me and my family, including my partner, our dog (Dharma, the little bitch we raise as if she´s an arabic princess) and our two cats. How blessed I am because of my friends as well. The old and new ones, especially the newest ones, so unexpected and, as one of them said recently, "just drop-kicking their way in". She was talking about me. All the walls one would build up in order to be safe, broke down with my karate hands. Also grateful for the projects that I involve myself into. Even the weird and awkward situations are a gift, I´m sure they always provide a big part of awfulness and a little part of good lesson; only the awful parts fade away fast and the good lessons remain. I went to bed and I kissed my partner´s lips good night. I smiled in the dark and said "thank you" in silence; I said it mute but I articulated the words with my lips. Thank you.

I woke up and my dream was still clear. I dreamed of my brother. Not alive, he wasn´t there, he was in spirit. We talked about him; we visited a grave that was supposed to be his, but even in my dream, he wash´t there. His corpse had faded away and the grave was clean. Flawless. No leaves or branches. The undertakers had cleaned it up, "because we like him a lot", they said. I guess that´s why I never visit his grave in real life, because I know he´s not there. I smile thinking that he´s everywhere and he accompanies me. I don´t carry him on my back, no. He´s more of a figure that walks by my side.

Before, I couldn´t speak about my brother, I would cry seconds after starting mentioning him. His departure left me a little hole in the heart, that emptiness used to hurt. It doesn´t anymore.

The first time I went to Canada was with my partner at the time. We flew into Toronto and then we left for Quebec, Montreal and we ended in New York City. We flew back home from JFK after 14 days. It was a very cold spring, but a lovely one to always remember.  When in the bus from Toronto to Montreal I was playing a Chill Out record; the first song was Little Brother (by Aromabar, the first version of it, without all the mix effects that now has). The first time I played it while in the bus, made me cry because I thought of my baby brother. I don´t now what it was, the guitar notes in the beginning of the track or the soothing female voice that keeps repeating, "little brother, where are you now?"; she responds to her self, "I am here". To the accords of that song I type this post right now and my heart is happy and my eyes dry. I smile mellowly while typing and I say "thank you" out loud.

When back home, I decided I needed to deal with that subject. My brother was a happy memory that turned sad and hurt when present as a thought. I wanted to be emotionally healthy and remember him the way he was, all smiles and almost my twin (probably not just physically, he was also a pretty cool baby, like I was you know). A happy being in the tale of my life. 

I went through therapy and cried my heart out for weeks. My eyes would pour tears like endless heavy rain, I confronted all these feelings and, in the end, I felt better, I was new. My brother is now one of the most joyful chapters in my early existence, and one recurrent character in the story of my life. Now I speak about him and I feel happy and I would top that happiness with some melancholy, but now the sadness has gone, and the melancholy I talk about is a positive one. You know how energy is neither created nor destroyed? that sorrowful vibe has transformed into glee and enjoyment. Now I can listen to Little Brother and smile instead of feeling blue. I grin while typing this. 

I have always been a very light sleeper. Any sound, no matter how low, would wake me up; I would go back to sleep just as easy, but I´m pretty much always alert. Don´t think I don´t rest, I do, and this "ability" has been very useful when traveling on my own and staying in super crowded dorms in hostels. It has come in so handy, that I remember in Jerusalem (the second or third time I was there), the south african girl sleeping below me in the bunk bed asked me to wake her up every day at 5 am to go to work. She was a heavy sleeper, so I would have to get off my bed on top of the bunk and decidedly shake her in order to wake her up. It was a mission, not impossible whatsoever, but since I´m super responsable, I took it very seriously and I wouldn´t go back to sleep unless she was up and standing on her way to (one of) the shower (s).  

My brother slept in my room. His cradle was just a couple of meters away from me and I always remember my mom getting into the room to check him out in the middle of the night, to cover him back with his blanket in case he would had moved. My mom had a green oversized silky night robe (she was super skinny. She still is); she would wear that one in my memory. I would take a look at them for a couple of seconds then I would go back to sleep. Most of the times my mom would also kiss me good night again, after checking on him and I would kiss her back, all sleepy. She would say, "go back to sleep", while caressing my head. I would obey. Fade to black.

I woke up in a good mood because I dreamed of my mom, my dog, my partner, my brother and I, and my old car, only it was pink; Mary Key pink. My dream was full of love and contentment. Even when we saw the empty grave we felt good, because we all knew that a corpse is just a container and his had vanished. My little brother´s energy will always live inside and around us or in someone else´s heart and body. I believe in reincarnation. So, who knows. Possibilities are endless.

I woke up and my mom had sent me an email, a short one. It was almost as if I was listening her and as if she read my mind: "it´s your baby brother´s birthday. Lets celebrate in joy. I love you". 

Today´s my baby brother´s birthday. He would be 31 years old and I bet we would get along perfectly, like my sister and I. I will eat birthday cake today to celebrate the day he was born. Because the time he was with us was pretty awesome and, since I´m very happy because he existed, I can throw a party now; although, I won't do it because I rather have the entire cake for myself. Not that I´m sheltering in food, it´s just that I like cake very much, and birthday cakes are usually very good, all spongy and full of this "Holiday/Celebration" energy.

This post is a tribute to the little person that sculpted me in a very big way. The therapist ended one of the last sessions by saying that me and my sister should be very grateful to him; because we are who we are because of him; because we turned out pretty good. You know, no drugs or alcohol or bad teenage years at all. We turned out very safe responsible travelers. You see, my sister and I are addicted to traveling and to have this "where the hell am I?" feeling when you get to a new strange country, we love that feeling. Like the first time we went to Egypt in the mid 90s, when no one spoke english and we spent one day without eating because we had no idea what was what and couldn't differentiate a falafel shack from a shoe shop; to our eyes, everything looked the same. So weird.

I have always been very aware of my senses. I´m especially sensitive to odors, doesn´t matter, good or bad. Not that I would get all grossed out with the smell of skunk pee, in a way I think I enjoy it; it reminds me of my neighborhood in San Diego, it was all "foresty" and we would always see raccoons and skunks almost every night. 

One day I was in my room and I smelled incense, a very nice one, like Nag Champa, not fruity at all, more "mystical". There was no reason why I would be able to smell incense coming from the window. Our neighbor´s house was far and my window faces the garden (no smell of flowers in Nag Champa incense. Not that we have many flowers in the garden. It´s green, but there are lots of grass, cypresses and green vegetation). The source of that incense scent was nowhere to be found. On the first hit of the Nag-Champa like fragrance I thought of my brother and smiled, I decided it was him saying hello to his big brother. I said "Hi little brother" back to him.

I´m almost gone to the gym, caffeine is hitting hard and I want to burn it our of my system. I wanted to let him know that I´m here, before taking off. That I´m making our parents proud and I´m living my life responsible but to the fullest. Also that I see him in the the face of my nephews. But mostly that I think of him with the singing of birds and whenever I smell incense. Happy birthday little brother. 

Running through out one of my homes. I prefer green tea, thank you very much.

I love when a city that was strange months ago, becomes this regular place; like a neighborhood, one of your homes. I cannot say my second home, I have plenty of those, at least three: Guadalajara, Barcelona and Paris, in terms of houses, it´s a lot, you have to love them all, how many loves of the same kind can one shelter?.

Although, Milan is becoming so familiar lately, like a new friend that feels old. Of that I know well, I met one of my BFFs in the last few months and we feel like old family nowadays. If you believe in reincarnation and that sorta stuff, you can understand. The first time you meet this type of people seems new, then a couple of days later it feels like forever, like old friends, as if we both were diaper-changed together, or twins split up when born. Now she writes and so do I, her future is success, mine is too. I always wish it is, I hope it is and I work so it can be for sure. Four weeks ahead in time from right this moment I update my status and I end with the phrase, "I love my life". I do, I love my life. Happiness is success. I am happy. Ergo, I´m successful. I have everything I dream of, everything I wish for and I work to make wishes a full choice, one I decide to take. Like a man.

The universe was the one who suggested me to think of today as if it is four weeks ahead. Not that I deny my current existence, four weeks before of this four weeks ahead, everything´s beautiful and I am where I have to be; and of that I´m grateful. My current life is pretty fantastic. It´s just that envisioning makes you build a better scheme, gets your project even more refined; thinking four weeks ahead it´s not just wishful thinking, it´s seeing what you already have ahead in time, a glance of your own future.

Thinking four weeks ahead it´s a tool that gets me faster to where I want and I´m meant to be. The universe is very hi-tech; the advice I received was via email, and when saying good bye, it´s usually on a warm way that makes me feel even closer. Closer than when I see a succession of 1s or a feather in my path. I see those even here, in Milan; just yesterday while running 10 K through out some of the city streets I checked some out. I see. I listen. I learn.

Milan feels like home now. I don´t speak italian but I do. No matter what, I end up having conversations about everything and anything in italian, and when I get stuck, I would say it in english, spanish or french (in that order), and they would say the word in italian; then I would fit the new word in the phrase. There you are, that´s me speaking the language that I have never studied.

Trivialities seem more important when said in italian, especially for a non italian speaker. The language presses so much drama to ice creams or directions, such a passionate joy. You know how they say french is the language of love? well, italian is the language of drama, fake and artificial, but only in the beginning, afterwards one understands that that passion and that drama it´s 100% authentic.

Italian is probably to sexy, what french is to love. If your order a double espresso, long and with sugar in it, you will end up sounding as if you're insinuating an "indecency" to the hot waiter. No matter the gender, the server will end up nodding and looking at you smiling, staring at you directly in the eyes and fanning those curly thick eyelashes. "Chiaro. Di subito|". They would say kindly.

Yesterday I ran 10 K through out Milano. It felt new and also old; like every time I run over Paris, San Diego or from the pier in San Francisco to Sausalito. New because I passed by buildings and squares I´ve never been before. Old because I told the city: "you are home". It´s home when I decide to caress its pavement with my feet, my running shoes. "I like you and I go around you as I please because we own each other in a way". Running through out a city is for me just like what I do when I stay at a place that´s not mine. I move furniture around and add a tiny little thing that wasn´t there before (can be incense or a candle). That way I make the space mine, it´s different than what it was before I got there.

To the accords of an old piano, with a dusty sound in the back, I look out of this tall window, of this apartment, in this avenue and I look at this lady passing by. What would I think if I was her and I´d see me seeing her (in that case me as well): who is this guy, why is he there? must be awesome to live in this area, does he go often to this candy place? where does he take his coffee?

I don´t drink coffee. I always prefer green tea.

Since the very first moment we take misconceptions as truths. She must be married and she´s looking for school material for her children, they just got back to school.

No, she isn´t married and loves to walk around here. She´s secretly in love with the owner of the Bakery. Whom loves his wife. Whom loves the milk man. Whom loves her back.

First time I came to this place after the first couple of times (years and years before that), I practiced a couple of phrases so I could get myself around. Today I just let myself go and I talk to Elisa, a blond skinny girl from the dog park. We talk about how crowded the park gets later and how Leo, her dog, and Dharma, my bitch, get along. Meaning Leo runs around Dharma playful and enthusiast, back and forth to the limits of this confined canine grassy paradise, while she ignores him and sniffs around looking for the perfect scent that will make her pee, pee even more and then pee again. She´s into smells, that´s her fetish. My bitch, making daddy proud.

I remember when my mom suggested I´d listen to what life was telling me at every step. When you´re young you really don´t listen, not often to your mom, let alone the universe. The idea is so vague and abstract, it´s so hard to deal with this sorta concerns when you´re head is full of youth and inexperience. I was 22 I think. Today I still feel like 22. Only by now, I have experienced emotions, trips, people and I have given a long thought to subjects that seemed irrelevant before. That has opened my head, but most important, it has opened my heart... And probably my third eye and all. Did I say that out loud?

Opening a package, getting rid of instructions and the box, and just plugging the thing in without any fear of consequences. That has been me many times. Not that I´m proud. So many times I needed to read instructions before, but even more times this recklessness has taking me places and made me who I am now. Maybe that same rashness is the one that has put me where I am right now. For that I´m grateful. Where was I? Oh yes! Feels unfinished? It´s not, it´s just an anti cathartic paragraph.

Now my friends are different. We are all damaged in some way, bonly or wounds are alike. We also love, we all love with no boundaries. Some take long to say I love you, but at the end we all say it and we mean it. We connect in another level and share points of view. We also have been taking care of the same kinda hurts; some times we carry the same scars. Thyroid tumor and treatment or being dumped the same way by the same sorta person. Bruises look similar among my friends and I, maybe we were injured in the same accident and we don´t know it. By this moment we are all happy enough to cure each others hearts by having a ton of fun and telling happy stories, all sorta stories. We laugh a lot, we got rid of the stones that teenage usually makes you carry on the back. Now I write them and share them. The universe have put us in the same road, we wave hello and decided to stop for a coffee in this dinner. The waiter is not italian, but looks like James Dean. He smokes and also carries a broken heart. Anyways he smiles and shows perfect teeth.

In the end Milan is the place there I am today. In three more days I´ll be back home to Paris and there I will shape myself and my future. First things first. I will kiss and pet my cats hello, walk the dog and then post again here. Pour my thoughts I thought were in order and let them out like the faucet that´s next to me; so stormy, the water comes out as if the ocean wants to come out of there. Hope the pipes can support that.

Running makes me happy. Every time I do it, I thank for every single step I take, for being able to do it. Life is a gift, and I think we all should live it as that, a present that is given to us and that´s being renewed every second. For mine I´m grateful. I always am.

Practical guide for expats to survive in Paris. Or how I just remembered how much I love the city of light

Today is like the first day of the rest of my life. You know when everything feels sorta new and refreshed? Well, that´s today. The feeling is grand, it´s like I am reborn again, only fully grown and experienced up to where I was last night.

I just found out that a really good friend of mine is moving to Paris, he will be here in 15 or 16 days. I emailed him earlier and just told him to bring tortillas (the Mexican corn kind), 1 kilo (almost 2 lbs.)  is only $1.15 USD there, 10 Euros in Paris ($13.15 USD), slight difference and just a tiny joke that can also be taken as advice.

See, tortillas with melted cheese inside are quesadillas, you can garnish them with salsa, or vegetables, they are really good and super easy to make. Quesadillas are to Mexicans what sandwiches are for Americans, or what a croque is for Frenchs. With the variety of cheeses in France and with some tortillas from Mexico, when it come to types of quesadillas one can make here, the parisian sky is the limit.

Then while working out, after repeating the mantras I repeat every time I do cardio, I thought I would write him again and give him a heads up in some of the other "small" things one cannot found in this awesome city.

You see, not long ago, I found out I was the holder of this "magical thinking" power; almost everything I wish comes true, and I say almost, because one of the conditions is that all I wish for has to be good for me and those around me, that would count for a good 90%, give or take. That includes shooting stars, 11:11, 1:11 (or any succession of identical numbers... more elaborated than it sounds, but subject for another post), magic lamps, mantras, double rainbows, any given normal situation, etc.

So, one day I came to Paris for the first time, awful experience, but then I came back for the second time and Loved it, and then I wished to live here one day, and now I do. The circumstances are very particular and also deserve an independent post, but the thing is that my wish came true as many others I have made along my life.

When I first arrived here to officially "move in" was odd, I got here with a couple of big suitcases, a carry on, my back pack with my Mac and my cat, a half persian, half street black feline that sometimes plays hard to get and sometimes begs for love and kisses, but mostly meows loud when hungry.

The day of my departure, the flight was delayed like 5 hours and the airline gave the passengers a big bunch of vouchers for food and drinks, I was so hungry, and just after finishing my scrumptious dinner it started to itch here and there, then everywhere and in 10 minutes I was in the airport´s hospital, major food poisoning and that was a couple of hours before boarding. By the time I landed in Paris, my diet for the 5 next days would be just rice "toasties", avocado and banana, basically, maybe something else I don't remember. I couldn't eat normally until I landed in Barcelona a week later to spend xmas, where some of the closes members of my family live and are from, so its basically home, I guess I can say: "I couldn't eat normally until I landed in Barcelona and I was home", very good deal for me, one of my favorite restaurants in the world is there, Ugarit, Xix Tavuk combination my fave dish. It was just awesome.

So I live in Paris now.

Apparently, the city is wonderful always, but once you´re installed you start to realize that many things that you take for granted when you live in Canada, Mexico or USA don't actually exist here. At first you think it is only this one supermarket that don´t have whatever one´s looking for, but then, it´s tens of supermarkets and at the end it´s just not there, or it is in this little store near Saint Paul, only it costs 10 times their known (by you) cost.

I was about to email my dear friend and tell him to bring Degree, Sure or Arrid XX, you know antiperspirant/deodorant.

But before we have to go back a little bit in history, just to understand this better.

Remember how perfumes and scents in general are super popular in France? in fact the country is very well known by this product in particular. The village of Grasse is in the south of France, where a big deal of The Perfume, by Patrick Süskind, takes place, such a big deal. Most people outside here (the popular knowledge back in America and the Americas I mean) think it is because the french don´t shower and thus, they smell bad. Well, it´s not entirely a myth. You see, I like to workout, I´m a foodie and I will always prefer to leave part of the calories and as much fat as possible in the gym, rather than stop enjoying food, and I have to say that currently I´m in pretty good shape, maintaining my weight and slowly (actually) getting in better shape. So I go to the gym, 50 to 60 minutes of cardio first and then a group of muscles, very simple. In the gym some smell awful and they seem to not be aware of that fact and when they finish their routines and all the shower, but ultimately don't apply any "armpit" product. Deodorant or antiperspirant that is.

Long story short, there are deodorants in France, and a few antiperspirants, but not as powerful. The options are, A) the ingredients on deodorants and antiperspirants in France are basically shit and it´s like spreading transparent Nutella, or, B) the body´s PH of some of the inhabitants in this city it´s pretty fucked up, and it probably has to do with the food the eat, but anyway, it´s better to bring the hard guns from somewhere else. I usually bring my antiperspirants from the US, very reliable chemical products that will keep you dry and smelling like a high sophisticated executive or as lavender forever, take your pick.

Also, there´s no Pam, Boom!! There, I said it, no one was acknowledging the anti adherent elephant in the room. "I have no idea how they bake", I said to my two BFFs here, one was shocked and the other took a couple of seconds and said. "maybe they just butter", sure they do. Now I bring mine, a two pack from Costco, and I would bring for my expats friends, it´s like xmas every time someone arrives from the US. My flight back to Paris usually originates in San Diego, CA.

Differences are always there, I think only the UK and the US have enough products to make all expats from every nationality comfortable with the selection of international products. Other than that, not even "super expat" friendly Mexico, good thing the US it´s just right there, a couple of hours away by plane from Mexico City and just minutes away by car from my house in Tijuana. Trader´ Joe´s, Whole Foods Market, Vons, etc. You can always stock up there.

Spain is adorable and the food delicious, but super markets look as if they´re still in Francisco Franco´s time, only two of every product tops, three on a very good week, but nothing very international and the feeling of "fascism" it´s very palpable in super markets. As a member of the latin community I can say it´s not that bad either, Equatorians, Venezuelans, Colombians, Argentinienas and lots of Mexicans go there to study or work, so, their products are available in many spots.

Italy has such an amazing variety... of only italian products, they love their food so much, that they devote entire floors in big gourmet stores to their goods, but only italian stuff on display though. I like that italians support their food so much, I mean, who wouldn´t, right? I think italian it´s one of the most popular foods in the entire world, but that´s also limiting. There are a few latin and asian markets, but that´s pretty much it.

France it´s ok, a lot friendlier with expats in terms of ingredients. The gourmet section of Galeries Lafayette it´s a great place, although La Grande Epicerie de Paris it´s paradise, and I´m not going to start talking about Marks & Spencers food store, one of the best things that has ever happened to Paris since the liberation from the Nazis in 1944. Latin markets are here and there, not as many as asians, but definitely those that rule in Paris are the middle easterns, north africans and africans in general, they got their business going on here. Amen!

Integration to Paris lifestyle it´s not easy, but I bet it´s easier than integrating to Russia´s or Bhutan´s, I don't even wanna picture myself living there. Other than the antiperspirant and heavy odors stuff for people´s PH, food it´s pretty friendly and can accommodate plenty. Croissants are so good, and just as language, after a while you will understand why when it comes to pastries and all, Frenchs are so picky. In the dome of croissants there are even better qualities; if you thought you had the most amazing butter or almond croissant, there´s a friend that know an even better one, and when you try it you know this friend was right, but then you stumble into a new bakery and they make even better buttery croissants there; it´s start from scratch all over again, to classify the top 5 croissants in Paris it´s a hard task... But someone has to do it, right? That´s why I run until I burn 1500 calories and then and only then I feel more or less, less guilty about eating that many croissants. Only today I had 5, not the regular size though, the mini ones, but even then, that´s like 2 and a half, and that´s pretty much a lot for one day, considering tomorrow I will try the best almond croissants with my (about to leave back home... sniff) BFF.

At the end, Paris is lovely. You tend to forget you live here, but when it hits you because you´re walking busy and all distracted and, suddenly, you find yourself with the sparkling Eiffel Tower in the dusk of day right in front of you gigantic and powerful seducing you with lots of light winks; or crossing the Pont Neuf witnessing this stunning view of the Seine river and the beautiful monumental buildings along the left and right banks.

Not too long, a very smart person that´s not from Paris (but she´s a resident since a few years ago) told me we are very lucky to be here. That a big bunch of people wish to live here and not a big percentage of those wishes come true. Ours came true and we are here. We travel the streets of Paris day and night and get to go wherever in the city to will. For that I´m grateful. When I get to that thought I´m suddenly super happy; I usually take a selfie and post it with the caption, "I live here", code for "blessed and thankful to be living my dream". And smile for joy knowing whatever I wish for becomes a reality.

UFOs and quoting interesting guys from other times

"He doesn't talk for long stretches, and then he's incredibly eloquent.”, that´s Ted describing Don on Mad Men, one of my favorite shows of all times, which as we all know, its about to come to a successful and graceful end, beginning the 1970s decade.

Just like everything else in the world, this show ends after, what, six seasons? I´ve learned so much about style, unprotected sex and not picking up your garbage after a picnic (although I always pick up my rubbish after my "idilic" picnics) in Mad Men. In that same sense I have also learned how to channel my energy and ideas towards a very precise goal by one of my BFFs now. Yes, remember this writer friend that was sorta new weeks ago? well, now is my unconditional and I´m her´s, she knows that, now we can communicate through subtle winks and looks and shouts, very primal, but only in impression, it´s really really sophisticated, like in the future when we all will be able to use telepathy on the regular basis and skip the bluetooth or 5G or 6G technology, just thinking about someone will be enough to encage in a sorta "call", no long distance fees necessary... Although I don't quite resolve how it will be when the person you want to reach via telepathy is "telepathy-ing" with somebody else. Oh well, I´ll just let technology surprise me. 

You know how I´ve always reside in the side of reason, right? well, if you don´t know, I do; I´m pretty reasonable. I mean, UFOs, Aliens and stuff it´s a given truth, at least it is to me and to Giorgio Tsoukalos, super sharp ancient astronaut theorist and host of Ancient Aliens, currently playing on History 2, it´s like a free, living and walking open encyclopedia, pretty reasonable to me.

Anyways, I´m always very centered and logical, but now that I know that my BFF is leaving I can´t help but wish for the lottery to hit us (now we share expenses on Lotto tickets and of course we will share the prize... yeah baby!!) so we have the "resources" to keep commuting between wherever we all are... and also keep mailing Timbits and Pills that make your boobs grow to will, no biggie. I know she will do great, but it´s like wishing the summer break doesn´t end, but that would be like avoiding xmas to arrive, and you also know how much I love xmas, and Thanksgiving, I think this last one even more, right? in case you don´t know, I do; there´s something about turkey breast with cranberry sauce and sweet potatoes with marshmallows in the last few days of november that´s so appealing to me. And don't let me start on Pumpkin pie and all the spices that blend in its recipe, just don't let me start.

You also have to know how very improbable friendships happen, like Lena Dunham being super "bestie" with Claire Danes, or Gwyneth Paltrow with Madonna (although macrobiotic diets and stuff can get people together, I´m sure inside the misery of that food friendship is like a bag of Doritos. No harm intended to macrobiotic dieters, I´m just saying), like, who would have said they were like "comadres". Well, this isn't the case at all. As whimsical as fait is, we were meant to become "besties", no random act of destiny here, we were probable since the very beginning of this awesome road-trip our lives; we were just meant to meet, we´re like twins separated the day they were born, it´s so much fun, we even fantasize of being roommates in a parallel universe (I mean, we´re 22, but we are adult enough to have our own places and stuff). At the end all gets reduced to enjoying whatever happens today, hope for the best tomorrow and be sure we will win the lottery on tuesday. 

There´s a point in life, just like in Don Draper´s, when you have to move on and accept what you have and embrace it. We will always be family now and like close relatives we will Skype, meet up in great capitals of the world and speak on the phone and, eventually, communicate via telepathy, but always hoping our dreams come true and sooner than later be business partners, share projects, dinners and business class flights to the Maldives or something like that, no biggie.

I like to quote smart people, in this case characters, I like them a lot, I have written about them and I have also created a couple. 

Like Don Draper would say. "I keep going to places and ending up somewhere I´ve already been", super sharp, right? I´m not sure what he´s trying to say, but it fits my idea, we will always be there for each other no matter where, we can take planes to anywhere and we will always end up just having fun, watching some random goats yelling like humans or taking a senseless idea to the limit and end up cracking up in loud laughs. And at the end, just like this Rick guy said in Casablanca. "We´ll always have Paris".

Under the milky way tonight: about romcoms, dreams come true and being back.

A really good new friend, that turned into super close twin soul super fast and that also blogs, told me she does it every once in a while (blogging), as often as she feels like it. I did it intensely the first two weeks after opening it (I think that a Blog it´s like gallery, a gallery of ideas where you exhibit what you think about certain subjects and develop your ideas through words, so, I opened it, like a spot you walk by in the streets) I eagerly talked about this and that and then got hooked into school and life, responsibilities and lost it for a few months, but this is retaking it, only knowing that I will do it just like this beautiful writer friend whose Poppy Red birthday color I like so much.

I write in first person, fearless of criticism; I am me and this is what I think of where I am right now. That is, living a dream I had since I was little.

I have always loved cinema, at some point I was so sure I would become a film director, a filmmaker, more independent than commercial, but still accesible, more like a Wachowski brother, because I love art and stuff, but I also like to fly first class and to be pampered by a swedish masseuse every now and then. So I would watch lots of movies, some of them were full milestones for me, like Luis Buñuel´s Belle de Jour or Won Kar Wai´s In The Mood For Love. I ended up studying communication, then cinema for a year (more like producing and appreciation, script writing than directing) and then Architecture from scratch, afterwards Interior Architecture and Design. This is not a subliminal way of showing you my resume, I´m actually making a point, although it usually takes me longer than the average person. Anyways I took a different path and I love it.

Eventually kept watching movies and Only You (1994) crossed my eyes in the movie theatre in Horton Plaza in San Diego´s downtown and got myself a ticket: I have always been very fond of Robert Downey Jr´s work, this one was a romcom (i love romcoms) and Marisa Tomei was in it, and that was the time when we all thought Marisa Tomei was going to be as big as Julia Roberts, so I watched it and loved it. Set in Italy,  in the story the couple takes a trip to the Amalfi Coast, to Positano, I was instantly mesmerized by the views, the setting in general was so beautiful, and by then Europe in general was only a dream to me (I went to Europe first in 1995), no idea where that was and in those days I was using internet mostly to chat via ICQ, no way browsing where that place was was even an option, so, I knew it was the coast of Italy and that´s it.

Romcom wise I have very good taste, in general I have very good taste but I´m even more tasteful when it comes to romcoms (my super twin soul also loves romcoms, that just one of the hundred things we share in common), so when Under The Tuscan Sun (2203) came out I went straight to the theatre and watched it, no matter the 500% more expensive price of the ticket, that was no issue, Diane Lane was in it and Sandra Oh made her first very big appearance. Alas! I loved it! How could´t I, my favorite elements were there, house make over, food, Italy, a story of success and a very handsome man, plus the Amalfi Coast with Limoncello and all. By then I was lucky enough to be going to Europe once or twice a year (among other continents, I of course expanded my horizons), and never visited the coast of Amalfi, then it became even more a dream, and not just a regular size one, but a humongously gigantic dream, a goal and a worth working for it one.

Now I write this lines in a beautiful terrace on top of the town of Amalfi (it´s more like a kinda bigger town than a small city, last night barefoot kids were running over the main street while smiling and shouting with enthusiasm, I guess they were playing, and city kids don't usually run without shoes in the main streets of their hometown cities), happy and feeling blessed to be here, the company is perfect, the weather it´s just right, super sunny the last three days and kinda of overcast and rainy today, giving me the opportunity to take a breath, seat in this privileged platform and retake this project of a blog (although I´m ok with it because I know the next two days are sunny and warm again). I can pour my bloody and  overgrown  heart in words of admiration for this place, whatever I have dreamed about here was surpassed by the actual experience of being here, all expectations covered, super scrumptious food, fabulous views left and right, awesome new experiences (I drove a boat for the first time, no supervision, twice, two hours every time), cristal clear turquoise waters where you swim as if in a swimming pool (although I haven't been able to conquer my fear of sharks I did swim for like 10 minutes and that´s something), perfect stary nights where you can totally (but like TOTALLY) see the milky way... and then play Under the Milky Way Tonight by the Church with your love by the side, this place it´s just magical.

Drops of water fall over the roofed pergola and it´s loud, it rains even harder now, I turn up the volume and play the church again, that track sets the perfect mood even during the day in this place.

Dreams come true, I know I am into this 11:11 thing and I embrace it with love and a big smile, all of it it´s true, at least for me. I once wished I could come here and live everything I am living right at this moment, it came true, ergo, dreams come true, as simple as that, I stay where I want to stay and tomorrow I´m heading to Le Sirenuse, the jewel that will crown this trip, and that´s like three days prior its end, so I know there´s even more to come. I am blessed, we are blessed, I say that with my writer friend (we are so close and so sharp when we are together... LOL), we say it like a joke but we mean it, 100%, I am blessed to be here and to see what I´ve seen, what I see and what I´m going to see (I was gonna say "gonna" but it seemed more appropriate "going to" to press more power and drama to the phrase).

I will tell you more about Le Sirenuse in Positano, you can check it out in my Tripadvisor profile, I am such a contributor there, I love to review stuff, and places are perfect to review, I´m usually very light hearted to score places, but I´m also blunt and brutally honest when it comes to say that a place is shit, Tripadvisor is for us (us) travelers and I would never betray the trust that´s been placed in me, this is no game, right?

Did I ever told you about the time I shared bathroom with Gael García Bernal in a hostel in Madrid? With open showers and all

When I was little, I always thought of Paris as a dream, very Disneyland like, having in mind that I visited the Disneyland park in Anaheim, California when I was 3 years old for the first time, and the images I had in my mind years later, were like steels of me enjoying, smiling, surrounded by castles, gardens, super clean streets and stuff. I always dreamed of flying to Paris and thought it was going to be, if not exactly like that, at least similar in spirit, everything like in the movies.

I have already mentioned that I have been lucky enough to have travelled around the world since I was a teenager, my sister and I without parents but with their full support (in every way). The first time in Europe was kind of delayed because Egypt and the Middle East in general got into our way and we left for almost six weeks to an unexpected adventure to a place didn´t even crossed our minds we were going to visit (and connect with as strongly as we did). After these unrepeatable first weeks in the Middle East a nonstop flight to Paris from Cairo was the beginning of a very anticipated french experience.

My first impression was good, I have always had the capacity to see beauty no matter the circumstances, always keeping realistic expectations but being the dreamer I am. The city welcomed us cloudy, humid and warm, kinda grey and a little dirty, as I have mentioned before, dog shit all over town but wearing a dignity with no rivals, like an old french actress from the 50s and 60s, think of Catherine Deneuve today, wrinkled but still beautiful and more elegant than ever. The opera wasn´t till renewed by the time and many façades were cover with scaffoldings and under restoration.

The maintenance of the city was fine, food as well, all ever heard and even better than that, croissants, pastries, cheese, everything was great, the only detail was the language, parisians in general weren´t very fond of the americans at the time, and I was living in San Diego, California with my family then and even I was carrying a mexican passport, that would make me american-ish, ergo they were´t very fond of us either.

Every time I tried to communicate I would mumble something nasal like french and they would be like "Quoi!!!???", then I would ask if they´d speak english and they were like "No english, espagnol!!", I would start speaking spanish and they would be like "No idea… desolé" and there we were, trying to survive in a place we loved but we kinda also hated.

Service in France is not the best, waiters are payed well by the hour and they just have to limit themselves to put whatever you managed to order in the table and that´s it, if you ask for anything in particular that´s extra, like salt, pepper or onion, you better start eating and say good bye to whatever you ordered extra, they would appear for a polite "is everything ok?" and then to deliver "L´addition", the bill, expecting no tip, people don´t usually tip in Paris or France.

The point of the story is, the first time I came to Paris I left 3 or 4 days earlier than what we planned to the-ever-friendly capital of Spain, Madrid with the Tintos de Verano in the sidewalks. We left loving the city and hating the people, nobody wanted to speak to us and the attitude of the parisians was awful, especially for three teenagers traveling here for the first time (a great friend of my sister and I was doing the trip with us). I personally kinda promised to myself I wasn't coming back… but my competitive personality had second thoughts, and as soon as I was back home, I got into french lessons and decided I was going back a year after, only this time speaking french and making myself clear around town. After that, I kept studying french while I studied architecture, the whole 5 years, and always returned to Paris, at least once a year to practice all that I´ve learned along the year.

Today I got myself into french lessons again, for the first time in Paris, at La Sorbonne, they asked me why I wanted to keep studying french and I told the story again after many years, realizing how much in love I am now with the city I thought I hated the first time, how much I love the language I could´t articulate at the beginning of my affair with Paris. Now that I´m here I walk the streets and go to the bakery almost every day and understand what is to be where once I dreamed to live, like a dream you don´t really think you will accomplish, but that turns into the most amazing surprise and a great omen for the other places I have wished to live, a couple more and both of them by the beach and California.

When I make a wish, it´s not like I say what I want just in case. When I make a wish I make it with the certainty that it is greatly probable that it will come true and smile, and then I thank because in my mind that wish it´s already true and on its way.

Did I ever told you about the time I shared bathroom with Gael García Bernal in a hostel in Madrid? With open showers and all. I will tell you tomorrow, happened in the same trip right after Paris.

When a potential Horror Movie Story collides with one´s real life

This weekend has been a pretty loose one, in a good way, taking things easy and disconnecting from everything in general. Fitness activities were privileged; a collective session of many different cardio activities sponsored by an important sports brand, everything took place in one of the most iconical buildings in the City of Light, Le Grand Palais, by the Seine and on for more than four hours, started at dusk and finished when the 5000 assistants were about to drop dead, not that far, but at 10 pm during the winter in a "nonexistent heater" hangar size structure, covered in glass, the temperature tends to low fast. After a long session we all were done and Cambodian Food near the Opera Garnier was the best closure for a very active day.

By this time, I have to drop the third person writing and tell one of my stories.

Not too long, I ran a whole marathon in Los Angeles, my first one, after a few half marathons I felt ready and close to home it felt safe (I grew up in San Diego and southern California is home), the forecast in general was good, I was already well trained and my best super friend and brother Jorge would escort me along the way, stopping every two or three miles to encourage me (he driving my car). By that time, Jorge lived in this awesome apartment complex in Irvine, California, not to far from Newport Beach (place I love very much). I got to his place in saturday morning, we spent the evening hanging out together around the area and we left not to late in the afternoon and headed our ways to Downtown L.A. We got there, and since the marathon would start at the Dodger´s Stadium, we decided for a hotel not far but still in the area.

The chosen hotel was convenient for many reasons, super inexpensive, well located, a historic piece of edification and it looked pretty awesome in the pictures at booking.com, so we went for it. The check in was fine, the hotel seemed older in person, like always, but nothing more than the expected. The area was from so-so to OK, so, for a night stay for a couple of friends that wasn´t important, we were there to go to bed early, a long run of a bit more than 26 miles awaited the after´s morning.

To be honest, the place gave the creeps as one would get in, very The Shining like energy, recently renovated, but with the old vibe that stays and never leaves of "things" that probably happened there, for my benefit, ignorance was bliss and we stayed there, in a very tall room with back side view, not knowing what I will detail next.

Much to my surprise, the shower was inside but the toilettes were communal, that wasn´t pointed out at the website, then again, we are pretty laid-back, no prob there. another confession, when I had to go to the toilette I had to do it on my own and long (very The Shinning like again) hallways and turns were to be walked before getting there, but I was with my very straight brother-like best friend, and I wasn´t gonna ask him to escort me, although I did and he refused, so I went on my own and came back running like crazy.

The next day we woke up at 6 am and headed to the stadium, the crowd was growing by the minute, the skies were cloudy and the morning was crispy but OK. Then the time to start the run arrived and down came the rain… more like a drizzle, that became a soft rain that turned into a horrible storm that lasted for the 4 hours and 30 minutes my ran took, a bit more than I expected, although taking the wild conditions, the freezing temperature, the fact that we were running in 4 inches of cold water at many points and that the radiation from the Fukushima Nuclear Plant was expected to arrive that same day with that same rain into count, I think I did pretty well.

At the end I´m here, proud of my medal and always love the times when my friend Jorge and I get to do brotherly activities together, that make men bond (doesn´t matter if one´s gay and the other one straight) and bonding and building memories with my brother makes a happy day.

Today, I was browsing pages and ran into a very interesting one, Top 10 real horror stories that would make a great movie, immediately got into it and by number 3 I was more than hooked, I was reading and simultaneously looking for further information about the story I was reading in other tabs; number 3 was the story of Elisa Lam, a Vancouver 21 old girl who was vacationing in L.A. in january 2013 and was captured in video in one of the elevators behaving in a strange manner, she was never to be seen again after that video and was found, unexplainably, in one of the sealed water tanks in the rooftop of the hotel she was staying two weeks later, because some of the guests complained for the "funny" taste and color of the water coming out of the faucets and showers.

Since I was completely captured by the whole thing and nothing seemed to make sense, I went further and inquired into the subject, ending up in google maps looking for the address, but to my surprise and agains my secret wishes, the hotel where everything happened was nonetheless the one Jorge and I stayed, and the creeps it gave us when we got in were not just us being afraid of nothing, the place has been the house of two serial killers, one of them kept the bodies inside; also, countless suicides have taken place since it was built in the 1920s.

Today´s post is about how clever we really are. The building it´s fairly beautiful, lives through it´s age and style and wears a good amount of dignity; the lobby is impressive and it is clear it has been recently renovated. We are clever because as we got in, the vibe the place gave made us feel uncomfortable and despite that we kept going (we weren´t that clever there), had a good night sleep and wrapped it up for the stay very early the next morning, harmless and in one piece.

Now knowing that I stayed in that place, make me feel the creeps even more. I have been more than overwhelmed, a bit scared and a big deal relieved, got goosebumps a few times and couldn´t stop thinking about the fact that I probably took the elevator where she was seen for the last time by a surveillance camera a few months later.

For more in that story and to see the video, click in this link and see how it makes you feel.

http://vigilantcitizen.com/vigilantreport/mysterious-case-elisa-lam/