High School

   I remember I sat down on a corner, by the stairs that came from the soccer field to the main yard, and just ate what I had just bought in the canteen. I believe I had a donut and some orange juice, as it was only a thirty-minute break. Those thirty minutes felt always like thirty hours. I just read something of some book I had in my backpack or looked at what others might be doing. But I stopped doing that quickly because I didn’t want anyone to think I was eavesdropping or something.

 Of course, I already liked boys back then but there was no desire or sexual tension of any sort. Not that I couldn’t be sexual but I thought of the school as a space free of that tension as I rapidly realized no one would correspond those feelings. Especially not the boys I thought were the cutest, normally those who played sports or had some sort of annoying attitude. Somehow that last thing made me look at them even more.

 I got really good at looking at guys without them, nor the annoying girls that always flocked around them, notice me. It’s a skill I still have although I don’t care anymore if a man, straight, gay or whatever, catches me looking at them. At the end of the day, it should be a compliment. Of course, any boy back then wouldn’t have taken it like that. I believe all guys in my school started dating when they were like fourteen but I’m not really sure. It just seemed like it.

 The girls, on the other side, were different. For the exception of some guys, all of them were exactly the same: sporty and mean spirited. But the girls were divided almost equally into two groups: nerdy or artistic kind of chicks and the popular girls. These last ones were only popular because of the money their parents had and because they had a bit more grace than any of the others. They were not especially cute or anything, they were just better actresses from a very young age.

 See, my last high school years were spent in a private school, which used to be very exclusive. Not everyone could get in as money and status were kind of mandatory to get in and if you didn’t have any of those, you had to be related to someone that could help you get in. It was that simple and everyone knew although no one ever spoke about it.

 So I was there, whether I wanted it or not, and I soon realized how much of a nightmare it would be. I had never been great in large groups and there were at least eight groups of the same grade, each one consisting of twenty-five people. That was intimidating and the worst part was, every years groups changed. So you could end up with that person that looked at you as if he had shit under his nose, or you could end up making new friends.

 All right, now we have to clarify that word, that social networking has prostituted in an awful way. A friend is a person that you trust and that trusts you back, who knows all about you and you know all about him or her. Of course the word “all” is not literal, but you get my drift. I think the key to a friendship is trust and that means being real, being just as you are with that person and that person thinking you’re amazing because you are who you are.

 Well, I never really felt I had friends in school. Never. I had good school companions, whose company made the days less annoying and the classes a bit less boring. But I wouldn’t call them friends. They never really knew me and I don’t blame them because I never let them know who I was or who I wanted to be. I think it was, especially towards the end, a huge collaboration effort to make school a bit more fun and bearable.

 They were all women, in my case. Girls that, like me, felt a bit in the edge of the social circles that had formed with the years in that school and we just got along fine because we were all eager to finish up and leave forever. I always related more to women because I found them less intimidating. Even today, I still look more for the support of a women that from a man. Back then, as well as today, I feel intimidated by men. Why? Very easy answer: because there’s always competition between men and I have always hated to compete, as I know I’m no match for anyone.

 Yes people, that was when my self-esteem problems began. I mean, I can maybe trace them back a bit more but high school just compressed al my fears and anxieties into one place. Sports were the worst. Playing football, basketball or even badminton was a torture for me. Not only because I absolutely hate exercising but because it put me in the spotlight. Many will know how awful it feels to be chosen at the end I always ended up being the last or next to last one to be chosen for any game.

 Of course, if that happened today, I wouldn’t mind. I would not play actually and I would have a witty response to anything someone told me. I can be very abrasive but that is a perfect answer in many cases. But back then; it was not a choice to be like that. I wasn’t fun enough to just make a fun statement. The reality was that I was a shy boy and I’d rather shut up that say anything to anyone. I felt bad enough as myself, because of all the pressure around. There was no need to make it worse if I could avoid it.

In class, it was different because there was no interaction between students. All you had to do was stare at the teacher and answer if you were questioned. No, I wasn’t shy because I was smart. I wasn’t smart at all. Besides a few dates and country names I had learned from reading, there was not much more I could bring to any class. Literature, funny enough, was a torture. A load of books I didn’t understand made me miserable. I never read all of them to be honest. That reminds me; in my school all classes were taught in French so it wasn’t as easy as you might have thought.

 Then of course, I had my “nemesis” course: mathematics. To say that I sucked in that class would be a large understatement. I never got anything past the divisions. I only understood equation two years after we had seen them, which of course, was a bit too late. What I always hated was when the teachers said that mathematics would always be necessary in daily life so it was imperative that we got good grades. I never got more that a twelve over twenty, and that was not very often. As for my daily life, I never use equations. Thank God, I’m not a rich man.

 Like later in life, they would always scare us with exams and tests and so on. And, ignorant as one is when young, we would all be scared of them. It’s a natural response that now, I know, is just to make you feel in a rush, in order to be on the lookout for anything. Tests only get easy when you know your answers and how do you that? By understanding in class. Studying at home doesn’t do shit. And sorry if someone disagrees but I’m a strong believer that if you get it the first time, that’s the time that counts.

 At home, I had my TV and Internet. There was no YouTube craze by then, nor Facebook or Twitter. But you could get distracted with chat rooms and even pornography. I cannot say I didn’t check that out when I was younger, it would be a lie. And besides that, the Internet had stories and videogames and news to offer. So I was driven to that and not to study math that was complicated and that, by age sixteen, I had given up to. To this day, it annoys me to see a lot of numbers in a sheet of paper.

 As we all did, I’m sure of it. I handled on one side my home life and, on the other, my school life. That’s why I hated seeing people from school in the supermarket or in a mall. I felt they were invading my space, the one were I felt more at ease, where laughing did not feel out of place. You might think I’m being exaggerated but that’s how I felt. That’s why being parent to a teenager is hard: it’s a person that’s feeling so many things at the same time and they often have no idea how to handle it all.

 In secret, and I’m sure many did the same; I was looking forward to the end of high school, the graduation ceremony. People often say how that time of your life is perfect because there was nothing to be worried, you get to have lots of friends, first loves and you were just happy all around. But that is a filthy awful lie, because it’s not the same for everyone. I wasn’t happy there, at all. I didn’t have any friends and, much less, loves. I wanted to get away from there and once I did I made sure to live a life I could say “Well, it may be crappy but this is mine and I’m me. And if you don’t like it, fuck off”.

We danced

   And we just danced. We did it all night long and all over the gardens. It was funny to practice this way, in a real palace, with someone who could understand how awful I was at it. The movie required me to dance with a beautiful princess for a few minutes (seconds in the movie) and I really wanted to nail it. So they brought someone to help us and there he was. It was ridiculous to have known him for so many years and, at the same time, having no idea who he really was.

 Our dance teacher was Alexander Frost. I had seen him for the first time the day I arrived at high school. The thing was that that place was my third high school. Because of my parents work I had to go from here to there. But this was the one where I would do my last two years and then it would be off to college, wherever that might be. I saw Alex that first day but didn’t thought anything of him. Not once, during those two years, did I really speak to him. Maybe greet him in the hall if I happened to be late for class or in the bathroom but that was it.

 And now, here he was. I’m afraid I never cared about my fellow classmates in high school. It was clear for me that the friends I had made there were only temporary. I didn’t want anything to do with them after finishing the time I had to spend there. This may seem like a hash thing to say but I was just fed up with all the moving and changing. College would be another change and, for me at least, it would be my real ticket into having friends and so on. I just had to jump those last hurdles to get there.

 Besides, and I should have said this before, people in my high school were not precisely interesting nor the nicest. I know my parents tried to do their best so they put me in the best school they could think of. Academically speaking, it certainly was. I learned a lot more than many others did at that age but, nevertheless, school is not only for learning. School is supposed to be the place where you make those first social connections and when you get into society as such. Well, I didn’t.

 When I got to college, I was the happiest person in the world. Also very frightened and shy but happy nonetheless. I wanted to make it big in life so I took my film studies pretty seriously. I worked hard and did everything that was asked from me and even more. Of course, I created my first social links here and it was a lot easier than in school, where everything seemed so convenient and mandatory. Not in college. There, I felt I could be anyone and no one would mind and some would even like me that way.

 So when I first so Alex on set, I felt myself going back to school. I cannot lie: it felt like being stabbed and bleeding profusely for hours. I know how it sounds but I hated high school. I hated it. I felt like a mouse constantly trying to survive, running around, feeling a thousand eyes on me and then none at the same time. I felt scared and hopeless every single day there. And that was the same thing I felt when Alex came on set: insecurity and anxiety.

 We had been rehearsing for hours that day and I think, because I was tired, I did not properly realize what had happened. So that night I slept like a baby and didn’t even think of the whole thing. But next morning, it was like being back in high school. I’m not proud to say that I had to vomit early in the morning. It was lucky that I hadn’t had that much to eat. I brushed my teeth and got on set smiling and trying to be the same that the day before but that was clearly impossible.

 Mistake after mistake, the director would correct me. He’s such a great person but even I knew I was sucking hard. I was awful every single and he got tired. He told all of us that instead of rehearsal we would have our first dance lesson. My co-star, Veronica, was a very experienced dancer. She had worked in theater for a long time so she knew her way around the dance floor. But me, I had no idea. And it was then when the director brought Alex in and, shame on me, I laughed.

 It has to be one of the most awkward moments of my life. I didn’t laugh for hours or anything, it was just one laugh and then closing my mouth and noticing how everyone was looking at me as if I had killed someone right there. Then I greeted Alex and we just went on with the lesson. He said it was better if I danced with him first and then Veronica. So that day she left early and we were left alone to practice like mad. Soon, I forgot everything about high school and the weird moment that had occurred before. I wanted to be good, great even, in this movie so I really focused on getting it right.

 This went on for two more weeks. Meanwhile, we would shoot other scenes in other places. We traveled to Vienna for the filming and it was so beautiful we all felt we had already won several awards. After a particular difficult morning of filming, the director decided we could have the afternoon of. We would begin again the next morning but then Alex appeared, out of nowhere, and told me I had to practice hard as the next day would be the shooting of the dance scene.

 Surprisingly, he told Veronica to go and rest. I had already danced with her a couple of times by then and I thought it was very odd not to practice with her for the last time. I danced with Alex in a room they lend us at the palace where the filming was taking place and it was just amazing. I almost felt myself float and Alex told me I was doing a great job. We also went outside, to the gardens, and danced there, as another scene would take place down there. The place was really quiet and we only stopped when a security guard came to see what was going on.

 The next day, I rocked the dancing scene. We did it again a few times and Veronica hugged me hard when we finished. She was thrilled that the scene had gone so smoothly. We watched it a couple of times on a small screen and everything looked great: the lights, the costumes, the production design and, of course, our dancing. We went back home a couple of days later, having wrapped up the movie. I knew it would be a great piece one they had it finished and I looked forward the premiere.

 Back at my house, I was surprised to see that Alex had sent me a box containing a big bar of chocolate, raisins covered in chocolate, a video game and a paper that happened to be a printed email in which a restaurant confirmed a reservation in his name. He had highlighted the name of the place, the address and the time. So naturally, I was confused. A guy was practically asking me out. But that wasn’t really the problem. The thing was that bar of chocolate had always being my favorite, I loved raisins covered with chocolate and the video game was one I had always wanted but never had.

 I went to the restaurant, trying not to look like I had tried too hard with my clothes. He was already there so we sat down and ordered and then started talking about the movie, the dancing, exchanging data for future work opportunities and, finally, his gift box. Then, as we were having our main courses, he looked at me and I noticed his eyes were watery and his skin was a bit red. He doubted of his words but finally asked me if I knew who he was.

 It was funny because I realized then that I had never told him anything about high school. We just got the lessons going and that was it. We hadn’t said a word about the past and now he was asking about it. So I answered:

-               - Of course I know.

-               - Why didn’t you say something? – He said, almost scolding me.

         - It happened so long ago. I don’t like to remember those days.

 Then he shed a tear and, before I could ask anything else, he changed the subject and came back to his old self from the movie set. We had a nice dinner and he even took me home. Just as I had opened my door, my cellphone started ringing in my coat pocket. It wasn’t an incoming call but and SMS. I almost dropped it when I read it. It was from Alex.

-            -  I have loved you for all these years. Sorry. Have a nice sleep.

One thing

It was dark and rainy outside. It had been raining for almost two days, non-stop. It seemed like it never end.

Inside the hospital, only some patients were aware of the weather. One of them was Alfred, Alfie if you went by what his mom called him. She had been there some hours ago to tell him how the family was going. He had been absent from home for almost a week and things, as expected, had continued without him present.

He was sitting on the leather sofa the room had by the window. He couldn't see much from the outside but he felt better feeling the raindrops and the cold through the glass rather than being laying on the bed. He had no need for more sleep and would have loved to have a book, his computer or something to distract himself from the hospital.

But then again, his books were at home and his father had forbid his mother and siblings from taking anything from the house for him. And his laptop had been destroyed in the "accident", or at least that was what the policemen that had visited him said.

So, he only had the rain to spend time with and, after the first minutes it was already a bore. And the memories of the "accident" settled in every five seconds... Accident! How dare they say it had been an accident. Since when is a brutal attack considered an accident? The laptop was smashed to the ground, that is after they had used it against Alfie. His head was still hurting after that. They had kicked him several times, punched him, hit him with his laptop and they even spitted on him.

He went to the bathroom and looked at his scars, again. It was something of an obsession looking at the scratches on his face, the bruised skin all over his body and his now funny finger. He had no idea how or why but that one finger was always cold, as if it was dead.

A little bit embarrassed with himself, a stupid notion, he opened his robe and saw more bruises and scars from both the attack and the operations. They had told him he had being hit on the pelvis severely so that's why his that part hurt more than any other. Not that he was interested in having children or anything like that but he did plan to use his penis again. The doctor said he wasn't sure of the state of his reproductive organs and that further tests were needed to know if would all work again as usual.

Alfie walked back to his bed and sat there, grabbing his feet. Doctor Mason told him that same morning that he had been in a very frail state and they even feared for his life but, thankfully, the procedures and medications had call worked perfectly. Although he wasn't the fittest guy around, his body had healed almost completely very fast. His immune system was incredible, according to one of the nurses.

But that didn't fixed it all for him. What if those two men had hit him with a baseball bat or cut him with a knife. The police said they normally didn't use guns but who they might be exceptions to the rule.

He wasn't scared anymore. He had no real reason to be. He was more worried about the consequences of it all. His father now had even more reasons to be against him and no so-calle frienda had cone to visit. He felt really alone. His mother didn't count because he knew she too was worried about her husbands attitude and she had no intention to contradict him.

Alfie decided to think about something else, other than his father, but that was to no good. He had just realized of the amount of info that had been lost for the foundation. He had been trusted with a very important report and now all that work was gone. They had destroyed it all: cellphone, hard drives, usb devices and, of course, his laptop.

As he laid down on the bed, he thought that only a few coincidence were necessary to be lost forever. He never stayed that late or liked to be entrusted with so many responsibilities but that week it was all different because he had decided to go on and live by himself. He knew the costs were barely affordable but he didn't mind at all. He jus wanted to be a bit more free, more in charge of his life.

He stepped out of the Rainbow Foundation at ten o'clock at night and walked to the nearest bus stop. He had sensed someone close or watching but he ignored it until a tall, bald guy stopped him a block away from the bus stop, asking for the time. Well, he wasn't really interested in that.

The rest was all a blur. He remembered parts and pieces but not the whole puzzle. Then he woke up and they told him he had been on the hospital for three days.

His father had always been against him working for such an organization and now he had all the reasons to hate all about it even more. He disapproved of Alfie and that hurt him every day. But there wasn't much to do about that. Alfie had moved on from trying to impress his dad, to not caring what he thought of his son. It just didn't mattered any more.

Two days passed until he was allowed to leave the hospital. When got home he told his parents about moving out. He wasn't asking for anything, just letting them know.

He did move out a month after after the attack. The foundation had not blamed him for the lost data and congratulated him for his work and effort. It was no.mystery all of it was a good thing for them as fundraisers began to invest money in them in the light of such a vicious attack on "the foundation".

He didn't really care about all of that. They gave him a big bonus on christmas, gave him a raise and a better position. He was happy for all of it until the police came back, in order to interrogate him. They had captured a group of skinheads that had been blamed for various hate crimes in the city and they wanted him to see them, in order for them to be sure they were the ones.
Well, at least one of them was. Alfie confessed he only saw one of the guys, so he could only be sure of that.

After that he went home, his new home and thought of the face of the attacker and all the good that one bad action had in his life. The guy had no idea but he had made him better, stronger to face life's many challenges.

Writing Crap

My days are always the same: I wake up ten minutes before 10 AM to watch this tv show I like. As I do that, I eat breakfast. My breakfast is basically anything that lays around the fridge or the cupboard. I don't like breakfast, it annoys me for some reason.

After that, my mom is already up too so we watch more Tv for like an hour and then I shower, get dressed, tidy up my bedroom and by 1 PM I should be writing on my laptop.

And then, things get really easy or really annoying. Sometimes I've had an idea before and it comes back as I seat in front of the screen so it comes right up: every detail, every character, everything there is to say to make it good enough to read.
However, I practically never make corrections. That's because I'm lazy and also because I think that makes me kind of a bad writer, if I'm not capable to see errors as I write them.

Well, that's on the good days. On the bad days, it sucks, big time. I normally come up with stories I can write fast and don't make me go crazy. As one day I write in English and the following day in Spanish and so on, it gets easier or harder depending on how ready I am to write in one language or the other. Some things are easier on one or in the other. it just depends on my mood or something.

It happens a lot too that after i began, already with two pages finished, I realized how awful my story of the day is. I read a paragraph and I get pissed, sad and annoyed at the same time. It either doesn't make sense or it sound stupid or childish... It make me angry.
Sometimes, if I spent too much time doing it, I just post it and think "Fuck it". No one appear to be reading these so who to fuck cares.
If I happen to be particularly annoyed by my writing, I just erased it all and start again. Those times, I think how awful it would be if someone read my blog and thought "What is this?". So I write something else, out of the blue.

Writing is the only thing I think I am able to do correctly. I mean, I make cupcakes and I read a lot of wikipedia, but writing is my thing. I'm an idiot with numbers and social issues don't really get to me. Let's just say if I was a president I would very rapidly become a dictator.

And I know it's weird and frowned upon, for a so-called writer, but I don't really love reading. I mean, sure I read but not huge books and 5 in a year. Maybe I read one a year. I mean, for many people I know I suck a lot. But I believe writing and reading are two different things, that have little to do with one another. But that's me and, quite possibly, I'm the only one who thinks that.

So this is what I do. Write a blog and just hope for thing to pick up somehow. I have a career and a masters degree but no company gives a fuck about that. They want people they can mold and I'm past that. Not to say I'm such a creative soul but I'm not an empty canvas either.

After writing, I normally go walking somewhere. my goal every week day (there's no way in hell I'm going to exercise on weekends), is to walk 10 kilometers. I do it through nice little neighborhoods or by avenues or on huge malls. I don't care as long as I have time to make my brain calm down.

To sum it up, here are the reasons why I NEED to walk everyday:

 - Live with parents
 - Never had a job. NONE.
 - Have never been paid to do nothing. For real.
 - I'm 25.
 - I'm gay.
 - Social life in a coma.
 - What the hell. I do need the exercise.

And those are all (probably not) the reasons why I need to breath some fresh air and prevent myself from going crazy, again. I have my "rage episodes" and they can get pretty ugly but I writing has gotten those under control.

See? Writing is not only about doing the one thing that I do good. It's about doing something that makes me calm, that has the incredible capacity of make me think and just concentrate. I left school and college so long ago and I need some structure in some kind of way.

Before you think "the gym is nice" or some shit like that, let me tell you a little something. I hate gyms, I loath them and the people that love them. That's it. I won't apologize for that and won't explain it because, let's face it, how many people will be reading this?

Anyhow, what I like the most about writing is the imagination part. Many people think about techniques or structures or storylines and I don't really care about that. Actually, that doesn't really matter because what really matters is a good story, a real one, kind of original. That's it.

My career was focused on cinema and that made me think about how brilliant minds can be when they put all their energy on something. We are all in awe of people that have come up with awesome tales and characters and dialogue and we worship them like gods but we forget they were once like us.

Ok, maybe not like me but you get my point. They were people just looking to make their dreams real and by that I don't mean "dreams" like in "making your wishes come true". Not that. I mean taking out from you mind what's there and put it in display for others to see. That's the dream that comes true, not if you find a loved one or win the lottery.

Imagination for me is the most attractive thing. Maybe that's way my social life is in a coma. Yes, I have friends and they are a small number, which for me it's great, I know them better because of that. But I fail to make new ones because I get bored fairly fast. I mean, if I'm not interested in you in the first five minutes, believe, were not going to be anything.

Same goes with guys. If they prove to me that they have no imagination whatsoever, there will be no second date. Or second chat, to be accurate. Nowadays, not even that. I have no energy or personality left to have a steady relationship with anyone. And before you say "Someone will come when you least expect it", let's just say I have been waiting for 25 fucking years so kiss that.

Well, I think I digress a bit from my main point. For me writing makes things happen were I need them to happen first: in my mind. Yes, life is about physical things and so on but that hasn't worked for me, so what's bad about creating stuff for people to read and, first and foremost, to make me feel I'm not a failure and that I can do something?

No harm done I think.

To be honest, I prefer writing my crap every single day, that forcing myself into a life I know I will hate and loath every single day of my life. Unemployed and poor? Well, yeah. But hey, there are always fast food chains.

Empress

She was kind, beautiful, joyful and full of good wishes for here people. And they loved her back, they admire her and girls wanted to be like her.

Anyone in the planet knew about the Empress, about Alysthina Jygda. Daughter of a butcher and a baker, she grew up in one of the many villages of the marshlands. Such a sad place wasn't the place one would expect to find such a beautiful girl, dedicated to the gathering of marshons, fruits that only grew deep in the wetlands. No one really knew how, but she was very skill at navigating his spaces and she was adored for this, as marshons were the primary export of the villages.

So beloved she was that, when the prince did his voyage around the planet to choose a bride, no one in the marshlands was surprised when he decided to take her as his bride. The wedding was majestic and she was even more beautiful, if that was people.

Time passed and the couple became emperor and empress and, about fifteen years later, he died diving for pearls in their summer house. A horrible death mourned by everyone, it was the stepping stone for Alysthina to become the ruler of the planet, the caretaker of every single thing in all of the lands.

But certainly, some did not really appreciate her skills and beauty. Although small, a group of people around the planet found hard to believe that the emperor had died in such and incident, specially knowing he had lived in those same islands when a youngster.

They also spread the idea that something was wrong with the empress: in roughly twenty years the planet had know her, she had barely aged, at least visibly. But people dismissed this idea by stating that she had "good blood".

No member of her original family was alive to see her enthroned, as her parents had died some years after her wedding, of old age, and she hadn't had any brothers or sisters or any other relative that was know. Her family now was her only child, princess Sygma. She was named by her father after the star that brought its heat to the planet. She was as beautiful as her mother but with some traces of her father's features.

One day, however, the princess also died. As stated by the Empress, she had wandered through a nearby forest, slipped on a rock near a river and hit her head on other rocks. Her burial was broadcasted planetwide but, oddly enough, the Empress seamed always calm and never dressed in black. Actually, she wore a stunning pearl white dress the her daughter's burial. People fell in love again with her, more than ever.

Months after that, an ambassador from a nearby world arrived to give the Empress the condolences of his world. He also gave her a present from his king: a beautiful necklace made only of rubies.

She was please by the gift but even more by the ambassador: a young, strong man with interesting new ideas. She seduced him and soon, she announced a wedding.

This was kind of a turning point for her. The people weren't really ready for her to remarry but there was nothing they could do.

The wedding, as expected, was magnificent. But something strange happened. The first night they would expend together as empress and emperor, changed the lives of everyone in the planet.

The man escaped the castle, frightened to death. He yelled and screamed through the nearby town, stole a starship and left the planet. Every one was confused by this until they discovered the reason he had left: the day after her wedding, Alysthina appeared with dark green skin and red eyes.

The reason of her youth was revealed: as a young woman she had given her life to Omaku, the god of evil. Why? she thought rulers had been neglectful to the planet and that she would make it all better. But the pact did not contemplate a second marriage and, least of all, for love. So he took away her beauty as payback.

The empress then became vengeful and the planet soon fell in the age of darkness, waiting for someone to liberate it from the good will but bad outcome of the wish of one woman stunning woman.