In the Shape of a Heart

Photo by: Edgar A. Morales

I consider myself a very fortunate individual. Even though I am not swimming in money I have, in one way or another, obtained everything I really wanted. Sometimes I worked for those things, and others they were just given to me. 

 

I am grateful for all.

But there is one present in particular that meant a lot to me, actually there are two, and they were given to me by the same person at two different times in our relationship. To be able to know what those presents meant you would have to know the context in which they were given, but this time around I’ll only tell you about the first one.

You would have to know that I fell in love with her long before I got those presents, and that I was certain that she loved me back. I am not going to go into too many details, but I’ll tell you that our relationship has been one of steady growth.

We went out on a picnic once. It was but a couple of months into our courtship, and we were getting along famously. I had actually been looking forward to this day because she said we were going to a place she enjoys very much.

She made a prosciutto, mozzarella, sun-dried tomato and garlic sandwich that was absolutely delicious (even accounting for the excessive garlic) and come to think of it, I hope she makes me another one those soon (hint). We accompanied that with a merlot and headed for the beach.

She loves the beach. She can spend hours upon hours contemplating the sea, thinking and admiring its beauty. There is a spot somewhere in Baja, five miles away from Rosarito, behind an old beach house that has a bench facing the ocean. It’s like a balcony with some loose stones underneath and the beach right after. When the tide is high enough it reaches the rocks beneath the balcony.

We sat there and had our picnic. We spoke. We laughed. We contemplated the sky and tried to make sense of the different shapes in the clouds. We saw the ocean and some lights out in the sea, I thought they were boats, but she said they were tiny bonfires in the middle of the nothingness, and I believed her. We saw the sunset too.

We went back home and when I was dropping her off she went inside her house and asked me to wait for her in the driveway. When she came back, she asked me to close my eyes and extend my hands. She placed something in them and when I opened them I saw a rock in the shape of a heart.

She loves to walk on the beach and collect rocks that look like hearts. They are not easy to find, believe me I have tried. She said she found that one just a few days earlier walking in the beach. She said that when she found it she was thinking about me. And now I was holding it in my hands.

I don’t know if that was her heart that she was giving me to care for, or if it was my own heart that she had found after all these years. Nowadays, I like to think that it is a combination of the two.

The Sudden Departure of Dagoberto During an Unfinished Soccer Match

The following is a true account. Although the event itself did take place, some modifications have been made to make some sense out of the whole thing, but I am not sure this was accomplished.

Dagoberto dropped dead during the second half of a soccer match before the amazed eyes of his friends, his son, and a few viewers. It was a copper colored evening of a dusty Fall Tuesday during the 1998-1999 season of the Over 40 Downtown League.

During half-time, Dagoberto, or “Dago” as his friends used to call him, had been passing bottles of water to his teammates and making jokes about the speed (or lack of if) of their soccer match. His son sat in the sidelines and held brief conversations with other spectators of the game. The teenager made it a point to go to most of his father’s soccer games.

Before going back to the field for the second period of the game, Dagoberto, who was not a tall man at all, hair somewhat messy and his skin as dark as the dirt they were playing on, found his way to where his son was sitting and patted him in the back.

“Thanks for coming,” he said to his son.

The game started again, and the middle-aged men ran after the ball with the same joy from their youth, but the rhythm was a different one altogether. After some intense 12 minutes of the second period, the ball went out of bounds.

Dago ran to the sideline to cover the guy who was going to “throw in” the ball to continue the game. He was alert, all pumped-up with his eyes fixed on the ball when he felt a sharp, incisive and prolonged puncture on the middle of his chest. He cringed, and then his expression changed to one that looked like he had seen something that shocked him. His knees slowly gave up underneath without him taking notice of it while his eyes were still set on the ball and the opposing player.

“Why is he not playing the ball?” Dago was thinking as his body became loose and his arms and legs numb. He fell on his knees first, not fully knowing what was happening to him, and waited -still- for the ball to come into play.

He paid little attention to the chest pain, thinking that it was only a direct consequence of the efforts made during the soccer match. After all he wasn’t 24 anymore. Aches and body grievances had become part of his life beginning a couple of years ago, when his cholesterol shot through the roof and he developed a slight case of the diabetes. Even then, he led an active life and played soccer twice a week.

Several hours of beer drinking followed each game.

As it was, the ball never made it into the field. The player from the opposite team, who just minutes before had said something nasty to Dago -all in the heat of the game- witnessed how Dago’s body collapsed and how his once dark skin became very pale in a matter of seconds. The player dropped the soccer ball and waved for help.

But all of this was in slow motion.

The ball appeared to be floating and turning on its own axis in front of Dago’s face. The player that was waiving for help with both of his hands looked like a clumsy seagull trying to leap the ground.

“What the hell is he doing?” Dago was thinking. “Play the damn ball already!”

Players from both teams ran towards the falling man faster than they did when they were playing the game and formed a circle around him. The sun was setting and their shadows resembled a stretched crown across the soccer field.

“Somebody get water!” One of the players yelled towards the benches. See, in soccer matches water is supposed to cure just about anything.

Dago fell softly on his left side with the help of his teammate, the one wearing the number 10 jersey.

“Why is everyone around me?” Dago thought, and felt very drowsy. His teenage son, already by his side, cried.

Dago heard the voice of his child, but didn’t know where it was coming from. Maybe it was just a memory, maybe an ill effect from playing under the sun, or maybe it was just the need to hear him.

For Dago the story continues in a big misty hall with a large gate, or maybe in a long tunnel with a bright light at the end of it. Perhaps the story continues as Dago floats above all soccer players, teammates and adversaries who standing still in a circle, his son by his side.

Maybe he looks down on them and realizes that nothing is really happening, he is just going somewhere perhaps better, or maybe just different. The story could also continue with Dago being born again, but with a different shape, or as a completely different being. Or maybe everything goes dark and that’s the end of it.

Only he knows.

For the rest of the players the story will continue attending a funeral in two days where they will drink a couple of beers and remember how much of a good person Dago was.

Next Tuesday they will play again. And hope they win.

♠ ♠ ♠

How do I tell you?

How do I tell you that you are...

Beautiful without saying that you are beautiful?
Perfect without saying that you are perfect?
Eternal without saying that you are eternal?

How do I say these things so that you realize them?
And why would I take it upon myself to do so?
Why do you see yourself as anything less
than the extraordinary being that you are?

Who lied to you?
Who told you that you are not worthy of true love?
That happiness can't be attained?
That you are less than somebody else?

The truth is that you are beyond any of this.
And my words will do nothing for you.
They are just words and they have meaning
Only if you give it to them.

So I won't tell you anything.
You are as I am.
And this is all that matters.

 

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Inception: A Review

I am not one to jump on bandwagons, so when the hype about this movie was at its max I simply sat back and waited until I was actually able to walk in to the movie theater as the previews were getting started and still sit in the best spot.

I wanted to see the flick with an open mind and with the least possible expectations. It was fun. I did like it. But there are buts. Taking into consideration that the majority of the settings in the film were dreams I think it fell extremely short as far as visual experiences and places where we could have been taken. Seriously. I remember most of my dreams, and let me tell you they can get pretty freaky sometimes. No, not THAT kind of freaky (most of the time) but a wild out-of-this-word-fantasy-full-of-amazing-characters-and-crazy-settings-which-defy-all-notions-of-reality-as-we-know-it kind of thing. And we didn't get any of that in this movie. Well, just a little. So in that sense I was a bit disappointed. I mean, just to think about the realm of possibilities where this movie could've taken us... ah, forget it. Maybe my expectations are too high. But trust me, it was not because of the movie itself, it was only because I knew where the action takes place.

In any case, the movie is what it is and once I realized that it wasn't going to go where I kind of wanted it to, I took what I was given and was willing to run along with it. But it didn't quite run. It actually sort of stalled. It felt like it was gaining momentum a few times and then it just sort of repeated itself. And then it did it again. And then again. And then... well, you get my point.

I really feel like this movie could have used about 25 less minutes of playtime, particularly in the second half. And yes, I know that it was taking place in a dream, and that sometimes dreams do feel like they go on forever, but when you are catering to an audience you have to shoot for making that lasting forever feeling entertaining and not like the guy in charge of editing was taking two-hour lunches.

But I like Christopher Nolan. He is at least trying to be different and presenting concepts that your regular Janes & Joes don't think about much. I for one think that his best work is yet to come, and this film is another solid step in the making of that grand earth shattering mindfuck that will have everyone talking about it for a really long time.