I Make Myself

love

a description by Maya Kobernik

- 

This is an attempt to write something without judging me. 

While also being honest. 

Al cocinarse los frijoles crecen el doble.

So I decided to talk about Archie. 

Archie saved my life.   <--- Would that be judging?

No, but it definitely sets a bias for the story I am about to tell.

-

I get easily distracted by the things I love. 

But, how can I not?

What I love is never a distraction. 

Actually, it is the opposite. 

Also, yoga saved my life. And running. And writing.

Because those are all manifestations of one thing.

An inner voice.

My voice.

A voice.

-

There is a voice. Sometimes it speaks thoughts, sometimes feelings.

Sometimes it writes love poems. Others hate letters. 

Angry letters. 

It gets frustrated I suspect mostly with my constant need to ask for permission. 

Things I would like to do but fear will make others feel bad. 

I don't like to make people feel bad. <--- But it happens. 

The other side of that coin is to constantly please others.

That is one of the easiest way to let life escape me. 

I am here for myself. Representing me and only me. 

Also, people should not take it personal. 

-

Ignoring the voice makes me feel trapped. A prisoner. As if I am moving inside an actual prison. 

That is when I need that inner voice the most. 

Because it hides.

When I stop listening to her it leaves and hides.

Behind what is already hidden. 

Thus the deeper the journey. 

-

Each time I need to go get her. 

I need to go deeper.

To make our way back. 

Walking, dancing, reading, running and writing.

Smiling, laughing, screaming, panting and crying. 

-

Confidence. 

That is love.

 

 

 

Note to self

Despite your own belief about marriage, 

you will get married. 

Once you meet him, 

you will know.  

You will listen to yourself say: "I could marry this guy". 

You will.

And it will hurt.

From the size of the diamond to the venue and of course, kids.

Getting married will make people believe you have invited them to live comment and question every single one of your choices.

You will get bored. 

 

This will be the beginning of a journey.

The story ends in you knowing your voice is much more stronger than you think.

Once the pain starts to clear you will see choosing love was -and always is- the best decision. 

Even though some times it feels like a challenge.

I would like to tell you to take it easy but the truth is you won't.

That is ok.

 

Cry all you want and live all you need to live. 

Life is full of second chances. 

Keep listening to your own voice. 

Call yourself a traveler while others insist on calling you an immigrant.

Rest assured, what you are is an explorer.

The lesson you have been handed is: Go.

You will go.

 

There will be a day where you will find yourself printing the notecards of your first book.

Yeap. The wildest one of all your dreams. 

When that time comes take a moment and take a picture.

That is you. You are the writer of your own story. 

 

 

Cooler mornings in L.A.

 

 

I got up to a cloudy L.A.

I woke up at 7:00 AM.

The tacos I ate last night were this morning's alarm clock.

It was already 8:00 AM in El Salvador. When you live abroad you know that's what you do.  

There comes a point when thinking in parallel time-zones becomes a habitual pattern.  

Alternating between two times.

Time traveling.

I had a video waiting for me on my Whatsapp family group.

It is my mom's birthday today.

The cold morning weather suddenly felt cooler. 

I called in the one and only Carlos Vives to warm up my heart. 

The thing with Carlos Vives is that he manages to make me feel I could love my country a bit more.

A lot more.

Maybe if I loved it more then it could, just maybe, love me back.

When I lived in Madrid I couldn't learn to love El Salvador in the distance. All I wanted was to be cradled, held and embraced by my kind of Spanish, my town-like country traditions, mi patria (I believe there is no English translation for that word). 

I went back.

Like a junkie.

Why I'd left the first time quickly became evident.  

I love El Salvador but I don't feel loved in return. 

So, once again, I left. 

I quit our abusive relationship.

I needed to get better.

To do better. 

On random days I miss it.

Normally when it gets cold.

It is 22° here and 31° in San Salvador. 

Technically, it's colder here in L.A.

 

 

Who am I?

 

I found myself wondering if one of the hardest things about not having kids was not having kids. It became clear that this was an evident contradiction.

I also know the only reason I feel this way is because I actually don't have kids.

In her book Mating in Captivity the therapist Esther Perel writes that there are some issues that aren't meant to be solved, they're only meant to be acknowledged. 

- Major highlighter moment- although I don't actually highlight I draw little stars and planets to mark an important book location, quotes I like. Sometimes I even draw little hearts <3

She uses this phrase in the context of marriage but I believe the contained wisdom can serve more than one aspect of life. 

Such is a paradox. Not to be solved but to be acknowledged. 

There are paradoxes in almost every aspect of life.

Like that feeling at the end of a book. It can be the happiest  and also the saddest moment of reading a book. 

Surrendering to the fact that strength comes from vulnerability. 

Being aware that in the search for safety one might become constricted.

Wanting peace and finding solitude.

Loving and dreading writing. (<-This one is mine)

My life is full of paradoxes and I know. I wear them like an invisibility cloak. They act like a shield to my personal space.

They are a juxtaposition of experiences that make me who I am. 

Which is that I am Ruth but also Maya and sometimes Geraldina.

I am somewhere between a runner and a dancer. Between a dancer an a yogi. 

A wife and a lover. A lover and a friend.

I move to find stillness.

I can feel at home when away from home.

I am unapologetically complex. This does not translate to complicated. It translates to beautifully human.

My life is full of paradoxes and I want to tame them as words that I can use to describe all the magic contained in real life. Like how one of the perks of being alive is making mistakes. That magnificent experience of crying hard and laughing loud.

I want to write the story of how I'm not here to fix myself but the journey of how I am here to be simply perfectly imperfect.

 

Meanwhile

Today I managed to delete 3 books from my Amazon wish list. Two hours later I had added a total of 41 to what already seems to be a never ending book inventory that only keeps growing.

I did the numbers. I added the total of books I've read  and divided it between the last two years to estimate my current reading rate. On average I read 13 books a year that means that it would take me 15 (fif-teen) years to finish with my actual list. This is not taking into consideration new books I may decide to add along the way. Discouraging or motivational? I'm still undecided.

I also learned that Ontology is not the same as Epistemology which is also different from Hermeneutics who by the way is not related to Hermetics. 

Giordanno Bruno is the first -and so far only- writer on my list to have been banned by the church. He also got burnt by them. 

Well, that's not entirely accurate. I did add today Poem of the Man-God which I am dyyyyyyying to read because apparently it was a banned book and now it isn't because well, we all have the right to change our minds. I hear ya' fellows, leave it to this girl to have some empathy on your decision making processes. 

I ended up ordering 6 books that include Marvin Minsky, my first Faulkner (ever!) and Nora Ephron because...Nora Ephron!

This one-themed day concluded with Adaptation. A movie I find both fascinating and genius but that is Charlie Kaufman, right?

An amazingly productive day if I'm able to dismiss the fact that I did not do what I was supposed to be doing which is writing my first novel.

(did I just type that OUT LOUD!?)

My first novel! It's so huge and big for me that I keep trying to convince myself to take it easy, this is a first attempt to try out a creative outlet I have been eager to try ever since I was little.

Most likely it'll stay just like that and Random House won't come knocking on my door to publish my book; but instead of being comforted this thought is only making the process harder. I'm paranoid that my family will be the only one to want to read the book and I would be happy about it but the image I get when I picture this scenario is that it will only make my aunts and uncles think I'm some sort of morally ambiguous hippie.

I'm surrendering though.

I'm diving into the creative and fertile void. Hopefully a novel will come out the other end. 

 

Nihil obstat

Imprimi potest

Imprimatur

 

High up

For my birthday we decided to head out and spend a couple of days in Chalatenango.

A territory with the most beautiful, still unadulterated scenery and a personal favourite. It is what high altitude feels like, what we would call "the woods" here in El Salvador.

Archie was not allowed to come (he is not considered part of the local fauna) so it was a two-day trip, lodging in a human-only cabin for two. Time was spent reading books and having tea during quiet mornings. We drank wine out of paper cups, hiked trails for sunset and lit up the fireplace for long night-talks. 

Towards the end of our second day hike we were walking back to the cabin when in the middle of the open field I felt the urge to stop and look up. Just as the clouds cleared, the sky dimmed and lights of hovering stars were revealed.

An elaborate mise en scéne and a perfectly synchronised performance. The universe decided I would be its fortuitos spectator. 

I felt as if I was supposed to be there, that I was meant to be there! at  that specific moment, at that exact time, at that precise place. It was an experience of universal synchronicity, a birthday gift or one of the many things that happen when you are high up and closer to the sky.

Never in a million years would I have thought of myself as someone who shares, much less publicly, about cosmic insights. I could attribute it to all the hippy stuff I've gotten myself into lately. I can only guess that transcendence is contagious ;)

It feels like quite the milestone. Turning thirty-three got me all excited I even got a tattoo. It's about wandering and itinerancy and lightness. It's about me and it's about my grandfather too. An homage to traveling, exploring and freedom.

Uhm!...I guess I have become a tattooed hippy talking about universal magnificence. Who would have thought right?...not my old-church Pastor for sure. 

I also noticed that I have become the kind of person who will publicly acknowledge to have found the most perfectly written -and now current favourite- 'Acknowledgment' in a book. Do people even read those? But Capote will do that to me, In Cold Blood.

He had me at "The material".

Well, off to light up some incense and drink some organic tea.

Here are some pictures to go with.

 

A written but undelivered letter

 

It would be my grandfather's birthday today and I wrote him a little letter as an attempt to figure out why I have recently started to cry every time I think about him.

 

 ***

 

Somewhere after the sun goes down but before it gets dark.

When there's still light outside I find myself thinking of you.

Most times I cry. Usually uncontrollably.

I'm confused. I need to talk to you, we need to go over a few very important things.

Such as...Are you in heaven? What's it like? Can you see me? Can I hear you?

Maybe if you could speak to me in a way I can understand. I'm pretty open about trying out different media except the one where you scare the shit out of me. I hate being afraid so if we could keep it averagely transcendent I'd really appreciate it. This way I can guarantee I'll pay more attention than if I am terrified by some ghost. Ok, not "some" ghost  but even if it's your ghost I'd still be frightened. 

No ghosts, no random moving of things just a simple one on one conversation.

A dream would be nice.

I miss us. You and me talking. 

Did you know you were my first friend and that there were times when you were my only friend.

Kind of lonely, I know, but you were the one who taught me how to never feel alone even though I was by myself.

I was a precocious quiet little girl born into a family I felt I didn't belong to. No one would answer my questions and no one didn't  even seem to care that I had questions!

You were the only one who saw me differently, who encouraged and appreciated my curiosity.

You were the only one who spoke to me like a grown up even though I was only 7.

By 12 you had me reading all your must-read writers and by 18 I was confident I was going to become one. A writer you would read and hopefully be proud of.

I'm trying to become that girl you saw. I'm not sure grandpa I can see it so clearly. Maybe that is why I've been crying. Maybe I'm sorry. I still need to read The Alchemist. 

You are my favourite person in the entire world, did you know that? Did I get to tell you that I love you? That you are the most inspiring person ever? That everything I do I hope will honor the extraordinary example you gave me? 

People read epic stories about people like you.

The one where a far from privileged boy walked away from what everybody assumed would be his underprivileged destiny. Without knowing what he would find he chose to dive into the unknown for there was -as you said plenty of times- no greater regret than the regret of not trying.

The story of a brave man, an average man, a humble man.

I promise I'll try my best to live as fully as you. Refusing to limit yourself with walls of certainty. Confident on your quest. Unapologetically you. 

To call you my friend has been the highlight of my existence.  

Oh and P.S. I have a dog now. He is the cutest dog in the entire world. Objectively speaking.