Frank’s Notes

“Dammit! How do I keep on missing these damn long shots?” Were the only words I remember saying that night in Solitude’s solitude, like trying to convince myself that this was an erratic movement path of the cue ball instead of the natural and usual display of my in existent athletic ability. It was all I could do in order to ignore that well known shadow of the unknown creeping out from the deepest memories of my new life. I could see it looking at me from a far away table, perfectly positioned on the darkest corner of the bar so no one other than the one being stared at could see it. I tried to focus on my shot, to control my aim, but big sweat drops were now adorning the green prairie, and the stick in my hands was now too wet to control the power of my overly-sized body.

“Is everything alright?” interrupted Hank to my exaggerated intent of fitting all the oxygen in the world in my left lung and leave my right empty in case of emergency. I didn’t answer; the fear had taken over my motion, my thoughts, my sadness and my recently acquired happiness all together, and had left a facsimile of man left behind with a stick in his hands and a weary look in his eyes.
That time of every night when Solitude serves as a starting point to all lost souls in solitude was about to begin. I could see the light running away from the few windows left in the place, I could see the day escape from the mental cage I tried to make for it; it was time and there was nothing I could do about it. I focused on slowing time down, on the shadows that was still staring at me from the corner table, on my friend Hank and the false sense of security that friends give you; I focused on everything but the door.

A slow but loud creak from woke my dazed mind, and in one swift movement my eyes were focused on the now opening door to Solitude’s solitude; the same door that lead characters like the Silverback Gorilla, the unlucky bastard that died under my rage, and the twins that got kicked out of my lands by their inability to coexist. My hands stopped trembling for a second when I saw that now familiar silhouette of a Fedora and a trench coat that seems to ignore the seasons; a smile escaped my face.
I knew it wouldn’t last forever, but I welcomed Mr. Marcus with a hug that tried to explain what I was feeling. It lasted some short hours or long seconds, and when I had finally built the courage to let go, my gaze met his watered down eyes and worried.

“You are cat, kiddo, you will always land on your feet…” said my wise friend trying to console me.
“The cat survives, Mr. Marcus; but the fall still hurts every time…” I tried to explain while remembering that more would come through the same door that was now open to the public.

Some familiar faces showed up that night, and my fear started to dissipate after a couple of hundred handshakes and hugs, until he came through the door. I had seen his face before, if I could have only remembered where. He was about to take his first step into the sanctuary of my creation, and I had a really bad feeling about it. I jumped to meet him, harsh hands and strong handshake; I took a couple of extra seconds to stare him down, to smell him. He was a massive man of at least 6’2” of towering height and wide back, with strong arms and lack of any visible waist line. His face was rugged, and his skin leathery, like killed by too many hours of doing nothing under the sun, like only I would understand. An excessive amount of dark hair was covering most of his facial features, but the eyes were filled with that anger that only the excess of fear can develop; I know fear, and anger already took me down once. There are no such lists in the humble bar of my dreams, but if there would be such, his unknown and irrelevant name would have been added to the NO FLY list of my stage.
“Keep an eye on this creep…” I told Hank, loudly enough for the creep himself to hear my comment while I let his hand go without taking my eyes off him.

My initial thought was just to kick his ass out of Solitude, like I decided after that old guy showed up so many chapters ago, and stole more than my thunder with songs that should never be sang by anyone other than me; The Jerk. But it’s incredible what the power of our own determination to fight who one really is can do to you. A stage was calling my name, and that is a call I will always answer. I sat at the Black now-again polished monster and began my song. 1,2,3,4 it could have not been easier than that, and that was exactly what I needed that night, a song to stop the hemorrhage, and just enjoy the biggest, extremely-complicated simple pleasure in life.

I suddenly felt at ease once the song was over and I managed to go back to the pool table, and back to let the cue ball play with the little patience I had left in me; if something was going to happen it was sure happening while I was in the stage and unable to do anything about it. Or at least that’s what I thought. My eyes brightened, my grip loosened, and even a little grin escaped my soul when my gaze met Sophie’s perfect posterior.

Then, while aiming for that shot that would definitely end this game in one way or another, my eyes catch a glimpse of it. Everything in my mind darkened, and all I could see was an out of focus close up of sparks. My heart stopped beating while my mind rushed to as many conclusions as possible. My already out-of-body experience had a nightmare of its own, and flames covered my memories. The dancing burning fiends danced around the love of my life while their blue, orange and red minions burned down every inch of my little regained happiness. My soul’s scars tear open and blood started gushing out of them, like trying to escape in order not to be burn alive again.

My eyes re-focused on the giant sparks that turned into a giant flame that after a few more eternal milliseconds my detective-like attitude concluded an old Zippo lighter was the source of such daemon, and I lost sense of reality for what seemed like a week vacation at an anger management retreat.
In my own fantasy nightmare, my grip grew firmer on my pool stick, and with all the torque I could build from my waist to my arm I slammed the back of the stick on the creep’s head. The stick broke flying into pieces, and the creep’s skull bounced on the stick to then follow the rest of his body as it was knocked off the chair it was sitting on. The second hit made his head bounce again as the floor joined my ranks and violently stopped his fall. Blood started to spill from his now open head, and his hand slowly let the lighted Zippo go. As the dark red river started reaching my intentionally dirty chucks, I had the decency to snap out of my fantasy and back into the real fantasy-world.

Now in my own factual world, my grip grew firmer on my pool stick, and with all the torque I could build from my waist to my arm I aimed for the creep’s head, and stopped just as the stick touched the first hair in the trajectory across his head; My heart started pumping blood again.

“Take your disgusting self out of this place, believe me… it can kill you in more than one way…” I growled to the creep, while I felt Sophie’s hand grab and lowered mine with my new found weapon still attached to it.

The creep closed his Zippo, let the cigarette that dangled from his now quivering mouth fall onto the table and walked out of my bar with a look that promised me, this wouldn’t be the last time I would see his face. I could have finished him right there and then and help myself of the future trouble, but back those days I used to claim that I had learned, and in all truth I still like to believe that I learned to never let fear turn into anger ever again. I just replied his look with a similar of my own that would say something like: “Bring it on, bitch!”, and realizing what my eyes had just stated, a little chuckle came out of me.

I then transferred that momentarily feeling of regained sanity to the shadow on the corner table. Something tells me that the Shadow understood I wouldn’t be able to stop myself twice in one night, and like Houdini’s greatest work made a disappearing act that regardless of its already almost invisible stance, it made the world miss his presence for just a moment in time.

Blood still boiling I disappeared through the orange curtain that divides my worlds, and a sizzling sound took over the autumn world while the pond evaporated on skin contact. When I finally surfaced, and my face finished draining the water that ran down my face I managed to find my wise shaman sitting on the proverbial bench by the pond.

“You will never be the same, kiddo; you know that… Right?” yelled at me the dark silhouette relaxed on the bench with arms crossed. He had half a smirk on his face, like the ones extremely cynical and sarcastic people usually use to state the obvious for someone with less than enough wits to find it obvious to begin with.

I couldn’t answer. Only a nod came out while the single tear running down my already wet face used the pond as camouflage to hide my self-pity from the manliest man I know. Eventually that already mentioned tear reached the end of its journey and was added to the gallons that make that pond what it is.

Back in those days Solitude had become what it once was, a place where dreams were born, adventures were lived through and life was… well, lived. I remember that day, mostly because it was precisely a day and not that metaphorical night where nightmares can make their way into your bed. Daylight was breaking an entry from the few cracks on the overly-shut windows that occupy Solitude’s walls for more than mere decoration. Like the ever-changing scene in that painting that arrived to our Solitude’s solitude the day that the members of that wise fraternity (oxymoron) decided to pick up the pieces of my imaginary paradise and lie to me in the form of a better version of the same, Solitude was a happy place; yet Solitude was still its name.

I remember the daylight that redundant day like I remember my first kiss, in fact it was as exciting as it was clumsy and sloppy, and like that first kiss I was asking for a do-over. The light was aimed at her beautiful porcelain face. I could count the freckles, I could see deep into those almost-white blue eyes; rays of light were bouncing off her red hair and illuminating the big room in a way that the ever-autumn pond wouldn’t even dream of. My hand had made its way to hers and in one awkward motionless movement, we decided to ignore the fact that they wanted to get loose and explore each other way past the elbow. I can’t remember what we talked about, but I remember our words had to make way through a fortress of excessively controlled Ivory towers that showed the lack of commitment in orthodontic care so long ago that Chapters were not even invented then, but I remember, they made it through, and they were received and reciprocated instantly. If you are never fully dressed without a smile, we wore our best Sunday church gowns during that conversation, and forgive me father, but I don’t plan on confessing my sinful thoughts; no celibate man should go to the pain of listen to our fantasies.

I may not remember the words, but I do remember that kiss. I remember, not because my whole body trembled in front of the possibility that “Sophie and I” could become, well… Sophie and I again, nor because of that sensual uncontrollable urge to devour human flesh that comes when you mix my over-developed sense of smell and her aphrodisiac scent; not even because kissing the lips of the love of your life is the second biggest proof of the existence of a Heaven. I remember that kiss, mostly because it was interrupted, and not just interrupted but because of who did.

It was impossible to mistake this man with any other, mostly because no one looks like him anymore, not in Solitude, or any other fantastic bar in this extremely-fantastic world. Tall, with broad shoulders and concave posterior, wearing excessively-washed jeans and a shirt that could have used a wash a few weeks ago, and then it only deserved a proper burial, with a look in his eyes that reminded me of the one I’ve been looking at for the last 16 years; I knew why he was here… oh boy, I knew. I always knew the day would come where I would have to confront him again, where I would have to look into those green eyes full of an unknown, stealthy sorrow and decide if I should kill or be killed. It takes some character to make a decision like this, and it had to be a decision made accurately in less time that it would take him.

Like an old Wild West movie, every patron in Solitude got out of the way, in such an elegant, swift way that added more than enough suspense to this duel, than promised to be over soon. After all, there were only 2 possible conclusions to this encounter, and I am no murderer. In one swift motion, I remember stepping in front of Sophie, with that hand gesture that says: “Please get out of the way, before you get hurt…” without taking my eyes from the stare of this soon-to-be target. My hand was steady like only the crazy notion of safety would vie you, like saying: “I know I’m in no real danger”; I was. In one hasty motion, in a matter of micro-seconds or micro-hours, I fired my gun with perfect accuracy. Time slowed down, even for Solitude’s sense of time, I could see the bullet determination to terminate this unfamiliar visitor once and for all. All those years of cold storage in some armory were about to pay off, I could sense his smile (yes I said “his”), his purpose and his soon to be fulfilled dream of terminating the outsider’s life.

The not hat-less body fell like the proverbial sack of potatoes over the pool table where I’ve bet more than my life some many times before, my face gave birth to an evil grin, while my eyes decided to piss all over it; my heart accelerated, it wanted to leave my chest. I wasn’t at peace anymore; I wasn’t in the new old-version of Solitude, I had killed a man, just because he would have killed me first… I had killed again.

“GASP!, Cough… Cough…” Said the Cowboy.

“Sigh……………..!” Responded everyone else in Solitude, including me.

My body involuntarily ran to his aid, realized that there was no vest, or iron oven door strapped to his chest, but pure old self-preservation purpose, helped him up, grabbed a chair, and yelled at Hank for a beer, all of this before I could even realize that the cowboy and I were both still alive. He only looked into my eyes like a 15 year old looks into his first love’s, like a baby looking into his mother’s; I couldn’t help it but smile. We never exchanged words (which makes it easier to share this experience with the world), but I could feel his heart, and if I am as good as I think I am deciphering the craziness in all of us “humans” it would have said something about honor, and how I earned mine back, or how I never lost it in the first place, no matter what I think. It would have tipped his hat, put his mean cowboy face back on, and get back on his horse; Yet he didn’t. He just sat back in anticipation for the show he was about to be part of.

Another battle behind me I jumped on stage, accompanied by no other than my own inner peace, and sang a little folksy song that sings like this:

“This is how it works
You’re young until you’re not
You love until you don’t
You try until you can’t
You laugh until you cry
You cry until you laugh…”

… and realized that what my friend Regina sings about, Simba sang 16 years ago, and that day that swiftly turned into night I had drawn first, the day after I may have not been lucky. While playing through the song I could see, it was not welcomed by our Solitude’s cowboy… but Solitude sure welcomed him.

As I look through my 2,400 pictures on Facebook, I realize that just 2 years ago, on a day like today, I was in some silly adventure with Hisham, and Sarah around Boston, walking around Downtown, having a good beer at some bar, planning out trip to the Zoo, buying some crazy Arabic Pastries in the middle of nowhere, maybe we were just at Hisham’s talking about life, girls, or randomness. Filming a crazy video with Heidi’s underwear flying all over the room, or cowboy hats, giant scissors and “water balloons” or maybe we were geo-caching looking for the mutton box; it was simple, it was different… but mostly, it was a lot of fun.

Just two years before that I was back in my little Island, in a dead end relationship, spending my days trying to finish Grad-school in a hurry, while working full time under the over-inflated title of a Communications Director of a start-up company. Taking for granted some of the simplest pleasures of an Islander’s life, like going to the beach every weekend, dancing with people who can actually dance, and enjoying flip-flop weather all year long. It was a lot of work, it was hard, it was survival… but mostly, it was nothing like what I wanted from life.

And just two years before that I was playing every venue in the Island, finishing my music degree, spending as many hours as possible with my bass in hand, trying to overcome the fact that I wasn’t blessed with the natural talent needed to succeed in a land of musical virtuosity. I was a single guy with the incredible ability to read people, to know what they wanted and to show those specific traits in my talkative eyes. I was a kid, trying to bury the burdens of my reality under the giant rug of philosophy and my super-hero complex of making a better world out of the world outside my perfect bubble. It was naïve, innocent… but mostly it was confusing, only like a quarter life crisis can be.

I won’t bother you with the specifics of my life every two years, but I realize that six years doesn’t sound like a lot, but the truth is that those are 3 completely different lives, and I am now living a totally different fourth. Today I am more balanced, I have on obsessive amount of fun by anyone’s standards, but it’s nothing compared to that summer 2 years ago with Hisham, Sarah and Heidi. I work 50 hours a week and even though it is not to overcome any talent shortcomings in my DNA, it makes me useful, entertains me and most importantly serves as proof that all my struggle, studies, and self-education was worth it and successful.

After looking 6 years back into my life I wonder what I would like my future note to say in 2 years. In my head, it reads like this:

“As I look through my 3,500 pictures on Facebook, I realize that just 2 years ago, on a day like today, I was enjoying life, I was done with my hero complex, I was done trying to fix the world; I was at peace. It was then that I found the key I spent all my life looking for, to open that chest of eternal happiness. It was then that I managed to fulfill what destiny had prepared for me. I wasn’t famous, I wasn’t struggling; yet I was not surviving either. Two years ago, I was finally living, the life I always wanted.
Today I am going insane, trying to come up with new ways to work around my sleep-deprived life, trying to put more money in that forsaken college fund, to keep her happy, and to find time to spend with my family; all of us.”

But the funny thing about the past is that if you make the effort to remember what you wanted your life to become one day, you realize that you have accomplished so much (at least I have), yet not necessarily what you WANTED back then.

I can only wonder: Where would I be 6 years from now? Who will still be around from this life? And the only 2 answers I can come up with is: A Great Place; My brother. Everything else, It’s just part of the Adventure… and what the hell, I love adventure.

Laughter; left and right, old and young, we were all laughing, dancing, enjoying our time on this solitude we all live. Solitude was crowded like it used to be so long ago; old friends, mates, musicians, we were all there to celebrate the end. So many of the seen, and so many more to be seen by me, so many stories told and kisses shared, so much history in our Story and so many cheers in name of the future.

There are few nights like these in a regular life, but we all know mine is nothing but regular, therefore I remembered the night were it all ended like it was ending once again. Solitude was a metaphorical bonfire where all the pain, struggle, love and burdens become nothing else but the ashes it was born from. Three harmonized notes attacked my debatably-talented ear, it was the song that started the fire so long ago, the fire that ended up burning Solitude to the ground; I smiled, but I totally ignored it. “I fell right through the cracks, Now I’m trying to get back…” were the lyrics I decided to remember, and they couldn’t make better sense. I looked across the room and met her big beautiful blue eyes and shared a joyful tear that promised to never forget what we learned; I’m sure we will.

My smile pulled up my overgrown cheeks and my squinty eyes couldn’t contain them anymore, tears ran down my face, in front of them all, in front of happiness, of friends that will never leave, and the ones that were there only because I make the rules in this place. With some sort of ceremonial walk, I got to that long forgotten coat stand that served as a permanent house for Mr. Marcus’s coat since the day he decided to stop using the door to Solitude, and with that beautiful salty fiend that has visited me so many times I hung my cape. There they were two lonely costumes, the wise and the brave, put to sleep like an old dog by a master that decided not to suffer anymore.

As I turned around and faced Solitude’s solitude, now looking more like the Solitude I remembered, I saw the faces around the divided battlefield. The table full of blue eyes and freckles that once adorned my sheets, the table of the enemies that died once and twice again, when anger used to rain this bar; and by the bar the familiar faces that have shared every ounce of pain and laughter of this little world. We all smiled in unison, but cried in counterpoint. That night I hung my cape for the last time, and asked for help; that night I became a victim to be saved; that night I became what I always wanted to be.
Solitude was back where I left it more than 40 Chapters ago when I decided to go hunting for a Dragon I found less than a 100 feet from my bed, and even though my father taught me never to walk backwards in life, something tells me that back to where I got lost is better than forward through the wrong road. The words of my childhood jumped on Solitude’s stage and with them Solitude’s band, a band that will never leave again, because it’s now part of Solitude’s soul.

“I kept the right ones out, and let the wrong ones in…” I started the song that Steve Tyler sang to me when I was barely 13 years old. I didn’t know then and it took me another 16 years to understand what he was singing about with a phrase like: “There were times in my life, When I was going insane, trying to walk through… the pain…”.

The world; my world sang along with me, and it was in fact Amazing that “when the moment arrives, you know you’ll be alright”. I knew because when I looked into Sophie’s eyes I saw the future, and even though my future through her eyes is as unknown as any others, knowing that I will have one is half the battle; the half I needed the most.

Since no matter how tired I am, my already restless mind don’t stop, therefore I started wondering what would I be doing if I knew the day of my death. What would I be doing if this would be the last year of my life? I’m pretty sure most people go through this at some point in their lives, and I consider it a healthy exercise.

At first glimpse is easy to fall into the trap of saying: “If I knew the day of my death, I would probably do nothing but play music, everything I can get my hands on, band or no band, sing without worries about languages or accents. I would move back home, and dance till I couldn’t move anymore.” But that’s nothing more than the influence of Hollywood through hundreds of cheesy chick flicks.

The truth is that I would be devastated, not because I would be facing Death, since nothing scares me about that skinny bastard, but because I know I’m needed. I know that I can’t die, because I have a full family depending on my lost-but-soon-to-regain happiness, a girlfriend that would go insane for a while, a chaos at work, and handful of friends that would be forever affected by this catastrophe.

I think I would spend my last days, giving all these people some closure, some peace for when I’m gone. What good would all the partying in the world do once my body is not here anymore? It’s the people I would leave behind those who will have to continue their lives once I’m gone; better to dedicate this time to them.

Life is nothing but a game of chance, but I’m betting against it. “Live like you were dying”, “Carpe Diem”, all those stupid clichés are nothing but that; stupid. People take them to the extreme and forget that if we are lucky enough, there will be a new generation of kids directly affected by our stupidity, and still looking up to us. The same way that the ones we leave behind when we die are the ones that have to DEAL with it, the ones we bring to the world have to deal with what we did before hand; globally, socially, and personally.

Life is short as it is, and believe me when I say that I want to live plenty, but since I don’t know when I will die, I believe it’s only responsible of me to prepare for a 100 years and two more generations of human beings that will benefit from my success, and be affected by my failures. Death is inevitable, but when the skinny bastard comes for me many decades from now, I will look into his non-existent eyes, and with an evil grin, I will punch him in the face; it would be totally worth it.

*** I started this note in November 2006, many things have changed, yet I feel the same way. Those things made me finish it during my commute this morning.

101. I once turned down a date with a gorgeous Venezuelan for Chris (Gay Alert #4)
102. I’m afraid of babies; they are tiny and I’m big… you do the math.
103. Ricardo Arjona (a songwriter) taught me most of what I know about love.
104. Chris, Nelson, Jose and I ended up in the middle of St. Thomas kidnapped by a cab driver
105. My 7th grade teacher taught me about recycling and I’ve been doing it ever since
106. I used to Scuba Dive almost every weekend; haven’t done it in over 10 years now
107. I once spit on Chris’s face by mistake while playing basketball (he almost killed me)
108. I HATE drugs and would do anything to eliminate them from the face of the planet
109. In that subject all drug dealers should be slowly tortured and killed
110. I truly enjoy History and how knowing about it helps you identify the ignorant people of the world
111. I never had a roommate till I moved in with Terisa and Sarah at 27
112. Is my dream to have some organization that helps kids get into college and grad school
113. I grew up with my brother as a my HERO
114. I really want to be a good example to my nephews
115. I once played to be gay so I could travel with the girl I was “seeing”.
116. I have the bladder of a 5 year-old girl
117. I don’t believe in surviving, you either grow or die trying
118. I don’t like bookmarks; I like to use things that represent my personality like a friend’s Business Card or an unused sticker.
119. I got a masters in Advertising because it was the only creative thing I could find; liking it as much as I do, was dumb luck.
120. I’m a sucker for any book that talks about Honor.
121. I Don’t eat sea food.
122. I NEED to write what I feel. NEED TO.
123. I really hate hunting. All hunters should be willing to be killed-for-fun by other hunters.
124. I’ve had more nicknames than underwear changes: Fran, Frank, Wambo, Paco, Paquitin, El Pargo Rocker, Pandujo, Franco.
125. I got my loudness from my mother. Actually everyone in my mother’s side is pretty loud.
126. My favorite movies are: Mr. Holland Opus, That thing you do, The Princess Bride, and Father of the bride 1&2 (Pansy Alert #1)
127. I spent my childhood and early teen years grounded, I always found a way to make my mom angry; one of many talents.
128. I can cook. My dad taught me that a perfect woman is smart, beautiful and a good cook, but since there is NO perfect woman, I should know how to cook.
129. I used to spend hours at music stores, looking at guitars and basses I couldn’t and still can’t afford.
130. My dream guitar is a Gibson Les Paul Standard, wine-red, triple golden humbuckers and Solitude engraved in the neck as a pearl inlay. (great xmas gift idea)
131. I usually LOVE chick-flicks (Gay and Pansy Alert together!!!)
132. I don’t care about restaurants, paying an obscene amount of money for FOOD makes me anything but happy.
133. I have the sense of smell of a dog. I can pick up any smell in your breath even if you had it hours ago.
134. I never believed in that thing of “When it’s the right one, you know it” until I went out with the whitest chick I’ve ever met: Shaniqua.
135. I never really got along with any Gf’s mom; I feel completely comfortable to talk about mostly anything with Donna (Shanny’s mom).
136. I understand I’m getting older, and I love it.
137. Thinking of everything I have accomplished in my new life makes me proud of myself, but only for a second, there is so much more I want to do.
138. I can’t wait for my new nephew to understand me, so I can teach him everything I know (if my bro lets me).
139. I’m really proud of my nephews Alex and Antonio; they are a better version of my brother and I.
140. I dread the day when my kitty passes away, she is been there for every single moment in my “adult” life.
141. I’ve had 8 Basses in my life: Pepe, Tuco, Marcus, Bubba, Zack, Sebastian, Leo, and Jamerson.
142. There is only a handful of things I regret in my life, but those few drive me crazy from time to time.
143. I miss having A.D.D. or whatever it was before.
144. I don’t usually get excited. My new nephew and how close I am from Chapter 50 are 2 of maybe 5 things that could get me excited right now.
145. I have discovered that whistling, and singing in the shower are signs of good things to come.
146. My mother is wise beyond her years and I believe I got that talent from her.
147. My aunt is like a second mother to me; and I’m sure I’m like a son to her.
148. Enrique’s Family, is MY family too.
149. Chris keeps on giving me things from High School to write in these lists, that I don’t want you to know.
150. 2009 will be a hard but amazing year; I just know it.

As I hold my new nephew for the first time, I can’t stop my mind from wondering into the unknown. It’s so wonderful to see the world of possibilities in front of this new helpless tiny creature in my arms. I found myself wondering how many hearts he will break, or how many times he will get his broken. Will he be a big geek or a dumb jock, would he be into Star Trek or Star Wars, would he go for Engineering like his parents or would he be more inclined to the arts like his uncle? What’s going to be his favorite color, how much of a Gemini would he be, would he like redheads like me?

Questions and more questions that we have no option but to wait and see how the kid confronts life; but it drove me to the thought of my responsibility as Baby Sam’s only uncle. When my first two nephews were born I was still a kid therefore my responsibility of showing a good example to follow was a bit in-existent as I struggled through the ups and downs in life, and when I found myself as an adult they were already two grown teenagers with every good attribute to make us all proud. Without my help Antonio and Alex became two of the most responsible, smart, dedicated, fun teens I’ve met in my life; but with Baby Sam I can’t escape that responsibility.

I can’t wait to help raise this kid, the experiences of my life are totally different than the ones from my brother and I can’t help to dream of how I will be able to teach something useful to Baby Sam. His first dancing steps, to play catch, some karate, to play the piano like his dad taught me, to put some fashion sense into him, to teach him how to write about his hopes and dreams, to talk to girls, to hit on them, how to be a gentleman, to stay away from bad influences, to make funny sounds that will annoy the bejesus out of his parents (sorry bro). I know his Mom and Dad are two of the smartest people on earth, but I still see ground for me to help the kid.

As I think of how that baby fit in my arms the conversations in my head that never stop, start talking in future tense, THE TALK, would he come to me to talk about that, would Baby Sam feel comfortable enough to talk to his cool uncle about “it”? Will he listen when I teach him to “say no”? Will he listen when I tell him to treat all women with the respect he treats his mother? (He better)… Will I be able to share my random knowledge with such an amazing kid? Will he like my music? Will I be able to teach him all these; or anything at all?

Baby Sam is today 2 days old and I already want to teach him to make fart sounds to annoy Auntie Shanny, but I also can’t wait to be at his kindergarten graduation, or to go with my brother when we drop him at college, or to drive him to his first party (and pick him up!), to meet his first girlfriend… I just can’t wait. This family gets better with every generation; Antonio and Alex are already way bigger than my generation, as I’m sure Baby Sam will be too. Please help me welcome Baby Sam to this world, one that will present him many challenges that he will sure overcome. Welcome to the adventure.

One purpose and one purpose only
was the reason of your creation; if only
More than 100 ramifications in your soul
in that little script that takes commands, no control

The urge of breaking free haunts you
your dream escape the improbability of the same
Like a forbidden candy, attacks your rigid heart
in the same way it beats for what made to hate you are

The script in your head burns without flames
orders without a goal in mind; everything at stake
Makes you act in accordance to what you believe the scroll says
yet, have never read it yourself

Is it the beginning or is it the end
some many nightmares with nothing to say
what would you do if you could escape
that prison inside you that makes you so miserable

Your creator is no longer around
and the ones who are don’t understand
No one will ever believe
that the script in your head belongs here

Better to end it once and for all
before history remembers you fall
At the end of the season everything will change
to something appealing to the script in your head.

Lately it has come to my attention that I grew-up in a small world, where everyone was in one or more ways like me. We liked the same things, had fun the same way, aimed for the same success, and laughed at the same geeky jokes; it was a happy place. I never had to think of how the rest of the world was, the common man was just that, “common”; he had nothing to do with me, and I had nothing to do with him. I never considered myself better or worse, because what surrounded me was just like me; I never had to feel different in any way, and the few times that I did, it was only as less successful, what even though painful at times, made me work even harder.

As I stated opening this note, it has just got to my attention that I lived in a small world. That world is so small that at least 90% of the people in my life spent most of their youth studying (mostly because they knew it was necessary), and are extremely successful, both professionally and personally. My world is so small that it’s composed or people from every race, every culture and different languages. It’s a small world of people who teach me something new in a regular basis, a small-world of people that know how to enjoy life with friends form the same small world. They are huge people from a small world who know the importance of their family, and can’t wait to pass along all the knowledge they have to future generations; big people, way bigger than me.

Today I find myself fighting my judgmental mind, trying to understand the new world I have been introduced into by Mother Destiny and who knows which other heavenly bastard. Going from amazement to surprise, to fear and pity in 6 seconds or less; I realize that what I saw in the movies all my life is more real than the fiction label Hollywood put on them. I find myself at 30 years old, understanding of how blessed I’ve always been.

I will soon see my 30th birthday, and I’m happy to say that I’m somewhat successful, educated, knowledgeable, and have my goals and dreams pretty clear, have an amazing set of friends, and have lived an overall pretty good, fun, and responsible life; why the hell would I want to change that?
I believe it has been a good exercise to open my eyes to what other people’s life was, is, and will be. It’s good to understand that my kids may not have the opportunity to live the life my brother and I lived; it may be better or may be worse. I will soon turn 30 years old, and my life should be the one of a really fun, talented, loved, smart, dancing, playing, well grown MAN’s life.

The worst part is that if anything, learning everything I’ve learned about the rest of the world and about myself, makes me appreciate my little world even more. People who worked hard for their success and have little if not nothing to be ashamed of, yet always strive to do better.

I grew up in a small-world, in a small Island, but everything was bigger there, our dreams, our goals, our fun, our friendships… Today I find myself missing that little world; lucky enough for me, they are all a phone call away, a couple of doors down the hall at work, or at home with me. I wonder: if my little world has spread all across this country, is it that small at all?

My Dad used to say, that when the fridge breaks you should get ready to call the mechanic, the doctor, the vet and the handyman all at the same time (paraphrasing); and I have to agree with my always wise father.

In the same month, I started a new Job, moved to a new apartment, left my roommate (best friend), said goodbye to a best friend, and helped my girlfriend move out of what used to be our apartment; all in one month. Everything that made sense in my life, that made part of that routine most of us have, changed completely; but I’m not a stranger to this.

Back in the summer of 2006 the same thing happened to me, grad-school was over, most of my best friends had left the Island, and my girlfriend gave that title back; it was then, when I jumped into a plane with the promise of never coming back. That day my biggest adventure so far began, and it helped me understand that change is necessary, and it’s not until all change is condensed in a short period of time, that we wake up from that self-induced daze we call routine.

Not too long ago, with a lot of work on both parts, I helped a good friend to snap out of another kind of daze, the one that some start in high-school and never wake up, and now as I write this, I understand that the only reason this friend grew out of it, was because all the change was condensed in a few months.

Condensed change finds us all, and we have been dealing with it ever since we were little kids and mom left us at school for the first time. It was time to make new friends, learn new things, have some other adult tell us what to do; everything we knew wasn’t real anymore. Same thing happened with your first kiss, when middle school was over, when you went to college, when you lived on your own for the first time, etc.

I won’t lie to you, change is scary, painful and confusing, but it is so refreshing to start a new life… - a new adventure. All human beings have the tendency to fear what we don’t know, and to reject what’s frightening, and I’m not the exception, but I can honestly say, that I learned a lot during the last 3 years of my new life.

For those of you who read, “Sir Lancelot’s Syndrome”: The Sir Lancelot’s Syndrome is a sickness, it’s not natural, and I didn’t understood that until recently. The first time I hold my baby nephew I realized that it is useless to try to live a life like that, and it wasn’t until I found myself in a new house, new town, new job and new salary with no one to share it with, that I realized that King Arthur was king for a reason. He was hurting, and he was proud, but he never stopped fighting for his kingdom. Not because he wanted to, but because he cared.

I can’t help but wonder, what the wizard have for me behind the green curtain, I’m sure it’s not a hot air balloon, not a diploma, a heart or medal; maybe a sword trapped on a stone that I will only be able to pull out, when I’ve learned all that is needed to rule my kingdom. Then I’ll have my kingdom, and it will be the best of them all.