There's no thing call "Home" like "Homeless"

I’m writting this almost naked. It’s 7:31 pm, and I have no plans for tonite. My roommate left the apartment a couple of hours ago, I’m all home alone, I’ve been all alone this past 5 months, but that’s ok though, or at least I’m trying to convince myself that it is, it is fine.

I opened a bottle of red wine that I stole from my father’s cellar. It’s ok, a little bit sweet for this grumpy mouth.

Me and my weapons.

As I sip my alcohol and have a drag of my blue camel cigarette, I write this stupid entry, I don’t know exactly why, but a couple of weeks ago I got this idea. I was watching tv with my tremendous sister when we checked the artwork of this Italian artist, Vanessa Beecroft, who had an installation with nothing but naked women at the Guggeheim, where everyone was dress fancy and chic. That make me think about the value that we put on clothes: what do they mean for us, and what are we trying to make them mean for the others… What messages are we trying to send when we dress up in a certain way or in another. Tonite my friends, I’m not wearing anything but my bra and my pale yellow bragas. I’m not wearing make up, but my reading glasses, and I’m trying to be totally honest about me, to myself.

This is me, with all those so called “beauty” marks and freckles on my face; with some extra eyebrow that I haven’t take off; with a little fat roll; with this arms that I hate sometimes; with no shave legs that remind me some cactuses and with a sad look that I can’t take off my eyes.

This is me, a 28 years old woman, who better calls herself unemployed cause the job I have is just to pay the rent and not to feel happy about it. A woman who recently left “home” to go back “home”.  A single woman who has realized that sometimes that means loneliness. A woman with no friends, not even party friends. A woman who chooses to open a bottle of stole wine and share it with no one but her thoughts.

This is me, a two haired color lady who plays Rilo Kiley instead of Yann Tiersen to find inspiration while she is writing.

I have changed, “home” has changed too, it supposed to fit me, I mean, my old life, but it doesn’t, and that’s ok if it means that I have grown, that I’m not that size anymore, but what size am I now? Don’t know… But certainly not my old jean size, so I took them off.

I wake up, and I’m in a hurry, for what? I don’t know, probably to get on time to my pay-rent-job, but after that? There’s no need to feel in a rush, but I feel it anyways. I’m even drinking this wine too fast, so I would probably be waisted by the time I publish this entry, but who cares? I’m not driving and not working with heavy machinery, so fuck everything and drink the whole bottle Miss Loneliness.

I put my vase with purple flowers to my left, close to my wine and cigarettes, so I can see them everything I’m trying to reach my addictions… At least I will have a better view. I’m sitting on my bed, feeling like I should get a nice and comfortable chair for these occasions. Mosquitoes are flying and desperate to bite me, they’re welcome, that would be the closest that another living organism get to me.

I might be crazy. If a neighbor sees me, the picture he/she would have is this: woman wearing nothing but her undies, writing, drinking, and smoking like a chimney, with some tears falling down her face, getting on her knees… From here, my knees look like two Canadian mountains, with water on top, water that will become snow.

Monte Andino Chilean wine is getting in, it’s sedating me, it’s making me write things that I would probably regret once the alcohol effect decides that I’m too old for him.

I turned to the right, looking for my lighter, and I read: “Life is a miracle”, a movie that my sister recommended me. I haven’t watched it yet, I’m scare of finding that life could be a beautiful miracle… It’s always easier to complain.

Then, I turn left, trying to find some inspiration and there it is: “Hang it up”, a thing that me and my old young love bought together to hang up our jackets. I kept it, and brought it right to my new “home”. I should hang up all my anxiety causes, but they are mostly untouchable: professional dreams, social life, finding love, getting love, being visible not invisible, finding the way, finding MY way.

I can feel the air touching my skin, we barely notice that, we are pretty much always wearing something that impeded us to get this feeling, but it’s great. If it’s cold, u get to experience the real coldness; if u r hot, well, you get a chill breeze that refreshes you.

You get to experience the sensation of having your knees rubbing your chest, or your arms touching your thighs. Usually we get to experience how does it feel when someone else’s arms cuddle your body, but the feeling of being yourself who is doing it, it’s weird and nice at the same time.

It’s funny, every time that I’m trying to type the word “arms” I write “armas”, which in Spanish means  “weapon”. And that makes a lot of sense, for a Spanglish speaker person, cuz that’s exactly what your arms are: your armas, your weapons. That’s why _I learned to respect mine, even if I don’t like them because I have always thought they are a little bit stout for my body, but they are the only armas that I have, and they are furious.

So, ok, I went to the kitchen to get some spring water, and my neighbors next door saw me almost naked, I just waived, and let me tell you that I felt so comforting! Yes! I got a witness! That’s me you puritans!

I’m wanting, so badly, that tonite turns a little bit funnier, well, at least with more company than myself, so I decide to get dress and ready for whatever the fuck happens. But I have something in mind, I won’t hide what I am, I’ll wear my fears, and my sadness, and my super high insecurity and I’m gonna try to walk with it. Some days, some nights, are harder than others, but this one will have to make a difference in my life, for sure. So I pour more wine in my glass, cheers for the real me.: A frightened 28 years old girl, who likes to look beautiful underneath all those layers of colorful clothes and who likes to feel taller and stronger wearing those breathtaking shoes; who seals her lips with red lipstick, in case she decides to talk about herself, the real she.

This is me, a girl who wants to have a great night tonight, with people and have some laughs; who wants to forget about her fears and preoccupations, but wear them, not leaving them at home or some sort of body basement; who wants to feel accompanied, belonging to a group. To have friends and feel that she left “home” to reach another one, a more chaotic one, but still a home.