I’m having a panic attack at this very moment. As a result of the sinus infection my doctor recommended a strong antibiotic, but after reading about all the possible side effects I’m afraid to keep taking it. Should I try to battle the bacteria myself (and probably fail) or take a medicine that will at least give me a stomachache and insomnia? Oh God! I’m the worst at making this kind of small decisions! (I feel dizzy already)

“You have a terrible sinus infection,” my doctor told me today, “you are very sick.” Funny enough I haven’t felt sick, or at least I’ve been blaming any symptoms to the last hectic days. I’m leaving for Peru on Saturday for work, so I won’t have a free weekend until November the 14th. I’m so looking forward to November 13th at 5:00 PM to be able to finally do nothing. NOTHING, except for probably going sightseeing the autumn foliage; if any of it survives this crazy weather. If not, I’ll just sit down on my couch to drink hot apple cider and read one of the new books I haven’t been able to open.
Diego moves out of the apartment to Greenpoint in a week, so our little family is shrinking. On the other hand, Lalis and his boyfriend are coming to visit during the second week of November. It will be exciting to see her in love after so many years of not finding the right person. I need more of my friends inviting me to weddings; I want an excuse to get a new dress and get drunk on someone else's behalf.

I have a new boss starting today, and being jetlagged as I am makes it impossible to show any positive energy or ideas. I’m trying to smile to sidetrack any attention to my red-watery eyes. If worst comes to worst, having just returned from Italy makes it worth giving a bad first impression. How are you supposed to get back to everyday life after a good trip? How to adequate your travel learning into your everyday life? How to keep that glow you brought for a longer period than the time it takes to unpack? How to get used to American coffee after all those early cappuccinos and afternoon espressos? Where to find real fresh mozzarella? I was impressed by Rome and by the experience of an ancient, aged city, although I prefer Paris (and the French), it’s personality, the feel to it and how it connects with the new movements (at least on film and music). We walked around the city without any plans. By the time Victor and I got tired of tourists, we left for Florence to stay with Pili and Massimo. Florence was much more than the sightseeing, it was having long conversations at night about our family, the meaning of life, extraterrestrial contact, and religion. One night we spent a few hours looking through old photo albums: the goodbye party when they moved to Italy more than 30 years ago, their trips and the stories around them (Pili and Massimo were in India when my father died), and snapshots of all of us when we shared a family life at my grandparents house.

"Why do good people die first?" my mom asked me this afternoon. "I guess because people die anyway" I replied. There are few adults whom I respected when I was in my twenties, and certainly "el Chato" was one of them. I was married to his son, and he took me in as part of their family. "Everyone talks about Javier's father," I recall Zoe telling me, "he owns a house in the woods that is open to welcome everyone. He even has a notebook for his anonymous guests to leave him messages." I still remember when he took Javier and me to buy a refrigerator for our apartment, which we never bought (we decided to live at the annex at his mother's house), going to the movies with him every Wednesday, his jokes and the way he managed to live lightly. I remember his blue jeans, his white truck, his boots and all the stories Javier told me about him. But most importantly, I remember when I belonged to his family, and this idea makes me cry. There are ties that are hard to break, and some are just meant to remain with us for all of our lives. "He left happy," Javier said when I called him this afternoon, "I tried calling you to let you know, but I dialed the number of another Brenda on my address book", he said laughing.

Periodically I receive an e-mail from Understating Men, a self-help group intended for women to learn what men look for in women, and more precisely to understand why they are single. A few years ago my friend Sol took me to a conference on the topic and the only thing I can remember, besides the strange feeling of analyzing dating through a Gantt chart, is that men have a natural attraction to healthy long hair. Is this why we are sold all these products for shinny, silky hair? Apparently hair is a fertility thermometer. My friends are divided into two groups: the married ones and those who secretly wish to attend a workshop to understand love and relationships.

I've been sick for four days and I’ll be traveling for a month leaving on Friday, so I need to get better before then. Getting sick in New York is never fun; always makes you homesick. Nevertheless this time was not too bad as I spent the weekend with Diego, Capuchi and Oscar without leaving the apartment, only for a couple of hours on Sunday to practice tightrope walking in the park.

I got the writer’s block. Again. Words are not flowing the way they should; I’ve been quiet as I keep trying to resolve too many things, too many stupid pieces to unscramble: my hair is a mess, most of my shoes need repair, my check account is drying, my savings account is dying, my debt on credit cards is growing, I have cellulite for sitting down all day, I still can’t make enough time for exercising, my bedroom is cramped with my boyfriend’s suitcases and my Netflix movie has been sitting down on top of my desk for almost two months.

Diego is staying with us (and will be staying for at least one month), bringing to our home all his creativity, colors and ideas. Listening to his stories about living in a diversity of places in the last few months has been refreshing for everyone in the house. After his heart was broken almost a year ago he moved to Baja, where he spent his days living in a hut by the sea. During this time, he had no harder task than peeling a grapefruit each morning, after which he was free to do whatever he pleased. For most New Yorkers spending their days doing nothing, without a plan in their calendars (even during the weekends) represents an impossible dream. After Diego shared the story about the grapefruit, everyone in the living room remained quiet, wishing to have the nerve to leave everything behind; at least for a month (or a day).

While we waited for the rain to go away

Today felt like a lost day. Victor and I had tickets for the US Open women's semifinal match, but due to the weather all matches were cancelled. The frustration came as the organizers kept postponing the game every 30 minutes, asking everyone to wait until the sessions were officially canceled. I guess they just wanted us to spend our money on beer and burgers, while we patiently stood under the rain.

I like to think that everything happens for a reason, and as a result of our frustrated plan we went to the Queens Museum of Art. It was almost five years ago when I was invited to present a video installation at their biennial exhibition. My art piece consisted of 4 monitors that simultaneously showed the lives of 4 immigrants from different countries (China, Mexico, Cyprus and Serbia Montenegro), and their relationship with their new home in New York. Back then I used to work around the concept of belonging to a place, and which elements constitute the idea of home. After 7 years in New York it is my home; this is the city where I chose to be, and the place where I learned to survive by myself. Now is time to find a new subject for my art, a new inspiration that will influence my work.

At a staff meeting yesterday we discussed how the job environment has changed in the last twenty years. Back then, one was expected to remain in the same job for almost all of your working life. Ten years later, people were predicted to have 6 to 7 jobs during their lifetimes. Nowadays, we are likely to change careers at the same speed and number. This sounds both scary and promising. We could still choose to become filmmakers, environmentalists, restaurateurs or graphic novel writers. What scares me the most is our inability to stick with one choice, and make it the center our existence. Victor’s Mom has been a Classic Ballet dancer since she was a little girl. I can’t picture her doing anything else besides designing choreographies and training children with the techniques she learned in Russia during her youth. Everything in her life is inspired from her discipline and artistic elegance. Somehow it is monothematic. On the other side of the spectrum, some of us are still trying to define precisely what drives us. It might be that our mistake is looking for something in particular that probably doesn’t even exist, and our richness relies on our flexibility to adapt and find beauty and excitement in too many things. I guess one of our eternal dilemmas is to choose between digging deep into one specific subject, or superficially learn about a wide variety of them.

Cafe Sabarsky

I’m a little bit tipsy . Victor runs to the restroom after I forced one of my rings into his finger to try to loosen it with a bit of soap. He might return with an angry expression, but by the time he gets back our Sachertorte and Strudel will be served, and he won’t have any chance to complain. I feel fine, today is a perfect weather day in New York City. Before walking to the Neue Galerie we drank a bottle of Californian Chardonnay and ate a portobello and goat cheese pizza in Central Park. For a moment I feel as if I don´t need anyone by my side. I feel perfectly happy by and for myself.
Earlier we discussed about exposing our private lives in public. Victor is against Facebook and anything related to sharing his personal endeavors. I don’t agree with him, for me it is important to share my life, as I like to show myself as a subject of the art pieces and stories I produce. I think using oneself as a source is one of the most honest things to do.

I'm sitting on my desk as every day of the last four years, but today knowing that Victor is in New York without a return ticket makes everything look different. For the first time in a very long time I feel that I'm not taking all the decisions by myself; that we can start building our own story, here. As always, I'm afraid to bring my hopes to high, as things are still (and will remain for a couple of months) uncertain. Nevertheless, the idea of getting out of the office, going to the supermarket together, and buying everything we need for the week makes me very happy. It is the smallest pieces of my daily life that I enjoy the most sharing.

My Mom used to read to me The Canterville Ghost and other Oscar Wilde's short stories every night before going to bed. She is not an avid reader, but she loved to read Wilde over and over again. We lived in a two-bedroom apartment on the third floor of a red brick building, just the two of us. As an only child I grew up experimenting with insects, writing stories and drawing. I spent all afternoons doing homework and reading while my Mother cooked and kept our apartment tidy. She always tried to make me feel we were a bigger family, trying to make up for the void left after my father's death. Now we live hundreds of miles apart, but I guess we are as close as we used to be.
Pepa's mother died today. She lost the battle to cancer.

The old Greek lady who lives downstairs greeted Maria and me this morning while doing her usual incense burning ritual. I’m not familiar to Orthodox Greek traditions, but I love to be around people that follow strict routines with such a passion. She speaks no English; she just repeats “good morning” (pronounced as “goo monin”) twice with a smile before leaving the incense holder by the front door. I’m not so sure people living in Manhattan get this kind of experiences each morning. They have a doorman.

Tomorrow I’ll travel to Mexico City. I haven’t been there in quite a long time and a part of me feels nervous. I’ve been listening to old songs for a week, recounting the last 10 years and trying to picture a timeline of important events and people. Where I started compared to where I am today. Where is everyone that influenced me or whom I influenced? Many things have changed, and surely they will keep doing so. Are we all taking the right decisions?

8:14 PM
I look around my bedroom and I suddenly realize I’m living in part the life I wanted: listening to good Canadian jazz, surrounded by art (which I brought from different countries) and getting a light breeze from my window. A few days ago Catherine was complaining about how different her reality was from what she had expected. Most of her friends are now married and living in the nicest neighborhoods, or single but working their dreamlike jobs. She is living with her Russian (divorcee) boyfriend and working as an executive assistant at an international finance firm. For many people her situation sounds perfect, living in New York with her steady boyfriend and a job that pays the rent; but for her it’s very hard to conciliate her expectations with the fact that times are hard both financially and for finding the man that will fulfill most of her desires.

3:53 AM
We just got home from Rosa’s good-bye party; she is moving back to Madrid in a week. The celebration started at Yucca Bar on Avenue A, and ended up at the Speak Easy of Avenue C. I haven't been at that place for years. We danced for hours, a mix of salsa and African rhythms, until our feet were in pain. Oscar is not home yet, his good friends from Montreal are in town and they must be at gay bar in Midtown Manhattan.

4:01 AM
Too tired to be inspired.

My longtime friend appears to be in love with me. He didn’t said so directly, but he didn’t leave any room for doubts. In the past we always said “I love you” to each other, and that is true, as I love a few of my friends. But, how could I have known he had a special crush for me? Ironically knowing so breaks my heart as this means things won’t go back to our old ways, at least for a long time.


I’m drinking a glass of cold South American Sauvignon Blanc while sitting on my bed and thinking about my US working visa. I need to renew it before November, and I’m a little worried since my boss hasn't approved it yet. For the first time in four years I begin to wonder if he is considering firing me. In any case, I just prepared a list with the reasons on “why I’m a great candidate to keep the position.” Hopefully it won’t be necessary.

Today has been a tough day at work and I'm not done yet. Being a manager is not easy when you need to solve a conflict between different cultures and opposite ways of working. Definitely this is a learning experience that hopefully could be translated to other aspects of my life. Did I ever mention that I wanted to be a politician? Well, I don’t have the necessary skills.

Last night I bought my ticket to Rome. I will be there in October. I’m planning to visit Natalia and then travel to Florence, where my aunt Pili lives. She moved there at 18, after falling in love with an Italian leftist. As a kid I saw her and my cousin Stefania once a year during summer vacation, and was always excited to learn about their different way of living (and sense of style). I haven’t seen Pili for more than 16 years. For all I’ve heard she was very similar to my father, two aspirant communists against the rest of their posh siblings. I’m not a socialist, as most of the children born to Marxist parents. I’m influenced by their sense of justice, but it has mixed with existentialism, individualism, consumerism, (lots of other – isms) and certainly confusion.

While we are waiting to rinse off a facial masque I light up the hookah. Neither Oscar nor Maria wanted to smoke with me, so I'm afraid I'll have to finish it up all by myself. Today is a hot summer Sunday and we don't feel like going out, but just staying home and getting organized for the coming week. The windows are open, but the air is static, no breeze is coming in, just the noise of the air conditioners. I feel fine and calm. Today I felt inspired by two interviews I read; the first one, with Daniel Barenboim on his West-Eastern Divan Workshop where he uses music as a way to generate dialogue in the Middle East. The second, with Lars von Trier on how he managed to write and direct a movie to avoid depression. Maria, Oscar and me are now on our third facial treatment, drinking orange-peach juice waiting for the cucumber masque to dry. Maria is inpatient and wants to peel it off; Oscar keeps his hands busy by posting a new Facebook status through his Blackberry. We remain quiet as the tobacco slowly burns down filling the air with a sweet peachy smell.

I’m at my kitchen waiting for the Verizon technician to come and fix my Internet connection. I eat toast with sauco and awaymanto jelly, straight from the Amazonian Peru, and bought at Lima’s airport duty free store. As whenever I return from a trip, I keep the momentum going by eating and drinking everything I brought while away. This time I’ve been drinking coca leaves tea and eating coca leaves covered with chocolate, feeling a kind of stupid thrill for consuming something quasi illegal.

I need to make an important decision soon. How can you know something for certain? Does absolute certainty actually exists? As for today, I just know that I’m hoping for a good and relaxing weekend: gypsy music tonight, brunch and pampering sessions tomorrow, and moules frites on Sunday.

Last night we smoked Hookah for two hours by the fireplace, it was very cold outside and smoking seemed like a nice way to warm up after walking across town to get to the bar. Tonight is our last in Cusco as tomorrow Javier and I leave for Lima.  The past week has been beautiful visiting Machu Picchu and driving to Cusco at night watching the moon being reflected in the Andean snow.  

Just got to my hotel after having dinner in Mongo´s, and as always surprised by the diverse crowd that assists to that place. I really like La Paz, it´s a very unique and cosmopolitan place.