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.

My trip to Bolivia is almost over. This is my last night and my stomach is aching as it always does when I travel. My coworkers looked at me suspiciously as I ordered skinless tomatoes and bottled water; still I´m sure I´ve caught some kind of bacteria. Today we met with Marcos, the scriptwriter of the radionovela we are producing and that will be broadcasted across Bolivia next year. I got excited as we talked about production matters: selecting music, dealing with copy-right issues, hiring a local producer, casting non-actors from rural communities and putting all the pieces together for the recording sessions. I miss being part of the creative process and not just managing the people and resources to make things happen.

An old lady approached me on the plane in Miami and asked if I could hold her bag during the flight. ¨Inside are my son´s ashes¨ she said in the most solemn way. The flight attendant came rapidly and asked me not to hold the bag and left me feeling that I could have help the woman anyway. I´m now in Bolivia for the 2nd time this year and the 3rd in the last 7 months. Probably that´s why when I landed in La Paz after being in Santa Cruz for a few days I felt as if I was returning home. A few days ago we were travelling south of Santa Cruz, near the border with Argentina and Paraguay. The driver explained how most accidents happen when drivers hit cows, sheep or goats. I´ve never seen so many vultures eating dead animals by the road. The clouds in Bolivia are closer to the ground, or so it seems, and it always gives me the feeling that I will be able to touch them if I try really hard.

Today is a typical humid and sunny summer afternoon. I'm at my place resting my mind before packing for my trip to Bolivia and Peru tomorrow. I feel absolutely saturated, my life has been spinning in many directions lately, and even when a long trip to South America seems like a good way to get myself back together I don't feel like going. I'm not the adventurous kind. I rather enjoy the NY summer, watching Kronos Quartet in Prospect Park, than traveling to 4 Bolivian cities in 4 days, riding on winding roads and flying on 10-passenger (and very old) Cessna planes.
Brenda "dreadlocks" is staying at my place. She will be here all the time I'm traveling, keeping the "Brenda" presence while I'm out. We met with Sandrita last night in Brooklyn for dinner at a cozy Italian place. It's funny how you can feel so comfortable with friends you haven't seen in so long, and for a moment pretend you've never left your hometown. "It's been my lifelong dream to be in Machu Pichu" Sandrita told me while taking a bite of her prosciutto, and I wished my trip was not a business one so I could take my friends with me.

These have been strange times. Natalia and Pepe, two of the most important people for me, left New York for good the past weekend. I'm now in DC participating at a conference on International Development, working on a proposal for a media project in India, and silently watching the Michael Jackson memorial on CNN.  My mother came to visit me along with her boyfriend. He is a man of few words and soft temper; I wish she was with someone with an opinion, or at least with the ability to hold a conversation. Still, she looks beautiful and happy.

Capuchi complained that I haven’t updated my blog in a long time, so here I am, writing so he can follow me from Tijuana. I might have told you already, but yesterday was my 7th anniversary in New York City. Lots of faces and names passed in front of me. I moved into the city with Javier, to whom I married and later divorced; and since then my life has changed several times in lots of different ways. Back then I couldn’t afford to spend more than $10 dollars a day, but I was producing biweekly documentaries for the local TV station, and many doors opened for me. I first fell in love with New York at the opening party of the MOMA in Queens. I went with my friend Diego. I was surprised about how such a diverse crowd of graffiti artists, art philanthropists, financiers, and undocumented immigrants could break-dance to Michael Jackson’s Billie Jean at the same dance floor. I came very young, a post-teenager wearing stylish t-shirts and converse; now I look like more like a grown-up, with red nail polish and black high heels.

Mr. Lupercio was talking last night about how he risked his life while researching about a prostitution ring in Guadalajara. He seems like the perfect man, someone that has rescued more than 800 young women from sexual violence, providing a shelter, a home, and a way to move on with their lives. People with high moral standards impress me. I somehow believe we all have a dark side, which we either learn to live with, or we endlessly fight. Who is incorruptible? We all live up to our standards, hoping to avoid anything that will give us a reason to be untruthful to ourselves.

Tuesday night Oscar, Pepe and I met at Joe’s Shanghai on 56 Street for diner. Chinese restaurants are kitsch by nature, several golden real-size animals, green velvet seats, plastic flowers, mirrors, a red shrine with Christmas lights and palm trees. Adding to the atmosphere, they played a wide selection of music from the 80s and 90s, Pat Benatar, Brian Adams, Toto, Sade, Billy Joel. We ordered clam and pork soup dumplings as we talked about our uncertain future (Pepe is moving back to Mexico in a few days as he was unable to get a new job). By the time we finished the two orders of dumplings and a plate of pan-fried noodles the three of us were exhausted, and we sat in silence for 20 minutes. It felt like a scene in a movie.

We ended at Happy Endings in the Lower East Side dancing inside an old steam room while the DJ was playing well-known songs broken into unrecognizable beats. I haven’t danced free-style for a long time, and it was certainly a good way to “officially” enter my 30’s. That is if you are official when you are over 30 and turning 31. My birthday wish/resolution is to stop the inertia to control everything in my life and just let things flow. Enjoy more, complain less.
My longtime friend Arloinne is getting married in less than a month even when she has always being opposed to the idea. She doesn’t believe that love comes in the shape of a sole partner for life. In her own words “you could fall in love with almost anyone; you can always find something to share, in common, or of interest in whomever you meet”. I find this is idea truly optimistic and good to share with all my single -but looking for someone special- friends.

Witnessing acts of courage always makes me cry; I get mixed feelings of beauty, sadness and confidence. I cry when I see old, sick or overweight people running marathons. It’s even stronger when these acts are performed on smaller everyday activities such as disabled people carrying their own groceries, old people making their way to the movies or the homeless man in my neighborhood giving out Chirping Chicken flyers to the passersby. Some days you need certain nerve to take small decisions, the same you need to change your life dramatically. My boss is moving to Rome with her boyfriend in a month, leaving behind her job, apartment and lifestyle in New York. I guess you wake up one morning knowing it is time to move on and modify your destiny.

The flying cockroaches appeared early this year, we killed one in Oscar’s bedroom a few days ago. One of my old roommates used to have the insecticide along with her sex toys on top of her desk; we joked about the possibility of spraying herself by mistake. Maria, who is the new roommate, has religious icons, folk art and flowers instead. I should make a wall with pictures of all the people that had lived in the house, from a Cypriot lesbian to a Science Christian and a British fashionista our place has hosted a diverse group of people in the last 5 years. This sounds like an interesting project for the summer.
I’m going to Ariana’s rooftop tonight to have a drink before she leaves for Spain for the entire summer.

I laid on my lama skin bed cover while Gabriela was leaving me a cup of tea on the bedside table and telling me her story of domestic violence.  I felt too privileged for a moment, almost ashamed, but she didn't seemed to notice. Here it was me, taking a sick-day off from work and reading the Wall Street Journal while playing with my soft alpaca skin; and there she was, tired of cleaning the apartment and ready to take the 1-hour train ride to Bed-Stuy in Brooklyn. She stood by my bed and talked about her boricua ex-husband, her three kids and how she manages to pay for the bills working night shifts at Penn Station's Kentucky Fried Chicken. 

I’m sick at home today, a common cold that makes me want to stay in bed. I walked to the Japanese restaurant and had Gyoza Dumplings, Miso Soup and a Shrimp Tempura Roll for $11.60. Now, I feel so bloated I wish I had stick to a chicken broth as the doctor recommended.
Somehow I feel uncertain and excited about everything coming. I knew this year was intended for new things, but the smell of the changing weather makes it evident and gives me goose bumps. If you ask me today, I will with you go anywhere.

I took an afternoon nap for the first time in years. Weather is getting hot and humid, and even when this is what I've been waiting for, it is always hard to avoid feeling tired.  I'm sitting in the living room and I can barely hear Oscar's music coming from his bedroom. This evening we are going to Saint John the Divine to listen to the New York Philharmonic; they organize a free concert every year on Memorial Day, and we are hoping to get a good spot, at least in the garden outside the Cathedral.  

I have writer's block. I can't think of anything to write about.