Choripan night: 11 de enero de 2015
Last night was choripan night in the hostel, and I worked from 4pm to midnight, my first day shift. Well, “day” meaning not after midnight, when I usually work. It was fun to talk to all the people, sell alcohol, change the music.
I put my pulseras on top of the bar with a sign saying “20 pesos,” and I sold three, en tan poco tiempo! I definitely prefer selling them like that instead of trying to approach people on the street or in the parks, like all the artesanos do. I’m not motivated to sell things, I don’t have the energy! Selling is a vacuum and my energy gets sucked away quickly, something Raúl never understands because selling for him is what generates his energy.
That night him and I bought a bottle of Fernet and sat on the steps across the street from the hostel under a small awning and drank it with cola, safe from the rain, fresquito en la oscuridad, watching purple bursts of light erupt from the blackness. White branches of fire streak across the sky, phantom skeleton tree limbs in a leafless winter forest, and the always-late boom and roar of an invisible monster protesting entrapment in a hushed, titanic dimension.
I felt negative energy before, from a particular source, and added to the fact that Raúl was using my computer all night instead of interacting with me or anyone else just rubbed me the wrong way, so while smoking stolen minty cigarettes on the steps of someone else’s house, we argued and chattered and shoved words into each other’s faces until the conversation turned into something real.
With Raúl the conversation has begun to turn real, more real than before, and I know it’s because my Spanish is infinitely better now. But often it only happens after a slight shift in cerebral chemicals. Why must intoxication be the only source of mental stimulation with him? I already know why, I’ve known why for so long.
We know we aren’t good for each other. There’s this fundamental level you’ve got to connect on, and we always miss the mark. There’s always a misunderstanding, a misinterpretation, and although it is very interesting exploring why and how we don’t understand each other, it’s not enough to build a substantial relationship. It doesn’t serve well as a base.
I know I want something different from my sexual relationships. I want a stronger, deeper mental connection. I want something so honest, so open, so secure. I want someone to feel comfortable telling me his secrets, and it doesn’t even have to be all of them. I just need enough so that I know I’m different from the others. Somehow, in some small way, I have to feel special. Because I know I’m fucking special. (Special ED? trololol)
I want him to want to open up to me, knowing I won’t abuse that trust. Raúl has always been so closed, and it doesn’t ever mean that he is wrong or bad (and holy shit is it a product of his culture!), just that he doesn’t seem to have that need to open up emotionally, intuitively, and I need that so much from a person. He cannot give me what I need, and in this way we must continue walking down separate paths.
Here we’ve come to a fork in the road, and we both feel so passionate about our individual journeys. We cannot sacrifice our personal truths for each other, for anyone. As Ayn Rand said, “I will never live for the sake of another man, nor ask another man to live for mine.” God, is she fucking cool.