growsinpr-blog
Porto Rico: Journey of Self
Mixed Puerto Rican Discovering Her Shared Past And Herself
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Exercise
I finally figured out why people exercise. I feel amazing.
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Goals for Tomorrow
1. Finish article 2. Start second article 3. Finish cover letter 4. Review resume 5. Kiss the super cute, German scientist 馃槝
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Photo
Art Museum in the University of Puerto Rico, Rio Piedras.
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Attraction
For the first time in months, I felt the spark of attraction.
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Follow-ip
Met up with the poet. He's a yoga teacher from NJ (what a pleasant surprise). Didn't really feel a spark (maybe a tad in the beginning) but meh. He wants to hang out tomorrow. I'm undecided.
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A Pleasant Surprise 馃槼
Today, a man gave me a (love) poem. Ironically, I had already noticed him before this unexpected event occurred. When I sat down on a plush couch in the seemingly prophetically named cafe "The Poet's Passage," I noticed the skinny, blonde, tallish guy sitting across from me. I never approach good-looking men in public and so I got comfortable on my couch, content to casually glance up at him from my book every once in a while. Before he left, he walked over to me. I was engrossed in my novel so it wasn't until I heard his strong, low voice, that I even noticed his presence. "Here. For you." He was holding a single piece of notebook paper, hand extended in the universal sign of "please, take this." I was stunned, people don't usually speak to me in public. An ex said its because I look far too intimidating. However, despite my severe bun, large glasses, and thick book, this man decided to come over to me. I quickly grabbed the piece of paper, mumbling a thank you while dropping my eyes from his. Staring into clear blue eyes has always unnerved me. Before I could decipher the scribbling on the page, he had already walked out and disappeared into the crowded San Juan street. I was overwhelmed by the moment and so the words on the page were swimming. Slowly, I began to decipher his chicken scratch. Slowly, a poem emerged. And slowly, I began to read: "By the time I realized my youth it was already simmering away my knees and shoulders were already tired mourning a were already weighing heavily on my eyelids With every wave of freedom came so many feelings with no names regret laced with joy, joy laced with regret I was slower to speak but the words I chose were no more clever than they had ever been the people who loved me were no more or less perfect than they were before When it was time to fall in love I held the need in eyes and showed it to anyone who looked at me when it was time to fall in love I fell in love every day" Was this a love poem? Or better, was this a love poem for me? Immediately, I was overjoyed. The pervasive anxiety and depression that had hung over me for months was washed away by the sweet words from a stranger. I smiled. I felt warm. I felt-- special, a feeling I had certainly forgotten in the wake of the recent ruination of my social and professional life. However, within hours, the familiar voice inside the dark bowels of my stomach began to speak. It's just a poem. Certainly not a love poem. Who could look at you from across a cafe and pen a love poem? The darkness that had been chased away by this man's words returned, like a seasonal and predictable storm. On the back of the piece of notebook paper, in the bottom corner, he wrote his name Kelly. And his email. I debated several hours for how to proceed. I decided to email the mysterious poet (a modern Dante or Petrarch or Byron?). I have to at least thank him for giving me the poem. The tone of my email was gracious. And simple. I don't know what will happen next.
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