Third page VII

 

Saturday morning. A piece of bread and a mug of coffee, here in the balcony,  yes. I better enjoy the moment. It’s sunny. It’s a good time for giggles and wiggles. I’m just drawing a little smile for my face and a bit of patience for my mood. I think I left something undone and unspoken, but it’s next day and I am a little more into what this next day is going to offer. I worked.  I’m going to work tomorrow too… in the other job; the delivery one. A beer before bedtime: when it's bedtime, anyway? Poor people, yes. I’m thinking about them. I am poor, that’s why this will go public, if it ever does, by myself through a blog  I hold. I’m not sure if any editorial might ever get interested in this as something worth to pay. It doesn’t mean I’m going to refrain from doing it. What the hell! These are my words: my inner war. My dealing with poverty… that’s the thing! Poverty.  Why do we have this need to hide our Poverty? Why? Poor people have projects, dreams, ideas. It’s just that work comes first because bills must be prioritized for living. Everybody must pay to be in this world. And on top of that, we must pay interest – high ones, by the way – for any sort of expectation. Expect is expensive in many ways. I like to believe, from time to time, that we are the fuel of the world, kind of like Matrix, and that there is actually energy for it in every effort we make. It would be great to be compensated for that energy we provide. There would be more healthy people around. More sex, considering the energy there. More laughing,  more reading… if only!  But the poor have to stick with a full time shift, tell the same jokes over and over, and try to find some relief on a glass of liquor, or on the screen of the phone. Others try stronger, but stronger eventually turn unaffordable, because even a bad habit is also hard on (and for) the poor. Sunday: Sunday bloody Sunday. I found a bit of satisfaction on the delivery this morning. Funny, I know. To realize what you're  lacking is a terrible skill. Most of the poor don’t know what’s missing and that is a bless. It's a bless because they can take it on whatever, whoever, and whenever suits them. I’m sad; surely because of the news, or because I couldn’t buy that I saw on Instagram… What about those who think they deserve better? Deserve; again, what a word! I deserve a glass of wine. I worked today. I went out twice on a Sunday while many are just enjoying their balconies. By the way, I should take a look, maybe the sun is setting and the evening might bring some air to promise, to promise oneself better mood for the upcoming challenges,  to promise better being for those who I share my home with, to promise more smiles, to promise never giving up, not even under these circumstances. I have a son to look after while he’s looking at me. Tomorrow is labor day here. In my country we celebrate it on May the first. It’s a big day back there because we have this tradition where the president, orders (yes, orders) all employers to raise the minimal wage over a percentage he decides. This, of course,  is announced on national broadcasting followed by a speech full power for the people, and the eternal big fight they (we, I suppose) are always winning against the imperial forces (meaning United States)

 

It makes me laugh too, I know.

 

I was thinking about those cover letters. I wrote mine. So far, nothing to point out. I’m still trying to figure out  if there’s any other reason why I haven’t got an opportunity, other than being Hispanic. Don’t get me wrong, please. I don’t want to go into politics. It’s a comfort zone people use as an excuse to avoid trying harder. I’m bringing it up because I would like to share what I think I might have said on a cover letter. I believe  it started out as a personal description of myself. Who is that? Am I the one who is placing these words in a sequence for a message? Or the character of this story? You see, I’m not always the guy waiting for the balcony, or the one who complains about his poverty.  I am a multiplicity of events, followed by ephemeral purposes that becomes a narrative, ⁸once mixed all among each other. That narrative is who I’ve been so far. Those events are my thoughts attached to my memories. That multiplicity is my desire burst into breaths  unable to catch, and smiles forbidden to explain. I am more silence than loudness. I am more what I choose not to say. I am what I think, when I realize you are not paying attention to my thoughts. I am what I think of you, when I see your face sunk inside social media. I am each and every  resentment from other times. I am a father above all. Anyway, I am, like we’ve learned in our language; substance and presence. Since English provides us with just one verb for both, then I am for both,  and for everything.  Another morning.  Weather reminds everyone it’s still summer and it won’t be for too long. Black coffee with no sugar: the charm of the bitterness. No good for teeth, to be honest, but teeth and mood won’t ever agree on that,  neither on wine . It’s like when poor people have a great time, there’s then this  feeling of guilt that comes as a remorse: a remorse for feeling good. Again: deserve is quite a word! I read once that brands and gambling targeted poor people to get their money out of status.  Most of advertisements are orientated that way. One is by offering the illusion of easy money just for being lucky, The other creates an archetype and sells it as an example of what great means in life. There is a sense of pleasure already guested in our perception, its purpose is making oneself happy for a little while when buying something we don’t really need. What have we established as needs, anyway? I mean, have we ever done it? How do we know that the will of buying something unnecessary is made up? I haven’t figured it out. I’m just wondering because it bothers me. But, and yes, there is a but. It bothers me when someone else does it. Not when I do it myself. It’s how I found out that when anybody does something we get irritated for, it might be something we carry within as well, it’s just that our ego won’t let us see it, so we look for it on others, and there it is when we start projecting, thinking that we hold any sort of capability for judgements,  when most of the times what we do is a confession. So let’s confess: I can’t stand unproductivity. I hate laziness out of nothing worth to be tired. Another morning. Another morning I wrote nothing. This another morning is not the one before. Busy day, I guess. Eviction letter. Interesting. In this country, you sign a contract for a period, and monthly payments must be done during the first five days. Failing to pay then, you’ll be charged a late fee for the whole month,  and an eviction notice, giving the fact that the month you are late is not over yet. In Spanish, the language we use, for such case is, in a way; let’s say: softer. I guess we see words more carefully, or perhaps we’ve been raised this way that, because we think we always deserve better, we feel offended by pragmatism. We have this sense of being someone that pops up on curious circumstances. If you need a volunteer for a challenging project, fewer, but a lot fewer people, would step forward, but when we feel in some way undermined, or underestimated,  we step up right away, claiming we deserve better because of the many things others should consider when it comes to consider us. How different was back then. We’ve been understanding a few important things through immigration.  The biggest one, from my perspective, is that there are a lot of things that are just different once you arrive. One of them is that your traditions are no quite so in the new country.