So what does one look forward to?

(UPDATE Jan 23rd, 4:26am - I just remembered what I started writing on December 30th but I never finished. Here goes):

What does one look forward to, in a relationship, romantic-love style? I just recently began to consider that.

Ever since I was a little boy, I've been attracted to girls. I saw them, I thought they were pretty, that their long straight hairs were beautiful, that their skirts and blouses and ponytails held some mysterious secret that I couldn't uncover myself. Instead, I had to circle them, hover around them, show my affection and appreciation to them until they were willing to uncover themselves to me. But my first attempts were only met with shame. As a little boy, I had no girlfriends.

When puberty came, my attraction to girls became much stronger, and I could hardly spend a day without obsessing over one or another girl in my classroom. I pined for them, dreamed about them, wanted to be near one, touch their smooth skin, be close to their slim, artistically sculpted bodies, have their precious voices close to me, talk to me, close the gap that made them seem kilometers away. I gave them my affection and my admiration, but they did not give me anything back. As a teenager, I had no girlfriends.

When I went to college, I continued meeting girls of my age, and they seemed more mature and diverse, but still far away, hard to reach. My infatuations were still very common, and I managed to engage in casual interactions with them, be friends with them. But I was afraid to let them know of my true intentions, convinced by experience that, once they knew, they would get away from me, consider me ruined as a friend, and again become distant. Instead, I stayed cautiously close to them and learned about them, their thoughts, their wants, their humor, their joys, their weaknesses, in the hope that it would help me understand them better and achieve more success when getting closer to them. I pursued many girls during this time, but all my proposals were declined. As a college student, I had no girlfriends.

After graduating, I have been involved in intimate relationships with at least 3 girls, and technically, with 6. None of them, however, would really qualify as an actual girlfriend. They were all secret relationships for different reasons. They were all constrained, so I took the most of what I could out of them, but I wasn't free to decide what the relationship should be like. They could only be in one way, so I took what I could, but I would be deceiving myself if I thought that the relationships could ever become open to the public, or extend beyond a few weeks. The way they were was never my decision.

But certain recent events have come to make me think about this further. Just recently, a good friend-girl of mine just reciprocated her feelings for me, 4 months after I told her mine. And only until now am I considering a possible actual boyfriend/girlfriend relationship in my life. It makes me wonder, though... what am I looking for in a girl? What do I want from her? I had never had this decision before, so I hadn't really thought about it clearly. All I knew in the past was that I wanted a girl, probably as a girlfriend, but I just "wanted" one. But now I ask myself exactly what DO I want from a girl.

Do I want to see her prettiness, have her laugh with me, play with me, have her attention, like I wanted as a little boy? Do I want her as a vanity item? A trophy, a proof to myself and to the rest of the world that I am indeed worthy of love and affection? As a certificate of my worth, an attempt to heal past wounds? Do I want to touch her, feel her body, satisfy her sexual needs, have her admire me, love me for what I can do to her? Prove to her my worthiness as a lover? Do I want to satisfy my own sexual needs, my cravings, fantasies, experience a full sexual life, in the hope that this fulfillment will make my being a wholer self, like Maslow's hierarchy describes?

Or do I want to make HER life better? To help her, to promote her, to give her part of myself so that she will be able to achieve her goals, to pursue the actions that will make her happy in her life? Do I want to make her life happier, or my life happier? Or both? What do I want a girl FOR? Vanity? Company? Sex? Love? What is Love? Something that is beyond the first three motivators? True selfless caring? A pure energy that promotes well-being, or even beyond that?

Do I want to be with her only while we are happy together? It is known that couples' spark weakens with time, and then conflicts and the noticing of imperfections and defects in the partner occur. Do I want to be with a girl only while we are still happy and "in love"? Or do I want to form an intentionally long-lasting relationship with a girl, encounter the slow, stale, and/or conflictive moments, confront them, get past them, and forge a stronger, deeper bond between both of us? Or maybe I want to just wing it, and take decisions as they come along. Relationships are, in any case, motivated by feelings, and these are very hard to predict, especially for someone who hasn't been in a relationship of this kind during his whole life.

Some people want a partner to form a family. To marry, to have children. That is not my desire. Reproduction is not part of my life plans. So what happens if that is the other partner's goal? Is it wrong to say to the partner "OK, let's give it a try, and maybe I'll want to be together forever with you in the future, and then we could marry", while knowing that it is most improbable for that to happen? I don't have many certainties in my Life, but one of them is that I do not want children. Two others are that I do not want to be homosexual, and that I do not want to be fat. Having such a strong certainty, is it "fair" to attempt a relationship with a person who expects you to change that certainty? Personally, I think it's perfectly justified to pursue such a relationship if the partner knows what these thoughts are.

• I want us to be together. I want to get married.
• I want us to be together too. But I don't want to get married now. And I don't think I'll want to get married in the future.
• But it is possible that that might change, right? There exists a possibility?
• Yes, I guess. I'm open to what I'll feel on the way, as our relationship progresses. I highly doubt it, but yes.
• OK then, let's give it a try.
• k'cool.

I think it's perfectly fine to pursue a relationship if a conversation such as this precedes it. Or includes it. That's my opinion.

I'm still left with the question, though - what do *I* want from a girl?

Since I lack experience of the sort, I'll have to guess. My guess is:

• I want a girl whom I can share experiences, thoughts, adventures, secrets with.
• I want a beautiful girl to have a lot of sex with.
• I want a beautiful girl to feel worthy of her love.
• I want a girl whose goals I can support, and who can support mine, with encouragement and actions.
• I want a girl that I can learn positive attributes from, and who can learn such others from me. A mutually positive relationship.
• I want a girl who I can explore Life together with. Explore concepts, paradigms, possibilities, places, countries, people, languages, arts, hobbies - there are so many things to explore and experience in the world. I want someone to experience them with, to share on the adventure.
• I do not want to marry or have children. Why? They are restrictions, limitations on what Life has to offer. I've written about this. Marriage only makes sense to me if there are children involved, and I do not want to have children. They require far too much effort, time, and the investment of pretty much the rest of one's life to raise and nurture. Doesn't seem like a good investment to me.

So there I have it. A good first draft of what *I* want from a girl (The asterisks around the "I" seem necessary to emphasize it, as I cannot capitalize the word any further).

(Cool. Feels good to finally close the gap in the empty post that this was).

Objective Love

Laura is visiting me in Chicago, and I am very happy that she came all the way from Pittsburgh to see me.

I was surprised by two happenings during her visit, so far:

1. She was happy to join me in reading our zodiac birth charts. She is an Aries, I am a Pisces, and coincidentally, we happen to share MANY of our planetary alignments. And I mean MANY. And they make sense.
2. We talked about how I had told her I liked her, I explained to her why I had told her that so eagerly, so early (to avoid an emotional catastrophe similar to what happened with Leila), and then, slowly but surely, she told me how she had not forgotten what I told her, and she considered whether a relationship between us two would make sense, since we clicked so much. I was surprised, first, by her objective and frank admittance of her potential interest in me, and second, by the type of conversations that ensued due to it. Quick summary: my comparison of bf/gf relationships between opposites and between similar people to ionic and covalent molecular bonds. It's a pretty accurate analogy, I believe. Also, how honestly I explained my situation to her about my current state, about being in a defensive mode to avoid my delicate little feelings from being broken again. The importance of sex and of marriage to each of us, to how neither of us has ever felt like "I truly want to spend the rest of my life with him/her" about any single person, and how I told her what I thought she found me lacking in that made me unattractive to her: lack of self-assurance and sensuality. It was such an objective conversation, so thoughtful, deep and honest, but still, so mostly intellectual, that I was amused inside of me. I was amazed at my cool with the situation. My hands did not sweat, I was not nervous, itching to ask things about what she thought about me or whether she really wanted to be my gf... nothing like that. Just treating it as a clear, mindful discussion... it was a first. She was so sweet, so kind, so honest. We shall see what happens. For now, she is a great close friend, and I've told her that while I'm willing to enter a relationship with her, I would expect her decision on the matter, because she is the one with a current relationship in her life, and choosing what she wants to do with him and with me is her prerogative. I can't deny, however, that our conversation was very uplifting, fulfilling, refreshing, and intimate.

Diagnosis

So I went to Midland Orthopedic today. My ankles were x-rayed, and Dr. Perns concluded that my right ankle was now healed enough to allow full body weight bearing. So now I can walk.

He also told me that my ankle bones and my fibula in my left leg are misaligned, and if I continue using it as it is, I will have an arthritic ankle and a high probability of further injury. And that to avoid that, I'll probably need another surgery. And that's too bad. Now it makes more sense that my left ankle has been hurting increasingly.

But I can walk. I think I prefer pain to disability. I'd much rather just be healthy, though. And I'd rather also have a private jet.

Midland Orthopedic Center

Today I will go to Midland Orthopedic Center, located at 2850 S Wabash St #100, Chicago, IL 60616-2491. I am excited. Today my repaired bones and the adjacent metal fixes will be scrutinized by means of high-frequency radio imaging, and a man experienced in the field of lower extremity orthopedics will decide whether I am medically allowed to bear full body weight on my right ankle. He'll decide if I can walk. After being revoked of this privilege for over two months, I would very much enjoy having it back.

It's past midnight, and my appointment is in 9+ hours. I think I should sleep. Not that I'm sleepy.

...

20 minutes later, I'm not yet asleep.

In other news, my sister flew in from Vegas 24+ hours ago, and will be staying in Chicago until January. My brother will leave Chicago for Austin today on a Greyhound bus, where he will stay for about 2 weeks. So they saw each other only during these 3 days. Laura will visit me from the 24th to the 29th, and she and my family will meet. I am happy that she is coming. I don't doubt they will get along very amicably, but I am curious of my reactions to both her and my parents' presences at the same time. There is a reason I keep my personal life separate from my family. Social incompatibility, I call it. The behavioral patterns I have identified as optimal to exhibit with my family are very, very incompatible with those I enjoy exhibiting with my friends. From my body language to the innermost reactions in me to their jokes, I act differently when I'm with either one. I've tolerated, compromised, and slipped through short interactions with both friends and family before, but I don't remember one so prolongated. It will be an interesting experiment, like gluing a buttered toast butter-side up to the back of a cat.

Things I have learned since starting my bike trip

Dragging your foot with a broken tibia feels really nasty.

Painkillers can cause constipation.

The arm bone right under the shoulder is called the humerus.

Doctors are not using casts as much anymore.

Dilaudid through IV is my favorite drug.

Friends send care packages with cards and chocolates, and call to show their care when one is in the hospital after being hit by a car while riding a bicycle.

While recovering at a hospital, it is highly comforting to receive calls, packages, or visits from friends, in about ascending order of comfort.

MRI scans are reaaaally boring.

It SUCKS not to be able to excrete bodily waste in the bathroom.

Which surfaces are more comfortable to press your knees against.

How to move with varying levels of weakness in one's left ankle, right ankle, and right arm.

World of Warcraft is an addictive, thoroughly designed, and quickly boring game.

What Doctor Who is about.

I can comfortably refrain from showering for 4+ weeks.

The TV series on which The Last Airbender is based is better than the movie. Way better.

Ideious Religions

Ideious? Yeah, I made it up. It is an adjective derived from "idea", which I define to mean "that which contains ideas, is composed of ideas, is infused with ideas". The counterpart potential title, "Religious Ideas", sounds sooooo cliché (and now that I'm learning French, I'm allowed to use this word :P).

There is a saying that is said by people who say: "There are three topics that should be avoided: Sports, Politics, and Religion". I share this view while in casual social interactions, since people often possess strong, emotional viewpoints on these topics, and what might start as a friendly sharing of ideas can easily become a personal feud when ideas clash.

• Barça fan: Oh yeah, Barça kicked Real's ass so hard on Saturday! 5-0! Can you believe Real Madrid still calls themselves a professional team?
• 2nd Barça fan: It's like, why do they even keep embarrassing themselves? They just can't compete.
• Real fan: You weren't as confident last season. Where were you when Real beat Barça seven times in a row?
• Barça fan: You mean the time when the referee was completely bought off?
• Real fan: Fuck bought off! Didn't you watch the games? We crushed Barça's defense every single time, it wasn't even a challenge! And don't start with "bought off" when this game's referee was Messi's uncle!
• 2nd Barça fan: You don't know what you're talking about, dude. So the referee caused a 5-0? Give me a break!

etc

And politics, oh man. More taxes, less taxes, rich taxes, healthcare, down with the government, support our troops, stop the war, social security, you're a communist, you're a spoiled brat, dirty immigrants steal our jobs, this country was created by immigrants, blah blah blah blah blah.

Potentially endless. And what happens when in fact the discussion does end? Did any one side persuade the other? Did they "win"? Ok, say say one side left the other side speechless, so they "won" the discussion. What they did "win"? Money? A Chevy? Resentment from the other side, maybe. And certainly not a change relevant to the issue. Will shouting harder for one team make them win? The sports fans say "We won!". Yeah, you played REALLY well that time, fans. Way to watch that TV.

Will "proving" a political argument's validity apply it to the current government? In Congress, maybe. Not at Jean's birthday party, or at your local bar. Hence, the aforementioned saying.

I've left religion purposely out from the previous paragraphs because it is the topic I want to address the most.

I know people from a variety of religious beliefs. Thinking of the people I know and have known, I can say I know several people in, and am a close friend of at least 1 person belonging to, various major belief groups:

• Evangelism
• Catholicism
• Hinduism
• Buddhism
• Islam
• Baha'i
• Atheism
• Agnosticism

Sorry Jews. I just don't know you, I guess. Except for Seinfeld and the gang.

I assume you are familiar with the basic stereotypes. Evangelism and Catholicism both like Jesus BUT they disagree on the Virgin's sanctity. Hinduism and Buddhism like non-violence and karma BUT they don't like the other's divine hierarchy. Islam and Baha'i disagree on their prophets' validity, and Atheism and Agnosticism differ because one disbelieves divinity and the other one pleads the fifth.

I came onto this subject because two of my friends, both quite relevant in my current context, belong to differing religious standpoints. Alice belongs to Islam, and Beth belongs to Baha'i. I didn't know much about either a few months ago. I knew that Baha'i had cool temples around the world, was very small, and came from somewhere in the Middle East. I also knew the basic things about Islam: Muhammad, Qur'an, beards, veils, no pork, prayer towards Mecca 5 times a day, women discrimination, and also from the Middle East. But now I've talked to both Alice and Beth, and I've learned what the inside perspective is on both. Apparently, they don't like each other that much. Baha'i arose from Islam because of a guy, who said he was a divine prophet. Some people agreed and became Baha'i. Islam didn't agree, and kicked them out. (I am grossly over-summarizing). Hence, discomfort.

I didn't know there was discomfort between the two at all. I thought "Hey, they're both from the Middle East, they've got lots of apostrophes in their names. Lots of desert, similar traditions, they should share some good things. Good times". So when Alice and I were figuring out where to go for a drive, I proposed we go see the Baha'i temple here in Chicago.

Because I think it is architecturally so cool.

And then the response surprised me:

"Baha'i is a cult, a stray group of people who are using Islam. I don't want to go there."

The attitude change in the conversation was striking, so I left it at that. She proposed we go to a Muslim center instead. And we did.

Later I spoke to Beth, and told her that I had a friend, Alice, who was Muslim. I told her about her reaction to the proposal of visiting the temple, and she said "Yes, there is discomfort between our beliefs. Probably us meeting is not such a good idea".

From my point of view, I know both Alice and Beth. They are both good people. They are both educated, they like to think for themselves, about their beliefs, and in my opinion, they both attempt to do good in their lives, both for themselves and for others.

So why wouldn't they want to meet? What impedes them? They can't meet because their CULTURES clash? So not only the potential relationship between them two, but between pretty much all pairs between Baha'i and Muslim people, the cartesian product of their sets, is somehow eliminated? All these possibilities, ruled out, because they don't like each other? It seems so restricting!

That's why Romeo and Juliet didn't make it, and why the Butter Battle kept on going. Wouldn't it have been awesome if Romeo and Juliet had made it? (They wouldn't have been as famous, though. Happier...)

I don't want to keep writing about what religions should or should not do, or whether they make sense, or whether there is a God... it's been talked about A LOT. However, I want to express a conception about conversations and information exchange in general, and its potential application to religions and society in general.

Imagine Beta and Psi have a conversation, each with his/her own ideas, experiences, and beliefs. Beta's set of conceptions is β, and Psi's set of conceptions is ψ. Between them, they will have ideas they agree upon, ideas they disagree upon, and each of them will have ideas that the other one has no knowledge of or standpoint about. Call the relationship between Beta and Psi λ.

It should be evident by experience and logic that exchanging agreements will tend to have a positive impact on λ, while exchanging disagreements will tend to have a negative impact on λ. Exchanging other ideas could lead either way, depending on how the newcomer interprets the idea based on his current experience.

So my proposal is: if you have a conversation, find your agreements, enjoy them, learn from each other's viewpoints, continue as long as you find harmony. When disagreed-upon ideas rise (and they will), do not delve too much into them, and do not take the other's opinion to personal offense. They have not had your experiences as much as you have not had theirs, so do not assume or enforce what they should or shouldn't think, do, or believe. Discuss disagreements only inasmuch as the conversation maintains a positive influence on λ. Do you feel offended? Are you starting to dislike your conversation partner? Change the topic. Stop. If they have an idea that works for them, why do you want to replace it with your own?

Discomfort tends to separation, separation tends to competition, and competition leads to violence. History shows this phenomenon, and it is observable in any human interaction you might observe: children in a playground, high school groups, employees in a workplace, neighbor relations, countries, religions. It even seems that we, human beings, statistically and psychologically, are meant to segregate, regardless of the reason. Distinct groups are formed, and when they meet at some point, instead of mixing in like red and blue paint to form purple, they tend to keep away, repel, and sometimes attack, like... something else. Oil and water? Something.

So keep away from uncomfortable disagreements, enjoy your similarities. Chill. For a very long time now, human beings have been born and raised into a world where pride and cultural separation are dominant, and where competition is praised and fueled with emotion, not only because of Darwin's and Adam Smith's theories, but just for the heck of it, because "that's how we do it!"

If a Jew and a Catholic were to converse and to follow the proposed rule (to keep away from uncomfortable topics), they would find their commonalities. If they were then to go talk to a Muslim using the same rule, they would find the commonalities between all three. If they subsequently then went ahead and talked with a Christian, a Hindu, a Baha'i, a Buddhist, and a Taoist in the same manner, they would end up with a small, common set of ideas which they ALL share.

And my impression is that these ideas would go along the lines of "Be good. Do good". And that matters such as what is God called, what is God like, how old the Earth is, should penises be circumcised, was that guy really holy, did that woman have sex, was Buddha really God, is that book fake, are cows sacred, are pigs dirty, do we reincarnate, did Adam and Eve exist, and what the best soccer team is could be left to each person to decide, without a need for imposing or enforcing your opinion on anyone else. So there would be a lot of diversity on opinions and combinations of these throughout the world. Kinda exactly like in our current world, but without the enforcing, imposition, or the violence. The change would merely depend on people's attitude.

Disclaimer: I mean offense or ill repute to no person, culture, or belief system. And I got the image from Google Images. And I completely made up the soccer conversation.

Week #3

Besides telling individual people, I decided to post a picture of the IV in my arm on my facebook wall to show where I was, and to give them a hint of what had happened to me. At least one person found out about it through that picture, namely Mimi (and through her, Maia). Messages from other people were also coming in, but in my mind I kept a list of special friends with whom I do not sure social groups, and so would not find out by themselves. I have been telling these people individually as it feels right. I was most amazed, however, by a message that I got from a person whose name I didn’t even know.

I did not bike the entire way from Chicago to Lafayette – a man and his wife picked me up on the way and gave me a 30-mile ride on his truck, possibly saving my butt from permanent numbness or extreme pain. I gave him a note of thanks for the ride with my name on it, and we said goodbye when he dropped me off at a gas station. I never got his name, so I was quite surprised when I received a get-well card from a certain David Sell. It was a most pleasant surprise to know that this man had given me a ride on his truck, and had learned of my accident from his daughter on the local newspaper. I haven’t responded to his letter yet, but I plan to do so soon. I appreciate his card and concern maximally.

I was supposed to be discharged from the hospital on Nov 1st, exactly 2 weeks after coming in. That same day, however, I complained of chest pain when breathing deeply, so the doctors ordered a few more tests. After x-rays of my chest, ultrasound of my legs, and a chest CT scan, the doctors diagnosed me with blood clots in my legs and a pulmonary embolia in my left lung. They told me I would now have to stay in the hospital for a few more days until the problem was controlled, so my discharge date was postponed. Although then the rental car my brother had gotten from the airport was now useless (he was planning to drive me to Chicago that day), I was very happy to stay in the hospital for a few more days. This was partly because the nurses that took care of me were funny and caring, and many of them also very pretty, but mostly because I did not feel ready for discharge. My legs and arm still hurt tremendously, and I only felt painless after receiving my dose of Delaudid, which immediately made me feel warm and woozy, and distanced the pain from my mind. Man, I miss my Delaudid.

Speaking of nurses, man, there were really some pretty ones. Most of them were married or had children, but only recently so. Young, kind, and taking good care of me, I easily became attached to several of them as good friends. I remember several very kindly. Bethany had a plump, smooth, pretty face, very midwestern-looking, and took care of me efficiently, but taking care not to hurt me, and always agreeable to a little conversation. Nita was a larger, older black woman who always talked to me while she changed my sheets or washed my body. I could tell she was fully dedicated to making me feel better. Edna, with asiatic features, was caring and/but efficient. Then Dymphna, an older greek-seeming woman with glasses took care of me a couple of times. Mallory, whom I sometimes mistook for Bethany, but chattier. Then there were John and Matthew, both of them black men on night shifts – very kind and always happy to answer my questions. There was Matt Humphrey, my first physical therapist, then Tammy who first helped me get to the bedside commode (that was such a relief), then George, who helped me stand up fully on my left leg. Dr Crozen knew spanish and explained my surgeries to my heart’s content before going into the operating room, Dr Jelen was my primary surgeon, and Alyssa, Jelen’s assistant, stopped by regularly to evaluate my legs and arm, removed bandages, and changed my dressings.

So many people that I met – and I’m not counting my case manager, my discharge manager, the housekeeping service, or the food delivery people. There were other nurses whose names I can’t quite recall now, but out of all them, Trina was my absolute favorite. She was always concerned about my comfort and kept my sheets and body clean. She was very pretty, always smiling and in a good disposition, she drew a cute smiley face next to her name on the whiteboard in my room, she gave me sponge baths (ALL over – that was nice), and our conversations frequently slid into quasi-flirting. She said I was a handsome guy, with dark hair and skin like she liked them, and I told her what I thought of her pretty face and fair skin. I wasn’t thinking of going anywhere past flirting, of course, but it gave me a nice thing to look forward to during my hospital days. It was especially nice to see her drop by sometimes just to talk with me – we enjoyed each other’s company.

At the end of my third week, my chest pain subsided, my blood thinner took full effect in my body, and my case manager thought it was a good time for my discharge. They wanted to discharge me on thursday, but I told Vanessa my dad couldn’t pick me up until saturday, so she allowed me to stay a few more days in the hospital. Which was nice. During these days, I was able to train on my wheelchair with my physical therapist George, and I re-learned to stand. Finally, on saturday morning, my dad appeared in my room, along with my uncle and cousin, and after some packing and George’s help, I was wheelchair’d out of the hospital and into the rental van, which brought my tired and nauseated self (car travel can be very nauseating after not doing it for a while) to my parent’s place here in Chicago.

Week #2

My iPhone was what kept my attention most of my time in the hospital. Whether I was responding to emails, txting, reading facebook, listening to music, or watching movies on netflix, I had this little device beside me the whole time. As I communicated with people, however, I eventually told them where I was and what had happened, and so news spread fast. Already Marcos, Min, and my parents knew, so I could be sure all my Reddwerks friends knew, the entire ML department would soon find out, then my advisor, the people I worked on research with, and of course my entire family. Later on I told Julian, implying my casual Pittsburgh social circle to find out. I told Marcelo Garza, implying that my closest friends from high school would find out, and then Marcelo Mota, implying my computer science social circle from UVG.

Sure enough, during the following few days, I started receiving messages from friends and family I had not heard from in months, even years, asking me what had happened, how was I, and wishing me a fast and thorough recovery. It was nice to know I mattered to them, though it did become boring to type and say the same story over and over and over again to different people – bike trip, accident, hospitals, surgeries, doctors’ prognosis, plan to be a disabled person for at least 3 months, and up to a year. I mostly told the story objective and resigned, but a few times emotion got the better of me, and I shed a few unsaid tears, deeply disappointed by my turn of events, and afraid of never having a fully able body again. I am still afraid of that. I’m encouraged, however, because even though I may not achieve my full body potential, I’m sure I’ll achieve enough of it to end my life in case it turns out to be too unsatisfactory for me.

One of my closest friends, Julian, was especially affected by the news, and organized a trip to visit me along with Ashik and Jose. I was very glad that they would travel all the way from Pittsburgh to see me. It would be another roadtrip, one of several we had already enjoyed that year. But this time, I switched from being the driver to being the destination. Funny, how things turn out.

That wednesday, my mom visited me in the hospital. That same night I had my right ankle operated on. When I woke up, I felt very hazy and weak, but I did manage to ask a few questions to a doctor sitting right next to me, writing something on a desk. He told me the operation was a success, and several sleepy and uncertain episodes later, I was back in my hospital room, my mom and Marcos around me, with a strong throbbing pain where the operation had just taken place.

The next few days I waited for Julian, Ashik, and Jose to come. When they did, I was happy, and we talked and laughed for a few hours. They brought me chocolate and stuff, I think a card, and some clothes from my room in Pittsburgh. Oh yes, and my USB extension cord! That has been extremely useful since then.

Our conversation was happy but a little short. They had to leave fairly soon, but not without taking a few group pictures with Jose’s Epic camera first. They left for Chicago and planned to look for party places on saturday night, and then stay with a friend of Ashik’s.

Weekend #1

After waking up on Thursday morning and telling Marcos what I remembered from my accident, we didn’t talk much. We knew we should notify my parents about it, but we decided to wait a few days until my condition was more stable and there was less of a reason to panic, which they do quite often.

I’d told Min about the accident by this time, and he almost immediately told me he would come visit me over the weekend. With a 7-hour drive between us, I appreciated his show of concern. A few messages later, he informed me that he would not be traveling alone. Af first Yang joined him, and shortly thereafter, Leila and Ina were coming too. Though not very surprised about this, I felt very grateful for their kindness.

I spent the remaining few days expecting their visit, unknowingly anxious to see a few familiar faces. They arrived on Saturday after noon, and it was, indeed, very pleasant to see their faces again. They brought me clothes, food, get-well cards signed by MLD, flowers, and a small cactus, which they said represented my resilience (exemplified by my not dying after a car hit me straight-on).

It was around lunchtime, so Min and Yang went out to get food, while Leila and Ina kept me company. It just so happened that I was scheduled for an MRI head scan that day, so we didn’t talk much before a transporter came and rolled my bed over down to the MRI room, Leila and Ina following. We got to talk about irrelevant but distracting things all the way. Once outside the MRI room, a doctor came to get me, and told me to transfer beds. I did so slowly, with difficulty and pain, but managed. I then realized how pitiful and pathetic I must’ve seemed to my friends, and I felt a sting of shame cross my sad body.

After listening to loud and boring machine hums droning from the MRI machine around my head, I was taken outside, and again my friends watched as I crawled my useless body back onto my bed. I was then taken back to my room, where Min and Yang had luckily just gotten back from picking up food. Apparently, they got a free extra pizza because of a shop mistake.

They eventually left back for Pittsburgh, and only Marcos and I remained in the room. We then called my dad and told him about the accident. It was great that he picked up the phone, for he could tell my mom the news most delicately.

My dad arrived at the hospital the very next day, and stayed with me until the day after. I wasn’t really happy to see him see me in my condition, but I was most relieved that my parents knew and the notification process was over with.

Oct 20th

A couple of days passed in my hospital bed, still refusing to accept my accident and my broken body, but the bandages, my pain, and my even more painful immobility proved me wrong too many times. Nurses coming in and out of my room at all times introduced themselves amicably, and were willing to exchange a little chit-chat while they prepared my medications or while they took my blood pressure. I maintained a stable, even cheerful image during this time, even though my mind was constantly reeling, trying to figure out what would this accident mean for my life. In the past, I’ve learned to calmly accept all events in life as irreversible and to try to make the best of whatever the current situation is, but when the doctors explained that my surgeries would insert metallic pieces in me to keep my bones together, and when I saw an inkling of hesitation when they predicted a full, though long recovery, I could not help but feel forlorn at the loss of a great asset: my body, my health.

I guess it was lucky that the iPhone 3GS in my pocket survived the accident perfectly intact, covered by the $1.38 hard plastic cover I bought on Amazon, though I would’ve gladly had it break in exchange for one of my legs. This phone allowed me to focus on things beyond my external fixtures and my hospital room. I could still keep in touch with people and email, find information about the meds I was getting on wiki, and watch netflix instant movies to pass time.

Shame and sadness deep inside me, I refused to tell any of my friends or family about my accident. I kept it to myself as I do most things, following the rule of minimal information. Who needed to know about this? No one… yet. The nurses and doctors were taking good care of me. But then my friends began asking where the hell I was (no more than 3 other people knew about the bike trip I’d begun 5 days before), so I told them I was in a hospital in Indianapolis, recovering from a grave car-bike accident. After that the news spread quickly through my social neighborhood, and then that very night, after the surgery on my right shoulder, I woke up to a reality check: to see my brother walking into my hospital room, just recently flown from Austin that same afternoon.

Oct 18th

Monday was a turmoil of ambulances, doctors, and x-rays while laying down on a hospital bed. I couldn’t yet fully believe that my bike trip had been rotundly interrupted, and I thought of little else. What I did know was that no friends or family of mine knew of the accident as of yet. Still keeping my project to myself, I refused to tell anyone about it. Only Leneve got to know about it that day. and I only told her to let her know about my last will stored in my gmail, which she was to carry out in case my surgeries ended up killing me. I wrote that will just before skydiving, and though it was a bit outdated, I think it was a thoughtful gesture, if not a tad overdramatic. (I did ask the doctors around me, and they said that the probability of me dying was not zero).

On Monday night, I woke up from the surgery on my left tibia, slightly disappointed of being alive, feeling tired, frustrated, and a little confused. I was unsure of what to do, unsure of who to tell, ashamed that my gem of a project had ended so miserably and so fast. My main feelings were sadness and shame.

Broken plans

Not that much time has passed. 3 weeks. 3 weeks. I had hoped so much for these 3 weeks, and for a longer time after too. I was a very different person 3 weeks ago. Not a completely different person, but I was someone who could go to the toilet by myself. Who could stand, and walk And I had such different plans, too. I was inspired, fascinated by the possibilities and the places that I could go to, by the things that I could see, and learn. What were these things, I did not know. Regardless, I was fascinated.

Then all of these plans, along with many bones in my body, were smashed and broken in one moment. In no more than a few seconds. One driver’s slip of attention, one bike that was neither slower nor faster than it was – had it been, it might have just avoided the collision; one road that just happened to lack a shoulder for the bike to ride on, a cyclist’s ideal a little too dangerous: they all coincided at that one moment when the cyclist was broken. A quick transfer of unmeasured momentum, too much for the cyclist’s stability, accelerated him too much, and he and his extremities crashed onto everything at once: onto his bike, the car, the cold air, the rough road, onto his own flailing, senseless self.

One gift helmet kept the cyclist’s head intact. One big grey backpack took the blow that would’ve cracked the cyclist’s neck and spine instead, that would’ve changed today’s scenario widely. From a hospital to a graveyard, from family’s care to mourning. From surgeries to ceremonies, from pain to oblivion.

I wonder if I ever had a choice, during those brief moments while my body was being crumpled and my mind shut itself down. Did I ever decide, in a near-death-experience, “I refuse to be stopped here! I will get up and move on!”? Given my injuries (mostly extremity traumas), probably not, but so little could've changed my state. A butterfly could’ve saved me, could’ve killed me. But it did neither. Maybe it got distracted by the colorful leaves of Autumn, confusing them for flowers. Or maybe it didn’t like me.

Whatif’s aside, the crash broke my left tibia, my right ankle, my right humerus, my left shoulder blade, ribs 2 & 4 on my right side, and a hipbone. Seeing as this is not something that happens every day (at least not to me), I think it is a worthy activity to record the main occurrences of my journey back to a minimally assumed healthy body capability on some kind of media. I’ve got some pictures, and I’ve got memories, so I’d like to start my journal here.

What could've been

I like bikes, especially my own, and I like using it. I also like to travel, and I am fascinated by the complete and dense connectivity of cities and roads, especially in a country such as USA. Now that I have a lot of free time, I want to bike between cities, as an experiment, as a great way to meet good people, to expand my mental boundaries, and to get a good workout. I’m very excited about this project of mine. I started in Chicago, traveled 120 miles to Lafayette, and will tomorrow morning ride the 90 or so miles to Indianapolis. I’ve gotten a few pictures on the way, of which some have looked nice.

This is the beginning of what could’ve been.

Piss me off

There are two things that piss me off about this whole deal:

- Given what happened, you are really lucky to be alive.

LUCKY??? Fuck YOU. I'm lucky to have my legs broken? To be a crippled person, who can't even shit without needing help? To hurt all over my body while my body heals? And I'm lucky... because I'm alive?? Consider the alternative, if I had died. What would have happened? I would've died, and I would have never woken up on that street, or anywhere else. I would've disappeared, vanished, not felt any pain, any broken bones, and my last thoughts would've been about riding to Indianapolis, my last image that of a beautiful sunrise, no regrets and no unhappiness. No pain, no woes, no hospital bills, no surgeries, no pills to take, no FUCKING parents to stay with forcedly for months. Yeah, lucky, thanks a lot.

You know what would've been lucky? If the car had JUST missed me, maybe. If half a centimeter away from my handlebar, the air current pushed me off the road onto the grass and made me fall, and I had scraped my knee. Yeah, that would've been lucky. Real lucky. Right after falling, I'd be thinking "WOW, lucky me! ALMOST got shattered by a car, but not quite! Must be my lucky day!" Not a good event, but I would've continued my travels. Broken bones? Metallic hardware inserted for life? Probable arthritis on my right ankle forever? Not too lucky, I think.

Everyone fucking assumes I want to stay alive. Fuck. If I had just been given the chance to choose. "Hello Mr. Juarez. You broke 7 bones, and we can fix them, but it will hurt like hell and you will take at least a year to recover fully, after we bill you 6 digits only to be able to approximate your previous healthy condition. You'll be pretty screwed up for life. Instead, we can also provide you with a complimentary mercy kill. Which one do you prefer?" Which one would YOU take, huh? People assume they want to stay alive for something. What the FUCK for? I don't see much to look forward to. I wouldn't mind either way, but given my situation, I would've gone for death.

You know what I think, doctors? DO NOT fucking say "you're very lucky to be alive" UNLESS you've been through that. If you haven't yet woken up to half your body being broken and to months of recovery from a crippled existence, you don't have the right to say that. I'd respect it from someone who's been through it, yeah. But not from you, who only assume that life is better than death under all circumstances.

- I hope you get better soon!

Soon? And do you really hope so? Please. Does it really make a difference to you? I die... what difference will that make in your life, huh? Will your life fall to pieces? How important am I to you, really? Hell, I'm not blaming you. I'm not saying you're an asshole for saying that - I'd say that too if I were in your place. But the fucking cliche is almost as annoying as my mother's obsessive need for control, and it really doesn't help much in my actual recovery.

During the first days after my accident, when I was in my hospital room getting a few visitors, I felt cheerful. Sincerely so. I thought "oh well, an accident, what am I going to do? Make the best of it, right? I have no legs, but maybe I'll get a computer, and learn a language, write, get an online job... I don't know, something." But as time's gone by - 6 weeks since the accident now, I don't feel like it. A language, maybe - but here in my house environment - uggggh. I'm trapped in the fucking environment I wanted to get away from for so long. And then I was away from it - free, happy, fully unaffected by it, and WHAM! I get sucked back in here with my parents.

So now I'm recovering at their place - slowly... my body feels a little less pain, a little more strength, more flexibility with time. Not every day is better than the last, but I can see a difference every week. And you know what I have to look forward to? There is only one thing I look forward to doing in life after I recover. Sex. I really want to get some sex again. In view of the whole world and of all the possibilities, having sex at the top of the list must mean something. I think it means I just didn't get enough of it before. That's the one regret I would've had if I had died. No others. And I really can't wait to be able to use all my four extremities and my hips fully again so I can fuck girls in more positions I've ever had before. That's my fucking goal in life. So, I'm lucky to be alive?

Broken

In the hope of killing some time and of getting some distraction until my pain medication starts affecting my nervous system, I will now write about the events I have narrated at least a dozen times during the past two weeks, ever since I came to Indianapolis.

After taking a leave of absence from my Ph.D. program, I began to indulge in diverse activities I had been postponing for some time: piano, parkour, python, android, dj'ing, dance, and physical workouts were on my list. I re-learned the Moonlight Sonata 1st movement, I began to learn the 3rd movement, I read through the entire python tutorial without ever producing an actual program, I began developing my own test android app, I downloaded and played around with tracks and clips in Fruity Loops and Ableton Live, I attended another dance class at The Space Upstairs, and for a few days at least, I woke up early and worked out in my room and in the neighborhood to get an early start. I painted a few t-shirts, I rode my bike everywhere, I learned more and more about its parts and how to fix them. I was doing anything I wanted to, but nothing too much in particular. I felt happy, developing skills of different kinds and takes, and I hoped to become a more well-rounded person, rather than the super-specialized programmer or researcher that my recent past life and Ph.D. program suggested I would.

Though I enjoyed doing anything I wanted, I realized after one or two weeks of this routine that I was advancing fairly slowly in most of my "trainings". Piano was my main focus, and I learned to play almost half of
the 3rd movement's timelength, albeit slowly, but my workout routines rapidly decayed, my parkour runs were less often than I would've wanted, and in general, I thought I might've been doing too much. I remembered a favored phrase of mine: "Whoever
chases two rabbits catches neither", so I began to think that perhaps I should discard some of my goals - maybe let them degrade naturally, by lack of my own motivation, or think of one single goal that I would feel really, truly
excited about, and follow that one with zeal. I started to think of the latter option.

One of the properties of the modern world that I find quite amazing, though objectively obvious, is its connectivity. Every road is connected to every other road in each continent/island/archipelago. If people
can connect two roads with a third, they will. There exist lengthy bridges and tunnels everywhere. Pittsburgh is a prettty good example of this, Venice also, and one of the most amazing ones: the underwater tunnel
between the UK and France.

But engineering wonders aside, what astounds me the most is the amount of possibilities this allows a traveler. Every road is connected to every other road in continental America, so if I were standing on the CMU parking garage and I felt like I wanted to go to the Atacama desert or to the center of Buenos Aires or to Machu Pichu or to the Strait of Bering or to the doorstep of my childhood house in Guatemala, I could begin traveling the roads and eventually get to any destination I wanted. It would require patience, yes, but the possibility is always There. Latent, waiting, open to anyone daring enough to attempt it. And that possibility really excited me, inspired me. It made me feel that if I opened up these possibilities, I would learn much of the world by connecting two places that in my mind are distant and different, accessible only through expensive passage and others' vehicles like airplanes.

Anyway, a few days later, I visited a farmer friend north of Pittsburgh, in another attempt to find a great goal. Farming didn't seem exactly my kind of work, noble and rewarding as it may be, so my road-traveling idea filled my mind more and more. I was almost sure that one of those days, I would just take off with my bike and wander through many cities, meeting all kinds of people and places. I felt confident in my recently-acquired abilities to repair my own bike and on my ability to pedal fairly long distances, so I decided to try it out. Coincidentally, as many other things in my life, I found a way to jumpstart my trip. Stewart, a couchsurfer friend was heading west for a new job and asked me for a place to stay in Pittsburgh the night of Thursday, Oct 14th. I offered him my living room, and also asked him for a ride west to Chicago, where I could start my bike ride with much less danger of tiring out and going back too soon. He had a bike rack on his car, so it all worked out. I hosted him on thursday night, we left Pittsburgh friday at noon, and arrived in Chicago at night. There I met some of Stewart's friends, I was hosted by one of them
in a big room, and then I woke up early on Saturday morning. I got dressed, picked up my stuff, put on my helmet, and began riding.

My parents live in Chicago, but I wanted no one to know of my trip. And not my parents - they - my mom, especially, would surely disagree with my idea, attempt to persuade me to change my mind, put in their opinions. And in my self-centeredness, I considered this goal, this grandiose project of mine, to be mine alone and no one else's. And I wanted it to remain pure and untouched.

So all day Saturday, I biked south and east towards Lafayette, IN. I had never pedaled such a long distance on a single day before, but I managed the best way I could. My butt hurt, my "natural" (non-exhausting) rate of travel was slower than I had thought, and I would have never made it before dark, were it not for the kindness of a couple who picked me and my bike up on their truck and drove me about 30-40 miles on the same highway I was riding. I reached Marcelo's apartment tired but happy, and I surprised him with my new "project": riding through as many cities as I could - getting to know the cities, meeting random couchsurfing hosts in each one, and getting good exercise done in the process.

Sunday, the next day, I woke up late and made pancakes with Marcelo and his brother Eduardo. I also went to Walmart and equipped myself and my bike with some things I thought I needed, such as a gel pad, a side mirror, a flashlight, and sunblock. Then I went back to Marcelo's apartment, ate some grilled sausage and steak, and talked more with Marcelo about anything we thought of. A few hours later, we went to sleep.

I woke up early - at 4:00 am, to avoid getting caught in the road at night like I almost had during my previous ride. The road to Indianapolis was shorter, but I would more rather have too much time than not enough of it. I said goodbye to Marcelo, I finished prepping up, and I was on the road by 4:50. It was still dark, but with my night lights, and still in the city, I felt safe enough. It was cold though, so I stopped at a McDonald's to warm up my hands and to get some breakfast. I got an apple pie and a pumpkin pie, and I waited to feel a good moment to ride. Once I felt my body nice and warm enough again, I took to the road with my bike, and rode on.

A steep uphill and a few traffic lights later, I was on 52-E, slowly but steadily pedaling on towards Indianapolis. I got temporarily lost on a detour, but eventually got back on the road. It was already past 6:30 by now, but the sky was not yet entirely clear. I could see dawn coming along, and the green/cyan aura of sunrise facing me, and I hoped that it wouldn't be long before the sun's warmth acted on the surprisingly cold morning. I even made up a chant to rise the sun up: "Rise, Sun, Rise Sun Rise, Please Sun Rise, C'mon Sun Rise, Please, Rise, Rise, Sun, Rise, Warm us with your warmth, Shine on us with your light. Turn, Earth, Turn Earth Turn,...." and so on.

This is where it gets very fuzzy. After the chanting and the pedaling, my memory finds a gap, and the next thing it remembers is waking up from the street, confused, unsure of where I am, what I am doing, and what just happened. Initial sensations were very dull and fuzzy, and as my brain rushed to put together a mental concept of the cold rough street on my face, my body's awkward position, my inability to move, my slowly but surely focusing pain, and my own confusion, I realized a vehicle must have hit me from behind, and I felt very sad. This probably meant the end of my trip, which was almost all I cared about at the moment.

In the next few moments, I heard some voices behind me asking questions, and I answered as coherently as I could. These voices took off my helmet and my backpack, asked where it hurt, and turned me around. When I turned, my eyes went from seeing nothing to a pair of yellow headlights and a couple of women kneeling and looking down into my face, asking me questions, trying to keep me at me,

**UNFINISHED DUE TO BLOGGER NEGLIGENCE**

Indiana Hitch

:) :) a couple picked me up in their truck. they were so nice! I was changing my sweaty underwear on the side of the road and figuring out if my backside was somehow irritated, when a pickup truck passed on the highway and honked at me. I thought they were either cheering me on or accusing me of showing off my butt in the highway, and I waved back happily just to be polite. So I returned to my backside, and decided to try to make my own cushion on my bike seat, so I got my small triathlon towel and duct-taped it to the seat. While i was doing that, I saw the same pickup truck coming back on the other side of the road, honking at me again. A little perplexed now, I decided to wait for them to see what they wanted to tell me. Then it came back again to where I was, and an old man with a moustache asked me if I wanted a ride. Slightly hesitant because of the "cheat" it would imply on my bike ride, i decided my butt hurt enough and happily took the offer. It's an old couple - they are so nice!!!

dream 2010100405.txt

"Dream last night was quite action-paced. It started out by covering an entire story in which bugs came from outer space and conquered the planet with overwhelming numbers and sheer grossness (and I was a futuristic soldier fighting them in the very corners of drains around the city) which repeated itself over several times (I was trying to get the dream right and win, I guess). But we always ended up losing - the bugs were too many, too resilient, and too intelligent.

My second dream was slightly more realistic. I dreamed I was back in Guatemala, and I was biking on a street on some kind of downhill. I was going pretty fast on the sidewalk, and I noticed a car on the intersection right in front of me, unmoving. I stopped fairly abruptly, not too much, to avoid hitting the car of course, and as I did, I saw the 2 guys in the car looking at me in a very suspicious manner. I knew what they were talking about: "Let him hit us - we'll then take him and be able to rob and kidnap him". They looked disappointed when I didn't hit them, but then another cyclist came from the left on the intersecting street, and him them full-on on the front of the car. Then the two guys got out of the car and started talking to him, telling him that they should go settle the accident somewhere else. He was politely declining, but I knew what the guys really wanted from him. I even knew what they were thinking - "oh yeah, this guy looks like a rich yuppie, we'll get his wallet and his bike, he's a great catch". Wanting to help, but not wanting to get involved, I signalled to him big NO's with my hands and head, not shouting out, and trying to remain out of the 2 guys' sight. I think the guy understood what I was saying, but I also saw the guys noticing what I was doing, so I immediately began biking away, again downhill, scared of the 2 guys who surely must have connections with other miscreants all over town.

Biking as fast as I could through the city, I saw many people in the street giving me hard looks, and then calling someone on their cellphones, and I knew that they were calling the 2 initial guys. I was a target, and I had to escape.

I wandered off onto a narrow dirt trail that ended near a tall chain-link fence. I grabbed my bike onto my shoulder and climbed the fence with it, but right as I was doing so, a couple of park guards saw me and began to chase me. I thought that I was much better off in the hands of guards than of the miscreants, so I decided to talk to them. I talked to one of them on the other side of the fence: "I'm being chased by 2 very bad guys and they want to kill me! Please help, please help". He saw me and believed me, and then he listened to the rest of my story. It was all going well, until another guard on a truck, possibly the head guard, drove by us and told us that some bad guys had learned that I was hiding there, and that we had to move. So I started biking and followed the guards' truck (yeah, I could keep up), and biked away as fast as I could. I wasn't entirely sure why they wanted to kill me or why was I so important to them, but I just knew I had to escape. And that's when my dream starts to fade."

Sterile

Sterile in the fields of correctness and clarity, I've flattened out the subjectivities and the ambiguities, convinced that vacuity was the way to truth. I broke the vases, threw the paintings away, scraped the wallpaper clean off. gave the furniture away, cracked the walls, pulverized the blocks, flattened the terrain, and removed substance out of whatever remained, and inferred, kept, a wireframe model of what could be a home, but no home at all. I have possibilities, ideas, models, concepts, designs, and solid, perfect implications, but barely any implementation. A couple of axioms, a postulate at most, but no more. Why bother with a thing when you have its concept? Why construct a building when you have its blueprint? What is its merit? Following instructions, instantiating a cooking recipe, has no value in the land of the abstract. But to my later dismay, the abstract does not encompass the human mind, much less the human experience, and often I am urged with the need of something that my barren world cannot represent.

Random water thoughts

Today as I swam and as I lay in the jacuzzi, a few thoughts crossed my mind, and I found at least one of them noteworthy enough to be written down.

1. I never get any girls. Why is that?. I'm not horribly ugly or deformed, or have foul manners or hygiene, nor am I really poor. My body is quite healthy, I have an education, I have money, and I am not dumb. However, I never get any girls. Not any. Not one. Every single girl I have pursued has rejected my advances. This lack has been the cause of much sadness and discontent in me, but now I'm trying to dissect the situation and figure it out. What's missing? Why do I always fail? I came up with this hypothesis today while swimming: I do not give them enough attention, I do not try hard enough. Once they express their intention to not upgrade our friendship to a loving relationship, I stop trying. And no girl will ever agree to it at the first try. Is that true? That's what I've heard. Anyway, why is that? Why do I stop trying? The explanation I came up with today is conditioning. I've been conditioned to stop trying, because I have always failed. If I have pursued 100 girls, and I have come up with rejection 100 times, and each rejection hurts... why should I keep trying? It fucking hurts every time. Conditioning. People who fail too much initially will learn to stop trying... it is the logical behavior, given the data. Poor them. And take this from someone in that situation: at one point, you forget how to try harder, and you never do, even if you really really want to. You just don't know how to, and you don't. And fucking shame prevents you from re-learning how to again.
2. I gave a rose to Diane. I was thinking what would happen if I came back next year, and she had died? And maybe Laura would have also died? (I gave her a rose too). That would be weird. Would I think I had the power to kill by giving a rose? I was thinking what kind of applications would that have. Assassination by rose-giving? If I hated some artist's music, I could give him/her a rose, disguised as a fan gift, and let my "property" do its thing. T'would be weird.
3. I was also thinking what will be my method to disconnect? I have too many online accounts - too much of my life invested in virtual realities. Can I disconnect myself completely? I'd like to. Who will I trust with my online assets? Marcelo has been the person most on my mind... Julian kind of surfaced but was quickly rejected. Laura? Too close, too recent, and too concerned. Marcelo seems like the correct person so far.

Exposure

• In photography, exposure is the total amount of light allowed to fall on the photographic medium (photographic film or image sensor) during the process of taking a photograph. Exposure is measured in lux seconds, and can be computed from exposure value (EV) and scene luminance over a specified area.
• vulnerability to the elements; to the action of heat or cold or wind or rain; "exposure to the weather" or "they died from exposure";
• the act of subjecting someone to an influencing experience; "she denounced the exposure of children to pornography"
• the disclosure of something secret; "they feared exposure of their campaign plans"

I have received comments from several readers that I should be careful with what I post on my blog. They meant it kindly, mind you. Not in a you-are-so-dumb-be-careful-with-what-you-post-or-you-better-watch-your-step kind of attitude. They just pointed it out, like asking "hey, that's not something people usually shout out. Did you really mean that stuff to be public?" I did mean it, and I told them so. Why shouldn't I let everyone see the poems I like? Or the thoughts, trivial or long, that I make up? They describe my reasoning and my ideological taste. Why shouldn't people know my feelings? They show how I react to various situations. Why shouldn't I tell the internet about my history, my activities? If no one else exposes their own, it does not mean I don't have the right to.

But when I was pointed out that my blog entries were "too public" by other people, I could not help but feeling, inside of me, a tingling sensation of exposure that made me rethink my privacy threshold. There are still certain "secrets" I keep that I feel an obligation to keep undisclosed, and I frequently teeter-totter on the border of ambiguity to spill them out. I have no problem with, and even like to, disclose myself in my entirety. But I run into the same privacy issues that online social networks face these days - one cannot disclose oneself entirely without also disclosing everyone around one to an extent that they find uncomfortable. And if the people one knows were to become uncomfortable with one's disclosures, all of them would refuse to continue being around one, and one would end up alone and friendless. How sad. Or would one end up only with people that don't mind being completely open about their lives? I just don't think I know anyone like that. Hmm... nope, don't think so.

Today's society demands a certain level of privacy, and it enforces it with habit and with shame. The connections and dependencies between people are very strong, in any case, and a person often thinks that others are eager to disconnect with them if they find out his "secrets" are revealed. But is that really the case? And if so, is keeping these connections worth keeping parts of himself constrained?

And the closer a person is to you, the stronger a friend and you are connected, the more you know about her. The more she confides in you, the more she trusts you not to divulge her information. But that information has also, in a way, become your information. You now share a piece of knowledge of which you don't have ownership or right to expression. By knowing your friend's secrets, you have lost your right to express whatever you want, whatever is on your mind. Does that make sense? Is it worth it?

Many of these concepts may seem trivial or absurd to even mention. Like asking "Why do objects fall? Do they have to fall? Maybe we can make them NOT fall!". Expression. Is expression a good thing? All in good measure, as some say. But good measure is way too often confused with whatever, it works, let's just keep on doing it the same way, and that is an attitude I beg to oppose. That is why I feel the limits of privacy, like those of many other things, should be bent, and the area outside of them tested. Scouted. Experienced. Not for everyone, of course. Everyone has their right to their privacy. But we also have the right to our disclosure, and it is my opinion that this is one we do not exercise enough.

I have written blog entries that contain information other people find disturbing. Not too much - I don't really have a reason or feel the need to directly clash with other people's opinions or beliefs, and I actually have an over-sensitive concern for the possible negative consequences I might induce upon others with careless actions. But a couple of times they have been disturbing enough to cause someone else to ask me whether I really meant them to be published. Which makes me think I'm on the right track.

However, I have been accumulating secrets ever since 2007. Actually, I've been accumulating secrets ever since the year 2000, but only those since 2007 have prevented me from publishing blog entries. And these darn secrets are terrible. I don't like them. They constrain my expression, and make me feel as if I should be ashamed of something about myself. I shouldn't... but I keep the secrets nonetheless. Because they are not just mine. Because I am not their owner. Sigh.

And now counting... I have thirty-three unpublished blog entries. Thirty-three. Out of three hundred and thirty four. Almost 10% of my blog entries are kept private because of secrets in relationships. Why do they so often end up in secrecy? Maybe one of these days I should just assume that my blog is rarely read anyway, and consider that most everyone doesn't really care.

There is another effect that occurs due to exposing oneself entirely that I think is worth knowing: dilution. Well, that's what I call it.

When one initially conceives an idea, it is entirely one's own. It has one's own particular personality imprinted upon it, fresh, pure, and usually simple. The particular way in which one conceives an idea is perfectly unique, as it springs from one's unique perspective and context, equal to no one else's. Like a fresh piece of code one wrote oneself, one understands it perfectly and knows it from top to bottom. It comes directly from Plato's "World of Ideas", in a manner of speaking.

If this idea is shared with someone else, this other person will take this idea in and attempt to fit it into his own conceptual framework. Since the idea and the way in which it was expressed are unique, this other person will need to make some kind of adjustment to the idea to fit it into his own framework. Relate it to his own context, recreate with pieces of his own knowledge and experience, which can be a whole lot different from one's own. It will rarely, if ever, have the exact same representation in the new person's mind. At this point, the idea's "code" has been shared (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Apache_Subversion).

(As a note to the the previous paragraph, this is also why one should try to be as clear and accurate as possible when expressing ideas - to achieve a good approximation in the other person's mind).

The new person then naturally, after having inferred his own version of the idea, will have an opinion about it. Does it make sense to him? Does it fit in nicely with his own experience, or can he find counter-arguments or counterexamples to it? He will react to the idea SOMEHOW, whether he wants to or not. He can discuss it, counter it, agree with it, or make a facial expression that lets one know WHAT did this person think. He has reacted to it, so he has shared his opinion on it. He has submitted SOME change to the code through the versioning system. Either through direct opinion or not, one has received an opinion on one's own idea. The code is no longer pure - it has, at some level, been "diluted" with its environment.

This can be a very good thing if one trusts the other person to be better-suited to appreciate the idea. I would most probably trust H&R Block if they told me my idea on getting more tax money back won't work - their tax experience is way broader than mine. But I would be less inclined to trust a friend if he told me the food is having is not really that spicy - I consider myself to be the most knowledgeable person in matters of my own taste. There are just some things that one does not necessarily trust other people to know more about, or even understand. And the more personal these things are, the more likely this is true.

You might argue that one need not be affected by the other person's opinion on your idea, that one can keep the "pure" version of the idea, and need not perceive any consequence of this subtle exchange of opinions. But in my own experience, this turns out to be mostly false, especially if the idea is still fresh and undeveloped. Simple and pure as it starts, it is also growing and very sensitive to change. And one is not a perfectly controlled being - I see the division between one and the rest of the world as a semi-permeable membrane. One does not simply merge into its environment or viceversa through entropy, like a food colorant in water, or like smoke through a room - one rather exchanges controlled bursts of actions, depending upon one's own decision and convenience. But just like with living cells, this allows one only a certain level of control. Cells in a hypertonic saline solution will dehydrate, and a hypotonic saline solution will swell them up. One is always inevitably affected by one's environment, and even the gentlest opinion from another person on one's idea can alter it, especially if the idea is still new and fresh. In such a state, I believe the best course of action is to incubate this idea in one's mind and develop it by oneself, until one feels that it has reached a solid-enough state to be shared with its surroundings.

Thus, to avoid dilution of ideas, I think keeping some thoughts private is important - especially if one sees a high potential in them. And although each person can have a different opinion on the subject, this concept of "dilution" is what my own observations and experience have led me to infer.

Also, long-exposure pics are cool. But they come out really shaky sometimes, even with a tripod.