diaries of a revolutionist

What we see is not what IS TRUE. We must close our eyes in order to see We must blind ourselves from what society has taught us to see. To see is to believe that there is more to life than life itself. We must not be afraid to revolutionize.

[diariesofarevolutionist]

I will walk through the fire

Today was tough. 

I found out I had some cysts. 

I cried. 

It felt weird. I felt weird. It’s like my body wasn’t mine all of a sudden. 

As I type this tonight, with a heavy, but all of a sudden light heart, I’m saying, deciding, believing in the God that I follow. I will be strong. I will fight back. I will not be defeated by such news, but lift my head up even higher because I know the God I serve. And he never gives up on me, so how dare even doubt him and what he can do? For He is the God of the impossibles. The one that has healed, lifted the dead. The one who has defeated death itself. That is the God I pray to. A God of impossibles. A God that will be with me through every fire, that will hold my hand through every twist and turn, the one who has never let me go. I know he won’t this time. I know he never will. 

Whatever mountain this is, whether I’ll have to go through it or not, what I do know today is that in faith I’m standing strong. Believing in healing. Believing in who I’ve served all my life. Believing and knowing that he can and will. 

I will not doubt. 

I will not fear. 

I will cast all my anxiety, worries onto him because HE not ME is in control of my life. So here I am, as raw as it gets, giving it to you God, all that I have. All the fear. All the pain. All the tears. All of it. I will wait on you and on your goodness. 

I can keep crying in doubt or I can walk strong in faith. I choose to run. walk. go without knowing even how or where or even, with who... But all I know is that I know who you are. I know what you’ve done. I just know. I know. I believe you’re working on the situation. I know you see me. I know you feel that fear that I feel, that unsteadiness.... But in the midst of it all I’m saying thank you. 

Thank you for your rod, for your staff, for they comfort me. 

Thank you for lying me down in green pastures. 

Thank you for sending your only son to die on the cross. 

Thank you because the Holy Spirit lives not only in me, but is always on me. 

Thank you because no matter what happens, I know you’ll be there to help me conquer the mountains. 

Thank you for healing me. 

Thank you for just loving me. 

And thank you for putting amazing people around me. 

I love you God, forever and ever. 

xoxo

J

[diariesofarevolutionist]

you

I see a pattern. Writing helps me forget. It’s an avenue I use to drop all of my feelings, so that I can truly walk away. And here I am...seems like I’m ready again, to say it all so I can feel nothing has been left unsaid...

Here goes it... 

I don’t regret being with you. In fact, you showed me what it means to truly love someone. I never understood the meaning of “love” or how I was supposed to be treated and all of that...I never had experienced it before you. Not from any man, anyways. 

But you, you showed me. And I’m eternally thankful for that. I just want you to know that I did get to love you too. I loved your quirks, or the fact that you always wanted to protect me, I loved your amazing breakfasts’, I loved the way you’d make me tea or stroke my hair with the palm of my hands when I didn’t feel well, or take me to ride bike in the city even though I knew it wasn’t your thing. I loved that you always wanted to help me, talk me through not feeling so much fear (even when I was scared of just getting a silly shot)...You were there, and for that I thank you. 

I loved all of the flowers, the random notes you’d send me, the cookies, the engraved compass, I’ll never forget. It will always be in my heart. 

I guess it sucks we weren’t meant to be. I hated that at the end I felt you never accepted me for who I was, when I, at that point, had. I had accepted you whole-heartedly, even the things I thought I’d never be able to accept from someone. I guess that’s what hurt me and what stung me like no other...I was trying so hard, and you, you just gave up. You gave up on me...

But it’s ok. I don’t hate you. I don’t think I ever can or will. And even though I miss you, I know when things are meant to be, they just are and they will be. My grandma always said, that what’s yours, no one will ever be able to take it away from you. 

Perhaps some day, we’ll talk again. I’m sure you’ll never read this, but I just want you to know that it’s because of you, that I’ll never settle. You wanted to give me the world, and now, I don’t want anyone else that won’t offer me just that. So thank you. 

I guess it’s bittersweet, isn’t it? I know you’re a good person and it’s terrible because that’s exactly what I’m looking for. I guess we just don’t fit together. I wanted to give you everything of me, and I’m sorry if at some point it just wasn’t enough. 

I genuinely do want you to be happy even if it might hurt me to see you happy with someone else. Perhaps it’s too soon. Time heals all things. 

Anyways, I think I’m done now.  

J

[diariesofarevolutionist]

I’ll always have Paris

I think of the strolls we took in Paris, or when you tried to play a diplomatic role when asking me out on our first date... You the French Consulate and me, the Costa Rican/American one... I guess not much conflict there. 

I think about the times where we ate crepes at 3am after spending the night drinking at this lab like bar...where the cocktails had weird names, but we ended up loving them. And, where your lips touched mine the entire night. 

And then, how can I forget the time when you nervously took me to your place and attempted to play every playlist on Spotify, but none of them felt just right... 

I also remember the mornings where we would eat pain au chocolat, or this apple pie strudel like pastry...we’d exchange bites here and there. We were in love. I saw no eyes but yours...it was a movie. Some sort of film that was surreal, hopping around the city, going to drink tea, taking pictures and kissing at every turn... we were two kids that seemed madly in love with each other... a moment of bliss I suppose. 

I guess so many memories... And then you meeting my family, probably the moment I thought that would never happen. And, the fact that it went so well, I guess surprised me in the most delightful way. 

But now, we’re two strangers... sometimes I wonder if you still think about me in the way I do. 

I heard your voice today, but it felt strange, as if distant. Maybe you too are trying to protect yourself. I guess it’s time to forget & move on. But you’re still in the back of my mind and it’s harder than I thought...forgetting isn’t easy when the moments were so great. I guess thanks for the memories. Thank you for an adventure I never would have taken. Thank you for teaching me more about me, for loving me, for making me happy for whatever time it was. And even though I miss you, I guess there’s no other choice but to let go.    

Here’s to always having Paris... 

xoxo 

J

[diariesofarevolutionist]

Is it worth it?

It’s been about 13 hours of work. My fingers screaming at the keyboard, as they hit each of the keys heavily, as if angry–It’s the keyboard’s fault I’m still working! But, really, who’s fault is it?

That instigated the thought that perhaps I myself have chosen this corporate climbing ladder of a life, which I’m not really sure it’s worth it... Is it? All we go after really is one promotion after the other..But am I making an impact? Am I creating change? No. I’m just making some advertising, which in the end, reduces to a TV commercial some people saw but most missed, and, to a flyer which ends up in the recycling bin. 

Is this the life I want?

I’m not so sure. I truly consider myself to be an innovator, a visionary...someone who’s always seeing what is, but sees what could be. But where do I fit? Where does someone like me belong?

Seems like what they reward, in this place where I type my hands so heavily on the keyboard at, is people who just follow the instructions to the best of their ability. But I don’t want to follow instructions...I want to question, I want to create, I want to innovate, I want to make the impossible possible...So where do I fit, and why doesn’t THAT behavior get rewarded?

And so this is where I come to a *pause*. Is this the life I want to carry? Or am I ready to jump somewhere else?  

End rant. Goodnight. 

[diariesofarevolutionist]

en la orilla

todavía pienso en vos... en tus estupideces, en los momentos en que nos pasábamos riendo, cantando en el carro, en el “hello from the otherside”...en la comodidad y en el espacio que sentía porque podía ser “yo” sin pensarlo mucho...sí, todavía estás acá dentro... 

Sin embargo, también siento resentimiento, y no odio, pero como cuando te comes algo medio ácido y sentís tu lengua brincar del espanto... eso...ese sentimiento... 

No sé, supongo que también me pregunto si soy mala juzgando a las personas...será que no puedo distinguir entre los “buenos” y los “malos”? Eso me da un poco de miedo...el no saber...es decir, será que no puedo hacer la distinción?! 

No sé, no lo sé. Pensé que eras especial, pensé que vos también pensabas lo mismo de mí, pero cada día que pasa...lo dudo más.. y me dan ganas de dejarte en el olvido para siempre... 

Es por eso que estoy en la orilla... estás, pero no estás...te quiero pero a la misma vez te odio... te extraño pero al mismo tiempo me alegra de que no estés... no lo sé, supongo que el destino me lo dirá...

Por ahora, te ignoraré, porque no me ofreces nada de mi interés... y al menos de que tengas la propuesta que quiero...pues ahí te dejaré... 

[diariesofarevolutionist]

hello. it’s me.

Dear Diary, 

Today, I went to the museum again...to just breathe in more art, to feel and absorb all of the colors around me, or lack there of...To learn and I guess be in someone else’s shoes and submerge myself into each of these artists’ world, for just 15 minutes at a time, as I observed each of their masterpieces. 

This date I had at the museum, was also a real date with a man I met over a taco. Yes, you’re reading correctly–a taco.  I gave him one of my tickets so that he could get one, as he did not know that he had to purchase tickets in order to get food (he thought he could pay there) and anyways, next thing I know I’m at the museum with him. 

And so from this, perhaps the lesson is, or at least the golden nugget, is that we must give freely. His shock of me wanting to give something to a complete stranger, when I myself was hungry and wanted two tacos instead of one, resulted in getting to know someone, and being able to have the possibility to perhaps influence someone’s life for the better. 

It’s funny right? How people are shocked at these acts of kindness. And so there it is. I truly enjoyed this moment, because I got to reflect a little of the God that lives in me. And so the the night ended today with him writing me a perfect text message saying how I was a wonderful woman and how he’d love the chance to see me again. 

I don’t know if I will, truthfully, as these days, and I think for the majority of my life, I’ve chosen to be picky, and just wait for the one that I truly want to be with. I don’t want to just be with someone just to be, or just so that I won’t feel alone. I want it to feel right, and I’m not sure he feels that way to me. I just know deep down in my soul, that when I see this person, “him”, I’ll just know.... It sounds all so abstract, but somehow I have always had this feeling... 

Overall, today was a great day. I got to share and talk about art. And was able to give some part of me to a stranger whom I guess is no longer a stranger...his name is Michael. And, after that I got to go to a bookstore and just be there for an hour, reading about Cornelia Parker. I finally felt like me. Like the old days, in Boston where I’d used to trek on my own from place to place just observing, just being...Not caring. And today, I just didn’t care. I didn’t care what people thought of me. I didn’t care whether he’d show up for this date or not. I didn’t care or expect him to ever text back. I was just there, enjoying the art, absorbing the work, learning and sharing. For the first time, in a while, I felt comfortable with the idea of being alone, even if I had him by my side. 

But anyways, I also thought of you today. You’re always in the back of my mind, and it sucks that I don’t believe that I am in yours too. I guess life keeps teaching me the same lesson, and I’m hoping this time I’ll finally learn it... I must not repeat the same mistake I did years ago... waiting for someone who didn’t care, or who didn’t see me with the same eyes I saw him. I recognize the similarity of the situation, and so I choose to feel pain, but not dwell in suffering...for pain is inevitable, but suffering? Suffering is a choice. 

I must have faith. Faith in a plan that I myself have no idea of what it contains...but what I do know is that I’m feeling back to being me, and it feels nice. 

xoxo 

J 

[diariesofarevolutionist]

WHERE THERE IS LOSS, THERE IS MUCH TO BE FOUND.

Went to see an art exhibit this past weekend, and specifically saw a documentary and the work of an incredible Colombian artist, Doris Salcedo. She’s probably on my top 10 list now, simply because my skin felt goosebumps when I saw her work and when I heard her speak about why she does what she does every single day.

Salcedo, uses common objects, such as wooden furniture, concrete, grass, rose petals, in slightly uncommon ways. She seeks to convey how trauma, the act of mourning, can make life quite unfamiliar. The juxtaposition between her use of organic and inorganic materials, as well as, the familiar and unfamiliar is incredible. She encourages us to in a way delight and accept loss, and see it as a place where there is much to be found and discovered.

Her work attempts to bring dignity, humanity, back to those who have lost it due to tragedies, victims of torture, violence, and gives presence, and importance to those members of our community who are often marginalized because of it. She makes a spotlight for those who are often invisible, unseen by the eyes of society, which to me, is absolutely incredible.

She addresses our shared humanity, our inability to understand mourning, and brings power back into it. Her installations are often enigmatic in meaning, but her meticulousness, and well thought out pieces, ultimately, give us a vocabulary and a new language on how to process mourning, while also giving us the tools and the medium to give it its rightful importance.

I urge you to check out her work. Learn more about her here:  http://whitecube.com/artists/doris_salcedo/

[therealbohemian]

11 Howard, New York City

[diariesofarevolutionist]

Just my style. 

[diariesofarevolutionist]

I guess I expected more... but now, you seem like everyone else. Generic. Cookie Cutter. Predictable. And, that, that’s unfortunate... 

[diariesofarevolutionist]

a thing

“A thing” has many definitions. According to urban dictionary, “a thing” is when two people like each other; “they’re seeing each other.” Other definitions include, when an action, philosophy, musical genre is recognized within a subsection of pop culture.  An inanimate object, or one that needs not, cannot, or does not wish to give a specific name to. It’s an action, a thought, an utterance of some kind, an interest, an introduction... A thing then has a loose definition...one that doesn’t hold on to anything or anyone. So how how then do we define and differentiate, “a thing” from “not a thing”?  

I read an article on the Times and this of course prompted the internal discourse I’m having right now, with myself, with you, with whoever is reading or not reading this. One could consider that “a thing” is a symptom of an entire generation’s linguistic sloth, laziness, lack of wanting to define something. Is it? Is language and our experiences directly correlated to our use of “a thing”? Has technology influenced how “our things” are defined? 

I quote Fukuyama (1989) “The End of History and the Last Man”: “The struggle for recognition, the willingness to risk one’s life for a purely abstract goal, the worldwide ideological struggle that called forth daring, courage, imagination, and idealism, will be replaced by economic calculation, the endless solving of technical problems, environmental concerns, and the satisfaction of sophisticated consumer demands. In the post-historical period, there will be neither art nor philosophy, just the perpetual catering of the museum of human history.”

This might seem slightly disconnected, but in a way, I see how we perpetuate the use of “things” the lack of naming, the unwillingness to define, as an inability to now create something new. If something does not have a name, does it even exist? Are we also in a way, becoming “things”? 

It seems to me that these days, I always hear about things... ‘oh here comes the next big thing!’ Did you see that thing? Are you guys a thing? But what does this all mean? How then can I differentiate between a thing and not a thing... are these two merging? Are they the same? With everything becoming so fluid...gender, culture, our ideologies, are we moving away from defining, and is our entire world becoming and reducing itself to just “a thing”? 

Just some thoughts. 

Goodnight. 

[diariesofarevolutionist]

love

I’ve been suffering from migraines for the past two weeks. A pain that crawls up from the back of my neck all the way up and around to my forehead and the back of my eyes–and it starts the minute I wake up until the second I lay down and say ‘good night’.  But today, I experienced a pain far, far worse... A sense of rejection after hurting someone, a feeling of ineptitude, disgrace–an absence of worthiness. 

But then, something happened... you swept in to remind me of how valuable you’ve made me in your eyes. You told me I am not defined by my weaknesses or my strengths, or what I could possibly do on this earth. But rather, that I am defined by knowing who you are, by a love that is so unconditional that no man or woman on this earth could ever meet. I’ll always fail at some point or another, but I know that your love is never ending... Your love is one that has no limits. 

And so it was interesting to feel the difference...To see how our love, humanly love, has so many limits and ‘buts’, ‘ifs’ etc, but your love holds nothing against us, it just is. 

To know this love, is to know all the love I could ever need. And that, that is enough today, and always. 

[hyperallergic]

A Photo Series Casts Black College Students as Criminals in Caps and Gowns

[diariesofarevolutionist]

From Hyperallergic–Extremely interesting series of photos that hit back on the criminality cap that’s always seems to be on African Americans. 

Love it. Keep disrupting. 

[joel]

[therealbohemian]

Hotel Brummell, Barcelona

- inspired by tropical modernism, something new, zen and chic (and affordable) hits the Catalan capital in time for season. Cannot wait to stay here…

via hotel brummell*

[nyislike]

[diariesofarevolutionist]

the mystery. 

[bungalowclassic]

[hyperallergic]

Finally, a Documentary About Eva Hesse’s Life and Work

[diariesofarevolutionist]

Eva Hesse–a revolutionary artist and one of the few who ushered in the post minimalism movement in the 1960s. Experimenting with latex, fiberglass and plastic, she believed art was a process, finding as much interest in the means as in the ends.

Throughout her work we observe a questioning of permanence–Is there, and can there be such a thing? It is said that when discussing the topic with collectors in mind, she wrote,

“At this point I feel a little guilty when people want to buy it. I think they know but I want to write them a letter and say it’s not going to last. I am not sure what my stand on lasting really is. Part of me feels that it’s superfluous, and if I need to use rubber that is more important. Life doesn’t last; art doesn’t last.”

To see this exploration through her work is undoubtedly fascinating; the lightness of the materials, the sudden death and aging of them, while still evoking a strong sense of life... The repetition, and simple progressions seen in her pieces further emphasize the importance of process and of discovery. The human self is simply complex, isn’t it? Her artwork showcased the friction of simplicity and complexity quite beautifully. 

The documentary on her life and work has inaugurated yesterday, May 17th at the New Whitney Museum in New York City. I can’t wait to check it out.