I have started to research and create the outline for my book.  I have tried to update this blog as much as possible, and will continue to do so however I may miss a few days here and there, just because I need to focus all of my writing into this one project for now.  

My mom leaves tomorrow to go back to LA.  It was quite nice having her here.  And if you are wondering when I am coming back, it will not be for a while.  I miss my family and friends, but I also am enjoying this change.  It is a slow way of life, and it is forcing me to take my time in everything I do.  I need this right now, the time to focus on myself and on what I am trying to accomplish.  

I took this photo one morning, probably close to 7 am or so.  Her last quarter at UCSB, she decided she would take Ballet.  She went out and bought the cutest outfits, as well as pink ballet shoes.  She had her tights, thick socks, head band, etc.  And every morning the alarm would go off at 6:45 so she could get up and get ready to go to her ballet class.  She would take the bus at 7:15 from the transit center to UCSB.  I would wake up every morning with her, and watch her as she got ready for school.  She would first go to the sink and wash her face and brush her teeth.  She always needed a towel next to sink because she kept her eyes totally shut after she washed her face.  She was afraid of the water getting in her eyes.  After that she would get dressed, and gather her stuff for school that day.  On some days, especially the cold ones, she might jump back into bed for a few more minutes to stay warm.  This is what makes me sad.  Remembering the tiny little things she would do, things that I don't think anyone else in the world knew about her. As something as small as how she would reach for a wash cloth, which was in such a particular way.  And everytime it was exactly the same.  Well, I adore this photo. Even though I had to wake up every morning VERY early during these few months, watching her was well worth it.   I had the pacific ocean off in the distance, and in the foreground the most beautiful ballerina within my grasp.

More Photos

Right around the corner from my home.  Come visit!

How can I just walk away and say goodbye? We have all been told that if you love somebody you have to set them free but I would rather be locked to her forever. She is not even alive, and I would rather be chained to her existence forever. People keep telling me that time is the only thing that can help me through this. How does time help me with these feelings? Time is making it worse, for it is time that keeps reminding me that she is still not here, and never will be. Time is the only thing that separates her from being alive and dead. Time is what is keeping her dead. I just need to be able to reverse it and go back a few months to help her. I should have been there. I should have done so much more. It drives me crazy to think about what I could have done differently that could have altered this outcome. Please tell me that this pain will subside and everything will be alright once again. Please tell me that I will once again have some semblance of normality. Even if the reality of it is not entirely normal, perhaps there will be a sliver of truth. I just know that my love is pure, and that inside my soul she is beautiful. Nothing else matters.

I can't believe it has been two months since I held her hand for the last time, in room 768, at the UCLA medical center.  Two months ago today, I walked into the hospital room, as I always did, hoping that that day would be the one that she would start tracking my eyes.  I sat in front of her talking to her and massaging her arms and legs for hours, just waiting for the moment  her eyes would follow me.  September 23rd was different though, and as I walked into the room I was greeted by about 10 people in her room, running around, talking, taking notes, changing chords, checking vital signs, etc.  It was chaotic to say the least.  It was at that moment that I knew that something was terribly wrong.  I had left the day before a little worried, because she had a slight fever, and it wasn't the fever that bothered me so much but the way the nurse acted about it.  I was so mad that she had not given her anymore tylenol.  I mean, she had a fever and she has to have tylenol to help get it down!  Little did I know that her fever was the very least of the problems.  I arrived that sunday morning, and was greeted by three doctors, all of whom discussed with me the dire situation that Meliss was strugging with.  They had seen me plenty around the hospital, and didn't even care that I wasn't family.  I told them they would have to repeat everything they said to me when her family did arrive.  It was only fifteen or twenty minutes later that her mom and brother got there.  I can't believe it has been two months since her cold hand lay in mine.  Each passing day makes me want to go back to that time even more.  Each passing day makes me worry that my memories of her are fading.  I would rather be in the thick of the pain than on the edge of it.  I fear that I am not even close to finding a way out of this depression though and for that, I am both grateful and worried.  I find myself sick today, in bed, and missing her.  The last time I was sick was in Santa Barbara, and both Melissa and I found ourselves in bed with the flu. We took turns walking down to the grocery store a few blocks away to stock up on theraflu and gatorade.  We watched movies and lay in bed.  We took turns making soup for each other and getting cold wash cloths to keep us cool.  I can actually remember what the air felt like in Santa Barbara as I walked back from the store with my canvas bag, waiting to see what reality show she had turned too.  I can remember what it felt like to walk back into my apartment, and see her laying on my bed. What a glorious time that was to be sick and miserable in bed.  It was heaven.

Today being thanksgiving I thought I would make a short list of what I am thankful for, even though it is quite difficult for me to give thanks for anything right now. Despite my obvious misgivings on this day, here is what I give thanks for:

• My family, who has stood by me and supported me with love, especially over the last few months.  Without them, who knows where I would be.
• My friends, who have given me endless amounts of support.  Always offering time to listen,  dealing with my manic state of mind lately, and for looking out for me when I wasn't looking out for myself.  
• Mother Nature, who provided enough rain on that January day to cause both Meliss and I to miss our trains, which helped us find each other.
• My memory, because after Meliss gave me her phone number,  I stupidly lost my phone, but luckily I had made sure to memorize her number, solely for the chance that I would in fact lose my phone.  I am so thankful for my memory in that occasion.
• To the academic dean at UCSB, who did not let Meliss enroll back into UCSB, causing her to take an extra year of school at CC, which led to one of the greatest years of my life.  Who knows what would have happened if she would have moved home sooner had he let her back in a year earlier.  If I could remember your name, I would thank you personally. 
• To Boogey, you were a good friend, and although I kinda ditched you for her, I am thankful that we are still homeys.  Sorry, I just couldn't resist her.
• To Steve-Dub, thank you for being so damn crazy....it always made me feel better about myself.
• To the Go Find, Dave Matthews Band, Frank Sinatra, and the John Butler Trio, for providing music for us on many nights.  I couldn't have done it without you guys.
• To My Meliss, thank you for loving me the way you did, the way you still do, and the way you always will.  It warms my soul to think of you.  

It won't be soon but while we wait
Our reasons sew away
You crawl out of our holes into the open air
Take this so long I cry away
In corners you refill
I don’t know what I see
But I know its not fair
Baby, say you love me
I won't leave her waiting as anyone would
You call me up and say hello, so sad
Take a minute to come again
And now I’m watching by
And it's all into the old way back
We swing our hands in hope that everything comes back
I don’t believe what you're saying
I don’t believe what your doing here
Tell me good intentions
And what you hang from your tree
I believe what you said
And walking by my door
You tell me you love me...

In the days after leaving San Francisco, I spent my days holed up in the back room of the house, most of the time listening to music and writing about her. Waiting for her to be able to be moved down to UCLA. I wrote her countless letters, telling her how much I love her, to reminiscing about our lives together. These days were not normal. I rarely remember looking at the time, and only figured out the time based on when I would receive reports from her family about how long she had gone between seizures. She had suffered so much brain damage that she was constantly seizing, and I just remember when we were all just focused on waiting for the doctors to tell us that they were able to control the seizures. When I heard for the first time that she had gone 15 minutes without a seizure I actually smiled, and felt confident she would be alright. 15 minutes. I was happy that she did not have a seizure for 15 minutes. Saying I wasn't ready to accept the severity of what happened would be quite the understatement.

Hani Hani

I'd like to explain the title of my blog.  It indirectly has to do with Chris Hani, the South African political activist, and opponent of the apartheid government who was assassinated in 1993.  A year after his death, elections were held that were the first in South Africa without legalized racial segregation.  However, that is for an entirely different post.  The important thing was that a few days after his death, my favorite band, led by Dave Matthews, wrote a song entitled #36, which begins with the words "hani hani, come and dance with me." It is a very popular song, which eventually morphed into the song Everyday. Today, the song is sung as "honey honey, come and dance with me." Now, one of the first times Melissa and I saw DMB live, as this song began to start, everyone in the crowd began singing these words. However, for some reason or another, I was singing "1-800, come and dance with me." I remember looking over at her, and her saying "wait, what are you saying?" It's not that I didn't know the words to the song, but I knew it would make her laugh. Anyways, after that, these words were an inside joke of sorts between the two of us. It was just one of many ways I knew I could make her smile. Below you will find one rendition of the song, but it isn't a live version from a large concert, so you will just have to imagine how it would sound with thousands of people singing the same line over and over for a few minutes.

I think I have found myself in a sort of melancholic depression. I go through a few days where I just sleep and sleep and sleep some more, and others that I can barely close my eyes, let alone fall asleep at night. I have definitely lost quite a bit of weight, and am probably around 150 pounds, if not lighter than that. Most of the time, my mornings are the most difficult. I just don't want to get up and go to my class, and have to talk to myself out loud, and talk to her, in order to get up and out of the house. I find myself talking to her as I walk through the town, and can only imagine what others think of me. Wandering around after class through town, talking to her out loud. When I think of something to tell her in my head, the response that she gives me is almost automatic. Even too quick for me to formulate one. Maybe I just don't give my mind, and imagination, enough credit, but when I think of her response, I believe it is actually what she would say if she were here. But she's not. All I have now is a memory of her. I think only someone who has experienced this type of loss can understand the depth of this torment. I don't actively choose to write these things, and don't want to be miserable. When I first met her, she was all I could think about. I was absolutely captivated, and I think the level of my love for her is only equaled in intensity by the depth of my pain. It is a cruel dichotomy to have to deal with everyday.

I dream you're by my side
I dream my pain is no more doubling
and troubling
I dream i can climb inside your mind
and spend some time
and mold you into what I need
and hug and hold you
I know I cant do this....
I dream of you all the time
Yes I do
Only to wake and wish I was
Sleeping still.
Sometimes while I do my best
Its still not good enough
And I wait for the hour
When we are together again.

Just sitting around, got some dinner at Los Milagros and said hi to my friends. Listening to Amos Lee. A great, soulful singer/songwriter. Here are some of my favorites. Nothing more tonight, I am too tired.

I don't think I will ever forget what it felt like to find out what happened to her by reading something on her Facebook page.  Someone had posted, "please pray for missy,  she is in the ICU after an accident in SF."  How was I supposed to react to that?  She was supposed to call me when she was on her way back from San Francisco.  I remember being confused as to why I hadn't heard from her, but just figured she was in traffic coming home, or running late, or busy with something.  Reading those words put me into an absolute state of terror. My body ceased to function and I collapsed to the ground in a hysteric mix of gutteral cries and failed attempts to bring oxygen into my lungs. From that moment on my life has been in disarray.  
There are moments that I remember very clearly and others that seem like an absolute blur. Driving up to San Francisco, with Mika and Charlie, is an example of everything during that time being quite clear.  We were able to focus on those next 6 hours and solely on heading north.  Nothing else mattered at that point, only getting to her. We even remarked that she would be in the car with us doing the same thing. There was no doubt in our mind that she would have jumped in the car and done exactly what we were doing.   For many illogical reasons, many people told us not to go, but nothing was stopping me from going to her. Nothing. I would have gone to the farthest corner of the globe for her, a little 6 hour drive was not going to stop me. The drive was not entirely somber either, we found ourselves laughing and listening to music.  We spent time focusing on the task at hand.  Simply getting to San Francisco.  When it became real though, too real, was when we drove into the city and passed St. Lukes Hospital. That was when I had my second break down.

So I went out with a girl last night, who probably spoke less english than I do spanish.  It was quite the evening.   Fun, actually.  We spoke for several hours, and most of the time we got by quite nicely, and only a few times were we downright confused.  It was a lovely way to get my mind off of things. We met in the Jardin, and walked to St. Augustin for churros and coffee.  She had a cafe espanol and I had a cappucino.  It really was the first time I had to speak with someone for an extended period of time that did not speak english fluently.  I was pleasantly surprised with my spanish, and my handle on the preterito indefindo and preterito imperfecto.  After, we came back to my home and sat in the garden and talked for another few hours, after which I got her a cab home.  As for my plans tonight, I am off to see a jazz band play at the bar Limerick.  

Open Letter to Wells Fargo

I hate you.  So when a charge to my account for 120 dollars is fraudulent you decide to accept my claim but don't tell me until after that you will have to cancel my card and send me a new one.  That would be great but I AM IN ANOTHER COUNTRY and have NO OTHER ACCESS TO DINERO.   And to the woman helping me on the phone, who knew my whereabouts, I say to you this, thank you.  For being so kind and understanding. That was fabulous how you kept that secret until the very end of our relationship.  I could just see you sitting there in your little cubicle giggling to yourself as you withheld this information.  You are a covert angel of frustration, and for that I thank you.  And thank you for thanking me for doing business with Wells Fargo.  That was a nice touch.  With that, I am off to burn my debit card, as it is no use to me anymore.  I will take joy in watching the card shrivel up and disperse into nothingness.

This past weekend was really tough for me, for one reason or another.  Going to class this morning was great, and was quite lovely to get my mind into a different place for a few hours.  I think the rest of my day will be spent reading, writing a bit, and finishing up some work for class.  The next book I will read is Siddhartha, the allegorical novel written by Herman Hesse.  I just started it last night, and should be able to finish it rather quickly.  As for The Invention of Morel, I think everyone should go out and buy it.  And read it.  And then tell me what you think.  I am glad I have the ability to hear things btw, because I listen to so much freakin music I would be pretty sad if I couldn't.  

My top Songs played in Itunes:

1. Dreamgirl, Dave Matthews Band

2. #40, Dave Matthews Band

3. Strange and Beautiful, Aqualung

4. City Dreamer, the Go Find

5. Peaches and Cream, The John Butler Trio

I haven't decided when I am coming home just yet. I am torn between two thoughts. One is to stay here and take this opportunity to the fullest and completely inundate myself into the culture and everything this place has to offer. I am told of the therapeutic qualities this town has to offer, from therapy to art classes, to yoga..etc. However, I am pretty depressed and refuse to take any medication so the other idea I have is to just come home. I miss home. I miss the familiarity of friends and family and the things that I know to be true.  The familiar can be a crutch.  From the moment I found out what happened to her, from driving to San Francisco, checking in and out of hotels, wandering the city of SF, coming back down to SB and moving back to La, to 58 days of her in 3 different hospitals, to sitting with her everyday and talking to her and holding her hand and painting her nails, to her death, to the week leading up to her funeral.  To watching the casket lowered into the ground and then covered with dirt. All of it all continues on and created such a complex quandary in my mind.  The familiar creates the illusion that everything is alright.  The familiar gives you the comfort in knowing that there are some things in life that are still safe.   If i decide to come home, it would be in the next month or so. If not, I may be down here for quite some time. 

I keep making the same mistakes and it hurts so much.  Sometimes my wretched state of pain, pressure, and guilt are simply too much to bear.  I just wish it would all go away.  I have been told of the therapeutic and healing aspects of San Miguel, but I fear there will be no remedy for this sorrowful state of mind I find myself entangled in.  I embrace many options and ideas, but am too tired of it all.  It just needs to stop.  I need to stop thinking of whether or not she was conscious at all as she drowned.  I hope that the seizure she had was long enough to keep her from knowing what was happening.  I pray to any god that will listen for that to be true.  I need to stop watching videos of people having epileptic seizures.  It is torturous thing to do to myself .   I don't even want to begin to analyze it.  I feel so much different today.  I try and remember what it felt like when we were living in Santa Barbara, and I can force my mind and body to recall the way it felt.  It is so foreign to me now.  

I miss her so much right now it is impossible to convey the feelings that are overtaking my body.  This photo that I am posting here does it to me every time.  Every single day I look at this photo and cry.  It just pierces me into a state of agony.  I can only look at it for a few seconds before I have to close it.  Her death still does not seem real to me.  I sat and held her hand and kissed her after she died yet I still don't have the capacity to fully comprehend that she is dead.   I don't know if it will make things easier or more difficult once I am able to accept it.  She said something to me in one of my dreams about ghosts, and I have been reading a book that she read for one of her film classess in school.  The Invention of Morel.  Besides enjoying it because I kept coming across her notations and doodles after each page, I read the last 30 pages of the book, in which there is considerable discussion of ghosts, death, and lost love.  The inability to coexist physically with someone you love.  The book is about so much more, and truly a fabulous work.  I cried as I read a few passages though.  What she said to me in a few of my dreams was almost taken verbatim from some of the passages in the book.  However when I dreamt of her telling me these things I had not yet read the words in the text. It was only days later that my eyes crossed those words on the page.  One of the passages that she underlined, with a heart in the margin is, "how can I keep on living in the torment of seeming to be with Faustine when she is really so far away?  Where can i find her?" Faustine is his love, yet she exists on an entirely different plane.  There were countless things that made me think of her, and a few very specific words that I read and realized that she had already said them to me in my dreams.  The book ends with this: "To the person who reads this diary and then invents a machine that can assemble disjoined presences, I make this request: Find Faustine and me, let me enter the heaven of her consciousness.  It will be an act of piety."

I believe in love
But believe it's my heart that keeps turning me down
I believe in love
I think it's just fine
Up and down, inside out
Outside in some you lose some
You win for us all
Up and down we go
Bad times choke us all once or twice
I believe in love
But think nothing about it when you're not around
I believe in love
I think you're just fine
The sweet up and down...
dm4mp

I noticed last night, while I was out in town, that it felt odd to smile.  The muscles in my face felt foreign to me.  Now, I am not saying that I haven't smiled at all, from July 29th till now, but that when I went to use the muscles to form a smile that it felt strange.  I guess it just has to do with my new found ability to not move.  I have notcied that the majority of the time I am very laconic.  Sometimes there is nothing to be said in a conversation about the weather.  Yes, I get it, it is cold this morning.  Perhaps you thought that I had an inability to feel elements such as wind and rain or did you just want clarification from me that it is indeed cold and that you aren't in fact crazy.   I mean, how many times can people speak about the same things.  I guess it is our inherent need for agreement or disagreement.  It is impossible for some to simply sit and listen. Silence is definitely not golden in the society of men.   I have noticed instances that the same conversation between several people has occured multiple times over the course of several weeks.  Is it that they simply need affirmation that they are alive and breathing and still have the ability to speak? Perhaps I am dead, for there are times when I feel so removed from social settings and situations that I am invisible.  Not in the way that I feel inferior or that no one notices me because of a lack of presence, but because I lack the presence to engage in meaningless words.  I enjoy sitting and listening and most times the conversation does not provide me an opportunity to say anything, at least not anything meaningful.  I try and keep my words clear and with purpose.  

A few more photos.

At MacArthur Park you can buy "chispas", and here you can buy baskets and baloons.

J J J JEW UNIT!!! 

Today was pretty rough.  I thought I had moved past the stage of anger and into something completely different, but all of the anger I had inside of me prior to her death, and after still resides inside of me.  Some of it is directed towards her, but she apologized to me in my dreams a few times so I have forgiven her.  I would love to believe that she is meeting me there, and knew that something had happened and that she made a mistake that caused plenty of people pain but perhaps she doesn't know what exactly she did.  She kept apologizing, and crying, but she didn't know why she was sorry, only that she was.  I wasn't able to stay in class this morning, my mind wasn't focused on spanish, and I had to remove myself from class and come back home.  It is hard sometimes to get myself out of my meliss mode and into another.  I hope the rest of my classmates, and everyone else I have met in the academia don't find me too disinterested and aloof.  I just don't want to bring it up to anyone to explain why  I may be particularly quiet.  I am so tired today, I think I may go home and take some pills to help me fall asleep.  Sometimes I sleep for so long and wake up even more tired than when I passed out and other times I just lay in bed for hours thinking about how different life would be if not for one small decision.

So each day that I am here I try to come and sit in the Jardin at one point or another. I am writing this as I sit in the Jardin right now, as wi-fi is available throughout the city.  So when I lived in Santa Barbara, I lived on Garden St., so we chose Jardin as the name of the wifi we had, and now I sit in the Jardin and have wireless, which I find to be slightly interesting. I typically come here when I am done with class, and admire the relaxed state that fixates this town. Before I sit however, I get my daily cup of horchata and enjoy a delicado. The horchata is ridiculously good but you have you make sure to drink it with a straw because you never know if there is a dead bee floating around somewhere in your cup. The container that the horchata is held in is a haven for bees, due to the sweet nature of the drink. I guess it reminds them of home.  Not too much reminds me of home here, this is quite different than anywhere I have lived.  I guess the biggest similarity between here and Santa Barbara is the amount of Mexicans present.  

 I made a small playlist of the music that I am currently listening to now, so check it out.

Yes, I am checking in here at my blog at 4:30 am. The art gallery event was very cool, as was the african dance and music show afterwards. Nothing like seeing a 6'5 african man speaking spanish. I have nothing to say other than that I am all for avocados, chocolate, and mayonnaise. And that I may or may not have just arrived back home.

I have realized how taxing it is, on my mind and body, to be in one constant thought about her. When I met her she was the first thing that came to mind when I awoke, and the last thing I would think about before I fell asleep. Not much has changed, in that regard, but now my entire day is also spent with a total focus on everything having to do with her. I recall random instances of our life together, or I think about what she would say, if I could tell her about what I was doing or what crazy person I saw walking the street. I walk through the city, or I sit in class, and I imagine the exact tone and words that would come from her mouth. That takes a lot of energy, to be in one constant stream of thoughts. I am able to understand why I am always so tired though. And it is just part of this process. I don't even wish there were an easier way. The only way I was able to go out tonight was to not think about her. I hate writing that, but it is truth.

My Apprenticeship

The real reason why I am here. My apprenticeship under this guy. [see above.]

That would be me. Such a g.

There is artwork throughout the city for la dia de los muertos. 

Rooftop view of La Parroquia from a restaurant in the Jardin.

View from a tiny bridge overlooking a street out of town. Off of Calle Umaran.

On this, the day of the dead, I have decided againt making an altar in remembrance and celebration of Meliss. It is just too hard for me to say that she is dead. I bought a simple candle that I will light, and will set her photo next to it this evening before I go to sleep. The cultural aspect of this day is very unique and pretty damn cool. All of the decorations and festivities, from the elaborate altars to the sugar skulls, makes it very clear that the Mexican way of remembrance is not one of sadness but of pure joy. Everyone is celebrating the life of those loved ones who have past. And when I say celebrating I mean CELEBRATING. It is not something that can be easily described, you just have to experience it to understand the fullness of this day. I celebrate her life constantly though, in my mind, with my dreams and memories. They are a constant reminder of how wonderful she was and that is enough for now. Besides, she isn't dead, she is just living through me now.

I find all these smiling faces,
Locked up and tired,
Oh, the rhythm of an old song I heard,
Wild and the freedom sail away,
Again memories fall,
Hey, we feel so cold,
I really thought it was a cool winter day,
I say this one time,
I want anyone to pour their soul into an open page,
Crushed by a memory,
So my happiness fell away,
And torn my mind,
And Darkness fell.

Melissa tried so hard to remove herself from people and from situations that could potentially harm her.  It makes me so angry to know how much she cared about protecting herself from those things.  It's hard for me to be angry at her, but there are definitely times when I am.  The choice she made has hurt so many people.  She had such a great support group in Santa Barbara that when she moved home, things just started to spin out of control.  Between the amount of seizures she had leading up to the one she had on the 29th of July, to going out with new people that were unaware of her epilepsy, to trusting someone to be family when they were never family, and never will be.  That is what gets me the most.  That someone who was dealing with their own problems decided to include Melissa into their own destructive behavior.  I understand that Meliss was an adult, and made her own decisions but I can't imagine ANY of her friends putting her into the situation.  Melissa spent a few years making sure she was not put into that situation.  How could she imagine that her "family" would have been the one to do it.  It is just not fathomable.  It drives me out of my mind to think about how easily it could have been avoided if not for one obtuse and absolutely ignorant human being.  This is where my mind comes to an impasse.  If something could have been so easily avoided, then how is it in the greater plan of a higher power?  I get lost going around and around in my head deciphering the characteristics of the word meaningless, hoping to figure out whether or not this was in fact part of a greater plan, and that her "time" here on Earth was done, or whether or not her time was not done and if not for one person, she would still be here.  I do know that she was my angel before her death, so the idea that she is one now is not very difficult to accept.  I told her she was my angel from the moment I met her.  It is just so hard to find any meaning in this madness that is my mind.