Sujeto Tácito

Estuve pensando y decidí que quiero ser como vos, que sin permiso y hasta soberbio, traspasa cualquier frontera. Sin consultar a nadie, se recorre todos los puntos cardinales, toca las olas, la arena de los desiertos, el poste de luz frente a mi ventana y hasta mis ideas cuando voy cruzando la calle sin percatarme de aquel rojo octagonal.
Así quiero ser, como vos, que hace no sé cuantos kilos de años que levantas y empujas, que te quedas charlando en las esquinas y todas las migas de pan juntas. De repente enloqueces y nos ocultamos. Nos provocas ese frenesí.
Reventar burbujas como vos quisiera y dominar la danza de las cortinas de colores que dan al patio de casa y que en látigos convertís fajando el pavimento. Caprichoso, vas y venís, traes y llevas aromas, suspiros, susurros, bostezos y hasta el canto de la chicharra del baldío de mi infancia.
Como vos quiero, filtrarme sin que mi rostro adviertan, esparcir cenizas, arrasar frenética y sacudir las enredaderas que trepan en el jardín, incrustar las astillas de la hamaca en mi piel mientras toco el azul infinito, enredo mi melena y sucumbo.

Vignette One: ESL classes and feeling like a dog

My first neighborhood in Chicago was Lincoln Square, in a basement on Eastwood St. where I would often hit my head with the pipes that hanged from the roof and smell the paint thinner that fulfilled my nostrils and caused my head throb, even more each time I bumped my head with the pipes. To escape this feeling of claustrophobia, I would find ways to spend the day outside that basement. The perfect excuse was to enroll myself in ESL classes. And that is how I adopted Truman College as my second home. Most of my mornings would be spent there.
I remember clearly when I attended my first English class ever. I just felt like a dog that could hear what the professor was saying in English but not understand a word that he was saying. The only alternative I had was to make expressions with my face by raising my eyebrows and staring at the pages that he would hand out in order to avoid eye contact with him. I was terrified to participate or even to omit any kind of sound that he wanted us to repeat in class.
Truman College is where I learned that I wasn’t the only person going through this experience known as the syndrome of “being an immigrant.” My classmates were from many other countries such as Mexico, Poland, Vietnam, Algeria, and many other ones. It almost felt like I was in a UN meeting. I had classmates that where monks from the Buddhist Temple and would come to class in orange robes and their shaved heads. Others were Muslim. They would show up to class with their headscarf in the middle of the humid hot summer. I had a Polish classmate that would fall asleep most of the time during class. Embarrassed, after taking the nap, he would excuse himself by explaining to me the many long hours he had worked that week. I also had a Mexican classmate, who would bring tamales with hot sauce to class. That was one of the first times in my life I bit a jalapeño and burnt my tongue.

Becoming a ‘Stylish’ Writer Attractive prose will not make you appear any less smart

Becoming a ‘Stylish’ Writer Attractive prose will not make you appear any less smart

Writing frumpy, lumpy prose is the equivalent of showing up on a first date with unwashed hair and dirty clothes, and then talking about yourself in a way that leaves the other person looking at her watch and remembering she has to do laundry.