• About me

    Discover a little about me in this short bio.

  • Roxanne and Jaime's Wedding

    Check the pictures for our wedding, in October 2010

  • Honeymoon in Mexico

    Our honeymoon in Mexico City and Cancun!

  • Syntax compiler-compiler

    A powerful compiler generator for java, pascal and C

  • Vivir dos veces

    Un ensayo sobre reiniciar la vida en un nuevo país. Picture used under the creative commons license.

Poesía en P y S, solo porque me gusta como suena.

Paso por la peña sola.
Profundo pasado profuso del sur.
Esencia estable del primer suelo.

Somos pureza de sal y paz
siendo parte del saldo del sol.

reborn-tree
photo under creative commons license, courtesy of Diogenes el Filosofo at flickr.
Entre más camino más regreso al jugo de naranja en bolsa de mi pasado, y la fruta con chile en el colegio, momentos que son lugares sólidos y palatables con una sonrisa y un descubrimiento que ya nunca jamás, y sirveme otra mi rey.  O talvés muero de una infección en la memoria obtenida en el paredón de mi suerte inmunda.  Sea como sea, muero allá porque vivo aquí, y este hoy es un momento latente y vivo, y no solo un lugar fugaz, que será digno de nombrarse en el día del colesterol fatídico.  Como dicen en mi tierra “sube vieja gorda con canasta y bola de hijos!” o hacedme un pedacito de cielo en mi sillita de palo, suelto como aquel banquito movil y vibrante utilizado en los colectivos de mi tierra, por tan solo un méndigo peso mas.  Moved el trasero ahora estadounidense para este nalgón que vive y revive ya extranjero.

Definitivamente morí en una tierra dura, de limón y sal, entre delirios y desencuentros.  No pude dejar el cadáver y cargo el fiambre a la espalda con todos sus kilos e indecencias.  Al menos hasta poder entregarlo al otro conductor que me llevará, vieja gorda, en su camión saltarín para finalizar mi limpieza y descanso.  Yo aquí estoy ahora para vivir el exceso de alegría y las catacumbas del sueño lindo que se hace caminito al lado de los que son mis compañeros, que ya me aman mas allá del visible cuero y sus desgracias.  No se memorialice mi muerte.  Yo lo he hecho ya hace años, y bastante, pues ahora vivo, de cierto vivo.  Viví el pasado a pesar y por sobre todo, y a pesar de todos, haciéndome espacio en el camión de tantos con mi gran nalga infinita.

Me he acostumbrado tanto a cargar este costal de huesos que el día menos pensado, cuando lo pierda, lo lloraré sin ojos ni lagrimas.  Cuando la gente volteé a verme fijamente y solo haya transparencia, ese día será el día que se me verá solo en recuerdos, que bueno que era el Don. Las memorias usualmente se traslapan, cambian, ajustan y pocas veces reflejan la realidad.  Y no quiero decir que mi presencia en cuerpo presente indique mucho de la verdad ni mucho menos, pero al menos el ojo y el oído invitan a renovar el recuerdo, y el día que ya mas no se me vea u oiga, ese día me disipare como azúcar en mi café tan fuerte y aromático.  Y entonces vendrán los recuentos de que hice con el tiempo y el cuerpo que tuve, y que haré ahora sin él, sin mi, sino disfrutar la libertad de dolores y enfermedades eternas.

Por lo pronto vivo dos veces, y grande y glorioso sea el momento de mi nuevo destino, recipiente de alegría abundante, a mano de nuevos y con el pasado a veces recordado. Si se culpara a alguien de mi vida, que sea el nuevo concierto de ángeles de mi tierno presente, portento del tiempo, hasta aquel día en que el nuevo sea otra vez incorporeo. Pero nunca moriré, pues ya morí hace no se ya cuanto tiempo. Se vive dos veces, pero muerte, muerte solo una, y a mi ya no me inviten a jugar ese tedioso juego.

Shivers

I


When you say no
your face barely moves.

When you say yes
your soul barely smiles.

Tonight,
when you say maybe
your body barely
and suddenly
shivers.

II


Your bed is cold and
I sleep over your mark.
Your mark is here and
I sleep over your memory.
Your memory transcends and
I sleep no more.

Your day is tomorrow and
I dream wide open.

Your new day is
when your closed honey
will sleep over
the imprint of my bare night.

I now tremble.

I must lay down tonight
with all my strength
so when your turn comes
tomorrow night
you too will shiver
knowing that my body was
so close to yours
off by a single day.

I don’t know why
but in your side of the bed
I still tremble.

So, at the end, did you ever find Waldo?  My Waldo took 47 years to find.  When you are trying to find him outside of the page, it becomes quite interesting.  In my case it was “her” that I was looking for.  Let me explain the situation. In 2007 I decided to join eHarmony to look for a possible partner.  I also joined Yahoo! Personals and Match com, but those were a little too much for me, especially Yahoo! Personals.  People there knew what they were doing and I was just a new guy trying to make sense of it.  Overwhelming.

Before I started ,I was living with two roommates that were kind, but I was pretty much going to work and back from work, straight home.  I would go to the movies by myself, or to restaurants asking for a table for one.  I was not really connecting with people, and my children at the time were having sporadic and rare interactions with me.  So I was ready to move on to the next phase of my life, eager for deeper connections.  It was November of 2007.

eHarmony was nasty.  I do not mean it was bad, but since I selected every checkbox on the questionnaire, I was getting around 20 hits a day, sometimes more.  If I ever let a day pass by, reading the amount of responses was overwhelming.  I had paid for three months, thinking it would be enough but it was too much action, and required daily focus.  But I decided that I was going to figure out that puzzle.  At some point I was answering every first questionnaire since I was rarely being accepted.  eHarmony had very few Latinas and a ton of very christian women.  I was not getting the connections I expected.

Eventually I found one person with a very particular profile and no picture.  Everyone else liked walks on the beach, music, and hikes.  Her, she was passionate about social causes and worked trying to make the world better.  She confessed later on that she did not get many hits, perhaps for her profile.  I was intrigued and followed the development of that quest carefully  with a lot of interest.  Eventually I saw the picture and then realized that she was latina too.  On the last day of her subscription we finally connected in the third stage, the “open communications.” It was my 47 birthday.  And just like that we both collected our email addresses.

Following Dr Warren’s advice we decided to meet in an in-and-out place, easy to get in yet safe and secure: Baja Fresh.  On a day like this 5 years ago exactly I meet her for around half an hour and I became quite attracted to her, drawn to the peace and calm that I noticed in her.  I had found my Waldo, in a very unlikely event.  And so it started.

Book Worm Bot
photo under creative commons license, courtesy of Jenn and Tony’s Bot at flickr. http://www.flickr.com/photos/ittybittiesforyou/

In the New World there is a man, never the same, depends who looks at him.  He is strong and weak, thin and fat, tall, but always short. You see, he never did grow so much, because if he did, little girls could not see him in the eye, and everyone could see him in the eye.

In the New World there is a chair, small and quiet, where all creatures could finally sit, one by one, or all at the same time, just for fun, but sitting they would.  Little girls get their own chairs, but they sit in the common chair all the same. Some girl, some tiny girl, smaller than the rest, would jump to climb on it, and stand on it when sitting was not enough, just to try to see the little man in the eye.

In that New World there is an orange sun, and a yellow one.  Well, there is also a blue one and a white one, but little girls like orange and yellow, and so they were those colorful suns, high above the chair.  If you look carefully at the little girls’ eyes, one sun could be seen in each of their many eyes, because you should know that little girls had as many eyes and smiles as they want.  Little girls are as beautiful as they want, and eyes and smiles are beautiful, so they have aplenty around, and they have them on any color they would ever want.  The tiny girl only had two eyes the day she came, and she just did not know where to get more smiles.

In the New World there is kicking and sucking and loving and hoping.  Little girls love and care for tiny girls, and little girls get new incoming girls their first smiles, and their first sunny eyes. The little man would look at them in the eye, or may I say, in the eyes, which is not an easy feat because those eyes are just all around, and sometimes they like to hide them just for fun.  But the tiny girl was easy.  Her eyes, and her smiles are tiny, and right there, in her face and her hands.

Tiny girl in the New World arrived not long ago in a multi-sunny day, and her smile was like a new red sun, but a tiny one.  And her two eyes were tiny, and her tiny sucking thumb, and her tiny cheeks, and her tiny little kicking feet were brown like the loving dirt of the bright New World.

Little Man, the one of the New World, the strong and weak, the fat and slim, the tall one, but always small, saw the tiny girl the day she stood in the chair, and came to see her in the eye.  Tiny girl realized that Little man was tiny, so she climbed down, found her tiny chair, in a tiny breezy lawn, and walked to it holding tiny man’s hand, and sat with him in his lap where she put her new sunny eyes and new sunny smiles.  They laughed and laughed.  They remembered the dark, and the water, and the songs from the outside, and the dancing, and above all that heart and that omnipresent hand.  They remember the dogs barking, and father, and voices, and the transparent light.  They played horse on his knees, and finally sat in calm, and sat forever talking of dirt, bronze dancers, pink princesses, shinny wedding rings, and something called sweets for the smile.

Tiny princess, and tiny King sat to wait, sat smiling, hand in hand.  He told her of stories of the New World, and of the arrival of old princesses with beautiful brown smiles, and brown eyes, and shinning beyond the suns in so called Galaxies and very far, such that they had never seen in the New World.  Tiny princess is waiting, tiny girl waits in calm, for that caring little girl with the beating heart that will bring her a new smile, the little girl with name of the Stars.

Dedicated to my little star girl, my daughter, and my tiny girl, my grand daughter, who has grown to only 15 pounds after almost two years of age.