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It’s your road and your alone.  Others may walk it with you, but no one can walk it for you.

-Unknown

Today I made one of the toughest decisions I have had to face until now. . .and I made it alone.  Of course I confided in one of my dearest friends about it all (Oh, Steph, how indebted I am to you) and yes, my family gave me their strong opinions, but no one decided for me.  Oh, and my best friend, Soldier, has been in the field all week so I only had a chance to send him a few brief texts that ultimately amounted to “Whatever you decide just make sure it’s what you want to do.”

I decided to put off graduate school (have yet to inform USF of this 30-minute old decision) for a position within a company that will one day lead to heading up the entire Hispanic marketing campaign for this company.  Why did I choose it?  For a few reasons:

1) I can live at home with my parents (we are making some new living arrangements within the next few weeks).

2) I can save money while living with my parents.

3) I can pay off debt from Florida Southern much sooner than I anticipated.

4) It’s a great straight out of school position that I can stay at for a few years (Soldier being Georgia helped me with this, too, but NO I am not the kind of girl to follow the prince charming around regardless of my dreams).

5) I can attend UCF part-time as soon as I have my feet grounded at the company.

6) It feels. . .right. . .for now at least.

7) I can work on my writing without the pressure of my studies (Ain’t it funny how I can focus on writing while dealing with the workplace, but not school?)

Making this decision made me realize that I am now an adult.  I now control my own decisions.  I now control my own finances (with a mom and dad that can bail me out ONLY if ABSOLUTELY needed).  I am terrified of what the next few months hold. . .waking up early. . .business casual every day (I absolutely abhor having to be business casual every day). . .no window views. . .straight up REAL WORLD WORK.

But, I will keep wandering along my very own road until I come to another crossroads. . .

On Saturday, I graduated with three of the most amazing friends anyone could ask for. This momma bear (what they fall me) was proud.

I also graduated with a dear friend I have known since kindergarten. It was so cliche but beautiful.

For your reading pleasure. . .

For 19 of her 22 years of life, her only constant was the shade of a mango tree on the side of her abuela’s  home in South Florida.  In a place where residential developments were plastering over seas of green grass and gravel roads were becoming four lane highways, the shade from that tree provided her with more than relief from a sun that poured rays of blinding light and suffocating heat.

The shade from the mango tree was her everything.  She would lie on the plush green bed of grass and stare up at the long leaves that masked the sun and the mangoes that would fall to the ground when they were oto ripe to han on to the tree any longer and escape.

It was her temporary protection from the bullets of Spanish that came her way the first time she was scolded by her abuela; she would never try to steal tortillas from the counter before dinner again.  She sailed through the air and past the screened back door and turned the corner of the house to reach the tree. Once behind the tree she couldn’t  help but throw her head back towards the sky and laugh, not out of excitement but out of apprehension of what was to come when she went back into the house for dinner.

It was her place of solitude when she didn’t know what to make of situations, like the first time she was ever slapped by someone who told her he loved her.  Or, the time she was slapped for rolling her eyes at her mother for not letting her go out that same boy, before he slapped her, of course.  And, when she yelled at the top of her lungs that she was broken and needed help from her parents, but they took it as a phase caused by hanging out with the wrong crowd.  Even the times that she ran the cold metal across her smooth flesh, she still didn’t know what to make of that aside from sedated relief it gave her.

It was her source of strength when she felt weaker than the branch that broke off that tree during a tropical storm.  Like, when her brother told her that he wished she was a boy so that he could have a little brother.  Or, the time that she slipped and scraped her knee when playing hide-and-seek with her cousin, but as soon as she reached base the shade of that tree, she felt untouchable.

It was her treasure box of memories that she wanted to forge into diamonds and tuck away in her jewelry box.  There were times that she would have to write down memories from the fall or spring and wait until summer arrive to visit the shade of that mango tree to retrace every breath, blink, and sound that she never wanted to alter.  Like the time she fell in love and she knew it, but was too scared to admit that when he called her “nina” she felt butterflies in her stomach, which tried to escape through her lips every time and probably made her sound naive.  Or, the time that he finally admitted it and all of her silent prayers finally reached God’s ears and didn’t get lost in the clouds the way she thought they would.

It was her catalyst of changes when she knew that self inflicted pain and shame needed to end.  Like the time she cried and cried and cried and felt reassured only when water poured from the sky even though the sun was shining; it was like God giving her permission to hate herself one more time before realizing it was all over if she wanted.

And, it gave her the sweetest taste of pure ecstasy that ever graced her tongue.  She would climb up the trunk of the tree for a deep red piece of fruit with sunburst yellow and orange and drop to the ground washing it under the hose and peeling it was a knife she would snatch from the kitchen before stepping outside.  That taste was her first taste of nectar that left her forgetting every thought, good and bad, but didn’t leave her with a headache the next day.

This afternoon I found out that I was accepted in to the University of South Florida’s Masters of Mass Communication porgram for the fall.  I went through all of the emotions that come along with that kind of news.  I cried.  I laughed.  I stood in awe.  I prayed to my God.  I felt at ease. . .

Then, my head began to throb again.

In January of 2007 I began to have terrible headaches.  Imagine someone holding your head between their hands and squeezing with no mercy.  . .now add a sledgehammer to that mix. . .pounding at their hands.  Later that year, during the summer, I was diagnosed with Chiari Malformation I.  I remember sitting in that doctor’s office at USF Health (ironic, huh) with the smell of latex gloves and industrial cleaner floating around me and sitting on that flimsy paper on the medical bed in shock as tears rolled down my cheeks.

“I have a what?” was all I could try to wrap my head around.

“The only solution is surgery, but even then it may not work. . .in your case it’s tough to tell whether it will,” one neurologist said.

“It won’t make a difference it’s too slight,” the neurosurgeon added.

They stepped out of the room.  They came back.  They had no solution to the headaches that had me in pain for days and even weeks at a time.

“They’re not migraines, but we’re going to try migraine meds for you,” was what the neurologist left me with.

Did they work?  No.  Nothing did.

When I have a headache all I want to do is cry.  All I want to do is be left alone, but at the same time be held by my Bella (mom).  There have even been times when I’ve just wanted to die because of the pain I found myself battling silently.   I say silently because I know I am blessed.  I know.  I also know that everyone else has their problems, and who wants added pain to their day?  But, as much as I tell myself, “Better me than someone else who doesn’t have a bed, air condition, food, etc.” I find myself asking God, “Why?  Why can’t you just help me a little?  Why can’t you just take it away for the night so I can rest?  Why?”  As I ask those questions at this very moment. . .I just want to shout them to the Heavens.

I have had the same headache for five days now.  Just as in 2007 when I was faced with the news of having Chiari and not knowing if it would seriously interfere with my college career. . .I am now faced with whether it will affect my career at USF.  I don’t want surgery.  I don’t want more prescription – I’ve probably been on at least 18 different ones since 2007 – that leave me sick and debilitated.  I just want to know what it feels like not to worry about a headache coming on at any moment.

Now, as  I glance at what I have typed away. . .I feel pathetic.  I have had a huge blessing today. . .and, here I am complaining.

I have two text messages from my parents summing up the love that I am surrounded with:

Daddy Your mom and I have just finished prayin for you.  Anything let us know.

Bella Dad and I are very proud of you.  We will help you with your Masters in anyway.  Luv ya always.  Will keep praying for you. Rest now.  Lock doors.

But, still. . .tonight I can’t help, but ask my God, “Can You please just take it away for the night?”

Caminante, no hay puentes, se hace puentes al andar. Gloria E. Anzaldúa

I’ll be honest; I’m use to getting what I want all the time.  Sound a bit selfish?  Conceited?  Immature?  Well, yes, that is how it sounds, but let me explain.

Day after day, I work hard from the moment I wake up until I let my head fall upon my favorite pillow 16 hours later.  My parents have always told me to work hard because nothing in life will be handed to you, and believe me, nothing in my life has been handed to me.  I have spent countless hours on projects, at internships and working more than one job at a time to better myself.  I’m not use to hearing “no” because at the end of the day I do not only convince others of my abilities, but I strive to perfect them and I make sure that I am better than my competition.  I know I have not learned all that I need to live in this world, but I am aware of my weaknesses and am constantly working on turning those weaknesses into attributes that will push me over the top.

So, now that I am faced with an uncertain future, I feel lost.  I feel as if all of the work I have put in over the last four years in college are nothing.  I feel as if all of those words of encouragement from my parents over the past 22 years are lies.

As some of my closest friends are being offered their first full-time jobs before graduation.  I am waiting.

Waiting for a reply from the University of South Florida’s selection committee for entry into their Masters of Arts in Communications: Multimedia program.  Waiting to hear back from one of the 15 jobs I have applied for over the last two months.  Waiting.

Right now the only comfort I have is when I think remember that God has my back (only way I can word that feeling right now) and Ms. Anzaldua’s words.  I just have to keep moving during this time of waiting and build my own bridges.  Just have to move through this waiting room.

Although my Spanish falters some days and I catch myself caught up in American pop music, I like to think that I have held on to my Mexican roots and always will…hasta la madre!

And, another thing…What is it about the site of VapoRub on my bedside table that makes me feel like I will wake up in the morning free of aches and coughs? 

So this is how it ends
This is where it all goes down
This is what “I don’t love you” feels like

It ain’t the middle of the night
And it ain’t even raining outside
It ain’t exactly what I had in mind
For goodbye

At a red light in the sunshine
On a Sunday
Nothin’ to say
Don’t even try

It’s been exactly – yes, even down to the minute – five days since everything happened.  I haven’t had much time to just sit down and think about what’s happened.  Well, I have thought about it, but not on my own.  I have been reminded about our relationship at red lights, while getting into my car, while watching a YouTube video about a father-daughter duo, and even at what was once my haven – the baseball stadium.

But want to know the worst part?

Florida has been absolutely beautiful this week.  Yes, the temperature has flirted with the 90-degree line, but it has been absolutely picturesque.  Grass is plush and green.  The sky is a pale blue that turns into an orange-rose sunset.  It’s perfect Florida.

I can’t escape, but it’s all a part of process, right?  Yeah, so what if he was my best friend for five years and stayed with me through the worst times in my life?  And, so what if he knew everything about me?  Oh, and so what if he was all that was there with me when it felt like not even family was there?  I know it’ll all get better, right?

Feelings change.  Memories don’t.

June 2010 – I open the door and she turns from her brother to look at me.  At first her eyes are wide because who would enter her home without even knocking?  Not even my Bella (mom) would do that.  Then her eyes softened. . .even smiled. . .when she saw me.  I only stopped by to make sure she knew which medicine she was suppose to take since my Tia had left the day before.  I check the bottle in her hand and tell her I’ll get going. . .then she opens her arms for the first time without me initiating it. . .and hugs me.

Blink

January 2006 – I’m sitting on the ground next to the lockers looking out at the courtyard as rain pours before a doubleheader varsity soccer game at my high school.  Everyone always goes to buy food from good ol’ McDonald’s or BK before games.  The girls are on the other side of the courtyard and I just don’t feel like taking the long walk to the other side.  He comes walking up and stoops down to my level.  We talk about the rain.  We talk about how I’m quiet.  We talk about who is better at soccer.  He gets up to leave so that he can go grab food before the game.  I watch him walk away with that light as air pace.

Blink

December 2008 – I go through it alone.  Everything changes between us.

Blink

July 2010 – My work clothes from the Flying Tigers are strewn on the floor.  Boxes are in the living room.  Zaxby’s sits on the kitchen counter.  I sit on my bed crying . .well, almost alone, Soldier is on the phone with me.  It’s my first night alone in my first apartment.  I’m terrified to live in one of the most picturesque neighborhoods Florida Southern.

Blink

August 2007 – I finally let go of that rainy afternoon before a soccer game and break free from the bruises and all he brought.

Blink

October 2010 – Windows rolled down.  The aroma from the red clay and orange trees swirl around me and my best friend as I take her on my favorite scenic tour.  Untouchable

Blink

March 2011 – We call 5 years and 3 months of friendship. . .love. . .quits.

I often forget the exact time or day.  But when I have moments like I’m losing the puzzles that comprise my life, it’s amazing how some times in my life just seem to flash back in the blink of an eye.  Everything is perfect.  Even if those moments tore me apart. . .they are perfectly framed in my mind.  I remember. . .The beveled lid of the medicine.  The smell of rain.   The ache in my abdomen.  The cricket outside on my sill.  The purple of the final bruise on my right thigh.  The sea of groves with light reflecting from the leaves.  The sunshine breaking past my blinds as I cover my head as tears roll off.

All so clear in a blink of an eye.