after our supposed reading of beloved, came sandra cisneros’s the house on mango street. i have much less beef with this book, because it’s a much lighter read. whereas beloved is the lengthy story about a slave on the run who is now being haunted by the angry spirit of the 2-year old daughter whom she murdered, mango street is a short collection of vignettes by a tormented teenager with mexican heritage. while the narrator can sometimes be a bit whiny, i find myself relating to her situation in life. while my homelife is not as tragic as esperanza’s, i feel that sometimes i am a bit too harsh on my parents. i know that sometimes they cannot give me all that i wish i could have, but if they had the means, i know they would. it’s not like they’re holding out on us, their kids. but neither do my parents, unlike esperanza’s, have their heads in the clouds. pera’s mother spends her days at home wistfully sighing about the life she could have lead had she done one thing or another and how as soon as they win the lottery, they’ll finally start living the life they deserve. i do understand what that feels like, but never have my parents shown that dreamy, airheaded attitude.

before we started discussing the actual book, the professor told us about the author, sandra cisneros. she wrote the book when was supposedly twenty-four while in a poetry seminar for her master’s degree. we watched some videos about the author and her inspiration for mango street. in one particular video, she spoke about writer’s block. she said that writer’s block is not having a lack of something to say, but being afraid to say something that really means something to you.

“Writer’s block doesn’t mean you don’t have anything to say. Writer’s block means you are afraid to say what you really have to say.” -Sandra Cisneros

i am aware that too much time has passed since my last entry in this blog. in fact, the last thing i wrote about honesty, i wasn’t even happy with. it’s true. yes, it’s an important thing to me, but i couldn’t even be honest with myself to write something good. for the past week or two that i haven’t written anything, it’s not that i’ve had “writer’s block,” it’s just that i’ve lacked inspiration. my life, right now, is at such a stagnant point, there is truly nothing that inspires me to write. i am stuck in a routine that i won’t be able to get out of for another year or so. what does inspire me to write are completely vapid thoughts that i should have outgrown when i was wearing my plaid skirt and knee-high white socks in the eighth grade. things that are going on in my life are my classes, my job, my family, my friends, the shows i watch, and the men that i find myself “in love” with. i’m not saying that any of these things are unimportant. they totally are. without one of them, all that would be left would be fragments of a life that used to resemble mine (except maybe for the tv).

take today, for example. fearlesslydelicate has been in the back of my mind for the past week or so. i peel my eyes open for anything i can write about, but nothing seems worthy. the monotony of my life has left me with nothing interesting. today, however, i went to an art gallery with a friend, and it was nice, but things didn’t start to heat up -literally- until someone for whom i have very strong feelings walked up the stairwell and i turned into a mess. i say that things literally heated up, because at the moment, i became totally flushed, my body temperature must have risen about fifteen degrees, and i could feel a light sheen of moisture accruing all over my skin. all this over the mere presence of someone. that’s right. i didn’t even talk to this guy. i think i may have made the slightest bit of eye contact with him but it was totally dismissible if existent at all. i went home almost immediately after this scene that went unnoticed by everyone except the friend i was with. once i was home, all i could think of was writing a story in which a girl like me finally had the guts to say what she really wanted to a guy like him, but i couldn’t. and i guess that’s where sandra’s quote comes in.

i’m so scared of some unknown thing, that i can’t even find comfort in writing. one thing in this world that i should have absolute control over.

imagine the following dialogue in mocking, overly-masculine voices:

friend: hey, dude, you know that girl brenda?
him: uhh, that girl from that class we had last semester?
f: yeah.
h: what about her?
f: well, she has on a link on her facebook to this blog she writes, and she wrote this whole post all about you and she made this t-shirt that says “i heart aaron” and she wears it under all hear clothes.
h: oh, come on.
f: well, who can blame her? i mean, you’re gorgeous.  and ok, look, I’m not saying she’s a stalker, but she saved this kleenex you used and she said she’s gonna do some kind of African voodoo with it to make you like her.
h: what?
f: i know she’s kind of socially retarded and weird, but she’s my friend, so just promise me you won’t make fun of her.

in the year 2004, the movie mean girls was released in theaters. it was written by the amazing tina fey, and i borrowed some dialogue from it for the second half of this imaginary conversation. it’s totally applicable to my situation. he is totally gorgeous, and i most assuredly am socially retarded and weird. also, i won’t say for sure, but i may or may not have made a shirt with his name, saved a used kleenex, and pondered some kind of african voodoo.

about a year ago, i signed up for this literature class. i didn’t know anyone who was going to be in the class, so i only had the actual course content to look forward to. the start of the new semester finally came around, and, as is my usual custom, i decided to go to class early so that i could get a good seat. my preferred seat is always in the back row and against the wall opposite from the door. so, i’m sitting there with my legal pad and my ballpoint pen and my please-don’t-sit-next-to-me-or-try-speaking-with-me expression when my world is totally rocked. i didn’t notice him until he was walking directly in front of me. he was of average built and height, but he smelled of a smokey musk. he sat in the desk in front of me and it was like this from about late august to early december. writing this post has made me sigh wistfully, over and over again. since that semester, we’ve had several other classes together, which means that we’ve shared some sort of acquaintanceship for more than a year now.

in the handful of classes that we’ve had, the interaction i’ve had with him has been a minimum. in the classes where he sits in rows in front of me, i get to to stare at the back of his head for as long as i want. when he sits in the back row, too, it gets complicated. i have to be sneaky about stealing glances. unless he’s speaking out and contributing to class discussion, i have no reason to be looking at him. as far as talking or face-to-face interaction, it’s at a pathetic minimum. i’ve asked him for a pen and a scantron. i think once i asked him for the time too. i know, i know. it’s pathetic. but hey–i’m okay with it.

i’m quite alright with the whole thing. in fact, i would say that my relationship right now with this guy is absolute perfection. before you start calling me crazy (“you’ve never even had a conversation with him, bee!”), hear me out. i guess you could call it an “open” relationship. we see each other when we see each other. several times a week is perfect. it’s not too much so that means we don’t crowd each other. i never bug him about calling me, and i never expect him to. he’s never lied to me or been mean to me. whenever i’ve asked him for anything, he’s given it to me (see above). best of all, i keep him at a distance, so he’ll never know about all my crazy. i definitely think this will last. this thing where i’m too chicken to talk to him could last for years! say what you will, but my relationship with him is way better than the kind with all the expectations and disappointments.

i am complacent.

i really wish i could share more about this guy, but i’m paranoid. way more then i definitely should be. i mean, the few people who read this blog already know who this guy is but… i just can’t. rest assured, though, that he is totally worth the attention. i don’t know what it is that really keeps me from talking to him. he seems like a pretty nice guy. as far as interaction with the opposite sex goes, i usually keep it at a minimum just because i’m so weird and awkward. for him, though, i hardly ever see him talking to girls. he doesn’t seem like the womanizing type. i just can’t bring myself to talk to him. he intimidates me i guess.

for now though, i’ll be sticking with the love-from-afar (aka stalking) approach.