lunes, 26 de septiembre de 2011

Day two: Look at the Flowers

Think of childhood experiences that left impressions on you, either positive or negative. List five or ten and pick the one that wants to be written about. Set aside ten minutes to sit down somewhere and ¨freewrite" about the experience.

It was that yellow fish. On top of the television. I wanted to have it and play with it. After all, I did love The Little Mermaid. Climbing on that piece of furniture seemed reasonable enough. It seemed accessible. I must make it mine.

In a manner of light speed, the black box was being held by my, then puny, arms and my super-strengh. I called desperately for my grandma. She was like always, in the kitchen. Slowed down by her wheelchair, I held the TV in shock, in awe. It was heavy. I cried afterwards, letting the TV fall on the bed. My grandma called my mom and scared the shit out of her.

Later on, I would carry that TV to my first apartment to watch Criterion Collection favorites. I still love Little Mermaid, but I liked Aladdin better, it was more mysterious and outlandish. Plus the princess had a tiger as her pet and she ran out of the Sultan's Palace. She was cool. I still think Aladdin is an awesome movie, even if it is not Criterion Collection material.

That TV is now a place to put plants in. I hate TV now, I would rather write. What would had happened if that TV was heavier? Maybe I would had died, a casualty of moder media devices. My grandma looked at me and didn't believe her eyes. I still don't know how I carried that for that amount of many seconds. I bet she was cooking her famous arroz con pollo, with half a Budweiser can in it. It was to die for.

I don't eat chicken now, but I would eat a cauldron full of that witching rice and chicken recipe, in insane and insulting quantities. Maybe that is what happens when you die, if you are good enough you get to eat your favorite meal forever.

Perhaps that is why I hate TV now. Childhood experiences form us as adults, don't they Freud? Well maybe that is why I can't stand watching anything now without heavily criticizing it or maybe that is why I can't have a good night sleep in that specific bedroom.

Maybe my grandma's house still scares me and that is why I didn't move in with the rest of my family. I remember all the shadowy figures, pacing around the bathroom. If one looked fast enough, you could see them at the end of the corridor. Or my obsession with voyeuristic aliens, looking at me through the window. My grandma watched shows about aliens and monsters that ate goats and chickens, drained their blood. I would fall asleep every night thinking that one of those nights, Doña Lula's chickens will all be killed by the Chupacabra. I would hear them clucking and would jump out in terror if one of them did those weird loud clucking noises, thinking they where being attacked. I still can't take a decent shower in that bathroom and I still don't like sleeping near a window or being in the deep dark. The supernatural haunts me, even if I may not believe in it. I is all TV's fault, sensational latin american shows and their folktales. I still believe there are unknown monsters roaming in the dark nights. I just hope they are not waiting for me, to be their next victim. I can't tell my mom this because grownups are not supposed to be scared of ghosts or monsters, but I am.

Eyes that glow in the dark are my biggest fear, except my cat's eye. Which I accept and admire. I once thought of becoming a parapsychologist, but I don't teach that in college, at least not here.

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