CALL ME A ROMANTIC

By Ms. Dinorah

Here again is the challenging blank page. A (this) page needs to be filled with words that can possibly turn into ideas. It doesn’t matter, at least at this particular moment in time, when I am beginning to look for ways to simply catch my own desire, whether they are good or bad. There is no such thing as good or bad ideas, or should I say just words at the moment?  I am not necessarily thinking of ideas. When I think of ideas, I imagine a child building a sophisticated sculpture in the winter, a blue and white depiction of Elsa’s frozen castle in my mind, Anish Kapoor’s Tall Tree and the Eye. Yes, thinking of ideas is a sophisticatedly painful process. Pure words, on the other hand, give us certain relief from anxiety although they are not easy to find –at least at (in) this particular moment in time.

A week ago, on Valentine’s Day, I opened my browser and went to my Google homepage. There were 6 little hearts, with love words and phrases stamped on them. I could only spend a minute watching the beautiful view. (My mom was celebrating her birthday, and we wanted to go shopping after lunch). I spent the rest of the afternoon with the image of the vibrant floating hearts in my head as if they had been created for me! I was so delighted that I didn’t feel the need to question why I had experienced this, almost intuitive, connection with the fragile Google hearts. Call me a romantic, if you want. Or, you may say I am a dreamer, but I am not the only one. I have always loved to dream –romantically.

A romantic girl I am

from the land where palm trees grow…

I wonder what kind of words my fourth grade class would use to finish these verses. What kind of words would you use? Think of rhyming words, for example. (Grow rhymes with…) I am thankful I don’t have to hide who I am anymore. When I was little, I had a crush on Patrick Swayze –and guess what, I had watched the movie Dirty Dancing without my thick giant glasses. No, I wouldn’t have admitted this painfully genuine truth in college when I was so desperately trying to fit in. What is your definition of yourself? I didn’t start wearing contact lenses until I was twelve, but if I am not mistaken, which I may be, as my student, or your friend and soul sister Elena, as she herself would put it –did you have the chance to remember her letter?-, my first love was Bruce Lee. I must have been five years old. “Would you please help rephrase what I just wrote so I am not misunderstood?” –I ask the man in the still mask. But, this is a calm, quiet, playful test. It is a test of my confidence or my faith in him although it sort of looks like a trap. Then again, we must free ourselves from getting trapped into ideas, especially those that will take us nowhere, in search of lost time with Marcel Proust, or as Joyce Meyer says, “…around and around the same mountain.” That’s why we have words. Couldn’t we just have a real conversation?

I wanted to say “Thank you!” to the Google team for creating the messages of the hearts. I felt a little melancholic that morning even though it was mom’s birthday. I wanted to tell him I love you. I mustn’t have been necessarily thinking of the (my/his) idea of love, just the words, which, at this particular moment, are the truth.