Month: June 2023

(Note: Scroll down for an English translation.)

Michael,

El contenido de esta carta te puede sorprender pero en mi opinión la vida es desmasiada corta para no decir la verdad.

Te doy las gracias porque me has dado la felicidad de una chica enamorada. Hacía mucho que no me siento así y fue un placer sentirlo de nuevo. Diste sentido a las canciones de amor. ¡Sé de qué hablan! Hasta durante esas semanas de mayo yo andaba en mi propio mundo de euforia mientras toda la ciudad de Davis andaba con el miedo de los homicidios. Fueron unos días de alegría para mí.

Pero nunca llegué a decirte todo esto porque aprendí de que no andabas soltero. Tú mismo me dijiste de que tienes pareja y unos días después otra amiga me dijo que te ibas a casar dentro de dos semanas a una chica buena. Así que me quedo sin decir nada. Yo no me meto con las personas que ya tienen pareja, aún menos con las que están apunto de casarse.

No voy a buscar personas que son igualitas a ti, pero si en algún momento me ves con una pareja, te aseguro que va a tener cualidades inspirados por ti: será un hombre dulce, guapo, y siempre dispuesto a dar ayuda. Va a ser súper listo y trabajador. Va a ser un hombre en que tengo mucho orgullo, del mismo modo que sentía hacia ti.

Nunca olvidaré tu forma de decir <<hola>> casi silencioso, tu forma de dar la atención entera a las personas que están hablando ni la lista que me mandaste después de preguntarte qué hay para hacer por Davis. Nunca olvidaré tus kind eyes ni las chispas de gris en tu pelo ni el lunar que tienes en el lóbulo de la oreja derecha.

Te felicito por tu casamiento, aunque mejor felicito a la mujer que tiene el suertazo de decir que es la mujer de Michael. Te felicito por haber encontrado un trabajo en Oklahoma, y te deseo mil felicidades en tus próximas aventuras.

Un saludo,

Amy Lee

For Michael

Michael,

The contents of this letter might surprise you but I believe life is too short to not say the truth.

I’ve got to give you thanks because you’ve given me the happiness of a girl in love. It’s been awhile since I’ve felt this way and it was nice to feel it again. You gave meaning to love songs. I know now what they’re talking about! During those weeks in May I was in my own world of euphoria despite the city of Davis being scared to death with the ongoing homicides. Those were my days of happiness.

But I never got around to telling you this because I learned that you’re not single. You yourself told me that you have a partner and a few days later a friend told me you’re getting married to a nice woman in two week’s time. So I remained silent. I don’t involve myself with people who have partners, much less those about to get married.

I’m not going to try and find someone exactly like you, but if you see me sometime with a partner, I promise they’ll have characteristics inspired by you: he’ll be a sweet man, handsome and always willing to lend a hand. He’ll be really smart and hardworking. I’ll feel very proud of this man, the same way I felt towards you.

I’ll never forget your nearly silent way of saying “hello”, the way you give each person speaking your undivided attention, or the list you sent me after I asked you about things to do in Davis. I’ll never forget your kind eyes or the flecks of gray in your hair or the mole on your right earlobe.

I congratulate you on your marriage, although perhaps I should congratulate the woman who has the extreme luck of being your wife. I congratulate you for finding a job in Oklahoma, and I wish you the best in your upcoming adventures.

A greeting,

Amy Lee

Feeling the feelings feels really quite hard sometimes but I put these songs on and they walk me through them. It’s nice to soften them a smidge (or augment them), have some company, and when the song ends the feeling resides slightly or fades away with it. If I’m still feeling the feels, then I restart the song. If I restart the song and it doesn’t resonate emotionally anymore then I pick a different song. I repeat until I find a song, and if I can’t find a song, then that’s okay. Truly. I simply carry on with my day until the urge for a song pops up again. I allow myself the full spectrum of emotions, because I am strong enough to bear them.

I might even pause the music so the tears can flow without any impediment.

Specific emotions: Sadness, disappointment and disillusionment, anger, silliness, excitement, stress. Adult ambivalence.

I will now post the lyrics of three songs that I felt really explained what I was going through. Obviously no one song is going to perfectly capture what I was processing but with these three songs you can get the idea.

The songs are:

“Words Fail” from the movie adaptation of the musical Dear Evan Hansen

“algo ha cambiado” by Cariño

“Words” by Alesso & Zara Larsson

—Begin Songs—

Lyrics from “Words Fail” that really got the emotions going are bolded:

I never meant to make it such a mess
I never thought that it would go this far
So I just stand here sorry
Searching for something to say
Something to say
Words fail, words fail
There’s nothing I can say

I guess I thought I could be part of this
I never had this kind of thing before
I never had that perfect girl
Who somehow could see the good part of me

I never had the dad who stuck it out
No corny jokes or baseball gloves
No mom who just was there
‘Cause mom was all that she had to be

That’s not a worthy explanation
I know there is none
Nothing can make sense of all these things I’ve done

Words fail, words fail
There’s nothing I can say
Except sometimes, you see everything you wanted
And sometimes, you see everything you wish you had
And it’s right there, right there, right there
In front of you
And you want to believe it’s true
So you make it true
And you think maybe everybody wants it
And needs it a little bit too

This was just a sad invention
It wasn’t real, I know
But we were happy
I guess I couldn’t let that go
I guess I couldn’t give that up
I guess I wanted to believe
‘Cause if I just believe
Then I don’t have to see what’s really there

No, I’d rather pretend I’m something better than
These broken parts
Pretend I’m something other than
This mess that I am
‘Cause then I don’t have to look at it
And no one gets to look at it
No, no one can really see

‘Cause I’ve learned to slam on the brake
Before I even turn the key
Before I make the mistake
Before I lead with the worst of me
I never let them see the worst of me

‘Cause what if everyone saw?
What if everyone knew?
Would they like what they saw?
Or would they hate it too?
Will I just keep on running away from what’s true?

All I ever do is run
So how do I step in
Step into the sun?
Step into the sun

—End Song—

Lyrics from “algo ha cambiado” that really got the emotions going are bolded:

algo ha cambiado de Cariño

[Verso 1]
No sé qué ha pasado en todo este tiempo
Sé que algo ha cambiado, pero no sé en qué momento
Ni por qué aquí sigo, ni por qué me quejo
Ni por qué me ahoga todo lo que llevo dentro
No es lo que quería, pero ahora lo quiero
Y no puedo escapar aunque casi no nos vemos
Tengo tanto miedo, me miran muy raro
Entre tanta gente no veo si estás a mi lado

[Verso 2]
Sé que no me entiendes, yo tampoco lo hago
Si pudiera hacerlo, estaría todo ordenado
Creen que me conocеn y me he acostumbrado
Cuando se dan cuеnta, dicen que he decepcionado
Lobos disfrazados me muerden la mano
Y al tercer bocado ya no sangro demasiado
Pero lo bonito no vale dinero
Tiende al infinito, como lo que yo te quiero

[Coro]
Como lo que pasa cuando nos miramos
O vienes a casa y me das la mano
Como que te quedes y no tengas miedo
O quizá un poquito, pero me elijas de nuevo

[Interludio]
Contigo
Contigo

[Coro]
Como lo que pasa cuando nos miramos
O vienes a casa y me das la mano
Como que te quedes y no tengas miedo
O quizá un poquito, pero me elijas de nuevo
Como lo que pasa cuando nos miramos
O vienes a casa y me das la mano
Como que te quedes y no tengas miedo
O quizá un poquito, pero me elijas de nuevo
Como lo que pasa cuando nos miramos
O vienes a casa y me das la mano
Como que te quedes y no tengas miedo
O quizá un poquito, pero me elijas de nuevo

—End Song—

Lyrics from “Words” that really got the emotions going are bolded:

[Intro]
I got the words “I love you”
Sittin’ on the tip of my tongue

[Verse 1]
At your house again
Are we more than friends?
There’s so much that I wanna say
But I gotta hold it back
So scared how you’ll react
I just hide it all away

[Pre-Chorus]
I could give you it all in a minute
We’ll fall any minute
But we go ’round and ’round
I don’t wanna mention commitment
But I feel it slippin’
So please don’t let me down, me down

[Chorus]
I got the words “I love you”
Sittin’ on the tip of my tongue
Oh, I feel like
As soon as they leave my mouth
You’re just gonna get up and run
You’re gonna run away

[Verse 2]
You know we connect
More than just the sex
But arе you gonna let me in?
I can set your world on firе
But you’re holdin’ the lighter
Instead, you’re puttin’ out our flame

[Pre-Chorus]
I could give you it all in a minute
We’ll fall any minute
But we go ’round and ’round
I don’t wanna mention commitment
But I feel it slippin’
So please don’t let me down

[Chorus]
I got the words “I love you”
Sittin’ on the tip of my tongue
Oh, I feel like
As soon as they leave my mouth
You’re just gonna get up and run
You’re gonna run away (Run)
Run away (Run)
Run away (Run)
I got the words “I love you”
Sittin’ on the tip of my tongue
Oh, I feel like
As soon as they leave my mouth
You’re just gonna get up and run
You’re gonna run away

[Outro]
If I say it now
Then one day, I’ll wake up
And you walked out (You walked out)
So I just stay here with the words “I love you”
Sittin’ on the tip of my tongue (Sittin’ on the tip of my tongue)

—End Song—

Where are all these blog hits coming from? I currently have 350 hits, yet I have shared this blog with no one. Am I not speaking into the void after all? Have my thoughts found their home in a stranger’s mind and not in servers on unknown continents?

Love as always,

Amy Lee

You don’t know what it’s like to stand in front of the mirror, look at your own naked body and wonder if he thinks of you in a sexual way (I hope he does).

You don’t know what it’s like to go to class the next morning and put these thoughts to the side and write your name on the attendance sheet and pretend to think of nothing as he connects his laptop to the TV presentation screens so we can all see what material he’s prepared for the day.

You don’t know what it’s like to stand downstairs in the kitchen, excited because he’s here and you’re here and the sun is setting while a pot of spaghetti boils on the stovetop and he’s putting the plates on the table for the two of you and the air is humid with excitement. You smile because he’s suggested a new show to watch and his excitement is endearing, the way his eyes light up and seeing it makes your chest and shoulders lift with good-feeling-feelings.

This, of course, has never happened.

You don’t know what it’s like to climb the stairs in the foreign languages building up to the sixth floor (elevators scare me) and feel unsure about whether your heart is pounding from the exercise or because this is a chance to see him again. My lungs burn a little so I figure it’s the first, but my stomach is doing flips so maybe it’s the second. Emotions roll around inside of me.

You don’t know what it’s like to cross the corridor feeling triumphant and uneasy, away from the stairwell and pass by office doors sometimes open and sometimes not. The open doors reveal focused, official-looking professors typing away at computers, and it makes my heart sink a little. I don’t want a closed door or serious business, distance inside room 611. I don’t want distance or rejection. I’m reminded that I’m here to attend office hours and not to stare dreamily into his eyes (god I can’t believe I’m writing that) or ask him about his life story and whether he wants two children or three.

You don’t know what it’s like to approach room 611, see that the door is partially open, propped open with a doorstopper and wonder what it would be like to have that door closed with the two of us inside. It’s of course wildly inappropriate and that leaves a bad taste in my mouth and I don’t really want the disapproval of the unfriendly looking professors wondering why the door is closed with the two of us inside but I step forward and knock and without waiting for a response I push open the door and there he is. His gray metal desk faces the right wall of the room, not quite the same wall that encloses the door I’ve just opened and there’s a red prayer-style candle featuring Steve Carrell (we love a man with a sense of humor) and a small golden trophy with his name on it and his laptop is propped up on a stand and a knockoff Mac magic keyboard below it (we stan a man who cares about his posture and his wallet). The session goes on smoothly and in a blur. He is attentive and eager to please but all you can think about is his body so close to yours (finally!). I can’t even make eye contact with him. The most I can do it look at his chin, his hair, his shoulders, until I realize I have no more questions, and casual conversations feel like too much, so I smile at him (or at least I hope I did) and scurry out of room 611.

You don’t what it’s like to soar down those stairs, exuberant and feeling capable of flight, body humming with the sensation that I’m the luckiest girl in the world. I must share the good feeling with someone, so once I get to the bus terminal to head on home I call my sister. She picks up. She’s driving and her boyfriend is with her. I tell them about how I just got help on my essay from that really cute guy from my French class and they respond positively. I’m just so happy! you tell them, and you can hear them chuckle. Maybe they are remembering the good ol days, the initial days, of their relationship. They congratulate you and encourage you to keep hanging out with him.

…

You don’t know what it’s like to sit outside a boba shop just a street away from campus a few weeks later and tell your friends about how that cute guy in your French class is actually your teacher. They get silent and I feel forced to cough up an explanation. I was hoping they’d be sympathetic to my situation (god knows I already feel embarrassed enough) but instead I feel silly and slightly shamed. They look at you, unbelieving, and I change the topic.

You don’t know what it’s like to go to class and confine yourself to the student-teacher relationship, holding out for the agonizing 7 weeks remaining until you can finally make a move on him.

If he should say no, then I would remember the first time I saw him.

If he should say no, then I would remember his kind eyes, the way they turn down at the corners and the flecks of gray in his hair.

If he should say no, then I would remember the way he’d laugh at my unfunny jokes and when I showed him my essay to see if I had translated a word correctly in my mind he said yes and then offered me another translation. It’s all very comfortable and intimate. I like getting help from him.

If he should say no, then I would remember all the sustained eye contact, the anticipation of going to class, the dread of Friday’s (what do you mean I’ve got to wait two full days before seeing him again? As if one full day between on weekdays wasn’t bad enough), and walking up the steps to Wellman Hall wondering what we’d do in class today.

If he should say no, then I’d remember week 3 after giving the first presentation with Sarah when he turned around in his desk to face the class and asked the class back the question one of us had asked (I think was me) and I thought to myself, “wow this is nice, I could get used to this” and I believe that’s when I first realized I had a crush on him and wanted his attention.

If he should say no, then I’d remember the squish of the squishy part of his shoes as he walked past. I sit somewhat near the door and I’d lower my eyes in bashful contentment in the early days as he walked past to the podium.

If he should day no, then I’d remember all the happy memories and all the happy made-up memories and choose to bask in them as I please.

If, however, he should say yes, then, with the passage of time spent together, I’d gather and accumulate details about him- his birthday month, the kinds of foods he doesn’t like, why he ever came to the US- and construct different fantasies and stories about him until finally one day, perhaps never, I’d get to know the real him and begin to live in the present moment.