domingo, 16 de octubre de 2016

The Beauty of Nonexistence

Por Estefanía Malpaso
Desde la Tierra del Nunca Jamás 

We met when we were six years old in a galaxy far, far away. We went to kindergarten together, laughed our way thru the preparatory years, faced the awkwardness of high school as a team, and eventually parted our ways when we started college. I never saw him again until last week when he surprised me with an impromptu visit to my work place. I didn't recognize him at first. I still remembered him as the shortest boy in class who suffered from severe acne and acute flat feet that forced him to wear awful orthopedic boots for years. Surprisingly, he turned out to be a hot ass human, an alfa male, a venti-pumpkin-spice-latte with foamy almond milk, a delicious chalupa.

My busy schedule, and the fact that I live in NYC -also known as the loneliest city in the world- limits my possibilities of finding appropriate mates; and by appropriate I mean attractive, heterosexual, and with decent manners. I can't stand the Homo neanderthalensis better known as the dude that burps, farts, and chest bumps his other Neanderthal buddies while watching football in a sports bar on any given Sunday. So if a hot man with an apparent interest in the opposite sex, that exposes a gentle demeanor knocks on your door (or shows up at your work place) you: a. Welcome that trouble-maker with a big grin on your face, b. Tell you friend Tina to shut the hell up with her never-ending "A man is not going to knock on your door, girl!" Well guess what Tina? He just did, he just did! and c. Give thanks to whatever superior force you believe in -or not- for this miracle because the possibilities of the described above scenario are almost none-existent (Hallelujah!)

I followed my very unreliable animal instinct and went out with my newly found hunk that night. After several glasses of wine and given the fact that I had recently ended my long term relationship –uh, three months- with whom I thought was my perfect match (the dude exposed early signs of what I like to refer to as tacañería crónica) I gave myself permission to indulge in the pleasures that only human male testosterone can provide. We danced, we drank wine, we kissed, we bit and sucked each other’s lower lip, we enjoyed each other, and we didn't want it to end. But it did, and at mid-night I turned into a pumpkin. I touched his perfect beard with my lips one more time and sent him -and his blue balls- home alone with the promise of calling him the next day.

Basilides, an early Gnostic religious teacher, believed that the best things are those that don’t happen. Things that remain in the “nothingness” are pure and perfect, away from expectations, degradation, decay, and eventually death. I wanted my "love story" to remain in the beautiful world of nonexistence. I wanted it to be perfect, I wanted it to never end, I wanted it to be magical and in order for that to happen it was better if it never occurred. Next day I woke up to three missed calls from "hunk". I kept my word and called him back but only to wish him safe travels. Shortly after he returned to his hometown he wrote a post on his Facebook page describing his experiences in The Big Apple: "New York City, you are such a delicious left me wanting more of you". With a huge grin in my face I typed back: "Cheers for the inconclusive cities, relationships, and situations that leave us craving a -hopefully- soon to be released sequel. Cheers for the never ending stories. Cheers for the beauty of nonexistence"

martes, 6 de septiembre de 2016

That One Day

This short post goes for the outcasts, the outsiders, the black sheep, the revels, the ones that refuse to walk the expected path, the glittered unicorns, the magnificent mermaids, the angels with invisible wings, the smilers, the unconditional lovers, the brutally honest, the brave enough to follow their hearts and their dreams, the ones that realized that the time to live is NOW, the doers, the veggie eaters, the animal lovers, the lions and lionesses, the wise enough to listen to their inner cat, the almond-butter-and-jelly-sandwich fans, the nude sun bathers, the weirdos that chose to stay that way, the ones that not settle for anything less than a soul-deep electrifying connection, the courageous who never force an outcome, because they know damn well that "Sometimes not getting what you want is a wonderful stroke of luck" (thank you Dalai Lama) and the unexpected and unplanned for is where the flavor of life resides. The best is yet to come...
Miu Miu Women's Tales #12

martes, 23 de febrero de 2016

Sex (or the lack of) and the City

On a cold winter night back in February 2015 and upon my return from a three-month sabbatical in Colombia I met Estela my real estate agent who amidst the very competitive housing market in New York City somehow magically pull out of her sleeve my beautiful –yet tiny- rental studio in the very chic area of Greenwich Village also known as New York’s Gold Coast at a non-obscene yet still scandalous for other parts of the globe monthly price. Am I bragging? Fuck yeah! This minuscule -and overheated- piece of floor plan smaller than some people’s closets makes me feel like a Latina version of Carrie Bradshaw and for those of us devoted Sex and the City fans this is a life time achievement, so allow me to boast like a spoiled 5th Avenue kid (Nah nah nah nah nah!)

One might think that -as the show suggested- living in the city and having an adventurous fashion sense should be enough to live a Carrie-esque love life. Unfortunately that is not the case. Even though the city is full of fantastic people, finding a fulfilling love connection can be a frustrating process. Ice breaking face to face at a bar or any other social venue has been replaced by pointless Tinder and/ or Bumble virtual chatting that usually leads to and even more senseless real life encounter with the non-photoshoped-enhanced version of the object of your temporary virtual infatuation. You are expecting Mr. Fantastic when in reality you are stuck with Mr. Disappointment.

After a handful of not-so-fulfilling first dates I decided to change my strategy completely. I was not going to look "for love". I made the decision of becoming the best person I could be for my own benefit and satisfaction. I started a passionate love relationship with myself (insert dirty thoughts here). I took myself to the fancier restaurants, the most romantic beaches, and the chicest clubs. I also bought myself flowers and treat my skin to facials and my body to massages. I became my very best friend. I even took myself to the coolest Valentine's party where I met awesome people who just like me embraced their singleness with pride!

Once I dropped the self-imposed expectations of finding a romantic partner and became my best friend, I fell in love with life. Having a loving relationship with myself has been a very fulfilling and liberating experience. The "need" of finding a boyfriend has been replaced with the joy of understanding that no one can "complete" me because I am already whole and that my lovers is the ultimate life time achievement.

Besos and shine like the stars that you are!

Vintage dress directly imported from my aunt's closets. 
All pictures by CoCo. 
-"Is she back?" 
-"Maybe she has never left."

sábado, 30 de enero de 2016

Celebrate Everything

noun the state of being happy (also known as one's inability to grow up).

Be happy. Celebrate everything*. Celebrate your life, your home, your family, your friends, your work, your food, your pets, your beautiful body, your city, your neighbors. Celebrate your problems because without them you wouldn't grow as a person. Celebrate your broken heart because now you've developed enough compassion to realize that we are all fighting a hard battle. Celebrate that husband, boyfriend, lover that got away because love when not reciprocated will flow back and soften and purify the heart. Celebrate everything, but most importantly, celebrate YOURSELF. 
Thank you to the beautiful stranger in Washington Square Park that somehow got involved in the awkward rapidly turned awesome experience of taking pictures to a complete crazy stranger wearing a fury Michael Kors jacket and American Apparel disco pants (have you noticed how many times I have worn these pants in this blog?) 
*Thank you secret male collaborator #1 for the where-the-hell-are-you-guayaba? e-mail. Thanks to people like you I keep this crazy project called The Guayaba Project alive. 

Peace and Love to all,