Author: Natal Galvan

Missed Opportunity

~ Natal Galvan

**He spent his whole life waiting for her to arrive in order to fulfill many of the dreams he had envisioned for himself…

and then he died.

Once he arrived to heaven he was given the chance to speak to God. He frustratingly asked him,

“Why did you have me return home without allowing me the experience of finding true love and being able to live out my goals and dreams? What had been then the purpose of this experience?” With an air of peace and love God answers him,

“My son, I laid before you many chances to accomplish the dreams and goals you had set for yourself. Each time you allowed them to slip from reach simply because you didn’t want to go through the journey alone, not knowing that you had the strength of me in you to do so successfully. If you would have followed any one of the leads the Universe had arranged for you, not only would you have accomplished goals and turned dreams into reality, but in the course of doing so you would have met who would have been the love of your life in physical form as well as finding the love of life in every form”**

Someone I know inspired this mini story. A soul who lives life sitting on a couch waiting for love to find them in order to finally live out the life they have always dreamed. I see nothing good come of it. All I see is a precious journey being wasted simply out of fear or dislike of having to go through it alone.

Sometimes it is taking the step of venturing out of your comfort zone that allows for grander things to come into your life. Sometimes it is stepping off of that ledge and diving head first into life that saves you from a tragic fall, that saves you from the death of spirit.

Don’t wait to do the things you love. You may never have the chance to do them again. Don’t weaken at the thought of solitude. Be strong and marvel in it. By doing so you will gain strength in yourself, and love and appreciation for yourself. You’ll discover that all your finest treasures have been with you this whole time and the desires you seek will manifest in ways that you never thought possible.

The message is simple: LIVE.

072-2  Photo Credit: Natal Galvan, Location: Santa Monica, CA

 

Hank and the Pineapples

~ Natal Galvan

First off, a Message to Mom:

Mom…. I’m not sure if you read my blogs or not. I think you do and just don’t tell me.

That’s totally fine because I love that you do…

Just a fair warning, This one may disappoint you. Just remember this, I turned out totally fine.

Ok.. Well maybe not totally, but this had very little to do with it 😉

I Love You Woman!

Ok, Now with that said, let’s get back to business. 

The first time I smoked pot is as vivid in my mind as if it were happening right here, right now. One of those childhood memories you never forget but don’t often tell. I was with my friend Harold, who I had met at a school mate’s Barmitzvha in June right before school let out for the summer.

This was the summer before I was to start high school and at this point in my life I wasn’t really into doing much but reading, writing, and what I like to call “nerding” out. Harold was a cool kid for his time. Halfway through high school already, he had his own pick-up truck but since he lived close to my neck of the woods he would always ride his bike to my neighborhood, which for some reason I thought was super cool. We’d hang out with the kids from my hood and either play ball (football) or just shoot the shit until it was time to go home for dinner.

During this phase of my life, my grandparents were living with us to help my mother out with my sister and I. Momma bear was a single parent and so life wouldn’t be so overwhelming for her, my grandparents helped with the responsibilities of taking care of us as best they could. The rule when it came to hanging out with friends, no one was allowed inside the house unless Momma bear was home. We could go outside but had to stay where you could be seen unless you had permission to do otherwise.It was one random day during this summer break that Harold, who everybody but me called Hank, came over a bit earlier than normal. Hank never came by the house early. Like most boys his age, he usually slept in until at least noon. On this day, I remember thinking how odd it was that he had been over to my place so soon. I don’t remember the exact time but I do remember thinking there were still a few hours before mom got home.

My mom and my grandparents liked Hank. He was a nice kid who always showed them respect anytime he was around. Sometimes I think it was because although his parents were together there was not much love in that home and so secretly he liked to pretend our home was his home away from home.

We sat on my porch for a bit talking. I asked him why he was out and about so early. As he pulled out a pack of cigarettes from his pocket I noticed he was shaking a little. He went on to tell me about how his father and mother had gotten into a really bad fight. One he had to step into to protect his mother and instead got the brunt of his father’s aggression, so he decided to leave the house for the day. He opened the pack of cigarettes as he spoke and inside was a  lighter, a few cigarettes, and another little baggie but I couldn’t tell what was inside of it. He took out a cigarette and sparked it. It was only then that I noticed the bruising around his throat.

We spent some time talking. He did most of the talking and I most of the listening. Sometimes you just know when it’s best to be silent and so I was.

We had been sitting there in silence when my grandmother poked her head out and asked if I could do her a favor. She was going to be making some fresh cheese (that’s right!!! CHEESE.. mmm) and needed a few gallons of milk from the store.

“Since you’re with the Incredible Hulk, you both can go and he can help you carry them.” she giggled in Spanish. I found her comment funny too. Hank was thinner than any guy I had ever seen. If he stood sideways he literally who disappear. She handed me a few dollars and off we went, on foot, to buy us some milk.

As we walked, Hank pulled out another cigarette. He never smoked so many in a row so I chalked it up to him being stressed from the earlier altercation. This time when he opened the pack, the little baggie that was stored inside had fallen to his feet. He quickly picked it up and stuffed it back in the pack.

“What is that? I noticed it earlier.” I was inquisitive, I’ll admit to that. Most of you by this point would have already known what it was are at least had an idea. I was what you would call a late bloomer with a lot of stuff growing up. I literally had no clue.

“Nothing. It’s just a bag of pot I got earlier before I came here. I was gonna smoke it before I headed home tonight.” He said very matter-of-factly.

“As in weed??” I was stunned. Up until that point I had heard of weed but never had I really seen it before. Not in person anyways. “Let me seeeee!” I demanded.  He took the pack back out of his pocket, opened it up, and pulled out the baggie. Initially I laughed. I had never seen such a small zip lock bag before. I was astonished once I saw all the little Batman’s printed all over the bag. I fiddled with the zip lock, my fingers seeming to be too chubby to open it. Chubby or inexperienced, one of the two. He took the baggie from my hands, “You’re going to bust it open.” he laughed at me and then proceeded to open it up. The smell punched me hard in the face. I didn’t like it, but I did. It was a weird smell and yet I couldn’t stop taking in its scent.

By this point we had just come on the grocery store. It wasn’t far from where I lived and there was a trail in the back of the neighborhood that lead directly there without having to be anywhere close to the road. The trail led right up to the back of the store. Suddenly the idea struck me.

“I wanna smoke it!!!” I jumped, like literally jumped with enthusiasm. In my mind, why not?? It’s not like it was dangerous, or not that I had heard, and trust me, I had already been told many stories from friends who had already tried it (Yep imagine that… BEFORE entering high school kids were already smoking). The summer was in mid-swing. No classes therefore no homework. Mom wouldn’t be home for hours. It was now or never.

“What??!! No WAY!!! Are you kidding me?? We’re supossed to go and get milk and you want to get back high??! Are you crazy??….” He stared at me in bewilderment maybe waiting for an answer that I didn’t give him. “Yea you must be nuts. That or you are already high from the scent.” He must have forgotten that I was still holding the bag. I smirked.

“If you don’t let me smoke some with you…” He cut me off  by snatching the bag back from me. Damn it. He laughs.

“Listen, you wanna smoke some? Fine. But just one hit. That’s it. Then we go in, grab the milk, and head back. Ok?” Maybe it was the fact that he wanted to smoke too that he gave in so easily. Maybe it was because I have never looked so disappointed to have been told no. Either way it didn’t matter. I was getting to try the stuff all the cool kids talked about.

We found the perfect spot to smoke. Behind the grocery store, there was a set of stairs that sat right next to the loading ramp. Unless you were a store employee throwing out cardboard boxes out or there was a truck delivery to the store, no one would be out there to see us.

Hank and I sat ourselves at the very tippy top of the steps that lead to some random door. An emergency exit I’m sure. He pulled out a folded up piece of paper that he had in his back pocket. He opened the baggie that was still in his hands, and dumped the contents of it out on the paper. It was slightly breezy so I made sure to sit in a way to block the breeze from hitting him. He began breaking up the little nuggets and once he was finished, he took a cigarette from the pack, dumped out the tobacco and replaced it with the magical herb. Not all of it fit in the cigarette so he made sure to put the left overs back in the mini zip lock, then tucked that away into the cigarette pack. All of this took absolutely no time. I was so stunned at how little time it took for him to do all of that. It had been one of the coolest things I’d seen.

He sparked the spiked cigarette and inhaled an enormous hit, letting some of the smoke float out of his mouth and then taking it in through his nostrils before it slithered away. That had been the second coolest thing I had seen. I remember thinking he looked like a music video, but I kept that to myself.

He passed it to me. It was now my turn.

I had NEVER ever inhaled smoke before. Not purposely anyways. Sometimes when my family had holiday get togethers, the amount of cigarette smoke that lingered in the air was too much to not inhale. I remember I would always complain about my eyes getting too itchy and watery, but the grown ups were too busy partying that it didn’t matter. Eventually my eyes grew accustomed to it.

As he handed me the cigarette he makes sure to give me a run down on how to inhale.

“Go really slow. Your lungs aren’t used to this yet. And you’re going to cough, hard. It’s normal.” he almost looked worried.

I stared at the stick for a second. Then as the ash built into a long stick of its own, I took a slow drag.

Nothing. I exhaled and a little bit of smoke came out. There was no coughing and there was definitely no buzzing effect. He had said one hit, but who ever does one of anything honestly?? I took another drag. This time deeper and for longer. I felt a burning sensation deep within my chest and as soon as I felt it a HUGE cough escaped me, like flames bursting within a furnace. I thought I was going to suffocate. My eyes watered and my nose started to run. It took me a while to catch my breath and it was only then that I realized Hank was rubbing my back in an attempt to comfort me.

“I told you to only take one!” He said semi-authoritative, semi-jokingly.

“I *cough cough* know but…” I couldn’t even talk. It still felt like my eyes were rolling in the back of my head for some reason. Was this normal? Was that supposed to happen? What if I was that one case of overdosing on Mary Jane?? How tragic. I could see it now:

“Teen dies during summer break when trying Marijuana for the first time!” Fuck watching Reefer Madness. I was living it!

I would be that kid. The example. The one to ruin it for everybody.

“Dude, seriously are you even listening to me?” I came back. Hank had been saying something while I was busy freaking out over my death that hadn’t happened yet. “We need to  put this out and get to buying that milk. Your grandmother is probably wondering what is taking so long.” He was right. She probably was. But how was I supposed to go in the store and buy milk high like this? Was I even high?? I was sure I was. I hadn’t spoken a single word for what had seemed like forever and that was NOT normal. He took in one more big hit before putting it out. He tucked it back into the pack of cigarettes, which now I knew held contraband, and as soon as he placed it in his pocket and we stood up, a delivery truck appeared. He pulled i=onto the ramp towards the unloading area and looked up at us as we headed down the stairs. I was sure he was going to yell at us for being up there, it was just a matter of time. We descended the stairs quickly and as we walked past the truck I noticed huge pineapples on the side of it. Really it was one huge ad of produce. Fruits and veggies were all over this truck but the pineapples were what took a hold of my brain.

The truck driver continued to look at us but had said nothing. His eyes said it all, “You stupid kids shouldn’t be up there..” We just kept walking. I couldn’t take my gaze off of the pineapples. They were so big. They looked like they would have been nice and juicy too. I wanted to cut the tops off, take out the core, and crawl right in. I hadn’t noticed but I had started walking towards the truck. Towards the pineapples.

“Can I help you?” It wasn’t so much a question as it was a statement. A statement as to how weird I was acting, and of course, I couldn’t just respond with something normal. No. That would have been too smooth for my first experience of being high. I responded,

“Your pineapples look juicy.” in the weirdest voice I had ever heard my self speak in. In the background I heard Hank utter something but I couldn’t determine what. I steered away from the truck and away from its driver. I smiled to myself as I replayed in my mind what had just happened. At that moment I looked up and over to Hank and instantly we burst into laughter.

From that point until we reached the house, everything seems like a comical blur. I remember laughing at everything. At the store clerks and their customers, at the way I fumbled with my money when trying to pay for 6 gallons of milk. I mean seriously, who buys that much milk, especially two young kids such as ourselves?? I suspected, that everybody else suspected, that we were up to no good. That was fine with me. It just made everything else seem that much funnier. If only they knew granny was just making some cheese..

We eventually got back to the house with the milk delivered safe and sound.

No one ever suspected a thing. Hank left to deal with his hectic family life. My grandmother got to making her cheese without even a question as to what had taken so long. Maybe we actually hadn’t taken long. Or maybe my grandmother was now on old people time and had lost track. Who knows. My mother came home later on that day. By then I had taken a nap and was feeling only a little cloudy. To my disbelief my mother had stopped at the grocery store before coming home and within her bags of goodies? I am not lying to you, there were two pineapples in one of the bags. Scouts honor.

It would be YEARS before I touched the stuff again. This one time was enough for me. After some time Hank and I lost touch. It was maybe a year out of high school that I ran into him at a friend’s party. He looked awful, as in life had not been very good to him. It broke my heart. He was barely coherent and after just a few minuets of slurred chatter (mainly from his end) he disappeared. I found out later that night that he ended up driving home that night which angered me because anyone that was a true friend wouldn’t have let him drive under those conditions. Apparently he had gotten himself heavy into drugs which really explained his physical deterioration. I never heard of him since.

I think back to this memory and write about it with a big smile on my face. It was something I had gotten away with as a kid. Something that was innocently fun yet if found out about, would have gotten me into so much trouble. My first time smoking pot was a funny experience and I’m glad it happened with Hank. To this very day whenever I eat, see, or even smell pineapples, I think of this time. To me, that day, deep down inside it helped Hank to forget about home for a little bit, while also taking the chance to help me to break me out of my shell and experiencing something totally new in a non-malicious manner. It does make wonder though, how do some kids let themselves get so deep in to drugs of the heavy sort, while others can dab a little in the fun without falling in to the deep end.

This post is dedicated to you Hank 🙂 Hope all is good in the hood 😉

dscf0395-2  Photo Credit: Natal Galvan

 

 

An Unlocked Memory

~ Natal Galvan

I was watching the Skeleton Key alone in my room the other day.The memory that flooded back went a little something like this:

………The fuzzy, anorexic looking, eight-legged critter stood out against the rusty blue metallic mailbox. It seems as though it had been awaiting my arrival. Almost as if it knew that I would be dilly-dallying down that dirt road at that exact moment on that mid-morning day in July. The way I felt that very second, and as soon as the thought of a spider waiting “for my arrival” crept into my mind, I should have taken those as clear warning signs that the day wasn’t going to be an average one.

Standing off to the side of the random driveway, I stared at the spider, hoping to be making it uneasy with my gaze, when a tall woman with silky black skin walked out onto the porch. She planted herself firmly right above the first step, with both arms crossed across her chest.

“What chu’ want girl?” She yelled across the yard in a deep southern accent. I took notice in her colorful hair wrap, which matched her dress down to the very pattern stitched throughout the entire garment. “Just like a tribal woman,” I remember thinking to myself. To me, this woman had seemed very out of place. Being only 10 at the time, I had never seen a woman who looked like this. This was Jersey and I only saw ladies like her on the T.V so can you blame me when the only word that stumbled out of my mouth was “spider”? In the haze of my confusion, all I did was point to the spider while I slowly analyzed the situation. I mean was there a situation? Obviously not satisfied with my explanation on what I was doing on her property, she swiftly descended, the stairs crackling under her weight.

Taking off and leaving nothing more than a sandstorm behind me was what I wanted to do. My body, on the other hand, decided to stay put as if mesmerized with the movement of her dress flowing around her, making every step seem magical. It was as if she were merely hovering above the ground, floating towards me. As she quickly ate up the distance between us, my heartbeat picked up a little more speed and my finger tips frantically fiddled with the hem of my shorts, giving away at my uneasiness. She halted as she reached her mailbox. Her gaze was so fierce it sent a taste of bile into my mouth. Fearing that if I didn’t do or say any thing she might gobble me up with her piercing black eyes, I quickly pointed to the bait that had held me there and got me into this hairy situation. To  my amazement, the little bastard was trying to crawl away, as if saying “My job here is done.” Out of frustration I just wanted to launch it across the yard and almost as if reading my mind, the woman flicked it, sending the the little bug flying into oblivion.  Shock was clearly expressed on my face because although I wanted to flick that little shit myself, I wouldn’t have done it. She did. That kinda scared me.

“Where do ya live girl?” Her voice was gentle, almost as if she were purposely trying to sound that way. The look in her eyes was stone solid. Again left with nothing else, I pointed toward my apartment building. Suddenly I realized how far away from home, from safety, I was. Panic spread through my veins sending a shutter throughout my bloodstream, waves rocking me in what seemed like every direction. “I made homemade peach cobbla’ Would you like to try some?” She asked unexpectedly. The smell of homemade cobbler made its way to my nose as if on cue. Lucky for me I didn’t like peach cobbler, or peach anything for that matter. Finding the voice of reason and as well as my own, I blurted out, “No thank you. I don’t take things from people I don’t know.” Feeling victorious because I had done the right thing, I suddenly stood just a little taller, my chest out, and chin up. Then she said, “Well don’t cha know ya ain’t spose to talk to strangers either girl?”

With that, my white Nikes hit the dirty, pothole-infested road with such speed and agility not even a cheetah could have caught me. There was no way I was going to get caught up in the web of that woman. What if she knew voodoo?? What if that spider hadn’t been just a regular spider. What if it was a kid, just like me, that she tricked into having cobbler and then BAM!!! What if he had been trying to warn me? No wonder she flicked away!!

Reaching my destination before you could even blink twice, I ran up the steps, and into my home. I quickly kicked off my play clothes and hopped in the shower, letting the hot water wash away any traces of spell that could have been placed on me.

Weeks later, way after I put this whole traumatizing situation behind me, my mom and I were at our local grocery store. As we bypass the paper goods section and waltz into the cereal aisle, a familiar black shadow was standing at the far end right in front of the Cookie Crisp, my favorite cereal.

“Hello Sonia!!” My mother yells out in her accented English. “Come! Meet my daughter!” My mom rushes us over, pushing hard against my resistance. “This is my daughter! Nati, I work with her at Resorts!” I simply stood there shocked. Not only did I not care to even grab my favorite breakfast cereal anymore and so by default my mom would get Raisin Bran, but now I also had this scary lady’s eyes laughing at me, while her face stood still like as if this were the first time meeting me.

“Ma, I’ll be in the car.” And with that I turned and left feeling defeated, wishing to never see that woman again………

 

I never did see the “scary” lady again. Just yesterday I had asked my mother about her and she said I was crazy and hadn’t a clue of what I was talking about. The memory of this experience had been locked away until, ironically watching this movie. Funny the things our brain stores away and it only makes me wonder, what else have I up in this attic full of memories? What triggers will later expose other stories waiting to be relived? 

dscf0584-2  Photo Credit: Natal Galvan, Location: Yoga Fest California

I Am That, I Am

~ Natal Galvan ~ 2 Comments

I am.

I am strong, a lot stronger than I give myself credit for. I am a dreamer, some may say that I dream too BIG. I happen to say that I  THINK big. I am friendly. I am nice, even towards those who may not deserve it. I’ve got a huge  heart. I am warm and loving. I am great with kids and animals, although sometimes I feel like I may not want kids and just a shit ton of animals. I am a hippie at heart. I am wanderlust. I am wonder lust. At times I feel like a gypsy in the nomadic sense. I am a hard worker. I am a friend. I am family. I am dependable. I am depended on. I’m loyal and I am honest. I am educated and I am also an intellectual. Just because you are one doesn’t make you another. I am funny. I am sarcastic. I am a writer. I am a painter. I am creative. I am amazing. I believe YOU are amazing. I am special. I am unique. I am an original. I’m supportive. I am interesting. I am interested. I am spiritually rich. I am financially stable. I am happy. I am grateful. I am lovable. I am loved. I am gracious. I am free. I am alive. I am a professional by my own standards, not anyone else’s. I am positivity. I am responsible. I am content although not yet satisfied. I am always striving for more, even though at times I do not know what “more” is. I am a dancer because my soul feeds off of the music. I am a composer because I march to the beat of my own drum. I am a girly girl who simply doesn’t like pink. I am a guy’s girl who hardly follows sports. I am respectful. I am respected. I am ignorant for there is still so much more to learn. I am patriotic. I am sensitive even though I can come off tough. I am brave even though I’m scared. I am the sum of more than one. I am more than just the sum of two. I am passionate. I am just. I am real. At times I can be passive. I am exactly where I am supposed to be. I am healthy. I am helpful. I am who you want to come across when you’re in a time of need. I am full of well intended advice. I am always welcoming to new friends and new experiences even if at first I am slightly guarded. I am guilty of being imperfect in the eyes of others. I am guilty of being the perfect version of me. I am all which the Universe intended, encompassed in a shell of that which holds the inner me.

I Am.

11371236_777019842427240_1279770546_n Photo Credit: Natal Galvan

“Alternative” Living

~ Natal Galvan

So then it begins. The story of the girl and her dog. She sits alone at bars and although she never intends to, she gets way too drunk. She meets all sorts of personalities while she’s out and even though legally she’s not supposed to be out drinking and mingling, following the rules was never her forte. Let’s just call her a rebel. Others would simply say dumb.

It wasn’t too long ago when she heard herself being described on the radio for the first time. It was when she first arrived to Florida some 8 odd years ago. The radio host was saying how in today’s world, the term used for a girl like her was “alternative.” It was then that she realized she’s gone from being just “ordinary” to something but.  With her funky hair color and her piercings, along with her tattoos that cover about 75% of her body, in this Florida region she stood out. It’s not like she lived in Miami or Orlando where youth is prominent and so is the “alternative” life style. No, she lived in an area where the senior citizens are the ruling class followed up by the middle class to wealthy families. The types of people who look at her and wonder why?

“Why would such a nice girl like yourself, with so much going for herself do that to her body?” They ask. Funny. Old people never feel the restraint of prying into your private life. It could be the fact that soon they’ll be nothing but a mass of decaying flesh and bones six feet under that gives them the balls to ask such intrusive questions. But I don’t mind. My life and who I am is an open book. No invitation is needed. Just having an open mind and a civil, respectful approach is all I care about. I usually try to counter that question with another question like, “Well, why do you drive the kind of car you drive?” Or “What makes you choose to wear that shade of lipstick?” They laugh at me because of course nothing of what I asked them is remotely close to being like a tattoo on your body. But those are my build up questions. I then ask them, “What makes you want to have children?” Or “What makes you decide what political party to run along with?” To every single one of these questions no matter the level of permanency, the one true answer that fits true to all is the same answer I have for them. Ultimately it is because you want to. It’s because you like it. You do it because it’s you, it’s your dream.

Just recently I had a lady ask me, “Honey how are you going to find yourself a nice young man to take care of you when you’ve got all this going on?” and she points to my art. I of course had to be a hard ass in my response because with people like her that’s just how I naturally react. So I say, “Well HONEY, if I was looking for a man to take care of me then I may be a little worried but seeing as though I am not…” She cuts me off and says, “Oh I get. Well a “partner.” How will you find a “partner” then?” Naturally she assumes I’m a lesbian.  “Listen lady, I’m not a lesbian. And if I was that wouldn’t even be the issue at hand. The issue you’re having are with my tattoos and although I’ve got no need to explain anything to you, I will use this opportunity to maybe enlighten folks like you a little bit. The fact that I’ve got tattoos doesn’t effect the kind of people I meet, because the kind of people I want to meet won’t have an issue with the tattoos. We can call them a filter. If anything, I have met the raddest people because of my tats and those whom are judgmental just simply stay away. That’s how I like it. Let me just add by saying that some of the most clean cut individuals are the dirtiest people on this planet. Take a look at Ted Bundy for instance or Jeffery Dahmer. Keep them in mind the next time you judge someone for their “nice guy” appearance.” Needless to say this lady didn’t continue on the conversation with me. She turned back to her “clean cut” husband never uttering another word. Hopefully I left her wondering what sort of skeletons he’s got hidden among the Tommy Bahama clothes hanging in his closet.

Was I a little too harsh in my response with this lady? Maybe. But catch me on a day like that day where I was a couple drinks in and I’m going to get as real with my answers as your are with your questions. I think a lot about this older generation and how sometimes I cannot wait for them to dissolve. It may be wrong of me to say but I blame a lot of what’s going on in the world due to their way of thinking. The fact that so many are set in their old ways and cannot conceive of things changing or evolving.  Much of their way of thinking so ignorant and small minded, killing so much of the potential this world has to offer simply because it doesn’t fit their way of thinking or the way things have always been. Maybe I was a little harsh with her, and not only her but with others like her, but it was actually one of the rare moments life presented me with, an opportunity to maybe spread a message that normally wouldn’t have been given a chance to be expressed.

In reality this blog piece isn’t about the adventures of a girl and her dog. It’s about the realization of the way life goes for not only me but for those out there who are similar.

In today’s world, if by your mid twenties you’re not married, with kids, living in your own home, working in a set career, you’re looked down upon by the older generation. Truth be told, if you look at the statistics out there, you’re actually doing just fine. You’re in sync with the way life is evolving around you. Many are staying in school longer, actually taking their time to decided on their true passion in life. Others aren’t even going straight to college after HS because their intent is to travel and experience life before making long term dedications to ideas that in all honesty were more imposed on them than actually being wanted. Having a full blown family by the age of 25 is now pretty overrated. I’m not taking any credit away from those who actually have one and wanted to have one. That’s a great achievement when you get to accomplish a dream, no matter what dream it is. All I’m saying is to those of you who are out there still drawing up that blue print for life, don’t feel bad. Don’t feel like you’re behind in anyway. Don’t feel that you have to have this title hanging over your head of the “alternative” lifestyle, no matter what definition it holds for you. Who are these individuals coming up with such a label? Who are these people coming up with the rules and guidelines for society? Other human beings that’s who. People who are no more inferior or superior to us, to you. They are just regular Joe Shmoes so why care about living your life by their rules? Set your own standards and live your own life by them. Care about yourself, and make sure to try to go along your path with inflicting the least amount of pain as possible. Those should truly be your only two “set in stone” guidelines. Everything else can be written in sand and washed away by the sea allowing you to write and rewrite as many times needed.

Never allow others to make you feel like who you as an individual are worthless. No one is worthless.

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Photo Credit: Angie M, Muse: Natal Galvan ’13

 

Buzzing It

~ Natal Galvan

It’ Friday morning and I’m ready to get going. Even though I barely got enough sleep last night, I shoot out of bed, pumped to get the day started. Anytime I have something exciting planned I get the jitters like a kid when they know they’re going to Six Flags. The morning of my tattoo appointment is always intense for me. I try to eat a good meal, hydrate, and gather my thoughts. You’d think I was getting ready to go into an intense competition of some sort. I even stretch for goodness sake. But going into a 3-4 hour tattoo session truly is no joke. I believe one should always prepare.

For someone who has their entire back and both upper arms totally covered, and a couple other pieces scattered elsewhere, you’d think I’d be used to this. You’re totally wrong. Right before I pull on that door and walk into the shop, even on my drive over, I am in high anxiety mode. I know what to expect and the anticipation is borderline maddening. It truly isn’t until I sit in the seat and he presses those needles into my skin that I finally relax.

People tend to ask me the same questions when it comes to getting tatted, one of the more frequently being, “Doesn’t it hurt?” which then it automatically is followed by a, “How do you tolerate the pain?”  How do I reply?? Easy.

I say if you have ever had something emotionally tragic happen to you in your life, it could be death of a loved one, a break up, getting fired, ect, all things people suffer through at one point or another in their lifetime, that kind of pain is so much greater than any tattoo has ever felt for me. I can easily deal with this kind of pain. It hurts but it’s a tolerable hurt. What’s even better? You KNOW that at some point it WILL be over. It’s tolerable and predictable. Hell. I can even go as far as saying that this kind of hurt you can stop at any point when you feel like it’s too much to bare (weenies.. JK jk). So does it hurt? Yes, it does, but this hurt I can deal with. It’s one of the easiest of hurts you could ever go through in life and it’s a hurt that looks good on you. Well… if done right 😉

“Why do you do it?” I say that’s another frequently asked question that plagues the minds of many who just cannot seem to understand. “Well, why do you do anything that you like to do? The answer lies right in the question itself. Simply, because one likes to do it. I enjoy the entire process of tattooing. From collaborating with the artist in coming up with a new design, to selecting a location, to placing the stencil, hearing the buzzes from the gun when they’re making sure it’s running smooth, feeling my skin get pumped with ink, and then… voila! The final product. I truly do enjoy it all.

As I write this, I laugh because you can ask me questions like, “What do you see yourself doing in the next 5 years?” or “What are your career goals?” or “What kind of man do you want to one day marry?” I cannot give you a definite answer. I change my mind about most things as often as I change underwear. One day I like this. The next day I’m like screw this I like that. I can love something for years and wake one day and be like “Pffffft. I’m over you.” It happened to me with taquitos and caramel squares. I can’t stand even the sight of them anymore. But for some reason, tattoos? That’s a different story. I love each and everyone of them. From the very first one I ever got over ten years ago, to my latest, I have never regretted one. Good thing too. Because did you know they were permanent? <— Another question I get asked often (there are people full of bad jokes out there)

So here I go. A bowl of fruit, two slices of toast, two glasses of water, a mile run, and an after shower meditation session later, and I’m off to another body art appointment. But before I go, allow me to leave you with a little bit of brain food. Tattoos, whether you like them or not, can serve for a wonderful analogy for in life everything you do, you should think about it as if you were getting a tattoo.

Life. When it comes to living it, would you rather pick a generic piece off the wall? Or custom designing your very own?

I say that’s a pretty good one, no?

It’s the weekend baby! It’s time to start buzzin’ it.

1391292_1062733273746436_1714794071_n  Photo Credit: Nata Galvan, Muse: Natal Galvan, John N.

 

At This Point…

~ Natal Galvan

I’m 29 years old. I’ll be 30 in January.

I have yet to graduate college, although I am a little more than halfway done.

I do not own my own home yet.

I am not married. I don’t even have a boyfriend.

I have no kids (although I came close once).

I have no REAL responsibilities other than enjoying life daily as much as I possibly can.

For the most part, I live a good life. I find it crazy when society and its “norms” want to disrupt that for me.

I get this at least once a week:

“So do you have any children??” (Insert “No” here…) “Oh honey, you’re missing out on the glories of having children!! It is so rewarding!” They say to me. For some maybe. For me? I’m going to be honest and go as far as saying that I would find having kids, at this point in my life, kind of a burden. I can already hear all the gasps and comments from my readers now, “A burden? How could she!?” and would I be thinking differently if I already had a few of my own? Of course! No loving parent would ever call their child a burden, but coming from someone who has no children in a world that is constantly multiplying around her, I find it to be true.

Yesterday as I sat at a local bar enjoying a proper Gin and Tonic and an order of coconut shrimp, while working on my latest short story, I couldn’t help but observe a family that had just sat a few tables ahead of me. Mom, Dad, and four kids. The parents were about my age. The kids were maybe a year or two apart, the youngest not able to walk yet. They rolled in with strollers, diaper bags, sweaters, bottles, toys, everything a family with 4 children would need for an easier outing. As the afternoon crept on, I noticed that the parents had no real interaction with one another other than what they HAD to say to each other in regards to the kids. I couldn’t help but wonder what they used to be like with one another before the children came along. As a waitress I often see this and think the same thing. I always wonder what families were like before the children happened.

It’s not always that I see a disconnect between couples. It’s random but once in a blue I do see tightly knit families that give off that moment of inspiration… but that moment is short lived when I hear or see a screaming child at another table. Almost like life is snapping me back into reality.

I had a friend tell me once, “Since a kid all I ever wanted was to be a mom. And now I am one and sometimes I feel like, “what have I done?” No one tells you about the metamorphosis your body will go through after having a child. No one tells you how scary it can be when the realization sets in that you’re raising a little human and molding them to someday be a productive member of society. No one tells you how frustrating a child can be, because even if you are a good parent, it’s not just nurture it is also nature that plays apart in raising them.  A parent sacrifices a lot. You can’t think about what you want to eat, or what you want to buy, or where it is that you want to travel to next. All you do is think about them. You as an individual is almost non-existent.” Her son is 8. I can’t imagine how she will be feeling once he hits those teenage years.

Like i said before, I get it often, “So, when are you having your little ones? Times ticking you know!” I reply with a shrug and a usual, “Not anytime soon.” Coming from complete strangers I find those questions and comments annoying and intrusive.

Yes, having children can be a blessing and very rewarding but, you don’t miss what you’ve never had. At this point in my life I do not want children. To have kids right now would be almost selfish of me. There is too much that I need to accomplish first, there are many things I need to get out of my system first, before I ever think about bringing a life into this world. I sometimes hear about parents resenting their children for not allowing them to be able to finish much of what they started or have the ability to live out the dreams they once envisioned. I don’t want to be that. I hear about parents imposing much of what they wanted to do in life onto their kids saying, “I want them to do what I could never get to do,” and most often than not, these kids would rather be living out their own dreams, living out their own lives. If I don’t do what I need to do for me now, how could I possibly be a good parent later? How could I possibly devote all of my passion, love, and energy into my mini me, while also working on obtaining a good career, finding a good home, establishing a strong relationship with my better half? Many would argue, “Well people do it everyday! No one is ever fully ready to have kids but ey, they manage.” Well let me just say, I don’t want to simply manage my way through life, especially if I don’t have to. All those people who are juggling kids while also finishing up an education, or intensely focusing on their career, or trying to work on their marriage, they are struggling. I’ve got enough struggles going on at the moment, no need to add a child into the mix. I am extremely content with playing with my nieces and nephews, or my friend’s children. I am happy that at the end of my visit I can simply walk away. I join in on the fun and once the fun is over I leave.

I give good parents a lot of praise because in reality they are doing something that I simply cannot. Kudos for contributing to society in a unique and special way. Because of you humanity continues.

At this point, I am happy because  I get to contribute to life in a different way. I am living my life at my own speed, doing the things I want to do, while always making sure I don’t hurt others along the way. In my opinion, that, in essence, should be society’s  “norm”.

Sandbox Blues

~ Natal Galvan ~ 2 Comments

Mother swings me off her hips and gently places me into the box of soft white dust.

“Sit here and play a bit. Mommy is going to sit over there and have a chat with Suzie.” She points her painted red nail to where this Suzie woman is already sitting. Mother kisses me on the head but before she walks off she points again but this time directly in front of me and says, “Look, you have a play pal.” and with that she turns and walks off. I glance from my mother back to the kid sitting. It’s a boy and he looks as if he has black snakes slithering around his head, but what looks like snakes are actually his thick curls slightly swaying in the breeze.

“Lets make friends.” As my mother would say. Determined to not sit by myself any longer I get up, my legs wobbling a bit at first. I slowly and steadily make my way over, smiling to myself. My joy is cut short. As I finally make my way over to him I notice the trails of  moisture off of his cheeks sparkling in the sun. He’s crying. I reach him but I don’t sit at first. I’m just standing there staring at him and after a few beats he turns to look at me with his big blue watery eyes. He takes a couple of quick deep breaths, which gives away that he had been fiercely crying earlier, I know the drill. I plop down next to him and he turns to look away, bunching up dust in his tiny little fists and then slowly releasing it, allowing it to slip between his fingers.

That was the day I had met my best friend Henry. Now looking back I should have known then what was going to transpire later on in life. A relationship that begins on such a sad accord could only be giving clues as to how it would later play out, no? The day we met we spent the entire time doodling in the sand. His tears had eventually dried out and replaced by a tiny smile. Since that day, any time mother took me to the playground I always looked for him, and he was always there. Henry didn’t have a mommy. She had died while giving birth to him, a tragedy that he was never able to forgive himself for. His father was some big wig over at the DA’s office and was never home so Henry’s nanny was the one to really raise him. Henry only lived a couple blocks away from me so we ended going from playground buddies to classmates. As we got older we became inseparable. If we weren’t in the same classes, we met up at “our” lunch table and made sure we caught each other up on whatever we had missed out on. If we didn’t have the same lunch period that school year then it was on the bike ride home we played “catch up”. If either of us missed school, you better believe  that the other would show up after school with arms full of homework along with updates on the latest gossip. Of course we each had other friends but they didn’t come close to being as tight with Henry and I as we were with each other.

I remember it was sophomore year in highschool when my good girlfriend, Cherie, asked me, “Kira, why don’t you and Henry just date? He’s cute and you two get along so well. You’d never fight! Might as well!” She said enthusiastically. “Have you two ever done stuff ?” I slapped her arm. It was almost a natural reaction.

“Cherie!! No! Of course not!” I laughed loudly.

“So, No you wouldn’t date him or No you two haven’t done anything?!” she giggled.

What no one knew was that Henry and I had been each other’s first kiss. We had been in the 7th grade and it was a couple hours before before we were headed to our first middle school dance. We had dates and were speaking about them as I finished styling my hair for the night.

“The slow dances are going to be cool. I never really slow danced with someone before.” He said. “Well actually, ma and nana did a couple times when one of her favorite songs played. That doesn’t count though.” He then seemed to get a little distracted. I could tell he was thinking about her. Henry’s nanny died the year before and it was a tremendous loss for him. Since he never got to know his mother, his nanny was “mom” for him. To be honest, he probably missed his nanny more than his own mother.

“Well..” I tried changing the subject. “the last song of the night is always a slow song. It’s when you’re supposed to kiss your date.” The distraction worked for his full attention was now on me.

“Na uh! How do you know that?!” he asked skeptically.

“I heard the other kids talking about it in the hallway yesterday. They were talking about how you had to time it perfectly so you’d get done kissing before they turned the bright lights on.” I finished doing my hair with one final spray of my hairspray. I made my way to the bed where Henry was sitting. He was picking at a little lint ball that was holding on to my comforter.

“Well I wasn’t nervous about tonight until now. I’ve never kissed anyone before. What if I mess up? Or what if we kiss for too long and they turn the lights on!? Or what if she doesn’t even want to kiss me?” His mind was racing. It was pretty typical for Henry to get anxious. He was beginning to sweat a little.

“Dude! Relax! You’ll be fine! I happen to know that Amy is ecstatic to be your date tonight so why wouldn’t she want to kiss you?”

“I don’t know! What if I begin to stink or I’m not as decent as a dancer as I think I am?! Who knows! Girls are fucking weird!” He wiped away sweat from his brow. Any second now and he would start hyperventilating.

“Hey!” I shoved him.We both began to laugh and it wasn’t long after that my idea struck. “I have an idea!!!” I shot over to wear my CD player sat. “What if we practice?! I’ve never kissed anybody either and Brian’s like an expert. I don’t want to seem like a complete amateur. We could just practice on each other!” I was super excited. I mean, what are best friends for, right?

Henry thought about it for a moment, “I don’t know.Won’t it be a little weird?” Just like him, always questioning everything.

“How would it be weird?! We’re best friends! Who better to practice with?” I was rummaging through the stack of CDs that were shelved right next to the player.

“What are you doing?” He asked, still sitting on my bed but this time staring at me.

“I’m going to play a slow song and we’re going to practice kissing. It’ll help us to get the timing down too.” I found the CD I was looking for, popped it in and went to track 11.

“I never agreed to this. This is a really weird idea.” He ran his long slim fingers through his hair.

“Oh come on. Why do you find it so weird? Am I not pretty? Do I smell bad? Is there something in my teeth?” I walked towards my bedroom mirror.

“NO! You look great and there’s nothing in your teeth. I would have said something by now. He stood up and walked towards me. He stood a few steps behind me so that I could see his reflection in my mirror. “You don’t just find it a little weird two best friends practice kissing? It would make us each other’s first kiss! That’s not weird to you?”

I turned around and walked over to where he stood. I took his hands and placed them around my waist. I wrapped both of mine around his neck. The music had been playing and soon we began moving to the beat. We danced for a minute and once I felt like the timing was right I reached my lips up towards his. He met me halfway and we stayed there for longer than anticipated by either of us.

“Kira! Henry! Time to go! If you want to meet up with your dates and drive together we have to leave now!” My mother’s voice shook us apart like an electrical current. We began to laugh hysterically.

“Ok mom!” I shouted through my laughter. I ran over to the Cd player and shut it off and before running out the door grabbed my purse which sat on the bed. Henry was right behind me as we reached the door but before I opened it, I turned to look at him, “Honestly, I’m glad you were my first kiss.” and with that said, I turned the door knob and headed downstairs.

We had a great time at the dance that night and when the moment came, we each pulled off a spectacular kiss. Deep down inside, I felt like it was nothing compared to my first kiss.

The school years passed and towards the end of senior year we both found ourselves suddenly single. We went to our senior prom together and neither of us found it anymore appropriate. That night we ended up at an after-prom party. It was at our friend’s cabin right out on the lake and everyone was invited. We all partied hard and once the sun was about to make its appearance, Henry and I decided to end our festivities like any other normal teenager and headed to Denny’s for some early morning breakfast.

We’re sitting opposite of each other and spread before us was smorgasbord of breakfast foods, a personal buffet line. Except that we didn’t have to get up to get our food, it was all in hands reach. We stuffed our faces with blueberry pancakes, french toast, bacon, home fries, omelets, homemade biscuits, cinnamon sugar pancake puppies. You name it, if it was a breakfast item, we made sure to get an order. Halfway through our meal Henry takes a deep breath and leans back into the booth. This is one of his dead give-a-ways in letting you know that he had hit his limit. Me? It’s like I have a bottomless pit in my stomach so I just keep gorging myself. After a few minutes of silence Henry blurted out, “I’m joining the military, Ki” I was in the middle of chewing on some seriously stuffed strawberry french toast and hadn’t realized I had yet to swallow. There was sweet cream cheese stuffing on my lips, I could feel it. All I could was stare at him at first. Had I heard right? I was chewing so maybe I had misheard. The military?  “I know,” he continues,”You’re wondering where this came from and how it’s not “me” but…I really don’t know what else to do once we graduate. I hardly know what I want to do tomorrow let alone 5 years down the line. How could I dish out a shitload of money on college classes when I don’t know what I want to do for the rest of my life?” I slowly swallowed what I had in my mouth. The taste of the sweet strawberries and the deliciousness of that cinnamon battered french toast made my stomach feel much better. “I already took the entrance exam. I tested pretty high,” he smiled. “I passed the physical too. I feel like this would be good for me Ki. It’ll buy me sometime while I decide on what to be when I grow up. Plus, they’ll help me with school and great benefits.” He forked through the pile of blueberry pancakes.

“Hey! Don’t! Not unless you’re going to eat them!.” I fanned his hand away from the food. I take my early morning Denny’s sessions seriously. “So I did hear you right. At first I was questioning my hearing.” The shock of it all was still trying to sink in. “My best friend Henry is going into the military. That’s no joke, Hen. I’ve seen documentaries with kids just like you. They join for the money to fund an education they cannot afford. You know what happens, Hen? They comeback losing limbs or in a box, dude.” I was working myself up now. How could he leave? Off to fight other people’s battles for some extra time to think of what he wanted for his future? “Plus, who’s going to be my bestie while you’re gone? I’ll be stuck in this  town just going to college with no cool friends.” I protested selfishly.

“Ki, stop being dramatic. I’ll be fine. I’ll come back in one piece I promise and not in a box.” He picked up a strip of bacon and chomped half of it off. “You’ll make friends at school too, just watch. You’ll forget all about Hen.” He smirked at me.

“Those “friends” I meet won’t be half as cool as you so forgetting about you is out of the question. I am really going to miss you. I can’t believe you’re really serious.”

“Before you know it I’ll be back, Ki. I’ve just got to do this for me.” He just stared at me. I knew he meant business. He was that kind of person. Once he had made up his mind about something he stuck to it no matter how nervous or anxious it may have made him feel. It was one of the qualities I admired about him the most. Not like myself who was fickle and a complete walking contradiction. I grabbed his hand and held it tightly between both of mine.

“I’m going to write you all the time, Hen. I’ll keep you posted on everything. It’ll be like you’re not over in some weird and unfamiliar country. You’ll feel like your home.” I said.

And I did.

I wrote him, if not everyday, than every other day. I wrote to him about everything. I gave him every detail on the college life so to make him feel like he was attending with me. I of course kept him up to speed on the latest town gossip so he felt like he had never left. He would write me letters back talking about how awful the food was and how he was slowly adapting to military life. The years went on and the communication stayed constant and before I could even fathom the day was here. He was finally on his way back home.

He arrived a week after my college graduation. i drove 3 hours to go pick him up from the airport. I was so excited to see him. I hardly remember the last time I got to see his face in person. As I pull up to the curb I see him standing there. His curly hair was gone and although he looked more muscular, he also looked a lot thinner than what she remembered. His eyes wore dark circles and were a little sunken in. He smiled when he saw my car but the light in his eyes didn’t look so bright. I had barely placed the car in park when I ran out and over to where he stood. We embraced like we did that night of our first kiss, hugging tight like lovers would. A strange feeling hit me then. I stare up into his eyes and saw so much sadness that my eyes teared up. “Are you ok?” My voice barely more than a whisper.

“I feel much better now.” He said as he too stared into my eyes. At that moment we were frozen in time. It was at that very moment we both realized what was so obvious to everyone else all these years. To be there in his arms was exactly where I needed to be. Cars began to pile up around us, some of the drivers beeping for us to get out of the way. On the way home we were silent, only stealing glances at each other while the radio filled the air.  That night after we made love he said to me, “You were the only thing that got me through the dark times. You and your letters. It was through your letters that I soon came to realize how much I loved you and how I couldn’t wait to see you face to face again so I could tell you. I was a nervous mess when I was getting ready to fly back home, but once I saw you pull up and looked at that face, I knew it was going to be alright.” He smoothed hair away from my face and kissed my forehead.

“I love you too.” Were the only words I could get to come out.

I now stand here staring at Hen, thinking about all the beautiful memories we made together. I will make it my mission to allow only the good memories out weigh the sad ones, out weigh the final one.

When Henry came back, he was a truly changed man. Where as before he was an average boy with slight anxiety and nerves, he now was suffering from constant panic attacks during the day, and horrible nightmares at night. His moods would sway from one extreme to the other within a blink of an eye. We went to various doctors and psychologists but it wasn’t long before Hen was wrapped up in complete and utter depression.

I had just gotten home from work the day I found him hanging in the living room with a note at his feet that read, “I’m sorry Ki” and to this very day I carry that note around with me at all times. Some people carry around pictures of their loved ones around in their wallet. I carry my boyfriend’s suicide note. I always go back to thinking about the day we met in the sandbox and how since that very day we had become inseparable. We had grown to become so close and it took us so long to make our friendship into something more, yet it took absolutely no time for life to take it away. I lost my best friend and the love of my life in the same day and because of that I carry with me a heavy blanket of sadness. Beyond that sadness there does hide a bit of joy though because I knew Hen like no one else in the world did. I had the opportunity to not only know him but to love him and that is something for me to truly treasure. On a good day, when I close my eyes I can recall so many beautiful memories and I am undoubtedly so blessed to have them.

I give him one final kiss on his cold, pale forehead. I place my hand on his and let it linger there before I pull away from him. With every step I take my chest constricts knowing that he would be in that box forever, his final resting place at age 26.

I reach the church doors and push open. The sun beams immediately hit my face warming my cheeks and my soul a little. I take in one deep breath and as I let it out heads down the steps and towards my car. I unlock my car but before I get in  I take a few seconds to stare at what was across the parking lot in front of me, the park, and two little kids playing in the sandbox.