somehow I found a little time to write.

first and foremost: OBLIGATORY CUTE PHOTOS 

note: the lighting at the internet cafe was incredibly weird... I am not this pale. 

Since I've been obsessing over the fact that Kelly is here, I haven't written as much. I will present an abridged version of the many exciting happenings:

- We spent a few nights in San Jose drinking copious amounts of alcohol and climbing things in the middle of the night.
- We took Six and Kelly to the neighbors and worked for a few hours. Luz loved them. She gave us homemade coconut liquor with lunch. 
- Watching Six and Kelly -- two incredibly fit, shirtless men -- playing chess is probably one of the sexiest things I've ever seen.
-Doing certain activities in a rain forest in the midst of a violent thunderstorm is exhilarating.
- Kelly trained me yesterday and I could barely walk today. SUCCESS (get your mind out of the gutter, people -- we were actually exercising).
- I used a machete to cut off Liz's hair, then I proceeded to give her the most badass haircut ever using only kitchen scissors and razor blades. I'll have to post a picture. It looks so good.

Here's a little something I wrote in the San Jose hotel room as Kelly was sleeping. Enjoy.

October 10th, 2010

I’m not quite sure where to begin.

I’ll start with the windows. The glass is thick, embellished, and translucent. Ornate patterns and textures are carved methodically on the horizontal four inch slots that open with the twist of a creaky, obstinate lever. The sun illuminates these shimmering diamond paisleys – these crystalline chrysanthemums.

I am right by the sidewalk – a silent voyeur privy to moments of conversation stolen out of context. I am a priest hearing confessions. In Nomine Patris. An American tourist strolls past. He’s from the Midwest or some other state that you wouldn’t visit unless you got excited by miles of corn fields and people who haven’t left their porches for decades: “She’s more mature that way – ” (with that irksome hardening of the t instead of the ch sound in mature– that little linguistic discrepancy that somehow reveals his age, his place, his identity) I can tell that she’d just want a friend, you know, she isn’t looking for – ” and his voice becomes unintelligible as his footsteps mosey out of earshot.

Our ice is melting. Every few minutes I hear a subtle crack or drip or tinkle or crunch as more condensation collects on the outside of the silver canister. The liquid diamonds drip down the ribbed sides of the metal and pool onto the glass table. The pooling water reflects the hazy light cast through the floral windowpanes. I’m reminded of A Cut Glass Bowl by F. Scott Fitzgerald.

Beyond the windows – steel bars and razor wire. Maybe I’m feeling vast and astute and metaphorical because of the catharsis of today. Inductive instead of deductive. Without being cryptic, without expecting others to pick up on my almost invisible nuances, this harsh juxtaposition struck me. What is it about the fusion of elegant glass and harsh steel that moved me to reflection? I implore the lever to bend to my will as the horizontal panes glide open. Prison bars. The glass masks the harsh reality of the dangerous San Jose streets. This hotel is nice, moderately priced, and relatively authentic. It is obvious, however, that it was constructed with American tourists in mind. People don’t travel here to see the city in totality. They take taxis long distances to avoid the foetid, over-breathed air of the public buses. They dine at overpriced restaurants with bilingual menus boasting hamburguesas and coca colas. They order vehemently in English, pausing their otherwise uninterrupted anglocentric flow about children or politics or money only to say “Gracias”. They think it’s quaint when people play street music or sell homemade bracelets or peddle produce. It’s patronizing. It may be the 21^st century, but time – or the illusion of progress – is completely irrelevant. This metaphysical-intellectual colonialism is alive and well. I know it intimately – it’s exactly the perspective I had when I first arrived. It’s not entirely negative I suppose. I still romanticize the bright crayon box tin-roofed slums and the cracked sidewalks impaled by harsh vines and stubborn weeds.

My muse is back. My writer’s block is gone. It’s Kelly. I can feel my heart beating again. Those fifteen minutes we waited for him in the terminal felt like days. Maybe even weeks. He held my head and kissed me for the duration several eternities as tears were streaming down my face. Yeah, I’m that person. Everything since then has been a blur. He’s sleeping now. I suppose our post-arrival sheet romps combined with the length of his flight demolished any energy he had left.

I feel amazing.

Yesterday, Six arrived. God. He is incredible. The four of us are going to have the perfect dynamic as a group. They’re both staying the whole time until January as well.

We left the hotel yesterday afternoon looking for an adventure. We found a set of steep, crumbling, concrete steps that led to a violent river overlooked by lines of pastel and neon colored barracas. We went further and found a soccer field, then a playground. We went on the monkey bars and climbed the rope and slid down the slides. There were little signs all around the park in Spanish – I don’t remember them verbatim. Some simply were advising to respect nature, another one specifically said “in life, happiness can be found in planting a tree, reading a book, and making a friend.” I love this place. We went further downhill and admired some political graffiti denouncing neoliberales. I didn’t know what that meant. I mean, I know what liberalism is in the vague American sense, but I knew this was something more specific. I asked Six because he knows everything about everything. He then explained to me about the profit-driven IMF and how they would give money to countries in exchange for amending their laws or creating new policies. Yeah, I’d hate them too.

We found a skate park and watched the kids do tricks on their bikes and skate boards. There was one kid who couldn’t have been older than five or six doing toe slides with the other rowdy teenagers. 

I'm in paradise.