People tell you they love you in all kinds of ways. It hits you in a special way when you finally figure out how someone has been saying it to you. That thing they always say, that subtle thing they do. You feel a little dumb, but you’re grateful that you learned how to listen.

If you’re clinging to the hope that someone comes along and saves you, kill that shit please. Nobody comes. That’s how that ends.

And if by chance somebody does come along to drag you out of the hole you made for yourself, it’s going to be on their terms. It’s going to be a deal, a negotiation, not a gift. And nobody has leverage from the bottom.

Not all stress is the same.
There’s the bad stress of “fuck I have work and I’m late and someone cut me off and they didn’t text me back.”

But there’s good stress that tells you that you need to work on your goals and handle your responsibilities for your own good.

I’ve been trying to be more conscious of the stress I’m experiencing, qualifying it as good or bad and then acting upon it accordingly.

There’s way too many times where I’m ducking good stress and choosing to distract myself, while accepting the bullshit stress and allowing it to occupy my mind.

Ideas are divine communications. You could go for months at a time with just you inside your mind navigating this life. Then, out of nowhere, you’re getting dressed for the day, stereo bumping, and like a flash, you pick up a signal from the outside. A whisper in your ear disguised as your own voice. Do you dismiss it or listen? Do you trust in this voice that’s familiar, but that seems to have come out of nowhere? An idea can send events into motion and change the rest of your life.

I wish more people would speak Spanglish. 

I love it because it’s like the natural selection of language. It’s like when two people fuck and their baby gets the best traits from both of them. It’s two languages competing inside of someone to put together the best possible communication. 

You might not know what to call something in Spanish because you don’t get enough practice, so you say it in English. Sometimes when describing something, English may not be strong enough, or a Spanish saying or phrase will give the other person that exact feeling you’re looking to convey.

I don’t know about anyone else, but I was sort of taught to separate the two, to go ahead and speak one or the other, but that mixing them created this filthy uncivil bastard of a language. It’s bullshit and I think it’s so beautiful and articulate when someone can seamlessly weave together both to give you the sober black and white lines of English meaning painted in with the passionate colors of Spanish.

You ever notice how some white people say the word Mexican? The way they vomit the word out, it sounds like a slur, like a dirty word they shouldn’t be calling me. He’s a Mexican.

Compared to how it sounds when Mexican people say it. Soy Mexicano. It has this untouchable pride, like I dare you to say something bad about it.