Surprise, suprise...

I have some exciting news! “In the Words of a 20 Something” is going into early retirement due to upcoming projects. But don’t fret my pets. My relationship saga continues on migente.com. My first column will be posted Monday, April 17th ( I will send an email then with the link). For now it will be a biweekly column, but I am positive that with all your support and visits (lots of them I tell you!) the new column will become as successful as my blog.

I first began this blog to entertain the masses and to discipline myself as a writer. Then it became a form of therapy (for myself and maybe even some of you). It felt great to expose myself completely - my thoughts, feelings, and personality - and to work through some war wounds. It felt liberating to be so raw and open. I couldn’t have done this without my loyal and supportive readers. I want to thank you all and I hope you all continue reading on migente. There are also a few people I would like to thank individually:

Jason - Who would of thought an argument would have led to all of this? Again, thanks for helping me see the light.

Jessica - You published my first article and now this! You’re making all my professional goals come to fruition. Thank you, thank you, thank you. To future success and finally meeting!

Adayna - Thank you for Jessica’s email and for pushing me to make the connection. I may have to listen to you more : )

Perla - My number one defender! You've battled all the negative comments because you’re loyal and you love me.

Teresa - You’ve always said “follow your passion”. Your wise words are a big part of my success.

Joey - You believed in my creative talent and even compared me to a famous author. It felt wonderful. Thank you for the support.

"George" and "Ivan" - Thanks for the material and for not taking things personally. As for "Elijah", he can talk to the hand cause...well, you know.

I would like to finish by sharing two promises I’ve made for myself regarding romance: 1) I promise to settle with a man who accepts me in every way. Someone who will see my inner, not just my outer, beauty. 2) I promise I will no longer hold on to a finished relationship. If it's over, then it's over.

I have sent the promises into the universe. There’s no going back now! Continue reading and we will see how it all unfolds...

Sujeiry

The Good Lie

I consider myself to be a pretty good liar, and I owe it all to my sister Adriana, who at fourteen years old showed me what not to say or do during the act of lying. I watched in horror as mami asked Adriana why she had a tube of fuchsia pink lipstick, a black eyeliner pencil, and black mascara. Adriana dodged mami’s stare and lied; explained that the make-up mami found in her book bag was a friend’s and that she hadn’t worn any. Mami paused and Adriana and I watched as her expression changed from angry to hesitant. Adriana’s confidence – a crucial factor when lying – wavered. She suddenly began to cry, providing mami with incriminating evidence – mascara stained cheeks.

I realized that in order to survive mami’s strict rules I would need to master the art of lying. I began to practice immediately, diving into the pool of small lies first. At age twelve I told mami I had finished my homework when in fact I had done the homework in class. At age thirteen I skipped Academic Bowl practice to go to the Art Club instead. I felt like a mastermind and soon began to dive into twelve feet. At sixteen years old I greeted mami while drunk, stating I was simply tired. I waved hello while maintaining my balance and my distance, then shut myself in the bathroom and brushed my teeth three times. At eighteen mami found a carton of cigarettes lying on top of a birthday gift. I told her the cigarettes were a friend’s, assured her I had never smoked, and then added: Why would I leave the carton of cigarettes out if I were hiding them from you? Simply brilliant.

Now that I am older, I am honest. But from time to time my mind wanders to the image of mami clenching Adriana’s make-up and lying seems safer. That's exactly how I felt about the situation with Ivan but even still I decided to come clean. The next day after we kissed I stood in the middle of his living room, rattling on and attempting to express myself, while Ivan starred at me and smiled. He wasn’t sure what to make of my freak out so he walked over to me, grabbed me by the waist, and kissed me. I kissed him back and couldn’t bring myself to tell him the truth.

A few days later, I decided to try again. I picked up my cell phone and returned Ivan’s call. My heart beat quickened with every ring. Ivan answered the telephone, we chatted for a few minutes, and then I began my spiel.

“I’m having a really hard time with everything,” I said.

That’s not a lie.

“I think you’re stressing yourself out without needing to,” he replied.

I paused and thought of the right words to make him understand. I couldn't find any.

“I’m just confused because I think I still have feelings for my ex.”

That’s not necessarily a lie.

“Last time you were here you freaked out a little bit, but then you were fine. You’re making a big deal out of nothing. It’s all in you head,” Ivan said.

I began to pace and weigh my options. The truth was he wasn’t accepting my explanations. The truth was I couldn’t tell him the truth. I summoned my inner liar and jumped into the deep end.

“You know what. You’re right. It is me. I’m really messed up because of Elijah. I just haven’t been able to move on. I can’t see myself with anyone right now. I just want to be alone…” I continued.

“So you’re basically waiting for this guy until he decides to be with you, if he ever decides to be with you again?” he asked.

I could sense his astonishment and annoyance but still continued spewing lies. I heard myself saying yes, that I was willing to wait. I painted myself as a woman in denial and somewhat of a masochist, all for the sake of sparing his feelings and sparing myself feelings of discomfort. I preferred to taint Ivan’s image of me than to taint his image of himself. I convinced myself it was a good lie because I had lied for the good of all.

BESO! Or beso?

The protagonists of novelas love with great intensity and passion. I watch as they run into each others arms and embrace. The sound of violins and guitars exploding through the television set and increasing in volume as Luis Alberto brushes Maria’s cheek with his fingertips. Maria’s lower lip then trembles with desire. They gaze into one another’s eyes - watery and filled with longing - and whisper te deseo, no puedo mas, BESAME!. They finally kiss, a passionate, lust-filled, amorous BESO!. They caress each others backs, gently tug tresses, and rub on each others booties. The passion between Luis Alberto and Maria is so intense and thrilling that it moves the audience - watching from their love seats and sofas at home - to tune in each and every night.

We all want to feel this dramatic and electrifying spark. We all want to end up with someone we desire so we can feel the heat that allows lovers to romp around the grounds of Central Park during a hot summer night. That fiery chemistry that tempts two lovers to fondle one another while grooving on a dance floor or while sitting in a movie theater. I have felt that passion in all my past relationships. It was instant with Kurt - the first man I fell head over heels for. All Kurt had to do was tickle the small of my back and my skin would fill with goose bumps and my body would tremble. It was even instant with George, my now friendly ghost. Though he wasn’t my type we clicked, and I could never understand how their was such passion between us. How someone who was so different from me could turn me on by simply kissing the back of my knees.

It was no wonder I was looking for the same kind of passion with Ivan. I was hoping to feel a spark that could transcend our relationship from platonic to romantic. That’s why I went to Ivan’s apartment the night after our friend’s birthday party. I wanted to explore the connection I knew we were both feeling. But I was hesitant the entire night. Instead of making myself comfortable on the couch beside him, I sat away from him, on a chair, in front of his computer desk. Instead of going in for a kiss when he walked me back to my apartment building, I gave him a quick hug and a peck on the cheek. But the next morning I laid across my queen-sized bed and pictured Ivan and I together. I closed my eyes and imagined what it would feel like to have Ivan’s arms around my petite frame. My body tingled a little. It could actually be nice. Then Elijah’s face appeared, interrupting the lovely fairy tale forming in my mind with a new man. My eyes shot open and I shook my head as if I had water in my ears. Maybe that’s what I needed, a quick shake, a smack on the head, a bold and unpredictable move to rid me of the memory of my relationship with Elijah, a relationship that had officially ended a year prior. I jolted out of bed, decided to take control, and made plans to see Ivan again.

Later on that night, I found myself walking back to my apartment building with Ivan. My heels clicked against the pavement as Ivan and I filled the silence with honest conversation.

“I really like spending time with you,” he said.

“Me too,” I replied.

I really meant it. He was the only man who always managed to stimulate me mentally.

“This has kind of caught me off guard,” he said.

I nodded, looked up at him and smiled. We turned the corner and walked down the hill toward Audubon Avenue. The cold wind hit my face and I shivered. Ivan raised his left arm away from his side and I hooked my arm onto his, finding warmth inside his coat pocket. The background music began. The violins harmonized with one another, overlapping as if in a round. The guitars played in a staccato manner, quick and short, filling my heart with anxiety and anticipation.

We were finally in front of my building and I knew I had to do something. I had to find out if Ivan and I could love intensely and passionately, like the Luis Alberto’s and Maria’s of Telemundo and Univision. I moved closer to Ivan, wrapped my arms around him, and softly kissed his lips. One small peck to test my feelings and comfort level. Ivan then grabbed my waist and brought me even closer. His lips parted. He kissed me. It was happening. I soon pulled away and immediately realized there was something missing. The heat, the spark, the fiery chemistry was missing. I gave Ivan a peck on the lips goodbye and turned away quickly to open the door. I knew what had to be done. I knew I wanted the entire package. This Maria would have to wait for her own Luis Alberto, because we both deserved to have the heat, the spark, the fiery chemistry, the connection, that BESO!

The Familiar

After a long time of singlehood, every unattached man begins to look enticing. I begin to consider my friend Ricky, who usually greets his comrades with the biggest bottle of Bacardi. I have watched him impress women with hilarious dance moves, including the salsa pause, where he holds his leg in mid air, and his signature move - the backwards, vibrating roll - and think, maybe? My friend Henry also comes to mind, because he doesn’t mind when I rattle on for hours. The only peep he makes while I rant is his steady breathing and an occasional “wow” or “I don’t know what to tell you”. And then there is Steve, my female-loving friend who is as sensitive as a woman. I begin to wonder if we can be more than friends who discuss each other’s destructive behavior patterns and in turn gloat when we finally “realize” something.

I found myself mentally preparing my list of potentials once again, after Alejandro failed to return my call. I subtracted my number of attached friends, added the number of available old flames I could reminisce with, and the result was Elijah. But this was before I bumped into Ivan - an acquaintance of many years - at a mutual friend’s birthday celebration.

Ivan and I greeted each other with a kiss on the cheek. He then began to mingle with the others, gazing over at me ever so often. I turned away, unsure if I felt pleased or annoyed with the attention. I then felt his body brush against my back. From the corner of my eye I noticed his mischievous smirk. I was definitely annoyed.

After a few round of drinks, we all decided to call it a night. Ivan and I looked at one another, realizing we would have to take a cab together as we both lived in Washington Heights. I wasn’t sure if I was up for the ride, but when he hailed a cab I scooted myself in. During the cab ride, Ivan and I began to talk. We spoke openly about life and relationships. The conversation eased my discomfort but I felt my level of confusion rising as we exited the cab and continued to speak inside my building.

After an hour of conversation, Ivan suggested going for coffee. I agreed and we began our hunt, walking up and down blocks in search for an open restaurant. The search proved to be futile and I was disappointed. The truth then hit me; I wanted to spend more time with Ivan.

“Do you have coffee in you apartment?” I asked while we walked aimlessly.

“Yeah, I do,” he replied.

“Well, we’re so close. Why don’t we just go there?”

Ivan agreed. We arrived at his high rise building and took the elevator. The elevator doors soon opened to his floor and we headed toward Ivan’s apartment. I waited quietly as he unlocked his door and, as I stepped into his small apartment, wondered what I was doing. Ivan always intrigued me as a person and he was familiar. But was that enough? I turned around, watched as he locked the door behind me, and thought...it just may be.

"Purr" Said The Tigress

At times I am like a tigress. I target my prey while remaining unnoticeable. I prance around and observe its movements. I assess my prey from a distance, calculating the best time to rush in and pounce. Unfortunately, my inner tigress usually disappears after the attack is complete. Something within me then shifts. I don’t use sharp teeth or pointy claws to devour my prize. I begin to fumble, loose my focus, and become jittery. The tigress inside me transforms into a harmless kitten high on catnip.

My inner tigress has been with me all my life. She was with me in high school when I pushed a torpedo, disguised as a tongue, out of my mouth. She was with me after college when a date demanded I pay for a bartender’s tip. I stood up from the bar stool, grabbed my coat and growled: I am the woman! My date paid for the tip and later treated me to an Italian feast. I gobbled a big heaping plate of pasta with meat sauce, sucked my fingers, and licked my lips in triumph.

The tigress was also with me the day I invited myself out to lunch with Alejandro, the bartender from Shampoo Nightclub. I had no problem sliding between two girls standing at the bar and grabbing his attention. I had no problem seductively roaring “I’ll call you”. But I had a problem two days later when I realized I actually had to make the call.

I picked up the napkin covered in blue ink and read Alejandro’s name and number aloud. My hands began to sweat. I began to pace. I dropped the napkin on top of my desk when entering my bedroom for the third time in seconds. It was official. I had lost my inner tigress. I began a search. I flipped over my bed skirt and fell to my knees. My hands brushed the carpeting underneath the bed to only find Elijah’s old, charcoal gray, slippers. I pulled them out and placed them on my feet. They felt warm as if he had just worn them. I walked over to the closet, swimming in the size ten slippers yet feeling comfortable. I looked atop the closet shelf, stacked with boxes of old letters, old cassettes, and old journals, and found Elijah’s brown leather wallet. He had left it during his last visit. I reached for the wallet and held it in my hands. The leather was cold and dusty as it had been stored away in my closet for months. I paused, clenched Elijah’s wallet in my hand and glanced back at the napkin sitting on my desk. Elijah isn’t coming back. Enough is enough. I walked toward the desk with the same caution of a tigress when stalking its next meal. I picked up the napkin, walked toward my cell phone, and exhaled.

The telephone rang and rang. My pulse quickened with each long ring. The machine soon picked up. My inner tigress had to shine.

“Hey Alejandro, this is Sujeiry. I met you at Shampoo two nights ago. Um, give me a call whenever you get the chance. Oh and um, my number is a New York number because that’s where I’m from. I’m still in South Jersey even though it’s a New York number. I mean I live in South Jersey, for school. I just never changed it. Ok, bye.”

I hung up and cringed. I let the napkin drop to the floor, cozied up on my love seat, and let out a soft purr. I had captured my prey with the smoothness and cleverness of a tigress to only morph into a harmless, restless kitten. All I needed was a ball of yarn and some tasty catnip.