...A Pocas Palabras

Cantar después de la ansiedad No es igual Después de su larga estancia en mi garganta Después de ser su víctima  De sofoques Y su presión Hoy intento cantar de nuevo Algunas luces surgen Y se sumergen de nuevo  Ante ese yugo  Dominante Pero lucho ¡Lucho! Y me hiero... Y me hiere... ¡Pero lucho! Ahí en ese video está  la muestra De que hoy canté Por un pequeño momento Hoy vencí.  © Grecia Albornoz 2019

Eso es trabajo de máquinas  [Una conversación cualquiera en una oficina cualquiera] - "...Bueno, yo exactamente no odio mi trabajo, sabes?  Es que creo que no es algo que se debería hacer por tantas horas… Me mata la creatividad. Y uno no puede actuar mecánicamente tanto tiempo ¡Es humillante! ¡Uno debe explorar! Y no me malinterpretes,  Yo estoy agradecida por tener empleo,  Pero no es que me entusiasme tanto hacer lo que yo hago, 8 horas al día, todos los días  Sentarme frente a la computadora, calcular tarifas, responder las mismas preguntas una y otra vez…. ¡Y esta cultura perfeccionista!  ¡No te puede dar tanto orgullo! ¡El perfeccionismo es la cosa más alejada de la naturaleza humana! ¡Ah, pero alguien debe hacerlo, dicen! ¡Bueno YO digo … ¡que mejor lo hagan las máquinas! ¡A las máquinas no les dan ataques de pánico cuando el cliente grita por teléfono quejándose de una tarifa elevada, o porque perdieron algo, o porque simplemente ha

Ode to Anxiety My body has learned a new trick And because it is so enthusiastic about the things it learns  It tries it… and tries it…  Everyday… Anytime possible… I can feel it  Right now Attempting to cut my own breath As if invisible inside claws held my throat tighter and tighter Letting go at times And going back to the choking after deciding I’ve had my fair share of O2  I don’t need to see them I feel them alright. Anxiety,  (They call it online) Obsessive thoughts,  Panic attacks,  Depression…  Derived from unresolved issues from the past Triggered by new issues in my present. Attacks From the inside... By my enemy Myself. © Grecia Albornoz 2019

Hoy de tantos días que amanecen, despierto. Recuerdo los días más tristes, vuelvo a dormir. © Grecia Albornoz 2019 --------------------------- Today, all of dawns, I finally awake. Then remember the saddest days... I go back to sleep. © Grecia Albornoz 2019

Just a random conversation in a random office:  -“I don’t necessarily hate my job, you know? I just think it isn’t something worth doing for so many hours a day… It’s a creativity killer. One cannot act mechanically for so many hours, It’s diminishing! One must explore! But don’t get me wrong, I’m thankful to have a job  I’m just not thrilled about doing what I do 8 hrs a day, everyday.  Sitting in front of a computer, calculating fares, answering the same questions Over and over... And this perfectionism culture! One cannot take pride on it.  Perfection is far from human nature! But someone has to do this! They say... I SAY... let a machine do it for us! It won’t have an anxiety attack  when people yell at them on the phone for a fare too expensive or for something they lost or for being too angry at their own crappy day feeling you’re the best option to vent their anger!!! It won’t suffer from stress for not meeting sales goals!!! It won’t

Long afternoons ahead On the premise of survival Dead hours Commutes Life from Monday to Friday Lethargy In my cubicle   Logic standing pleased On top of the still bleeding corpse of my desires Meanly holding my pride Simplified dreams The cost of living © Grecia Albornoz 2019

This is a true story that happened to me a few weeks ago. If you don’t know, I was born in Venezuela: a country that praises sensuality and ornament. With a long tradition of international beauty pageant queens, it is in our culture, in our identity, to look good. Oddly enough, that custom has only boosted my desire for simplicity.   When I was 18, I weighted 54 kilograms, I used to pull my hair back in a ponytail, everyday. I was slim, had large hips, long neck and a small waist. I didn’t wear make-up or followed trends. My favourite colors to wear were black, blue, and gray. I wasn’t fashionable. I was, you could say, simple. But I felt special, not all eyes were worthy of my beauty (teenage self-esteem). Fourteen years have passed and I am a woman now. Do I even have to say that I don’t look the same? Should I even say it? To you? My dear friend reader who must sense me just a bit by now? Well, I have changed. I am 20 kilograms heavier now.  My hips look lar

I exist I am a person I am legal Because I am. © Grecia Albornoz 2019