...A Pocas Palabras

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,...

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 s...

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...

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

(A Rather Formal Letter to an Old Friend) Santiago, September 21st, 2018 Dear People from my Past, You’re too many. It’s so hard for me to address you…I should start over. But who starts over in a letter? Dear Dearest People from my Past, Those Who Have Considered Me Significant at Some Point, Those Who Have Loved Me, Those I’ve Loved, Those I Miss, As time passes, it becomes more and more difficult (for me) to talk to you; and it’s been such a long time… I often feel like writing, but I hardly ever do. You know I’m not very communicative. That doesn’t mean I don’t remember you, though. I always do. But you know me... forgive me. You, however, are very communicative. I find your daily Facebook posts so entertaining. I share them sometimes, and sometimes you share mine. I only wish (at times, wish) some of them were addressed at me. But I understand the cynicism in that demand. I can’t (and won’t) ask for that.  The times we share (even online) are fun. An...

Persona non grata I am To friends and family Because I made a life In times when no one deserves to   Persona non grata © 2018 Grecia Albornoz

Off you go! One more round! Here it comes! 2nd, 3rd, 4th who cares round! On your feet! On. Your. feet! © 2018 Grecia Albornoz

I must admit They made it grand It was classy relaxing and fun There were fireworks live music champagne There were flowers and you, being relatively good. There was  protocol Lots of protocol... But when the moment came and it all shone brighter I fought hard to hold back my tears and all the expensive enchantment was thus insufficient. © 2018 Grecia Albornoz

Depresión del domingo por la noche Otro día para existir Una vez mas Por toda la semana Una vez mas Muchas veces Una vez mas Lo que no quiero Una vez mas Muchas veces De nuevo. © 2017 Grecia Albornoz

Mis ojos conocieron la tristeza el día que te fuiste Pero aun Aquí Y Ahora Persiste. © 2017 Grecia Albornoz My eyes knew sadness the day you left But even Here And Now It Persists. © 2017 Grecia Albornoz

La ves formarse delante de tus ojos Alta e imposible La tragedia se anuncia antes de pasar ¿Pero para qué escapar? Si sobrevivo me libraré de ella Si se queda, Igual habré muerto. © Grecia Albornoz 2017

¿A dónde fue la gente que me gusta oír? Aquellos que llenaban mis horas con sus conversaciones Las voces que ahora sólo escucha mi pasado Le vendrían tan bien a mis oídos Hoy / Ahora / Aquí Donde yo estoy Necesitándolos Haciendo espacios en una habitación llena de tanto En esta hora Los extraño. © Grecia Albornoz 2017