Finding myself in an Art Bath

I went to the Museo Nacional de Bellas Artes today. Before I did I ran into my host mom, Irene, whom I have to say again is one of the most beautiful people inside and out that I've ever met. She stopped me in the hall today and simply asked if I was ok. The funny thing is, everyone and their dog will ask, "Que tal?" but Irene, when she asks with this serious tone and a sincere glimmer of concern in her eye I tore down my tough-girl facade and talked. It felt good, first to have someone in my near physical vicinity actually care enough to say, "lately you've been a little different, anything up?"

There's been a lot for me to think about this past week. I started fasting and doing devotions, Mel and Sebas are in Brazil, my girlfriends (who are still way cool) simply don't find a good friend in me, so I haven't seen them outside of school much. That was a crisis I was going through two days ago and I was going to blog about how horrible a person I can be to my friends, but really... I don't see my bluntness, frankness, honesty and saying what I think as entirely brutal. My only message to all my friends at this juncture is:

If I'm your friend it's because I think you're great, if I say something you don't like just say so and I will be happy to apologize and continue living, and if my personality comes on a bit strong, blunt, too honest or a bit offensive - "friend, MEET EMILY." Take it or leave it. I get it from my Grandma Rosie and I think she's gravy!

I shared my concerns about losing friends with Irene and bless her, she is always willing to offer a word of counsel. The outcome of our conversation is reflected in the above message to my friends :) Being on my own this past week has really been a blessing wrapped in melancholy and I'm starting to realize that although my own skin sometimes feels like a too-tight shirt or a scratchy wool sweater, I'm still me at the end of the day and I happen to like the Emily of late. She's the chick who doesn't try too hard for anyone, who likes to go to museums, musicals and salsa venues, who writes incessantly, who thinks she's Mexican, who has a few real true friends and is happier that way, the one who thinks too much, the one who finds beauty in the grotesque and takes too many photos of it... She's the one that took me a whole 23 years to define and redefinition is by this time out of the question.

In any case, I've moved on and I'm anxious to start anew. My ritual for this new beginning was going to the Museo Nacional de Bellas Artes. It's hard to know how I spent three hours in a place where the collection there is relatively small. I took my time today with a real eye out for "gusto", I studied the unique brush strokes of Monet, the mythical nymphs of Manet, the delicately carved curves of the innumerous sculptures of the human body, the whimsy and spirit of Degas' ballet dancers, the rebellious crudeness of Picasso during his vanguardía phase, and the incredible landscapes of Corot.... It was nearly endless for being such a short stroll through the museum.

It was the most refreshing art bath I've had in a long time.