To the broken and brokenhearted

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Photo by Shane Rounce on Unsplash

Photo by Shane Rounce on Unsplash

For various, mostly mistaken reasons, I shut a lot of people I love out of my life. I thought that while I was away, they wouldn't think about me. Out of sight, out of mind—you know how that goes.

Thing is, they never left my mind.

It wasn't until after I got back in touch with them that I realized I never left theirs. They were worried, watching from afar, trying to help, but not knowing how.

Sarah, Keni, Pao, Royer, Liliana, Zaydunga, Nora, Manolo: gracias por ayudarme a recobrar partes de mi corazon que hasta poco pensé estaban perdidas.

Of hotdogs and quarantine

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Photo by Erda Estremera on Unsplash

Photo by Erda Estremera on Unsplash

As parts of society have devolved further into conspiracy theories and such, perhaps the greatest gift of quarantine, for me, has been reconnecting with the people closest to my heart. My best friend from college is front and center, but more on that angel later.

Another best friend has been a beacon through some of my darkest moments—ever patient, kind, thoughtful, never expecting anything in return, always buffering my pain with his tremendous artistry and sense of humor.

Tonight, I stopped by a gas station that was closed due to COVID-19 guidelines. The lights were still on, but when I pulled on the door, I figured I just missed the mark. I peered inside, finding no movement, except something small out of the corner of my eye. I texted him once I was back in the car.

– There is nothing sadder than a lonely, old, forgotten hotdog going round and round on that Ferris-wheel of a grill after the gas station has closed. (Pause) OK, there are sadder things. But still.

– You are as that hot dog. (Pause) As are we all.

Here’s to my friend and all of us lonely hotdogs out there.

Fret not, we will soon be warmly swaddled between two buns.

Stay safe. Wear a mask.

P.S. Love to Noam Chomsky, my hotdog in dog heaven.