Primero, permítanme decir que mi español es mierda. Todas mierda. I don't know Spanish any more than a fifth grader knows physics. It's strange to say that I love writing so much, and to think that the English language comes easy, and yet, every other language is a stick in the wind to me.
The one thing I've never tried to do, is be something I'm not. That's a lie, of course. The last time I did, I ended up with a certificate in Design. What I'm saying is that usually, I see my weaknesses. I understand them. And I rarely try to pursue them. I'd prefer to chase my strengths. And so, I'm writing again. In English, as always. A siempre. It was a lonely year on the west coast, and presently, a wild winter in the South, past the equator. I'm in the Spanish melting pot of Bueno Aires. Y mi español, mierda. Yes, it's a pity.
But that's what keeps me focused.
[this is a story about hypocrisy]
