Singing Along

Friday we went to this milonga organized by a local tanguero (who wasn't there, but that's a different story) in some middle-of-nowhere place. The dances were, as expected, sad sad sad. And to make it worse, I had to dance with these old ladies who talked up to me just to get a dance. One might think me arrogant, or at least be grateful for the attention. Well, I am arrogant and not grateful.

But I got to dance with my art buddy. Moreover, I was happy to just not really be doing tango in the usual tango scene. Whether here or in New York, at least for this past week, and more, it was one depressing thought after another that tango has offered me a lot of women who didn't want anything from me besides dances (and in the beginning, not even that!). One goal I have in reaching New York is to get to know some people better, outside the tango context. And hopefully, I will meet people who aren't even tango dancers. I went to the movies last night (bad movie, don't go see "The Adjustment Bureau", very lame) with a tango dancer, and she told me that it would nice to have a partner who doesn't share the same obsession as you; yes, even if, or especially if, it is an unshared obsession. There are close to 5 million women in New York, perhaps a third within my connectible age, making that, hmm, about 1.3 million, and only maybe 300 dance tango; so I have a pretty good chance connecting with someone with no tango background besides having perhaps watched movies with tango dancers kicking around with a rose in their mouths.

Anyway, the evening started out in a very cute way. I hopped into this tanguero's car (the only male friend I really have here), and he and my art buddy were singing to "Dejame Ser Así", one of the songs I gave him a month ago that was now arguably his favorite. So much so that he learned the words even though he doesn't even speak Spanish. I felt a great sense of camaraderie. I didn't really know the words, but I hummed along, participating in their merriment. There's something to be said about this little community where I started dancing. However many rejecting-women it has supplied me with in the past five and a half years of tango dancing, I am still grateful to it. I sometimes claim that I made the greatest progress after I started dancing more in New York and going to Buenos Aires, the people who were most encouraging came still from this community. It was here I took the most classes, it was here I became serious with practicing with my art buddy, who I still think is better than just about all the non-professional New York dancers. So sitting there listening to these two buddies sing that cute song made me very happy, even though the start of weekend has for more than a month now always put me in a very upset and hurt mood. It would be yet another weekend away from that tango-adventure that recently ended, and the feeling of camaraderie helped me feel safe.

What was the song they were singing about? This time it isn't about some self-pitying man complaining about unfulfilled or lost love. It's still about love. But it's about a man who wants to be free to be who he is, to be understood for his past and not be judged for his present. The title means "Let me be like this". It has very poetic lines, like "I am like the thistles in the paddock [which is a new English word I had to look up to mean a field], which are scorched by the wind, the drought, and the sun, but are also capable of giving flowers." It reminds me of what friends are like in my life, how we treat each other without judgment, letting each other just be the way he or she is. That's one of the compelling reasons people often have to stay being friends.

It's the weekend, I will take a break from writing a story. I am tired. I didn't sleep well. My new friend, Jealousy, visited me this morning before the sun rose. I was angry. I fell back asleep eventually, but woke up just after the sun rose in the same state. So I did what was least destructive and still doable: wrote my frustrations to a friend. I can sense that the end is near. I can sense that the jealousy is waning, the rational me is becoming more powerful. It's like the turning tide in the civil war in Libya now; the tyrant of the past and its minions of demons are starting to lose, and the rebels of love and reason are advancing.

I spent quite a bit of quality time with my art buddy yesterday. We discussed philosophy, and I loved it. I love discussing philosophy with someone smart and aren't afraid to be wrong. But toward the end we decided on something unrelated to philosophy. It was time for both of us to stop letting romance and its fairytales to govern our lives. It was time to seek out the beauty in life that the hopes for the fairytales have pushed behind their curtains of empty promises. It was funny that I thought of the same thing the previous day. Now I heard someone verbalize it in a clear manner. The world has so much more to offer than the unfulfillable promises, the jealousies within me, the stubbornness of those who can't see me. To focus on these petty things is to look only at some dying flower and forget the green field, the rivers, the mountains, the sea all around. I don't see God the same way my sister sees, but she's right, I should feel lucky to be alive, to be given the gift of life, and more importantly, the gift of what is around me. Focusing on episodes, broken relationships, and past demons that poison this view, is spurning a unique gift that encompasses everything I love about life.