How to flip tortillas without burning your hand

It was a bright and early morning when I woke up to the sound of my alarm and my sister opening the curtains wide letting in a little too much sunlight. I wanted desperately to turn the other way and sleep in a few more minutes but even on vacation she was a stickler for time. So I rolled out of bed reluctantly, I got dressed, and we headed for the days adventures; snorkeling first on our list.

We got to the dock and after boarding instructions we boarded the vessel that would take us to a near island with coral reefs. Finally at our destination the boat anchored and we were handed our gear. So flippers and all people one by one jumped into the vast ocean uninhibited. I did too. I’d forgotten how rough the Pacific was. A greater part of World War II had been fought here. Somehow the waters still reeked of vengeance.

Except I forgot I could not swim, and at that moment even how to float. So I was instantly submerged by the undertow and the lapping of the waves. I fought to catch a breath, and each time I was successful at reaching the surface I gulped another ounce of water. Terribly frazzled and still near the boat I caught a side rail and held for dear life. Meanwhile, my sister, totally unaware this was happening was having her own issues with the water and kept telling me she was not going to be able to do it. So even when she looked over it at me, I smiled back, telling her not to be afraid.

She tried it for a minute or two, but panicked too and unlike me gave up quickly and climbed up to the boat again. I on the other hand had something to prove. Finally with a bruised ego and lungs full of water, realizing I could not stay afloat by my own accord I asked her for a life jacket. She disappeared and a minute later reappeared with one. I pulled myself onto the wooden ledge of the boat and put it on. Successfully having done so, I dove back to my feat. After reassuring my sister I was okay to go alone I swam back into the ocean further and further away.

Later that day I got to thinking. We don’t always ask for help. We don’t always like to admit we need it. In a world where you are expected to fend for yourself, telling someone you don’t know how to swim seems dire. But truth is that maybe we wouldn't take so many gulps of water if we admitted a little life preserve is needed. Maybe we wouldn't face so many mistakes on our own if we listened to instructions instead of disregarding them.

That day I more than anything wanted to prove I could swim. Except I can’t, I never learned how. Blame my parents; blame my geographical upbringing that never put me near a body of water. I was just too cool for school. Except those are the bare necessities of life! Right along with knowing how to light a fire or how to flip tortillas without burning your hand!

The point is to be fully equipped for life you've got to prepare. Sure no one needs to swim till surrounded by water, but eventually the challenge will present itself. And if you find yourself ill-equipped what will you do? And if you can’t fight the tide any longer, will you be too prideful to ask for help?

This is it. Sink or swim. So let’s not pretend we didn't read the sign that said “Lifeguard not on duty… Swim at your own risk.”

You can have Manhattan, Cause I can’t have you.

She stood outside for the first time all day. The sun shined brightly enough to remind her it was still fall. But the breeze was fresh enough to whisper that change was coming, and the end of the season was fast approaching.

She embraced herself and sighed melancholically. And a sudden surge of sadness swept her face. She took to her front steps. And stared straight into the sky, a flock of birds, were passing by, nestling on the light poles, it seemed like a swarm of them.

Flying south for the winter – she thought. “How I wish I was you”. She said out loud to no one in particular. But she did. In that moment, wished she too could spread wings and fly as far away from here as she possibly could.

It was strange how binding a location can seem when all you want to do is get away. How the 1,619,090 million people, the 59 square kilometers, with over 100 skyscrapers, all of a sudden can seem like a 4x4, narrow, asphyxiating box.

She envied the migration of the birds, the way that when a location was no longer useful, they could get up and just go, move on to the next. She wanted to get away. She needed to get away. Like if going east or west would up the ante of not feeling what was coming to her.

From an early age we were told that if a flood hits we must head for higher ground. To escape and earthquake, we must walk outside. If a hurricane is announced one must head east or west of it. And if a tornado ever comes to head for shelter. So when your whole life you’ve been told to save face, it’s hard not to think that when a break up occurs you must heath south for winter.

The bustle of the city was deafening, and it seemed every corner she turned held a memory of an ill fated love affair, one she just wanted to put behind her. But it’s hard to let go, when you live in an island. And you can still pin point the location of where half your heart lies.

There was no escaping the run-ins of the past. That same café that was exactly 2 miles from his place. The bar, with the bartender that never got their drink orders right. The reason that they met. The restaurant down two blocks that had his favorite pancakes and her favorite eggs. The deli where the guy behind the counter always called them Mr. And Mrs. M.

The concrete jungle mocked the days of careless laughter, and sweet reverie. It laced the memories, and swept the emotions; it tangled the kisses, and masked the rose colored view. It screamed in her ear that she was overwhelmingly abandoned and her shadow was the only thing faithful friend who stood beside her.

What happens if a bird didn’t leave its home? Eventually its environment would not be nourishing enough for them to make it through the winter. The air would be too cold, and with bare trees they’d eventually run out of food. Inevitability. So even when holding our ground seems like the strongest thing to do, it is inevitably sometimes the thing we not ought to do.

So she packed her bags that mid fall, and headed down south for the winter. She bowed out of the horizon that held its fist around her throat, that held her heart caught in a web, that held her soul knotted in regret. She ventured forward into her future. Let time pass and her wounds heal. And like a bird she found that eventually this season too would pass. That the wind would shift again. And that the trees would bloom again in spring.

Too late, too gone, too wrong

The following story got related to me by the male protagonist. I for one thought things like this only occurred in movies. So I present to you a story that has no real happily ever after. A story of what closure looks like when we try to out run it.

There she was dressed in white. Radiant and breathtaking. Every bit of her oozed happiness. She looked at him adoringly, held his hand ever so tightly. A smile turned the corners of her mouth every time they caught each other’s eyes. That day, in that room, wedding bells were ringing and a love everlasting was to be sealed.

HE took to the right side of the room. On the very last row. On the very last chair. He watched the woman he loved marry the man She loved.

The vows were exchanged and she expressed her love and happiness. She made promises of forever. Promises HE once heard. Promises HE once made.

And when it came time and the preacher asked if anyone objected, her eyes never wandered. She kept her gaze in front of her, in front of the man she loved. And almost without pause the preacher went on. And someone cleared their throat loudly. And footsteps were heard coming down the aisle. People shifted in their seats. Their glares burning into HIM. And all around the room gasps were exchanged.

“Wait.” He said meekly.

“Speak up son, no one can hear you”

He walked closer to her and said “Wait” one more time.

Her face turned slowly in his direction. And her eyes narrowed. It was hard to remember his face. But it was him.

He felt red, and embarrassed, he knew he was making a spectacle and she hated those. So he cleared his throat once more, gathering up all the courage he had inside him. And he held back the tears. He looked down, almost wanting to run, but then proceeded to look back at her. He took a deep breath and began talking.

“I’m here to tell you that I love you. That I was wrong for ever letting you walk away from my life without a fight. I’ve tried everything to close our story. I’ve read other books, and I’ve ventured into unknown places. I met characters, and I saw many faces. But no plot held me tightly, no dialogue kept me intrigued, no chapter kept me tied. I tried. And I tried to reach some closure. But I didn’t know how many pages you were in it till I tried to close the book. Every time, a page appeared, and it was then I missed you. And I can’t. I can’t write this ending. So please, help me. Tell me I don’t belong here; tell me my words don’t bind a piece of your heart. Or tell me if there is a glimpse of hope that you might still love me. Tell me you love me. Tell me you’ll marry me. Pick me. Choose me. And I promise that happily ever after starts with you and I…”

The room stood completely silent, people on the edge of their chairs. There was a long pause. And no one even dared breathed. You could even hear the birds outside chirping on the near trees.

She looked at HIM. And back at the man she vowed to love forever. She looked down at her ring, and back at HIM. She sighed melancholy, deep from within came the sigh, and it filled her eyes with sadness.

There she was dressed in white, about to marry another man, and he wanted her to tell HIM she loved Him. So she did.

“You’re right” she began, and everyone gasped. And the groom looked stricken. She stepped down and came to him.

“You’re right” she said again.

“I knew it” He began. And she interrupted. “Wait, I’ve heard you. Now you’ve got to hear me.”

And he nodded as she went on. “You’re right, I loved you. I loved you very much. Much more than you deserved. And you took. You took all you could take and begged for even more. And you left me stripped, crumpled on the floor. YOU left the page and you never gave it a decent ending. So stop. Just stop. Because you’re right, we were intertwined in each other’s life, and you forget that means I know you well. So stop this charade. THIS isn’t you wanting to declare you’re undying love. Or you wanting to reconcile something you lost. THIS is the four year old child inside of you and his dire jealousy that someone’s picked up the toy, that he himself deserted. Don’t confuse your conscience for love. This isn’t it. I get it you’re sorry. And I accept you’re apology. But you’re too late. I’m far too gone. And this is far too wrong. I don’t love you anymore. I’ve reconciled with the idea that you were never meant for me. And I moved on. Sometimes all you need is a broken heart to realize that something even better is in front of your eyes waiting to be found. And I found it, in him” she said, looking back, taking the grooms hand. “So please understand when I say this. I choose him; I pick him, because it is him that I love, with whom I belong.”

He looked at her and nodded. That was all he could do. It took him a minute to compose himself. He mumbled an apology to the guests and to who ever heard.

When you can’t save yourself or your heart, it helps to be able to save face. So he did. He turned around. And walked right out of her life for the very last time.

HE picked up Volume 1 of his life and nostalgia had struck. It stirred inside him, made his eyes gleam in remembrance. He combed back through the emotions of how he felt when he read those words for the very first time. And it was enough for him to realize he hated the ending. But by then she was far too gone.

See it is true that the heart isn’t a juice box; you can’t squeeze the life out of it trying to remove all trace. But you can cause enough wreckage and damage to the heart that when it rebuilds itself all traces of that past relationship are put in a more appropriate place. That person becomes just a lesson learned.

For her, he was her past, and as much as he tried to make her his present it was way too late. Because anyone can say that they love someone, but true actions are the actions you take to prove you actually mean it. And he never truly had.

You can’t possibly re-write an ending no matter how many times you re-read a book. Sure, you can take away something new each time, maybe even noticed something you hadn’t before. But the period at the end of the last sentence is the closure of any “What ifs”. An ending is an ending. Maybe he held a longer version than hers. Maybe hers just ended abruptly. But regardless, eventually, they’d get to the same page. And “The End” marked its place.

Book on Sale Now!

Book now on Sale on Lulu.

Hey guys! It's official the book is out today on Lulu on paperback editon only. For the time being it will be sold only there. I will announce as soon as it becomes available through amazon and E-book download format through major online-retailers. Thank you so much for the support and share this link with as many of your friends as possible. Thank you for reading, and thank you for buying!!! With love, Mimi Soltero


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