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Grayness. It's the middle of the night. Maybe 11 pm. We are sitting in her bedroom.

I'm holding her rosary in my hand. Her hand in my other hand. Funny enough, it is

fluorescent. It glows in the dark. Darkness cannot get a hold of it. I always thought it

was tacky, but she loved it. It's pretty magical that something has the capacity to defeat

the dark.

We had called the doctor at least four times in the last hour. His answer is always the

same "you can only wait". Wait. Wait. Wait. It's been three months. It seems like I

haven't left her room in forever. Have I eaten? Have I gone to the bathroom? Have I

showered? I don't know what I look like, luckily she cannot see me. Or can she? She

would be so disappointed with my outfit, especially because I am not wearing any

earrings. So unfeminine of me. But it's not only me. Our home is gray now. Even if

there was light, grayness is our condition now. All the flowers in our garden have dried

up in the past month, one by one. What once was such a generous space now is

nothing. Color was everywhere, so many hummingbirds. She loved hummingbirds. She

loved her garden. She used to whistle at them. (Insert whistle sound).

Why am I writing in the past tense? She loves hummingbirds. She loves her garden.

Strangely enough, two days ago, Minerva -the cat- brought a dead hummingbird to her

door. It had this beautiful green/blue/silver coat.

Beautiful and lifeless.

Now everything is silent. Only her breath. So heavy. With such a strange cadence. So

deep. Have I heard her make a sound like that before? It's like this earthy, dark,

repetitive groan. Like a metronome, marking time.

It's been an hour.

A couple of days ago, her colors changed. She used to have this lovely rose hue on her

cheeks, under this gorgeous golden skin. The rose is gone.

Is she cold? I am trying to warm her up. She's still cold.She used to have such warm, tender hands, soft and cozy. Now her skin has stiffened.

Hardened up.

Is she still her?

Suddenly the breathing changes. She's breathing so rapidly, like she's building up to

something. In.....out. In...out. In..out. In.out. Inout. In.

Then she opens her eyes.

I realized she's holding my hand back. It's been three months since I haven't seen her,

like her-her, her real self. She tells me everything without speaking.

Then grayness.

The golden is not golden anymore. Slowly it's been replaced by this gray hue. It's

moving along from her fingertips, thought feet, then legs, chest, arms, neck, until it

reaches her face, first her lips, then her cheeks, then her eyes.

Then grayness.

——————————————————o———————————————————-

Once upon a time, there was a princess. Her name was Liliana, she called herself Lil,

but everyone knew her as Lili. She lived in an old motel a few miles outside Lakewood

Township, New Jersey. Lili was sitting on the edge of an old smelly mattress

contemplating whether she should call in sick or get in the shower that only had two

modes: boiling hot or freezing cold. Slowly, she stood up while stretching out each

limb. She only had 35 minutes to get to the pub "mierda, qué pereza!", still she kept

the same pace. "I don't wanna wear my new pink shirt! —Me salió baratísima en

T.J.Maxx. It's gonna smell like grease. Ew! Pero, it's so pretty. Agh!" She thought as she

was trying to figure out what to wear. "Maybe the blue Old Navy, it's pretty ugly

already" she was tired of smelling like grease, of her grayish working clothes. The pink

was a reminiscence of the good years. "Years??" Only one year ago, her scent was

Valentino. Was it jasmine and sandalwood? "Maybe... definitely sandalwood". Each

morning, Rosita washed all of her clothes, "she was such a good folder! I miss my

Rosita". Lili was stunned when she realized that few people owned a washer and dryer

and that she'd have to go to the laundromat. "I—have to use Lysol, I don't wanna catch

anything!" She places her phone over the toilet, "Siri, play you need to calm down."

Finally, she hopped in the shower. "Ok, Lil, ya! You have to do it quickly, no

conditioner! When Taylor stops singing, you get out!". Swiftly she soaped her whole

body, shampooed her hair, shaved her legs, exfoliated her face as the water got hotter."Mierda!" She barely made it out. Oddly enough, when she studied in Paris 8 years

ago, she had to take 5 min showers too. "Pero, it was different."

Lili got ready for work, choosing the blue shirt. She only had 5 minutes to catch the

bus. "Only one bus each hour! I only Uber(ed) or drove in Bogotá, but I don't think it

was this bad". She left her house. Luckily, she was one block away from the stop.

As she took the bus, Lili saw familiar faces. “Hablarán todos español? I better sit down

close to the driver. Otherwise, they'd want to chat" She sat stiffed the whole drive,

"They're not like me. I mean—they are...but they aren't... I'm not like them. Am I?"

As in any fairytale, our main character is an orphan. Her mother died during childbirth,

the only difference being that her father wasn't killed by an evil witch or an ogre, but by

his own hands. His kingdom was set in the biggest hacienda cafetalera in Tolima, with

over 200 employees. His family settled there in 1666 from the Kingdom of Navarre and

Pamplona. The Uribe Velez's. Lily would say that her father was an honest entrepreneur

who built everything from scratch. Yes, he attended Harvard and St Antony's because

he was brilliant, especially when it came to business. He tried to pay everyone fairly,

but only if they were hard workers, of course. He was smart. Unfortunately, he had

some other type of business, not worth mentioning, that was making him lose a lot of

money.

At the time, Lili lived in Bogota. While she was doing her BA in International Relations,

he had bought her an apartment in Rosales, including a washer and a dryer. She was

oblivious of the situation, so it was a shock when she received a call from her father's

attorney. The whole week was a blur. She remembers only taking a plane, the mass,

and a man saying "Bankruptcy". Not even her apartment was under her name. Luckily,

she had a visa. Unlike them.

It's raining outside. She doesn't have an umbrella. "Mierda!" She's getting off the bus

with another woman. It's pouring. The lady opens her umbrella, Lili's thinking about

running to the pub, “It’s only 3 blocks. Hmm... what if I get a cold?... Would Medicare

cover a cold?” "Mija, vente!" The woman says as she's inviting her under it. They walk

silently. She thanks her as she heads to the door. She puts on her greasy apron. She's

right on time.

——————————————————o———————————————————-

I remember my first cigarette. A friend's sister had just killed herself, and I thought that

was the appropriate reaction.I remember my first day of school. I was so excited that I woke up at 5 am. I wore this

shiny 90's princess-like dress.

I remember the first time I masturbated. I felt so guilty that God was gonna punish me

that right in the middle of the climax, I stopped to pray.

I remember my grandma's spaghetti.

I remember my first heartbreak. This boy texted me something like, "I just don't love

you," then I listened to this Savage Garden record for one week straight.

I remember how upset my great-grandma was with my mom because no one had

taught me how to pray, so she taught me just so I wouldn't go to hell.

I remember how I used to love to visit my great-grandma and great-granddaddy in the

graveyard.

I remember that when I told my mom I wanted to study art, she cried. I remember my

last happy Christmas.

I remember when the doctor called me on a Sunday last January and told me to sit

down.

I remember when I woke up from the thyroid surgery, I told the doctor, "phew, you

woke me up just in time!".

I remember when a guy from tinder asked me what I was looking for. I told him how I

wanted someone socially and politically driven, not a politician of course -because the

political is very different from politics- but someone aware of the system, passionate

about art, going to places, curious about life. His response was, "I see.."

I remember the first time I came to New York -almost 11 years ago- just as the plane

was landing, I played "New York, New York" on my iPod.

I remember when I thought I was pregnant, my boyfriend of the time told me, "don't

even think about getting an abortion, I can send you to jail for that, you know? We're

gonna get married, raise a beautiful family, and graduate from college, and our parents

are gonna support us". Right.

I remember when the guy I was kinda seeing congratulated me on mother's day, or in

his words, future mother's day.I remember when this guy used the question "do you wanna have kids?" as a breaking

up prompt.

I remember when my dad told me my mom had an abortion a couple of years before I

was born, just to prove that she was not so perfect.

I remember after one of my father's exhibitions, I had to wait for his friends to finish

doing coke so that they could drop me off at home.

I remember the first time I was physically aware of my "brownness", at this gallery in

Tribeca.

I remember when I was a kid, I used to make up languages just so people couldn't

place where I was from.

I remember when I asked my mom for a sibling, "It doesn't have to be new, we can

have a second-hand one".

I remember when at my best friend's bridal shower, she told us he couldn't get it up.

I remember when I met my best friend. It was the first day of college, and he was going

on and on about how excited he was, how he had just come back from Paris, how he

wanted to learn everything. And me nodding shyly.

I remember my grandma's hands.

I remember my first kiss. This boy just blew some air into my mouth.

I remember my first visit to MoMA. I was so excited to write down info from every piece

I saw: photo number, name, artist, and characteristic.

e.g., 23: Paul Klee, cat & bird, Luv it!

I remember being so cocky after my first solo show.

I remember seeing my classmates on the first day of art school. I thought I was the

oldest, fattest, and the least artsy of them all.

I remember my dad telling me, "you shouldn't call yourself an artist. That's

pretentious."

I remember a schoolmate asking me -in a playdate- why we had those funny threads

hung in the walls. I was one of my mom's fabric pieces.——————————————————o———————————————————-

Ye shall be free indeed

Does everyone want to be free? The Son, the Father the Holy Spirit have constricted

freedom -to restrict others the enjoyment of themselves. People who take up smoking,

drinking, drugs, and pleasure feel true freedom, true happiness. Freedom from fear,

freedom from guilt can only come when we are at peace with ourselves. Jesus Christ!

Bondage seeks liberty. The Spirit of the Lord is upon me, pleasure is upon me. Preach

the gospel! Preach the gospel to the poor who is without pleasure. Recover of sight to

the blind. We are sinners and in bondage! This may seem difficult, or nearly impossible

to some. If we make an honest effort, our spirit will lead us step by step to pleasure.

What is the effect of this spiritual freedom? When a person is truly born again, they

have a free conscience. They now have power over their desires. Smoke, drink, do

drugs, experience pleasure, seek bondage. Instead of yielding to the Bible, give in to

the desires of the flesh. Instead of living only to please the Lord, seek to please

yourself and the other. Use your time differently. Rejoice! This freedom of spirit and

heart can be a reality. Be a new creature. Old things are passed away, behold, all things

have become new.

I come,

In my bondage, I come Jesus, I come,

In my pleasure, I come Jesus, I come, Into my freedom, fleshiness, and desires, Jesus, I

come to Thee.

Into my wants and out of Thy sin,

Into my desires and out of Thy sickness, Into my freedom and out of Thy needs. Jesus, I

come to me.

For additional Christian literature write to the address below. GOSPEL TRACT AND

BIBLE SOCIETY

Moundridge, Kansas, 67 107 U.S.A