d.aMa design

American School

Costumes added to my confidence. I’m one of those girls that feel naked wearing a pair of jeans and t-shirt. Flip-flops? Forget it. I once had to go to American Schools with clothes designed by the tropics. They were always dresses, skirts, silky blouses and lots and lots of colors which only the “latins” would appreciate. To be dressed, in my case, has a poetic significance. I can’t wear ordinary clothes, not because I think it’s awful. No. But I have no confidence in who I am if the process of dressing is a silent and pale significance. In American School I never wore what everybody wore so the fact of not speaking the language was a bit forgotten. And then remembered, when PROM came and I had to go with this Italian guy whom I can’t remember the name. I didn’t speak Italian either. I faked it.

The first time I wore jeans in front of my American boyfriend he looked rather amazed. I looked rather uncomfortable. I wanted immediately striking clothes so he would assume the responsibility of taking my arm in the streets.

Now I invent things to wear. Not just for my own confidence but other women’s confidence. And most of the time it works. They look at themselves rather amazed. It’s poetic.

Christianity?

Communion was the greatest event when I was 12. I was elevated with the idea of eating Jesus’s flesh and drinking his blood. How cool is that?! On my knees I confessed my undos and bad behavior to the priest but I couldn’t remember anything to tell him…so I said: “I’m told to be an “A” grade student…and so I am. But when I’m not I invent things to look better in the eyes of my father, so he won’t crucify me for taking C in Chemistry”. Yes. I used the word crucify thinking the priest would like that. I guess the priest didn’t think I sinned much so he released me right away. And I visualized Christ so realistically coming to me and holding my hands to eat his body. It all sounds so creepy now. But it was so beautiful at the time. I fancied that if I had not been a good Catholic I would go to hell and not deserve his flesh.

Now, I’m 23. I’m still going to church. But I can’t visualize him anymore. Have I not been good? Probably not. I probably failed more Chemistry tests and then reality showed up to fail all over me. Sometimes I’m not sure why I go to church. Sometimes people look at me like I have a huge pumpkin in my head for going to church. But I do. And I like it there. Not because I visualize Christ (I tried, but I guess I don’t have the talent). It’s because I’m trying to understand. And I have tried since I eat that flesh and told the priest it didn’t taste like anything. I have tried sitting by my grandma and spying on her prayers. What was she doing that I wasn’t? What was I missing? What have I done that nothing seems to make sense. If that is not enough to question…I don’t know what is.