One of my favorite questions to people these days is “What are you doing this weekend?” I’m curious to know how people use their free time. And the question has the intention to make a comparison between my Colombian culture and the American culture. My conclusion is that after a work day/week, people in Colombia go home and just relax. Weekends are for relaxation and impromptu meetings with friends and family, without objective or agenda. No call two weeks in advance, no master plan, no PDA to check what we’re doing that weekend to see if we can fit people/activities in.

One thing I noticed since I moved to North America, is that people are constantly moving. They not only do their work, but they get involved in 8,000 different things to occupy every single slot in their planner. And it makes me feel like I’m missing something. What do I have programmed in my life? Absolutely nothing. I go to work, I do what I have to do at home, and when the opportunity presents itself I socialize. But I don’t feel the need to do something all the time or I will go nuts. For me, it is OK to stay at home and do nothing. Nothing includes, of course, reading, watching TV, etc… not just starting at the ceiling making friends with shadows on the wall.

I asked my husband once if everyone is like that here, and he said “Yes, everyone.” — I believe that part of it is that with the change of seasons, people also change. We have to prepare ourselves for change 4 times a year, so that kind of keeps us moving. That’s one explanation I can come up with.

Another one is that people need to have a sense of belonging in a society where family is not always present, and where friendships (I’m sorry to say this) lack that spontaneity well known to Latinos. I’m not saying it makes us better, I’m just saying it makes us different. We Latinos are OK with doing nothing when it comes to our free time.

I would love some input. :-)

When depression slowly sets in your brain for years and you don’t realize it, your perception of the world ends up being a complete mess. Like in The Matrix, where everyone lives connected to a machine that keeps them separated from their reality, in some kind of denial. It’s an interesting realization I came up with yesterday when thinking about my depression and how much I’ve gotten used to it, that it’s difficult for me to understand how I would live my life in another way. And it’s sad, really, to say that I’m so used to this feeling I’ve learned to accept it as completely normal.

All these ideas, feelings, obsessions, behaviors… I think everyone is like that, I think everyone feels this way. And then, knock-knock… who’s there? Reality and my therapist telling me “Girl, you have it all wrong, but we’re going to help you.” — How long will it take? No idea, but it’ll happen. So, you’re telling me I’ve been living inside this misery bubble for years, and I can finally get out? Awesome… I guess.

It’s exhausting, too, to deal with all the thoughts, the assumptions, the core beliefs that make me see the world from a very quirked perspective. Some days I wake up and I don’t know how I’m going to go through another day when I feel so unmotivated, like a zombie, connected to a breathing tube. Some other days are good, I feel good, I feel happy. And then I think there must be something really wrong with me to go up and down like a roller-coaster.

Then there’s the issue of my relationships with people, my inability to open up and make new friendships. Always thinking I’m not good enough, or smart enough, or interesting enough; that I don’t have anything to offer. Then I’m surprised when my husband tells me that people like me, and I remember a therapist asking me “How can you be so nice and kind to other people, yet so cruel to yourself?” — I don’t know! Am I cruel to myself? How? I do what I have to do, don’t I?

And then there’s my obsession for perfection, and my idea that what I think and what I believe is the right way, and most people are simply wrong. Which contradicts the paragraph above, since I have all these self-esteem crap to deal with. And it makes me judgmental or simply believe that I can’t connect with others who think differently. It is, indeed, exhausting!

But I’m getting disconnected from the Matrix. It’s taking longer than I thought, but that’s because I’ve lived in my own little world for the past 14 years, and it’s not easy to wake up. And I realize it’s OK to ask for help and tell others this can be an explanation for my avoidance and my weird behavior sometimes. And that I’m, after all, sick… because depression is a disease. But it’s not contagious.

And no, my name is not Trinity.