pearls

I had written this in October of 2009, when my mom was admitted into the hospital.

MRSA had caught her, and she was then onto the ICU...

from bad to worse...days to weeks...

months of healing...

it is/was a frightening, humbling ordeal.

My mom is superhuman, a Light Bright vision, a person like no one else I have yet to meet.

She is patience, humility, underestimated strength.

My BFF. Who I want to be when I grow up. That's for damn sure!

i form warm rose pearls from my sweat.

there is god in me, that's for damn sure.

no one harms me.

no one claims me.

i am salt diamond St. Petersburg sand.

i am Wisconsin Friday Night Fish Fry, red-checkered buffet tray in hand.

i am bootleg Christmas trees and Sears blenders scuttled through South American borders.

i am light bulb pollen and pumpkin marigolds.

i am the IV hanging.

i am the medicated halo that creates an imbalance to your white blood cells

counted and calculated and charted so tenderly.

an unconscious medical wonder VIP.

i am the fierce antidote.

i am the medicinal cocktail logging laps in your veins from brains to foot,

there is nowhere for you to root, to plant,

to anchor your vessel.

i know. its such a hassle.

the tip-toeing, the unknowing, the blood bags, the thick liquid bubbles,

the moist heat, the clot by your feet, the dose of chalk to choke in -

to eventually infect your mouth as a baby's yawn .

and breath never became so slow before and

life never became so death before and

nine doctors in white cloaks spoke

your full name

in a huddled ring outside your room of hushed infection.

no one can harm you.

no one can claim you.

the tension that tightens you now beings to froth and drown.

your vessel can anchor.

let the Earth-Shaker scour all.

the god in you, you passed to me -

since in your sweat pearls warm were made.

my mother,

of spring skin and gems,

allow Saint Poseidon to anoint your breath again.

then, ease her anchor into deep bamboo coral

and wade to witness the reborn vessel.

namaste, mom. te quiero mucho!

Examiner.com

Submission for Examiner.com.

I didn't get the job, but I tried.

So, for now, in my mild sorrow,

bite me, Examiner.com.

I left my 10 year hometown of Chicago, Illinois, in chilly, late December (2009), for Otura, a town just outside of Granada, Spain. My return to Europe was to make my way north...to the north of Spain, to the north to visit never before visited German relatives of my then boyfriend, now fiancé, to the north to quench my tulip and old world obsession in Amsterdam, and to Paris to reunite with my Peruvian cousin and her French chef fiance.

The family friends (a husband and wife team) who housed me in Otura, are both travelers, adventure travelers, at that! They own and run Venture Forth Iberia, specializing in bike tours, art and religion tours, complete with hiking the Camino de Santiago in the north of Spain, and posses the amazing knowledge of Spanish food, culture, landscape and history - while raising their little boy, who mingles between English and Spanish fluently.

Upon my return home, New York called out to me as my next city to conquer! Welcoming a new city, such as New York, onto my list of "Cities to Live in Before Death," only creates the momentum to thrive and explore! to digest the culture! to continue traveling! to continue to learn my way around this planet one Arrondissement at a time.

I am currently 'living abroad' in New York. I arrived March 31, 2010.

My past travels have lead me to Costa Rica, Spain, and Peru, and Peru once again in August 2010, for the wedding of my cousin to her Parisian chef. My father's side of the family all still live in Peru, in Lima and Miraflores. My travels 'home' to Lima allow me to develop my full character as living as Peruvian-American. My mother has gorgeous Swedish and German roots, but hails from Morton Grove, Illinois. My desire for travel/living abroad will always root inside the bulb of discovery. The discovery of oneself, a personal or cultural historical discovery, the discovery of freedom, humility, humanity.

It's obvious I posses a passionate vim about travel, about serious connection, about the blossoming that only travel can ignite!

*** *** ***

Within the "Living Abroad" topic, it raises my interest in the tourist. The tourist, the native. In New York City, New York, in Vanves, France. The new working-tourist fascination and how adaption, and adoption, of a city is a worthy cause for character and career development.

The concept of 'home' is always a curious beast. One that snarls as it hunts, a constant reminder of where you 'should' be as opposed to where you 'choose' to be and vice versa. The topic of home is rich and deep, universal and superbly individual. I am enamored by the sweet tug of home, as well as the vicious roots that drag you back over the welcome mat and through the screen door when you least expect it.

*** *** ***

Infected by wanderlust, Gina Cornejo, has made 'home' her own moveable feast. Hailing from Chicago, and claiming New York City's, Hell's Kitchen, as her own, she begins again to audition, perform, write/blog, navigate, participate in event marketing and promotions via LeadDog Marketing Group, Inc., and continue on her quest for the best slice of pie. Newly engaged, a destination wedding is highly likely.

(mini sample bio they asked for)

*** *** ***

namaste, Examiner.com...maybe next time.

official arrival, folks!

between 8th and 9th

between deli and thai

an official arrival of spring has sprouted.

it's no matter that i can't pinpoint hyacinths in Central Park,

since i sweat wet lavender and pollen birth.

between fine French and New Jersey foul

between language leftovers on 10 for 1 postcards

between the fruit vendor, carb vendor, pashmina, nuts and keychains;

the official arrival of spring is salivating.

it's no matter i'm saturated, since i live in the Kitchen of the Melting Pot.

so, between the airport and an off-broadway rehearsal

between ORD and my entrance down into the wedding rabbit hole,

the official arrival of a proposal has occurred!

between the transition and upheaval

between our luscious parisian lifestyle lilt and

dutch -gracht and -stradt wonderings of tulips tip-toed up narrow staircases...

between this hustled choice of life and travel,

we paused.

he kneeled.

i gaped.

there was a ring.

we popped a cork.

he swig. i swig.

i made phone calls.

he went back to work.

i said a holy YES within the hustle!

and, the official arrival of an engagement has me sweating flora

as my foul mouth trumpets elation, f*ck! yeah!

(now, if i can only manage the b**chin' subway!)

namaste, to my fiance!

3-31-10

new york, new york

arrived into LaGuardia

meandered through Queens

hit walls of traffic

spoke a little Spanish with my cab driver,

25 years he's been here, big city, he says, where you from?

Chicago!

big city, too, he says. not as big as New York, but big.

but, where you from?

Ahhhh, Wisconsin. Born and raised.

But, your asking about Peru. I have family from and in Peru. Lima.

Going there for a wedding in August!

aaaaahhhhh, Peru?! ceviche! mmmmmm, the ceviche!

Claro, the ceviche es muy rico...

i pay George, thank him for the service, as my bags get bellhop-ed into the lobby.

no keys, no map in hand

New Big City, ripe and juicy

carousel doors leaving me spun and hungry

until, my love pushes through the amusement of the ride we took to arrive

and

calms

me

back

to

planet

new york,

new leaf.

namaste, NYC. let's be kind to each other, new lover!

28 on 16

my 28th birthday was on March 16th.
it wasn't just relaxed, it was blissfully normal.

i, was most definitely, home.

scrumptious family dinners, my mom took me shopping,
my boyfriend bought me an Anthony Bourdain book,
facebook post overload of birthday wishes from lovely friends,
homemade chocolate chip cake, funny cards that make me smile.

i felt the home -
the coinciding bond between the tangible location,
the ease of the release of the heart,
and the thick memories that somehow stabilize you, root you, and
shock you how the senses and space make time a watery play-thing.

"i'm here, again. this kitchen...i am standing here, again."

"what's that?" my mom asks.

"i just can't believe i am standing here. in the kitchen!"
stretching my 8 hours plane limbs, on a deep inhale,
eyes sealed, oily flashes of Parisian cafes, German faces of new family,
the Sierra Nevadas out of my window.

...did i really have an Amsterdam apartment...

"where the hell was i?! where am i now?!"


in Montmarte, France, there is a Dali Musee.
bronze sculpture works from Dali, oil paintings of the themes of Alice in Wonderland,
and intricate/intense 12 Stations of the Cross.
even the entire student body of a mid-western middle school paid tribute to Dali
by sporting the Dali mustache: thin and upturned, menacing and playful.
i was surprised to see them all without a U crutch in hand!

a handful of his bronze works were of the limp watches.
Dali often said: materialization of the flexibility of the Time and the invisibility of the Space.
It is a fluid. Unexpected limpness of the watch represents also the psychological aspect by which the speed of time though specifies in its scientific definition can largely vary in his human perception. The idea came to him after contemplating the remainders of his running Camembert cheese. (as stated on the Espace Dali Montmarte website)

on March 16th, i turned 28 years old, young, what have you.

my cheese has been running for quite some time now.
and i have chosen to take my time, my life, contemplating it.

i urge you to do the same.

because who doesn't LOVE cheese?


namaste, to Salvador Dali, my family, and the magic of Time and Space!

away and back

namaste, United States of America!

since my last entry in France, i have had the honor of
travelling to Germany and the Netherlands, and also nabbing
a small breath of a hello in Ireland during a layover.

i ceased my blogging due to my appetite for being
instead of recording
and so i limited my computer minutes to that of important e-mails home
with occasional facebook updates.

with my initial blog intentions to write! write! write!
and hurdle fears,
and remain inspired and reckless,
i no longer postpone my blog entries!

it's monday, march 8, 2010.
i have been home for 4 days.
3 nights of the 4 days, my dreams have taken place in Paris.
i stand in my parents kitchen - it's still the kitchen.
i take a run on the bike path near the house -
my last run took place in Vondelpark, Amsterdam, Netherlands.
the Olympics came and went -
i cheered on the Frenchies in France,
the Germans in Germany,
the Netherland-ers in The Netherlands.
i was just meditatively strolling in the Alhambra Generalife.
sitting on a bench, baguette in mouth, underneath the skirt of the Eiffel Tower.
eating at the best Chinese buffet, The Shan-gri-la, in Dortmund.
eyeballing the lovlies drenched in Red Light.
and, already deeply missing my cousin, during a layover in Dublin.

away and back!
trains and trams!
Spanish to Dutch!
change upon change!

namaste, to the spirit of movement!
let us never be content!!

20 days prior

i have been in France for 20 days!
including epic holidays: Groundhog Day and Valentine's Day.

according to my 2009-2010 walking guide of Paris, i have strolled
the Village Paris, Glamorous Paris, Timeless Paris, Artists' Paris,
Monumental Paris, Mythical Paris...i've done well for myself.
although i have yet to conquer Cosmopolitan Paris,
boat tour on the River Seine,
the all too fantastical Musée Du Louvre,
and locate the chocolate behind the doors of Debauve & Gallais
(the oldest chocolatier in Paris, opened in 1800, who made delicate
treats for the Kings of France, m*tha f*ckas!)

i have mastered the Metro.

not nearly eaten my weight in snails (there's time for that, for sure).

drank the champagne that was sent over from the table of regulars
at the late night cafe in Vanves...the 2 bottles of champagne, no less.

ate off of the plate, off of the fork, of Cristof, on the Boulevard de Clichy,
across from the Moulin Rouge. drank his wine, smoked his cigarette,
and know he is part of the development department for a large,
successful, energy conservation corporation. he also plays squash.

i want to eat a baguette every morning.
i want it with an espresso.
i want soupe d' oignon for a midday warm-up.
i want the truffles from Jeff de Bruges on Rue Lepic.
i want snails, snails, and more escargot.
i want to speak more French.
i want to hug my cousin everyday.
i want to stare under the gold skirt of the Eiffel Tower.
i want a crépe of nutella, banana, and almond from
that one guy on that one corner.
i want to kiss as that heart shaped balloon floats by the Sacre Coeur.
i want to keep cheering for the French in the Winter Olympics.

i want to keep waking up
to hear a language i do not follow,
and smile
the smile
i smiled
out of the terminal,
and into Paris,
20 days prior.

namaste, little escargot i have yet to devour.