Exercise

               Exercise was never something that I enjoyed. I always hated it because of the immediate feeling of death after you go out for a jog, but ever since I started exercising again, I feel more alive. 

It's weird, the motivations that we have, if I didn't have a craving for cute, sexy, muscular twinks, then I'd probably not be trying to build myself. People always tell you that you should love whom you are, but then sells you things to make you "prettier". Whenever I'm faced with the question of "why are you trying to change yourself" I reply like on of my favourite characters would, Agrado from Todo Sobre mi Madre, the Pedro Almodovar film. She gave a speech about being authentic, and she said "Well, as I was saying, it costs a lot to be authentic, ma'am. And one can't be stingy with these things because you are more authentic the more you resemble what you've dreamed of being." She was defending her plastic surgeries but that mentality is true in everyone. I am not the cubby, weak kid that I look that. That person is a lie, and it's my job to bring out the real Julian, the authentic. I'm not changing who I am; I'm stopping the fakeness that I have been living. 

I gave a whole speech but in reality I'm just exercising because I've seen what the boy of my dreams look like, and he is skinny and drinks protein shakes. But all that stuff I said before is true too. I'm not what I look like now, and I have the ability to change that, so I will. 

I've been wearing my old children shirts. They're far too small for me, but they build my confidence. I hunch because it makes my chest not look as gross. I hate my man boobs. These tighter shirts force me to stand up straighter, and help a lot in my quest to become my real self. 

This Year

Being an upperclassman is beyond exciting. An excuse to reinvent yourself is something that should be appreciated. Last year was about discovering my sexuality, but this year I want to do more. I wanna do something more significant. I wanna build myself, both physically and mentally. I've starting running again, a task I stopped because of laziness, and I wanna work on my hobbies more. Because I'm not taking a science class, I'm sure that this year will be significantly more productive and also because I'm done trying to figure out who my new gayself is supposed to be. Im going to join a club. It's not something that I've ever enjoyed, but I think that a club like model un will be a great place to test my new knowledge after a summer of watching news. I've been watching less films which isn't helping my creative side, but the amount of news that I've been watching has done wonders for my intellectual self. And that's what I wanna be building this year. My brain. I've decided that law school is something that Im aiming to go to. Not much can be done with just a poli sci degree, which is my preferred field of study, but almost every influential person in politics and news has a law degree. I don't wanna be a lawyer though, or not aim to be a lawyer. I met a lady, in her late forties/ early fifties that study political science and is now a film director because her husband can support her economically as she ventures into a new stage in her life. The line between artist and intellectual is fine so so art career is still an option, but economically it can be tough. And I have a feeling I can make a more positive impact as a diplomat or something.
Blogging is something easy and quick to do with my time. And I know one day it'll help me. I don't know what STAC will be like, but as an upperclassman I know I can influence the program as a whole, much more than I could before. I'm friends with everyone in STAC, and I think that we'll have a sense of unity that STAC hasn't felt in a long time. The seniors aren't as stubborn and as critical as they were last year, and I don't see them starting a mini revolution like almost happened last year. I have always felt that STAC, as a force, is able to fix itself over time. People who harm the program eventually leave, and new ones replace them. Everyone that's left wants to be there. That's the most important part. Talent is a myth, and the more important part is having a class that is able to learn and function well. Breeding a STACie from their first high school year can make an artist just as good as someone who joined as a senior. Let's make a year that can be as powerful and as awesome as the years that we hear about from the alumnus. Every year starts off great, and from my perpective, the program has gotten better as the years went by. You see that in the students. I didn't have a table last year like i did my freshman year. I had preferences, but my seating in the class was based on how I felt that day. And since I like all the people in STAC, I'm sure it'll be the same this year, and other students will follow. There aren't any cliques anymore, or not any obvious cliques. Even my own STAC besties aren't so close that we only talk and work within ourselves. In fact, I actually think that we'd prefer to work with people outside of deek jaj (that's the name of our group, we are odd like that). Independence is important too. Someone like Shiana is a fairly independent STACie, but has made some of the best work I've seen, and most of my projects have never consisted of more than a couple of people. But what is going to make this great is that no one will have a fear to approach someone else to work with them. And when the announcement to make groups is put up, the whole group will get mixed up. Discipline is important. We are high school students, and don't totally understand what freedom is. I can't force myself to do anything on pure passion, besides the couple of hobbies I have, and that's where the authority comes in. Also, we need to do more drag stuff. I think that if we can, as a class, be more radical with the school, without breaking any rules, then we have a better chance of existing. Imagine if for a day every STACie was dressed as the opposite gender. I'm more brave in that sense than some other people, but still. If we get political, and let the rest of the school know that, then we'll attract more people. The majority of the school is already accepting of gays, i've seen that personally. So we need to push more. Transgender people get the short end of the stick when it comes to gay rights, and i didn't even fully understand what a transgender person was until I befriended this FTM guy on the Internet. Let's get people mad, and make art that'll start new talks. We should have events to protest injustice, and to support causes that we think are important. That's what has died in art, or in youth i should say. If a transgender gets killed in the street, we should have a funeral. The majority of the students in school now are politically unaffiliated, and don't care about politics, so there is a huge opportunity to make a change. And it isn't the protest of politics, we're not suggesting some socialist world, but something like civil rights, that get's overlooked in conservative minds. I have a fantasy that one day we could be seen on the Melissa Harris Perry show as her weekly foot soldiers, where she picks out an individual or group that has made significant positive change. I think that we can, and the new STAC gives me optimism that we could actually do something huge. The hatred for STAC is dying, and that might be a problem. Let them hate us, but because we are pushing boundaries, not because we're weird kids. Part of this desire to make a more activist STAC is because my passion has shifted away from art recently, but the line between activist and artist is blurred. And artist is an activist, and not every activist is an artist, but the mind of an artist and the mind of an activist isn't too different, only that one can draw better, or sing better. Not to be rude to some STACies, but we have member in our group that have a huge presence outside of STAC, and that should be utilized for something, I know that the majority of Grace's friends aren't in STAC, and I am friendly with quite a number of non STACies too. Our influence can go way beyond the art room door.
I'm done with laying on the outside of problems and of being scared. This year will be big.

Hands Project

I forgot this in the last post. I made hands. This was a lot of fun. I wanna work more on this in STAC. Maybe make a full body, maybe use them as props in a movie. Regardless, it's something that interests me artistically. One is wire, the other is wood. The wire i used was expensive but the hand came out really nice. The wood one didn't because I needed better tools. Bending wire requires at most a set of pliers, while wood work requires saws, glue, sandpaper and files, all of which have expensive alternatives that can produce better, more detailed results.

It's Been a While, So I've Got Some Shit to Say

School

It starts in a couple days. I am a fan of school. I like the idea more than i like actually going. Kids who hate school, or are constantly putting it down are idiots. They don't even hate the system in place, which would make their feelings seem more noble, they just hate the classes in general. Kids who say "I'm not gonna need this when I'm older" are wrong. I hated chemistry, but imagine a world where only kids who liked science took chemistry. We already live with a load of idiots, but if you only had to take the classes you liked then everyone would be beyond stupid. If I complain about the difficulty of a class, it is just that, a hard class for me, and nothing else. I'm writing this section last, but it's going to be first in the post because it's the least controversial. This is basically a buffer. 

The News

I watch an obscene amount of news. At least five hours a day of MSNBC, excluding this weekend because i was in Boston helping my sister move in. Sometimes I'm just playing computer games as it is playing in the background. I've learned so much this summer. And so much of what I've learned has been little things. The news, especially liberal news, is a physical representation of the life, and the people I want to be around. My favourite host is Melissa Harris Perry. Her show plays on weekends from ten to twelve. She is a college professor, and I respect that line of work, and I haven't seen any other news show host have another job that is being a teacher; most just have radio shows or write for a column or blog. I wanna be her friend. I wanna talk to her about Syria and race and I want to be her when I grow up. A true intellectual. And then there are the idiots that inhabit the liberal news. There is a show called The Cycle, where a bunch of young news people sit around a table and talk about the news. Ever since the slightly conservative girl with the glasses left, the show is void of any real debate. And these kids to the news world are so stupid sometimes. They would spend hours talking about why the republicans are awful people for disapproving of Obamacare, when the majority of American don't know how the plan works. Still, I learn a lot. Things that you can't really learn in a text book. I learned that liberal news tries to be too liberal. The only new faces of news shows on MSNBC are from some minority. The white, well built, old fashion news caster, just happens to be gay. I can have a serious future in the news if this trend continues. Think about it. I'm so many minorities put together. I'm hispanic. I'm gay. I'm an atheist. I only hope that when I'm older, I'll be smarter than to make my minority status put a bias on the issues that matter to me. The economy is number one. Raising the minimum wage and fixing the income inequality. Then it's international relations. Making sure that we are friends with the rest of the human on earth, and pushing for a better world for everyone. And then it's education. Public schools need to be managed differently, and that will also help the income gap. And lastly it's everything else. All the social issues. Gay rights, immigration reform, voter rights, religious freedom. It's all important, the latter section, but I care more about the first part, and every other liberal mind should as well. The party is based on a different idea on how to treat people. Conservatives fight for the businesses that try to undermine the people so they can make bigger profits, and socially they are only very mean because the people that they are able to convince to follow them are normally those who don't have the greatest education and are socially intolerant. Latinos are conservative. We LOVE Jesus. We HATE gays. But we vote for Obama because the white guys in Arizona and Texas tell us to go home, and those white guys happen to be republican. I am a true liberal. I care about the people, and that they get the things they need more than I care about the profits of a Wall Street jerk. I also understand that it's important to keep that Wall Street jerk wealthy and that income inequality is good in smaller amounts, so don't be calling me a communist. 

Last Night

***WARNING*** 

This post is not meant to insult. I'm writing the thoughts in my head. Also, drugs, alcohol and sex are mentioned. Reader discretion is advised. 

Last night my sister took me to an exclusive fraternity party, on account that she is dating the president of that frat. Apparently because she is dating the president, that makes her the queen. I will never understand the college greek system. There is a rule that during rush week all of the frat parties must be dry, which is why my sister didn't resist as much when I asked to go. Being sober at a party where you feel the vibrations of the speakers more than you can hear the music isn't something that I'd make a habit of. I don't think that I could ever have fun at one of those events unless my mind was at a point where I wasn't aware of my own actions, and that I had more options of whom I could grind with. This black, short girl tried to grind with me. I could tell that she had pre-gamed significantly because you have to shitfaced to try and dance with the faggot awkwardly shaking in the corner. But maybe she was genuinely attracted to me, and maybe she thought that because the majority of the fraternities in Boston don't attract my kind, I was just some hipster who happened to dress a little queer one night. At a certain point I left the dance floor and tried to hide in the couch. The experience was weird. The party was dry, so it wouldn't be logical for me to pass out for more than a couple minutes, and I had the fear that someone would kick me out for taking up space in a party that had a line to enter. The couch smelled like semen, which is a scent that i can honestly say that I enjoy, when it's not my own, and so I tried to enjoy that as I looked at the borded up french window that would have the silhouettes of dancing people every other microsecond as the lights flashed. A couple, or what seemed like a couple, was vigorously making out in the couch closer to the window. I personally cannot make out with someone for an extended period of time, my max is about two minutes. I just don't get what you're supposed to do and why it is supposed to be pleasurable. My sister and her friend returned, they were wet with sweat and other people's sweat. We left, and my sister stayed behind to talk with her boyfriend who was manning the door, greeting his new acolytes and acolyte hopefuls as they entered the party. They're having problems apparently. I waited, for about half an hour, sitting on the sidewalk with Zoë, another theatre major, who is more interesting, and has a better music taste than my sister. We talked, mostly about me, and my thoughts about college life versus my own social life now as we watched the drunken freshman walk by on their first, or second, night of college level partying. I talked to Zoë about my own views on parties like this. I realized, after being the first person who lost in the "have you ever" party game, that I'm not as innocent as I would have wanted to be, and that maybe my sister and I aren't as different as I thought we were. But going to this party, and seeing these types of people, and what is entertaining to my sister reassured me that my sister and I are very different people. I told Zoë about my life since the last time we had talked, approximately a year ago, and how my more adventurous side had grown, and how even though I've been a little promiscuous and dabbled with light drugs like my sister did in her sophomore year, I'm not going to be like her. The times when I've smoked and drank it was never at a party, it was talking to another smart person while we listened to Nirvana or something. And when I'd fool around with a guy, it was innocent, and I'd cherish the memory, and in some cases, fantasize about getting married and starting a family with him. I don't crave grinding up with some anonymous person at a party while my mind is fucked up, and I certainly don't crave having that anonymous person's dick inside of. Does this make me a better person? And why do I feel the need to separate what I've done to what my sister does? Is her lifestyle bad? She gets good grades, is far from building any type of addiction, and is faithful to her boyfriend. 

I worked this summer with a woman from a time when being an artist and doing drugs was something that was given. I doubt she was like my sister, but I know that she probably did much harder drugs than Viviana, and that she probably was so concerned with being sexually careful, given her community of friends and the time she was in. But am I supposed to think less of her? And what of the straight edge people? The ones who have been "innocent" for their entire lives but offer little in intellectual stimulation or bully those who aren't like them? Are they the crown jewels of society, just because they follow the rules? Why can't that smoker in the alley, or the girl who has had a pregnancy scare be that champion of humanity? Some of the smartest people I've met have been stoners. I've also met some pretty dumb stoners, but that's exactly the point that I'm trying to make. Why does the world and the lifestyle that we live in constitute our worthiness to others? To hate someone because they have smoked seems unreasonable, and to look down upon them is just as bad. A slut can be a good person just as a sober can be a bitch. 

I judge people on one scale, that is, weather or not you can provide intellectual stimulation. If you tell me things I don't and push me to be smarter. Take all the drugs you want, have all the sex your genitals can take, I don't care, but keep me interested and I'll like you. And the more you can challenge me, the higher you are on my scale.  

Plans for Summer

I have an interview today, and I have the opportunity to work with an awesome theatre group in the city. To say that I'm not a little nervous would be a lie, and I'm not really sure what to expect. I've spent the last two days studying the organization and finding out what to say during an interview, but in every YouTube video, in every article, they are basing their knowledge on a business interview, and this place isn't really business. It's called NY Artists Unlimited, and if you search that on YouTube you'll find some awesome plays that were recorded and put up by the director, Melba LaRose. It's those videos that really made me nervous because now I want this. When I want something I act terribly. I once had a crush on this guy and in my mind he was perfect, and he liked me at the beginning too, but I fucked the whole thing up after a couple of days because I was way to clingy and weird. What if I end up acting too clingy and weird today? What if they stop answering my texts and leaving me in a state of emotional turmoil for days while I wait for them to respond? That's why I'm worried, because I want this really badly. I rarely get what I want, I get what I need. I needed for that boy to dump me because now I know not to be weird around other boys, but I just hope that I don't need the rejection from this group, I won't really know until after, and I'm not a romantic when it comes to things like fate and destiny, but everything in my life has a sense of working itself out in the end.
I'm taking French classes this summer. The organization is called FIAF I think, and the classes are everyday in the mornings. I've wanted to speak French for years now, and I'm finally doing something about it. I speak Spanish almost fluently, and if I can learn French then I know that a career in international affairs is much more plausible. People forget how large French actually is as a language. The big three are English, Chinese, and Spanish, but you could make a strong argument for French being fourth. It is a UN language, and the language of the EU. It's spoken in a handful of countries across the world and people don't realize how useful it is. Learning Italian isn't as handy, but on Long Island I know that my statement would offend people, so I won't go into more detail about that.
Lastly I'm taking an SAT class at night. I've come to accept that I would have to take it eventually, and now is a good time. There are a ton of cute boys there. I always had the fantasy that one would talk to me and we'd just hit it off. That's never happened. It's always been some weird reference I get from a mutual friend where we are both stalking each other's Facebook pages until we decide whether or not we find the other person attractive. I feel that in the future it might be different, but when you have apps like grinder and that disturbing match.com commercial saying that a fifth of all relationships start on the Internet.
Those are my plans for the summer, they're not too stressful, but I hope to be busy because I'm tired of sitting around and doing nothing.

Chapter One- Julian with the Dolls and Dresses

            I was always an odd child. There was little normal about me and I can only realize that now because I’m old enough to review old home videos, and recall the memories that stuck with me. I once bit another child’s nose because I felt like it. I was never violent though; I just wanted to know what biting a nose would feel like.

I didn’t start out feminine. My sister is probably to blame for this. Viviana is three years older than I am, and I grew up alongside her. The relationship between my sister and I was probably the most normal thing about my childhood. I am grateful for that.

Viviana was always a typical girl. She grew up with a pretty predictable childhood and I envied that. Not to be a predictable boy, but to be a predictable girl. I never wanted to be a girl, but I always wanted to be treated like one. I never liked what was expected of me as a boy. Ever since I can first remember, my mother had been saying I would one day make some girl “so happy”. I never liked being treated that way. I was taught to hold open doors and always to be respectful. My mother was trying to make me into the husband that she wished she had married.

The incident of the dolls came before the time of the dresses. As feminine as I was I was still a normal little boy. I like action figures and superheroes more than anything. I love to play with Legos and toys and even now you might still find me tinkering with some Spiderman thing. Anyway, the point that I am trying to make is that I wasn’t trying to be girly when I did it.

My sister had big box of dolls, dolls of all types, not just the typical Barbie and Ken, but little dolls from companies that no longer exist. And her dollhouse, that was something to see. My parents didn’t believe in plastic much, so they got my sister a huge, wooden dollhouse. It stood the same size at me at the time and it was incredible. Three whole floors of house. It was bigger than our own house. I think that any boy would have done it though. It’s not like it was so outlandish to play with dolls, I mean they’re basically actions figures with interchangeable clothes.

So I sat there, on the floor of my sister’s room and played with the dolls like there was no tomorrow. It felt good. It was like a high that only a four-year-old boy could feel. Barbie kicked Polly-Pocket’s ass all the way to the kitchen and back. Ken lifted the fucking house like it made of Styrofoam and smashed it on top of the homemade cloth dolls, and then he roared at the top of his lungs with a ferocity that startled people. But unfortunately the people that the roar startled weren’t dolls…

My mother ran up the stairs.

“What was that noise?” She barged into my sister’s room.

“Nothing” I rushed to hide Ken and Barbie under the bed.

“What are you doing?” said Carlota as she made her way further into the room.

“Nothing. I was just playing”

There was silence.

“Ernesto!” My mother shouted for my father.

“What!?” replied my father from his laid down position on the couch directly under us.

“Come upstairs!”

“…” Replied Ernesto.

“ERNESTO!”

Ernesto made his way up the stairs. His footsteps were slow, and the sound of his coming was easy to detect. I shivered in fear as I tried to put back the dolls without Carlota seeing. At the time I didn’t think that I had done anything wrong. I didn’t understand why playing with dolls was wrong but I understood that my mother being mad meant unhappiness for me.  Ernesto made his way to Viviana’s room. Feeling left out my sister joined us from the basement. All four of us existed silently in the room. Me, on the floor hiding a box of dolls behind my back, my sister, laying down on her bed, ready to watch the show, and my mother and father standing at the door, with the face that one gets right before they yell.

The details to follow aren’t pleasant; to talk about them would actually make me sad and angry with my parents, and continue to further destroy the relationship between us. But what I know is that an injustice took place that day, one that my parents and probably even my sister would forget, but it was an injustice nonetheless. This was one of the earliest memories I can recall, probably because of the impact that it had on me, and because of the impact that it continues to have on me. And because of the events that would follow because of that injustice.

My sister loved dolls. She loved to dress them up and make them look pretty. One day I decided that I wanted to be Viviana’s perfect doll. She dressed me up. I wore the cutest little skirt, and a nice blouse. We had put some lipstick from my mother’s room on me, and I looked adorable.

This was the first act of rebellion that I can remember.  Even back then I could understand what an injustice was. I knew that my actions regarding the dolls wasn’t wrong, not because I thought a boy being a girl was right, but because I just wanted to play with them like I would with action figures.

I rubbed on the makeup and pulled up the skirt with pride that day. Pride that I was teaching my parents a lesson. That they would feel like they had failed in raising me, and that I was in fact the thing that they punished me for being. I was a girl.

The scolding was even worse that time around.  But I felt satisfied afterwards. I had won. I had outsmarted them and they didn’t even know it. My mother and father would cry because their only son was in fact a girl. I manipulated my parents intolerance before I even knew what intolerance meant.

The dolls and the dress are the most important memories I have. Not because they are the most life changing or the most significant, but because they started it. It was those memories, those injustices, that have made me who I am today, and it was that story that starts my journey in this world. And as I was getting spanked that day, I was born. That was the day that Julian Vargas started.

I was working on these little wire things for STAC art. They are supposed to be game board pieces for the game board I'm making, but honestly I am just using that as an excuse to play with the wire. My hands are numb now. I can't feel the tips of my finger and I actually love that. I love working with my hands on fine and detailed things. I love to hand sew and I have worked with the bending metal arts before. My father has a little amateur jewelry shop set up in the basement. He has yet to use it, but he says that he will. My father used to make a living selling little trinkets and jewelry on the streets. His story is inspiring, and but now he has gotten lazy. He is the the type of person that reacts to a situation, and self motivation isn't something that comes easily to him. He made jewelry and art because he had to  because if he didn't then he'd starve. My father and I are alike in so many ways. We both get the system. We understand how things work and the minds of other people. We are able to navigate life so that we can do the least amount of work but yet seem like we geniuses. I'm not supposed to say things like that though. It makes me seem like a bad person, I was talking to Grace last night, and I said that all people boil down to a couple of awful traits, and that no one is truly as good as they seem to be. It isn't their fault though. I am very selfish, and so are so many people. I care about myself before almost everyone else, but I try so hard to not. And it is in that attempt to be good, that makes me a good person.
I am starting a book, writing one not reading one. It's about my life I think. But saying that makes it sound stupid. It's about my attempt to navigate the world and the mistakes and triumphs that I have seen, and how that has shaped my way of thinking and why I do the things that I do. I am young, I hardly have any experience, but at the same time I have a lot of stories. I have stories that I don't tell anyone about, and I am constantly in a new one. For the past nine months I have been in story after story. This has been the most exciting year of my life so far. I have done so much, just personally and mind expanding. I feel that I am starting to experience life. I haven't regretted a moment of this entire year, even all the mistakes I made because now I am smarter for them. I am writing this book for myself, because I organize thoughts when I write, better that I do in my head at least. I used to organize all of my thoughts on my walks home from school, everyday for twenty minutes I'd think to myself, and organize everything in my head, but when I write it down it is all more clear. I come to conclusion about things when I write. I evolve my ideas when I write. I thought this blog post was going to be about that STAC art stuff I was doing, but it isn't anymore. It's going to be hard to get support for this project, I already realize that. Writing this will make me seem like I know more about life than other people, and that gets people upset. I like to explore life and ideas, and it makes me seem like I pretend to know more than other people. If I were to finish the book, I'd all be about me, and I think highly of myself because I have never meet anyone else as interesting as me. That sounds shallow to say, but I love myself so much. I can never talk to anyone the way that I talk to myself. I admit my mistakes, but I love that I have mistakes. I love that I am learning from life and experience rather than how I used to learn. A lot of people I know learn through theory, and I used to as well. We'd think about life and questions, and then come to a conclusion within our heads. People don't learn from mistakes enough nowadays. My book is going to be funny. You are going to laugh because life is pretty funny if you think about it. The book isn't going to be about my sexuality, if I were to say that then I could never be a good book. It will address it, very often, but in the end of the day I want it to be about me. About my head, and everything that goes through it. I want to write down every thought that I would be yelled at for, and every experience that I should be ashamed of and that would embarrass me. This is a book for me, and my goal is for people to read it and actually understand me. Actually be able to see who I actually am because I doubt anyone really knows me to the level that I want them to.
The book will be separated into three parts. I am not sure that this will stay, but having a structure at the beginning will help me. The parts will be about me at different ages. The first will be my earliest memories to the fifth grade. The next will be middle school until the moment that I came out, and the last will be from this past November to now. I am writing this book so that people can understand me better, but I want them to do that though the stories that I tell. So every chapter will be a story, and the goal is so that if someone were to read the all the stories, they'd get a good understanding of who I am. I think I might of just contradicted myself because I think I said that I would be writing this for myself, but my idea changed. I never edit these blog posts. I write as I go, and make sure that nothing I put down is too offensive or rude, but I never read them over. This is my think tank. This is where ideas are born, not presented. To be judged badly for something I write on this blog would be unfair because this place to me, is a place to think. Eventually finished product should  appear, but for now, let's leave it at this.
Thank you for reading.