Ernesto Con y "En Hora de la Tarde"

After visiting the Chinese Historical Society of Southern California, I came across a really - extremely - neat book. A book of poems. Ernesto Con, a Costa Rican Chinese, wrote some poems I was extremely happy to read. His verse is full of melancholy and nostalgia. Of course, he has poems full of joy too. I want to keep his book, but unfortunately I'll have to give it back. Among the many, "En Hora de la Tarde," is my favorite. It clearly reflects my current sentiments. Ahhhh, poets - and one who writes in Spanish too!?!?! That's rare. I love words. Especially Spanish ones. So a Spanish speaking/writing poet is an awesome combination. But, I can still dream right?

Sometimes I feel like I am missing out on my own culture. I rarely speak Spanish now - or rather I don't know many fluent Spanish speakers. The friends I do know, usually prefer English over Spanish. Admittedly, sometimes I choose to speak English instead. It's a habit. I rarely see my ama, who is the main person I speak my native tongue with at home. So, my goal is to listen to lots of Spanish songs. They are the best after all :] But most importantly, I must read.

I'll go back in my mom's cassette collection and break open my childhood memories. The dust might be caked on several of these memories. Some not so pleasant, but that's what I remember. It was a completely different life. My Spanish life. It's almost another vida, not my own.


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"En horas de la tarde
Cuando empiezo a escribir,
me llega de las calles
una ansia de vivir.

Otras veces yo siento
una afán de llorar,
son lamentos que el viento
recoge en mi pesar.

Yo no se lo que busco
en este eterno andar;
vagando por el mundo
en pos de mi avatar

Mi espiritó gitano
me arrastra sin piedad
a través de pantanos;
de esta gris soledad"