top of page
New Alitza Cardona_edited.jpg
Edition #5
Growth and Power
Alitza Nichole Cardona
Edited by Miriam Zeghlache

Without words and without plans: letting go.

To experience the pleasure of allowing yourself to feel desired and discover the other person’s sweat while getting lost in their eyes, shouldn’t come at the price of losing yourself in a fabric of doubts. Verbs are embodied in a state of being as if the result of its interaction with the other produces a tide of emotions that clash with the insecurities that come with the uncertain. To communicate in a way that does not generate conflict with our desires and aspirations is no easy feat. Stepping away after stating oneself sometimes is a task from faith. For this narrative, I am talking about an exploration with another that took place in just one night, maybe two. Do not mistake this essay with its romantic opening because what I wish to convey is a message about approaching circumstances, knowing how to let go. The world of immediacy may lack intimacy, and for some reason, we may fall victim to its indifference masked, maybe, as trauma, stress, doubts or simply a lack of proper communication. In this human world of calculated reasons that insist on ignoring the power that comes with feeling, I am just going to talk to you about him and the others, and how I put into a message what I couldn’t convey into words: written, texted, emailed or “snapped”. 


I know that after having him, in the next few days that followed, that sublime intimate moment constituted a veiled reality of unattachment, where one can feel themselves grasping every inch of a constructed personality designed specifically for this moment and the next. I believe the creation of a chameleonic personality suited to manage expectations has become appropriate to politely divert external aspirations. Our personhood is constantly vulnerable to its potential management, and control is becoming of power. To compromise our potential in this current social landscape is a risk we may feel too deeply. From a woman’s point of view, we may create personalities to sustain the infinite awareness of value amidst the sea of others and a social contract we simply didn’t ask for. I am talking about this social contract where we have to prove our productive worth to attain the simple luxury of compassion masked, in many cases, as romantic love. Are we sacrificing too much when we expose some part of ourselves to feel an instant of compassionate safety, in a world where our presentation card expresses the aesthetics of ego and its morality? Even if you are just one “fish '' amongst, now, eight billion, the price of fleeting intimacy just builds up when the intention of sustaining something worth building from is also weaved in a timeframe where your productive willingness intends to survive indifference. It is said a woman’s womb is four to six inches. Imagine if we could merge these inherent female spaces and count the number of scapes or — expansive —possibilities where millions nurture potential realities. After thinking about all this, at the end of a night of “exploration”, even if I had loved him for just that  moment, the engineering of the potential realities of my womb and my desires for compassion, he just picked up and called it a night. 


Too many sensations resembling the realities of compassion have been called a night, and these infinite reproductive potentialities keep being reconstructed by a string of faith and walls of hopes. The energy of false illusions can be counted as lost to realities that come with learning processes related to the generation of a present. Illusions can be an investment, a necessary misstep. Because of these moments within the process of our present, we then learn how to recycle experience. We continue to learn the ways crises become seeds of opportunities. Power dresses as confidence when you walk the lands marked by sudden shifts, unforgivable abruptions, and valleys of inconsistencies. To know where to step, how to walk and to look when you are meant to see, requires the precise consistency of distrust even when gazing at the most remarkable beauty of hope disguised as flesh carried by two legs of diversion. 


Writing as drawing presents you with the perspective of processes. The landscapes that form when you draw a line, or paint a horizon, generate rhythm, resembling a  tone where silence turns that landscape of possibilities into a mirror reflecting a roofless ceiling - if you haven’t decided to limit yourself. Maybe,  how our lives are shaped depends on a subjective knowledge we inherit and then whose overwhelming impositions we try to justify with the illusion of repetition, tradition, and objectiveness. Forgetting the unknown is a resource of creation that blurs the inherent and forever relevant role of imagination. As differences create spaces of possibilities of a reality you never counted on, hopes don’t need to dress as anything, but reveal themselves in their true form. You. 


Intimate explorations require awareness. As we communicate intent, passion will reveal the human necessity of connection. To collaborate romantically is a decision where the ego shouldn't intervene.


A love note

By: Alitza Cardona

Relationships are extensions of the crossroads your soul encounters and the moment it needs to evaluate and embody whatever life requires from you.

Sometime during my youth, I ended a co-dependent relationship that coincided with the death of two persons I loved dearly. Grief is an exploration of the unfulfilled spaces your soul longed to share with a beloved subject. I had made every mistake and took every wrong decision in that relationship. I was left without words to apologise. I considered myself  the “bad person” of the relationship; he was good and had left with my dog. Always without making plans I submerged myself in work, forgetting my time has its “stakeholders”. These people also fed from a collectively-made fabric of stories, perspectives, and angles that in some ways constructed my fourth wall. One questions the existence of homogeneous processes. As observation enables us to link suggested spaces of thought through contradictions, one could identify relations or relationships that evidently become one in many bridges that constitute the performance of reality. Art gives you that, a real preformistic space, shaded with horizons and discourses of limits. However, at the end of this show is when only you get to know what you are, while in any other moments you get to aspire where and how to be in an interwoven and ever-emergent process of everything. At that moment, the pain of that relationship and the failure of my investment in another person’s story filled my heart with guilt. Having to heal the polarisation of my morality, I understood good or bad to translate to the other’s understanding of morality as well as their perspectives. The lens that evaluates the conditions of my life will never be specifically mine even if an awareness of what is mine is what only matters. I understood everything too fast as I became aware of the sense it made to quickly start another story to voraciously learn. Time is not wasted if passion subjects me to keep learning, aware I am destined to keep creating mistakes that conform to the foundations of my power. Another crossroads taught me to love myself. And since then, I have gotten lost in many other illusions. It is not that I am proud of the traces of pain I have left within ignorance of my half though steps, but I am proud of being able to grasp the unknown in order that it serves me before the conditions of my present drown me in responsibilities that will serve others. 


I sent every expectation of others for me to hell. This resulted from the moment I decided that analysing the mirrors of my realities and the counsel of my fourth wall wasn’t enough to nurture what this performance of a type of personhood gets to make of my life. Without words I let go of that relationship in 2017. I knew writing a letter wouldn’t be enough, so I measured my chest in the hopes of comprehending the physical reality of my heart. I moulded it with clay as anatomically accurate as I could and left it on his doorstep. The form of what I created was a way of apologising, conveying some sense of my intentions to heal the circumstance of us but in any other manner that could make my recipient  feel my intentions through association. Finally, letting go of any regard of what he could make of it, I just collected the rest of myself and carried on. Sure enough at this point, after all these words, I expect you to understand that everything will never be enough  when another is not open to receive, and your uniqueness is a consistent condition of individual power. Your condition is repeated within the collective body, arguably with the tangibility that the material suffices, but certainly with a tone that optimises the symphony of orchestrated strategies that produce emotion and meaning. Within my condition I decided to be justice, faith, and compassion, even if it’s destined to get lost in translations. At this point, surrendering is the inevitable shade of power’s light.

bottom of page