My life has been one in which I have been surrounded by beautiful women who I never touch. To spring up conversation has never been a problem for me, but to engage with people that can clearly careless about what you think or can add to the community is rough. Add on top of that language barriers that only allows for each of you to only express approval of the other by looks and quite confessions made to friends in passing. Secret messages that were not really intended to go further than, "I like seeing them around." Or "I have not seen them in a while, I wonder what they are up to?"

Her English is not the best and because my Spanish is rather poor I am led to believe that there are all sorts of feelings of insecurity that you'd never recognize because their is no language that can be used to convey how each of you feel. When we stand face to face, it really shows forth how different our worlds are and how separated people can be from one another and live in the same town.

I never did take time to meet with Estela after a mutual friend suggested that she has been interested in me for these two years of our acquaintance. It has got me to thinking about my experience with the fairer sex and I have become more and more disturbed by the woman's ability to shift all of her issues, her worries, her doubts, her insecurities, her lack, her self-worth, onto the lap of a man, insisting upon his advice and completely ignoring it, and then accusing him of selfishness when he expresses a need for more prudence and patience. I dare say their is no weakness in the notion and when we are living in a time, when poor judgements can not only hinder us, but can literally cripple us, why would anyone seek to argue against their continued application.

Selfishness, ingratitude, thanklessness.

It was suggested that because I have such a sharp demeanor, no one will want to live with me. This from the same women that when they lack, upon grit and grace I've provided for them selflessly.

Estela's co-worker told me about her, one day when I went shopping. Typically I ignore the whispers of women, except Estela brings sweetness when she is around, most of the time. That is until a few days ago. After I gave her access to my email, websites, and art work. I asked her to tell me what she thought about my blogs and books and I knew her English was poor, but Art speaks a language that translates in all languages normally.

I gave her a few days and returned to the store, which interestingly enough is family owned and is never in the local paper. They advertise for themselves, but if you were not from my town you never would have known about it. I go there for spices and such. Well I will never know what turned her cold. As I entered the store the next few times, her willingness to speak to me waned. Because I am the way I am, I did not ask why, I did not speak at all. 

She was satisfied in acting as if I did not exist.

This is what has always disturbed me about a woman. It was as if, I was to engage conversation and show that I was interested and if I don't then she won't. I don't even know how to spell her name, is it Estela with two 'L's' or one, is she a Lopez or a Beltran, is she, is she, is she. A million questions and I am perfectly fine with leaving them unanswered if it means I must suffer some sense of humiliation from those around her or even her because some things might get lost in translation.