Monday, April 25, 2016

Defeated by stereotypes


I am now in the know of the fact that I am a person challenged by severe stereotypes. Not in the "you're black, therefore you're violent" or "you're of Asian descent, therefore you must be an academic genius." But rather, of the "you're a rich and privileged white kid and dress like it, therefore you must be an insufferable piece of shallow trash" kind.

And I have discovered that rich, privileged, white girls and boys can be interesting, funny, intelligent, and think their own minds too.

Over and out,
Ana

Thursday, April 21, 2016

How Crushes Shape Us



A couple of days ago, I downloaded Tinder. Not for the first time. When I had previously tried it out, it wasn't embarrasment or some old-fashioned ethic that made me fail at Tinder-ing, but the fact that I wasn't severe enough when it came to accepting potential flirtables.

BUT THAT IS OVER. GONE. I AM THE TINDER GODDESS.

Anyhow, I've lost many an hour of sleep over Tider this past week, because it's just so much fun. Yet the first few hours where by far the most exhilerating, because, dear readers, I, Ana Ruiz, found the love of my life.

Or, sort of. At least I'm pretty infatuated, which is nice because Psychology majors tend to hang out with other vagina-ridden Psychology majors, and I miss my daily dose of penis attraction.

To the point: This guy's an architect, which, let's be honest, is oh so sexy. And this guy, in some sort of "I'm flirting with a stranger" maneuver is really emphatic about his work and sends me pictures of his diagrams and crap and I understand NOTHING.

Fast forward: Today I was flipping through a magazine, and an article about architecture showed up. I would generally never read something like this, in spite of the fact that I do aprecciate them pretty buildings and hate on them ugly ones, but now I was really intrigued and started reading. A few paragraphs in, I realized how ridiculous I was being, laughed, and turned the page.

Truth: I am, up to a point, a mashup of all the interest my crushes have had. These past few months I've been really into philosophy because that's what the guy I dated last year digged. In eighth grade, I became a pubertal punkhead, listening to Metallica & Co, because that's what the guy I liked digged. In fourth grade (that is, eherm, ten years old), I became a fan of a soccer team that I would never have payed attention to where it not for the fact that it was my current crush's team. 

What the fuck.

Do I have no personality? Am I just a hole where my romantic interests deposit their current interests? AM I THAT OF A SUCKY FEMINIST?

Well, no. The music I've been the most passionate about, I started loving on my own (in spite of the fact that I did fall hopelessly in love for a guy that liked exactly the same music.) I've always been a bookworm, and there's a slight chance that I might find fellow bookworms to be a turn-off. Most certainly feminism was something that came from the contagiousness of Rookie, and my ideals where of my own making (and of the needs of the people and the proletariat!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!). 

But, honestly. Thank the beautiful Lord that I'm generally into interesting guys because I'm apparently prone to liking what they do, and it would suck an awful lot that I were induced into liking douchey shit like partying or whatever. Thankfully I'm into guys that like philosophy. (Please do note the irony.)

Over and out, much love to y'all,
Ana <3 div="">

Saturday, April 9, 2016

Confessions



The girl you see in the picture above is me, Ana Ruiz, a psychology student.

"Whatever happened to Law! Or to Literature! When the fuck did you get the notion that you wanted to be a psychologist."

Dear readers, the truth:
I started Law School (remember, the Chilean system works differently) about a year and a half ago in the midst of an agonizing existential crisis where I was like oh fudge my ideals where arst thou, where ist all that I've thought to be true. Who are my friends, what do I want.

I knew NOTHING, so I joined Law School and even sort of liked it. There were a few points of my 2015 that were thrilling. And I learned oh so fucking much.

But I did not want to be a lawyer. I sort of still wanted to study Law, 'cause I was having a fun time and 'cause I was learning so much, but I did not want to be a lawyer. (In spite of the fact that I don't believe that lawyers are suit-wearing thugs. They're actually very important in the making of a just society.)

Anyhoo, I also knew that I no longer wanted to be a writer and teacher. Just because I didn't. It does not appeal to me at all.

And it clicked.

Psychology.

It's a topic that I'm truly interested about, and it gives me a chance to do some good unto the world, AND, I get to work with kids, which are my very favorite thing and the reason I wanted to be a teacher in the first place.

I am extremely happy that I took this decision, but, boy, does starting university twice SUCK.

Much love to the readership,
Ana

Sunday, March 6, 2016

Breaking Up


Today I broke up with a guy I'd been dating for about half a year. It wasn't a real break up, because it wasn't a real relationship. (Not much physicality. No formalities. Just the shared knowledge that we weren't just friends.)

I'm not a break-uper. I'm a "please get the message"er. But, along the road of maturity, a little bit of enlightenment has come upon me: It is better to get broken up with than to be ignored endlessly. It is at least less awkward.

So I """broke up""" with a guy with which I'd only kissed. I sort of felt like I owed him that and wanted to spare the awkwardness of future encounters in a tiny country such as Chile.

I'm just not that involved in this, and I thought it would be unfair to continue stringing you along.

Finished.

It was quick, it was easy, and I was a little bit too happy about that while he wallowed over his coffee. Oh bitchy unsensitive me.

Alas! Lesson learned: One must break up.
Even if one is not sure why one is breaking up.
Even if one faintly suspects that one has severe psychological traumas that will not allow us to settle.
Even if one suspects that said psychological trauma has left us pining for the same guy who does not love us back for a number of years.
YEARS!

Bye, lovely readers,
Ana

Thursday, March 3, 2016

Reading List



This school year I will have lots o' time, for reasons that deserve a blog post on their own.

Unlike most people, I hate free time. It makes me feel guilty and useless. But for two consecutive years I've read oh too little and this is my opportunity to get up to date with all the books I've bought at fairs and never read.

If you would like to add to this list, please do. I love book recommendations.

  • Eichmann in Jersualem by Hannah Arendt
  • Kafka on the Shore by Haruki Murakami
  • The Dinner by Hermann Koch
  • The Price of Salt by Patricia Highsmith
  • I want to read essays so that I might replicate the arguments and seem smart during debates.
  • The Hunting Gun by Yasushi Inoue
  • Literature Classes by Julio Cortázar
  • Poetry! By Edna St. Vincent Millay, Sylvia Plath, Mary Oliver, Emily Dickinson, and all the gals that prove that poetry is wiser when written with feminine pens, and fuck all of my gender principles on this one.

Remember: I love recommendations!

Tuesday, March 1, 2016

Hi March


You guys might have noticed that I'm Chilean. Fact: In Chile the school year starts in March, so 2016 feels like it really started today. And I want 2016 to rock. In fact, I'm full of goals and plans for this beautiful blog.

But right now I'm burning up in fever. Send noodles.

For now, I'm just going to say that because I sucked at posting every day during Febs, I'm gonna try to do it in March, but a notch more elaborate than just a bunch of pseudo-philosophical pseudo-poetical posts.

Love ya guys.

Bye.

Friday, February 12, 2016

Why do people take pictures of art at museums?


Why do people take pictures of the art at museums.

It makes no sense.

Neither does the way we pursue the ocean and then shriek at its cold touch.

Neither does the way we imprison ourselves in claustrophobic rooms to ride stationery bicycles and hate it every step of the way.

But seriously, why do people take pictures of art at museums. 

Options: To upload it to social media. To have and to hold within their phone's memory. To manifest physically the aprecciation for something as abstract as aesthetical pleasure. 

Why do people take pictures of art at museums.
It makes no sense.
And I like it that way.
Not everything has to make sense.
Not even human behaviour.
Particularly, not human behaviour.

Thursday, February 4, 2016

Boys



Some boys are so perfect. And yet they commit the imperfection of just not captivating you.

Some boys are highly imperfect. And yet they haunt your brainspace so often that they start defying your natural human egotism and its tendency to only think about its own self, forever.

Sometimes you fall in love. You laugh at how ridiculous it all is.
Because you can fall in love with the drugaddict
The dude that kisses like a slob
The one that is ugly as shit
The narcissitic nerd fuck
The one that's never ever spoken to you
The one that makes you suffer ever so much

And yet you love them.

You know what I find alarming about this? I've only fallen in love with five boys in my life.
And I'm afraid I love each of 'em still.

Tuesday, February 2, 2016

Night life



Things taste different when had under starlight. And by “taste“ I mean feel, look, hear, impress.


Thoughts appear like vivid realities. We think it to be an actual possibility that we'll read all the books and then somehow learn ourselves out of being flat and predictable people.

Theaters work their magic at nighttime. So do jazz concerts. We get drunk and high when the sunlight is gone partly because we have hope during those hours that this will somehow lead unto charmingly funny stories.

Insomnia hits at night not because those are the times when we are supposed to sleep, but because they are the times when we dream the most.

Food tastes better, in spite of our knowledge about how calories kick the hardest when you don't have a number of hours of activity to burn them through.

Kissing feels less awkward. In fact, it feels sorta magical. The saliva on your chin isn't as terrible. Your Mom is less likely to recognize you if she drives through that park. 

You feel thinner and your pimples tend to dissappear.

Revolution appears attainable and doesn't even scare you.

Life seems wonderful.

And then the sun comes up.

Good news: It can sometimes be pretty cheersome during the day.

Monday, February 1, 2016

My life in pop culture

This is clearly a very old picture, as most 20 year olds won‘t be found too easily wearing school uniforms.
I‘m reading and falling in love with Kurt Vonnegut and his sadly beautiful black humour. I tried reading Jeffrey Eugenide‘s The Marriage Plot and found it to be worse than The Virgin Suicides and a few universes and parallel dimensions worse than Middlesex (hearts.)

I‘m watching Twin Peaks and craving more David Lynch. I also watched The Revenant and Hateful Eight to find them, erm, sufferable. Sad fall for my Tarantino love.

Listening to a lot of reggeaton. Not at all classy or hipstery as my previous pop culture life dimensions. In case your anglo butt doesn‘t know what I‘m talking about, think Pitbull, or Google search Daddy Yankee, Don Omar, Nicky Jam. Guilty pleasure much.

On the subject of podcasts, one called Marxism Today. Dear readers, this is one high browed and very beautifully left winged blog writer you have here.

What else.

Ah, yes, I‘m writing this entry from the lands of Spain. You know, where rain falls mellow on the plain.
I wanted to write an entry a day during February, just like last year, but I‘m thinking this Spain thing is going to make it a little bit harder than I thought.

Adios, amores,
Ana

Sunday, January 24, 2016

For the purest love of lists

      
Lists give Ana the illusion of efficiency, happyness, and control. Here are a number of lists that Ana and the readers of yours trully could enjoy elaborating:

1) To do
2) Things I‘m greatful for
3) People I love the most and can trust unconditionally
4) Memories that make me happy
5) What I love about my body
6) Things my dream home would have
7) How to be a better person
8) How to be an interesting person
9) How to make life interesting
10) 16 concrete things to do in 2016
11) 16 Abstract goals for 2016
12) Books to read before some pseudo intelectual asks me if I‘ve read it
13) Things I want to learn
14) Instruments I would love to play
15) Places where I can‘t die withot having had sex at
16) Bad habits that I must quit
17) Movies that I must watch before some pseudo intellectual asks me what I thought about them
18) How to be happy
19) How to make your mother happy
20) How to make this world a better place

Any suggestions or additions my beloved readers would care to make?


Wednesday, January 20, 2016

Picnic Stories


August 2014.
One of my dearest friend's birthdays was coming up, and so were a million due dates.
We were High School seniors
which entailed a "privilege" where we could leave school during lunch hour, 
on the condition that we would be back by the start of our next class.

I had a wonderful idea but a million due dates.



1) Skip class that day. Mom and Dad shouldn't know about this, so I woke up at the normal, heart-breaking hour of 6.30 am, put on my school uniform, but rode my bike to a nearby Starbucks instead of  the institution that expected me.
2) Breaking the rules is fun. Starbucks isn't. Working on a History paper during the wee hours isn't either.
3) At 11 am, I rode my bike to a nearby supermarket. I bought frosting, muffins, lots of sweets and salts, a birthday crown, candles. 
4) At 11.30 am, I called the pizza parlor. They had a 2x1 deal but on the condition that I went to the store to get my cheese 'n' sauce covered bread.
5) At 12 pm, I was back home, frosting the muffins, puffing into balloons.
6) I wasn't there to give complete faith of it, but the story goes that five other friends kidnapped my friend June and brought her to my house on a friend's car. The story makes sense, as that was the plan I had so astutely connived. June was blindfolded and had no idea where she was going.
7) June arrived at my home. 
8) We sang happy birthday and ate lots of crap.
9) That night, we got shitfaced and all Friendshiplandia lived happily ever after.


The end.



Thursday, December 24, 2015

How do you picture yourself in old age?


My sweet ole mother says she imagines her life's twilight in a retirement home, sharing a room with her sister (who has impeccable taste and will make of retirement-home-life oh so exquisite.) All of this is biologically unlikely, as my dad has got far better life-expectancy genes than my mom.

But whatever.

Old age is not something that worries me at 20.

But then, if I could choose

at an old age I would have a bunchload of grandchildren, a beach house, or maybe a country house, I'd still be working but at an easy pace. Hopefully I'll no longer live in Chile.


Honestly, I think I want it to be pretty much the same life I'm going to have at 20, 30, 40, and 50. Sweet, surrounded by people and places I love, and relatively busy.

So there.

What about you?

Sunday, December 20, 2015

Venice


 More analogues of my trip to Europe. I promise I'll be back to full fledged blogging soon.

XOXO


Monday, December 14, 2015

Creations


These are pictures of scrapbook pages I made in yonder the times of 9th grade. A time of obsession for the stuff.

We all go through said obsessions. The itch to create, to feel that some way or another we are leaving a mark on the world, is almost universal. Some do it through enviable Instagram pages, some through beautifully threaded poems, some through mindfucking academia, some 16 year old Anas do it cutting and pasting paper and pictures into scrapbook pages.

I spent so much time and money on scrapbooking. It can seem ridiculous.

But the obsessed know that there's no such thing.


Anyhow, I've begun a summer journal and apparently my hands have lost the knack of creativity because omg it's looking ugly. I resorted to Tumblr for help and created a page dedicated solely to papery inspiration ( prettyjournaling.tumblr.com ) and all along I feel like I should stop dedicating stupid time to paper things that not even I see and just share shtuff with you guys. <3 br="" nbsp=""> Anyways, if you can redirect me to help or help me yourselves with the journaling thangs I would be thankful.

Love,
Ana

Monday, December 7, 2015

Turkey




Not quite sure why I'd never shared my analogues from the Eurotrip last year. I'll be uploading them by bits as of now I've got no time to blog :( Sadness abounds. But I pinky promise that this madness will soon be over.

Sunday, November 29, 2015

Home is Underrated


Tumblr is a virtual, communal ode to a few things:

Sex.
Aesthetics.
Travelling.

(The list is a lot longer, but, given that I'm of the hipster niche of Tumblr, even if I tried to complete this list it wouldn't be representative. Let's just bump everthing else into aesthetics and move on to the topic of this blog post.)

Travelling is overrated.

Yes, this is coming from the absurdly privileged burgeois girl that has literally been on all continents and on many more than once. I have traipsed a ridiculous number of miles in only 20 years and 20 days, and it has been awesome but honestly all I want right now is to

stay.

My life motto as of late has been the beauty of the microscopic surpasses infintely that of the macroscopic and with that emblem on my chest I am discovering that no longer do I need to find the new, more, different, but rather, I want to dwelve into the comfort of the places I know. More accurately still, I want to rediscover and examine the details of the places I thought I knew and discover that there's beauty still, always, forever.

Thrill < Calm

After too much travelling, all I want to do is stay.

Monday, November 23, 2015

Hi


*Pictures of my trip in April to NYC*



What is thy mouth to me?
A cup of sorrowful incense,
A tree of keen leaves,
An eager high ship,
A quiver of superb arrows.
What is thy breast to me?
A flower of new prayer,
A poem of firm light,
A well of cool birds,
A drawn bow trembling.
What is thy body to me?
A theatre of perfect silence,
A chariot of red speed;
And O, the dim feet
Of white-maned desires!

-ee cummings






Monday, October 26, 2015

Redhead

Me before:



Me now:


I am one happy Anne of Green Gables/Rita Hayworth/Lucile Ball/Jessica Rabbit/Lindsay Lohan in de goode timez.

Loves,
Ana

Sunday, October 18, 2015

It's all so quiet



I've been a bit silent over here. I'm sorry, because ily guys so much. Blogging has been an utterly huge part of my life, and I owe it more gratitude and care.

So here are some pretty pictures I took a few months ago. In compensation.

Lovu blog, lovu blog readers.




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