Sunday, August 28, 2016
These pictures are pretty old. (They're from last year.) But they're timeless in esence, because of one eternal truth: I hate pants. I hate feeling conscious about my hips and my butt and my thighs. And I need ventilation for my vagina.
Another thing remains true: I HATE WINTER. I WANNA WEAR SUMMER DRESSES. I WANNA BE TAN.
Friday, August 26, 2016
My best friend June (and the only real-life kindred spirit I have trusted with the reading of this blog) started uploading pictures of her study settings to her Tumblr a few months ago. I tried to do the same, but honestly, unlike June, I'm too much of a mess to even pretend that I'm a cutesy studyier.
But I have loved the Studyblr fad. It's so energizing to see smart, driven women (and sometimes men) display proudly the way they work their asses off to be independent and smart. And they do it in style.
In fact, I have always loved this kind of woman. Especially in fiction. My forever favourite smart ladies are:
|Rory Gilmore (of course my horse.) Anne Shirley from Anne of Green Gables. Elena Greco from the Neapolitan Novels. And, of course, the eternal Hermione Granger.|
This semester I took one course too many in Uni and I'm going to look to these fab gals for #studyspo. Girl Power and Shine Theory at its greatest.
Good luck to all of us on our school years [insert the heart emojis which I wish Blogger had.]
Saturday, August 20, 2016
Saturday, August 13, 2016
|Hi. These are the books I'm currently reading.|
I couldn't find a notepad, so why not turn this list into a blog post?
- Ghost World by Daniel Clowes (you can't read graphic novels on a Kindle, that would be sacrilege)
- Cat's Cradle by Kurt Vonnegut (I really want to own a collection of Vonnegut and feel all Alaska Young-ish)
- The Unbearable Lightness of Being by Milan Kundera (can you believe they don't have this one for Kindle?)
- A poetry anthology by Edna St. Vincent Millay (again, poetry on a screen, sacrilege. Where's all my Jess Mariano-ish annotation going to go.)
- Essays by Harold Bloom (want my personal library to look all intellectual and snobbish and stuff)
Yay yay I'm through two whole seasons of Gilmore Girls and the Rory vibe is really hitting me. I want to read through all of my lunches because university and people SUCK.
Love you guys and if you have any recommendations, I'LL TAKE 'EM,
Saturday, August 6, 2016
Monday, August 1, 2016
The elegant blonde in the picture above is my grandma. (The smirking infant is me.)
A few days ago I downloaded a few Maria Callas songs on Spotify, because, let's face it, if anyone can make opera fun, it's Maria Callas. And as I listened to them, I thought of my grandmother.
My dear old grandmother has beaten genetics (both her parents died when they were 50-something) and life. She was born a working-class girl and once told me as a giggly secret that when she married, she knew that what she wanted to do with Grandpa was eat, travel, and get rich. A Chilean Holly Golightly but without the slut part (not that the slut part is bad.)
I write this ode because as of late her mind has been wandering, and it refuses to wander with us. It breaks my heart, and has my mother all fidgety about her own genetic destiny.
This woman infused into my family love for literature, for music, for beauty, for nature, for enjoying oneself, all in great style and with a brilliant sense of humor. This is an ode to a woman who treated life like a fine delicacy and her loved ones like true works of art.
I love her, and I'm going to make sure that her future years are a constant reminder of it. That will be the greatest ode I can give her.
Wednesday, July 27, 2016
|Picture from here.|
This is a post that's hard to begin, because I am a tiny thing of admiration for a gigantical thing of genius. "Awe-some" thing, in all its literal glory.
BY THE WAY, IF YOU HAVEN'T SEEN STRANGER THINGS DO NOT CONTINUE READING. THIS POST WON'T CONTAIN ANY MAJOR SPOILERS BUT WHY ARE YOU WASTING YOUR TIME ON MY STUPID BLOG AND NOT WATCHING THE BEST SERIES IN ALL OF MANKIND.
Anyhow, as my life is one eternal ode to lists, I will try to use one to canalize my rabid love:
- Eleven is the most bad-ass, beautiful, human, and belovable character in all of TV junkie experience. I wanna be her. Or her mother, to feed her waffles, and hug her all day. She just the paradigm of AMAZING, and she's so bringing the Britney-in-2007 hairstyle back.
- Dustin is the cutest comic genius in the history of nerdy characters. Seriously, he makes not having teeth the greatest thing of all times.
- I hate Nancy. Can we all agree on this one? To hate Nancy together? Even when she recovers from her angsty annoyingness, I still get the itch of URGH, FAKESTER! Friggin' Nancy. *Edited to add: I read a Tweet that said that Nancy-haters were essentially slut-shamers, which worries my very proud feminism. What do you think? I honestly thought I disliked her because she has spine only when concerning the Jerk that is Steve. But maybe that is slut shaming?*
- Vintage is always the best way to go. Most people will say that this series reminds them of E.T. but I haven't seen E.T. since I was a five-year-old cherub, so I'm going for: THIS HAS SUCH A TWIN PEAKS *FEELZ*.
- Winona Ryder. Let no more be said.
Questions for the audience: Does Barb deserve all the hype? Favourite part about Eleven? Favourite character? Do you suddenly want to decorate all 0f your home with Christmas lights, in spite of their spookyness? What did this series make you most nostalgic for? (Even if you're a 90's child like me, let's just pretend we can get nostalgic for eras we didn't even live through.)
I'm seriously thinking about watching it all over again.
I'm seriously thinking about watching it all over again.
Thursday, July 21, 2016
If I ever wrote a book worth of publishing, and that book were to be read by many a people, and those readers for some reason were of diversely coloured backgrounds, and all of them read my books in different ways and in different places.
Shouldn't I have the right to imagine what my ideal reader could be?
Well, it wouldn't be the intellectual sprite that would boast of reading me at a downtown coffeehouse.
Nor the fangirl who'd even retweet the succinct aphorisms regarding my pooping status.
But the shy young thing that reads all scrunched up in a corner and then can't get off her eyes so she takes it on the bus and on the metro and the books gets to see all around town because the young thing can't take her eyes off of this shit that makes her feel just so alive.
Which, of course, says more of the ideal book I would like to write than anything else.
Tuesday, July 5, 2016
Pardon the shouting. I get exited.
Could I be a fashion blogger? No. For one, I like words more than I do looks. For another, Chile is a conservative country that is hard on those that defy the norm, including the aesthetical norm. I could never be all Tavi Gevinsonish or whatevs (I would get too many weird looks on the subway and I'd rather read tranquilly during my commute). But that doesn't stop me from trying to look confident, from dying my hair red or cutting bangs or dressing in men's clothes every once in a while. I love the infinite possibilities, which is probably why Stargirl by Jerry Spinelli was one of my favourite books growing up.
I could never be anything close to a fashion blogger, but I do want to start taking more pictures of my outfits and sharing them with you guys to make me feel like I have an actual reason to look so lovely every day.
Love to all those who will not be shamed for their love of clothes,
PS. And, of course, my "hungover and on my way to buy breakfast" look:
Monday, July 4, 2016
The Chilean expression día redondo (literally "round day", metaphorically a full yet nice day) is what my past 24 hours of winter vacations were.
I woke up thinking that I had nothing to do but go to the gym and read.
ALAS, NO! Sometimes life has other things in mind for you.
<3 .="" p=""> As the day developed, I:3>
- Went to a three hour meeting regarding my University's future Gender Issues Visibility Group (I'm a horrible translator of quotidian things like this one, mind you.)
- Had lunch at my current crush's faculty cafeteria. This would've been uneventful as most life-things, had I not spent the whole time with my nose pasted to the window in case I spotted him. (If I had, I probably would've scrammed. Like, solitary noodles from a tray in a Uni cafeteria are as unglamorous as you get.)
- Spent an hour or two reading in a lovely winter park amidst teens smoking pot.
- Called on a friend who lives downtown and has the most adorable kitty cat. She made me coffee and we chatted about politics and men.
- Bought two dresses. If I'm going to destroy the patriarchy, I'm going to do it in a fabulous dress.
- Went to my beautiful literary workshop, where I was lovingly complemented on my story and where I started cooking ideas for a maybe future novel.
- Took the subway and bus home, listening to Miike Snow and smiling at the winter city lights.
Saturday, July 2, 2016
I've redeveloped the habit of reading thanks to one Elena Ferrante, and thus wrote the following review on Goodreads about the phenomenon that her Neapolitan series have created: (It contains a few spoilers, nothing serious though.)
Probably what spurred most of the readers of this book to give it a try is the "Ferrante phenomenon." She is everywhere. My Instagram and Twitter feed, several magazine articles, my stuck-up intellectual aunt's recommendations. Through the first hundred and so pages of the novel, though, I was confused; what does it have that has made all sorts of readers declare it to be a marvel? Answer: Nothing, really.
It doesn't have an amazing plot. It isn't written in an otherworldly style. It's entertaining, but no Game of Thrones thriller.
It is at most a fairly good book: So why the phenomenon? The Pyschology major in me had to give it SOME theory or other, so here it is:
What is endearing about Lenu and Lila's story is that we have all, particularly women who have lived through the intricacies of best-friendship, felt at some point or another like a Lena and/or a Lila. It is what most cheap magazines are wont to call FRENEMIES.
I, at least, saw myself reflected in Lenu's obsession with Lila, Lila's infinite love and envy for Lenu, their endless and competitive habit of comparing oneself to the other, the sexual undertones of their relationship, their mutual dependancy and dread of said dependancy, etcetera etcetera. It is the classical frenemy story but set in the novel landscape of a poor Neapolitan neighbourhood.
Yes, I enjoyed this book, and yes, I caught myself getting *feels* over it, and yes, I want to read the second book. But, no, I will not share a picture in Instagram declaring it the greatest book I've read so far in 2016. I'm sorry, Ferrante, but the hipster in me wants to rebel against your mainstreamness.
Friday, July 1, 2016
I've got five weeks of blankness ahead of me. (Aka, vacations.) I'm not sure what I'll dedicate myself to, besides reading and writing.
I'm not a big fan of lazyness. What I like is deserved rest: Arriving home at 8pm, exhausted, getting into my very unsexy pijamas and burying my headache under a pillow or a Friends episode.
This was supposed to be a fun month. There was going to be some traveling with friends, for one.
But now that's not happening and I'm a little bit scared about the blahness of my life.
When did I get so old that I forgot how to have fun?
Saturday, May 14, 2016
If you have been reading my blog since the olden age of 2013, you might know that I went to a literary workshop. Rather, I go to a literary workshop. Yes, I've been wasting my time writing silliness for two years now, going on three.
Ricardo (fake name), the only dude in our very feminine sessions, is gay. He's also hilarious, very warm, and a great writer. I generally don't feel a need to specify someone's sexual interests, but I did it for two reasons: One, it's a big part of his identity, in the sense that he's always talking about it. Two, it's relevant to the story.
Our homework this week was writing letters. I wrote a letter from the subway to the subway users. As in "Dear Subways Users" "Yours truly, the Subway." Ricardo's letter started with "Dear friend."
The letter described how close they had been. All the hobbies they shared. How Ricardo loved him.
I thought the letter was directed to his ex boyfriend. They had been a couple for seven years and only broken up a few months earlier.
When he finished reading the letter, he broke into tears. Ina, our teacher, explained to whom and why the letter was written.
To his best friend, who died from an AIDS-related sickness a few days ago at the hospital. He was going to marry (the saccharine and legal Chilean version of gay marriage, though) his couple in the hospital on Tuesday. He died on Monday.
He told us his couple was the HIV carrier. They had been strictly monogamous.
I can't remember the last time I'd been so moved. Not only because the story was heartbreaking, though. Also because I couldn't let go off the feeling of unfairness. After all, heterosexuals are less likely to go through shit like this, are less likely to get stigmatized for shit like this. How unfair can a life be where love can hurt us, in ways one never expected it should.
And because the story was wrought with impotence and heartbreak.
I don't know why I'm telling you this, but I had to tell it to someone. Because HIV, although no longer a deadly disease, is expensive as fuck to treat, and expensive as fuck to carry around with your social baggage. Imagine knowing you have HIV and searching for a partner, a real partner whom to love and care for. Even if great people do live out there, who will be willing to sacrifice some aspects of sexual life for other emotional ones, the person who has to hunt for said person is put surely through calvary.
I'm sorry but I'm being particularly inarticulate today; this isn't an easy topic to be articulate with.
Love you guys,
Wednesday, May 11, 2016
I hate depressive blog entries. That is why I'm going to write a huge post about ALL THE DE ZINGS THAT I'M GONNA START DOING TO BE HAPPIER.
I'm gonna get my nails done and I'm gonna spend quality time with my best friends. I'm gonna stop looking at my phone for hours on end. I'm gonna go to all my classes. I'm gonna force that smile.
I want to be happy.
But winter months make it so *insertfilthyadverbs* hard.
Monday, May 9, 2016
|The icy skies of winterland|
Do not get me wrong, dear reader. I am of the ardent spring 'n' summer lovers. But since I have no option and must live through the grey and boring winter months, might as well make the best of it.
I like the love that bed covers are wont to give you during the best eight hours of the day.
I like the singular richness of toast during winter, and the romance of its smell wafting through your sleepy senses.
I like hugs especially during these months.
And the pleasure of lazyness.
I like huge and lovingly knit scarves, coats with dainty buttons, smart boots, and sweaters with arms long enought to cover your knuckles upon insistence.
I like holding hands. But then I can like that through the sweaty summer months too.
I like the dancing rain on my rooftop, and the orchestrating wind on the trees.
Winter doesn't have to be too bad.
Monday, April 25, 2016
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" sense. 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,
Thursday, April 21, 2016
BUT THAT IS OVER. GONE. I AM THE TINDER GODDESS.
Anyhow, I've lost many an hour of sleep over Tinder this past week, because it's just so much fun. Yet the first few hours were 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. As Hamlet would say: What be this reading an article 'cuz a crush thing? To be or not to be pathetic, that is the question?
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 with 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 were of my own making (and of the needs of the people and the proletariat and the revolution!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!).
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="">3>
Saturday, April 9, 2016
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.
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,
Sunday, March 6, 2016
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.
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.
Bye, lovely readers,
Thursday, March 3, 2016
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!