Sunday, September 29, 2013

17 B4 18 #3.5: Run a Kite




What is it about flying a kite?

Is it that, for a few moments, you are one with the sky, commuting with the winds, flirting with the clouds?

Is it that consciousness of our feet is lost, is it that our souls become elevated with this flag of childhood that waves so much taller than others?

Is it that humans were always meant to fly but lost their wings in the practicality of evolution?

Is it that we go through life seeking to forget gravity -getting high, running from place to place, praying- but it is only flying a kite that will do?

Is it?



Thursday, September 26, 2013

Books and the City #4

(8) The winter days are over ohhh (8) and I'm working under tha sunshine!


Failure

This week's task was to write about a process. The process of drinking an espresso, the process of cooking risotto, or, my personal favorite of this week's products, the process of taking off one's bra. (I KNOW RIGHT! And it was superbly written.)

But this week I've been rather disperse. I fought with my Mom, I fought with my Math teacher, and I fought with this dude who plays the guitar, has a British accent, and likes the Arctic Monkeys. (Okay fine, it's me who's been in the fighty mood.)

The process I wrote about was one I had in mind for a long time. However, I had originally started it in English, so the first part was to be translated. And then it was hard. I had the story perfectly made up in my mind, but I had to extricate it from me like a huge wad of tampon XL. And then I finished it about five minutes before I had to leave, and then I didn't edit, and then in the stupid workshop everybody was like oohhhhh let's see Ana's she's such a great writer. And I was all like "well, I like how it ended, well, it might not be that bad..."

I'M SO FUCKING STUPID.

I suffered throughout the reading. I managed to write the word "grandma" about 50 times in only one page, and managed to write clumsy sentences and clumsy metaphors and ohgodsaveme the whole shit was fucking clumsy. They complimented some of my shit, but still.

It was embarrasing because after about six comments on what fucking talent I have for fucking writing, to read a piece as bad as that one was fucking torture. It was like Leonardo da Vinci is a fucking genius and he's showcasing his artwork for the millionth time in Florence so you're a de Medici and you arrive at the exposition and it's all like:



So you stand in silence for a minute or so and then go "Leo, I adore what you tried to do there... the lines! The simplicity! It's gorg, Leo." Deep down, though, you're all like "this is crap."

The worst part is that when they asked for my second name (for my email adress) I told them that my second last name (that's how it goes in Chile) starts with a P and then I said "P as in poop." I think they didn't understand my rather retarded scatological humor. Ina just ignored it. THANK GOSH.

Anyways, on my bus drive and walk home, I listened to a bunch of Franz Ferdinand and Kaiser Chiefs and Nirvana and just thought about dressing in black all the time and wearing thick black eyeliner and getting a ton of piercings and taking nude shots and uploading them to Facebook. Because I felt so damn pitifull, I wanted to feel cool and untouchable for a while.

I'm going to start next week's homework now.

Love,
Ana

Friday, September 20, 2013

Books and the City #3



Ina is such a fucking genius. I wish I could, like, tape her so that you could hear how incredibly hilarious she is. Or write down her jokes. The second to best I can do is this:



It's an excerpt of her final radio show. She's the one who starts talking. Hopefully you can understand Spanish because it's a delight to hear her talk. (Okay, you don't really have to listen to it. I just felt that I must share a piece of Ina somehow.)

Anyways, all I can say is that this week I won a signed CD by one of my favorite Chilean musicians because they all voted that they liked my similes. So much win.

Also, Ina told me that I MUST study something to do with writing. I feel a little bit pleased with myself. A "little" bit pleased.

PS. This post would probaly win in the "Humble Bloggers Award." (Which would probably be the worst award idea evahhh but whatevs.)

Thursday, September 19, 2013

A Story


Underwater
 
          Chlorine; blue. Fifty-two pink, purple, blue swimming caps that bob up and down, up and down. Submerged. For the few seconds that Emma's breath lasts, the noise and the echoes of the swimming clases are drowned into a far-off murmur. Underwater means peace.
 
          It means rest. "Rest," Emma thinks, "from having to smile for fear that they think you're mean. Under wáter, I have no responsibilities, there are no social requirements, there is nothing but the blue and my body dancing, unburdened by gravity." Emma's lungs begin to complain. She exhales a small world of bubbles and ascends into the noise.
 
         Puzzled by the inconsequence of air, Emma's eyes wander from pink cap to frail shoulders to sudden laughter.
 
         A big breath, and under again. It's another world. "I wish I could stay here forever."
 
        "But you would die."
 
        "Maybe... but I would die in peace."

Sunday, September 15, 2013

Books & The City #2

From Vicky Cristina Barcelona


Forgive me, beauteous blog readers, for the tardiness of this blog post. I had so much to write about, that I preferred to wait until memory let the effusiveness of my words calm down. Now, coffee in hand and wearing my favorite home-clothes (Nike shorts, socks, no bra, and a neon hoodie of 60 watts), I can write.


The Characters

During my first five minutes of the workshop evah, someone asked"I wonder what's worse for a pregnant woman to have, a glass of wine, a cigarette, or marijuana?"

"The cigarette!"

"It's obviously the glass of wine..."

"You know what? The other day, I was with a friend that smokes like crazy. But she ADORES children, and recently got married. We were drunk, so we were talking a whole bunch of crap, and it just slipped: 'pff, you are so gonna smoke when you're preggo.' You know what she answered? 'OF COURSE!'"

I might not give the impression on this blog, but I do actually live a very safe, wholesome life (within a certain margin.) For example, I am a controversial character in my school, because of my "liberal views" (ie, I don't believe in virginity. Whoah.) So for me, this was like, wow; finally people that lead fairly interesting lives.

And then, when we were about to start reading the stories, the most unremarkable of them said "ejerm... I have a problem."

Ina was like "you didn't bring your story?"

"Nope... I've been, sort of, err, distracted lately."

Ina: "What, you're pregnant?"

"Umm..."

And so, she is. So now our literary workshop has a literary workshop baby. It's fairly exiting, really.

The story, as told by her, was as follows: "Remember our first class, when we were introducing ourselves? I told you guys that I have a boyfriend, but that things had been sort of rough as of late. So Ina asked for how long we'd been together, and I said 'eight months.' Ina was like 'bah! Dump him.' Well, I did. A week later, I found out that I was pregnant."

Friends, in my life, someone makes out with someone else and it's exiting. This was a whole other world.

Anyhow, these are the characters of our weekly Sex & The City Literary Edition:

  • Dani: Ie, pregnant girl. I'm not really sure if she has any other remarkable characteristics, because all that we care about is that she's having the workshop baby.

  • Mary: She's this posh 30-something who wears nothing but black, does her hair in a darling high ponytail, has britishly imperfect teeth, and smokes almost more than Ina does. She talks a lot about her life, but is not a very interesting person. In fact, she's the one that writes the worse. However, I do love one detail about her; she has this very interesting brother who travels all around the world (Butan, Perú, Mexico, and so on) with no clear destination, is a thorough hippie and leads the most amazing life. My favorite story that Mary has written was this piece about how, one day, this guy wearing nothing but a loincloth and hoisting a broom, declaring that he was the "Broom King" presented himself at their house. Mary's brother had told him that he would be welcome there.

  • Kate: She's my favorite. We walk towards the metro together after every class. She's the funniest and most talented, in my opinion. Also, she's the youngest after me. However, she's 28. I am still undeniably the baby of the group. The dampener on the Sex & The City vibe. Kate has a Spanish boyfriend.

  • Lucio: Brazilian dude! The only male of the group. Honestly, I find it admirable beyond courage's limits that this guy, who's been speaking Spanish for only four years, had the guts to join a literary group. He's also a doctor. And so nice. I love his stories because they're frequently about Brazil. He's also boyfriend to...

  • Zoe: Because all of the names I've given are not the people's actual names, I had to name this last one Zoe. GOSH, SHE IS ZOOEY DESCHANEL IN PERSON. (Booey for me, I'm not a huge Zooey fan. Which is why I spelled the name differently. I like that spelling better.) She is a cutesy, adorable girl. The beauty of the group, and has a teeth gap that suits her to perfection. She wears oversize sweaters and smokes Vogue cigarettes and writes in this very intimate way that I just adore. (I can't decide if I like her or Kate's writing best.) Zoe has also had a very interesting life. My favorite story from her was this account of her packing up her apartment after she split up with her ex-husband, and just before she was about to leave the apartment for the last time, she finds this box in a closet that she had forgotten to clean out. The box was full of memorabilia from her ex-husband, and, in it, a letter from the woman whom he had gotten pregnant as he was cheating on Zoe. The woman said that she had no interest in seeing him ever again. Wowza. 

Anyways, that's it for today, friends! Which character was your favorite?

Friday, September 13, 2013

FINALLY

Me, in NY. Because I'm cool.
For the first time in months, I sent an article to Rookie. The best one I've ever sent. I was inspired. The why I was inspired is to come.

Anyhow, VIVA LA VIDA VIVA LA FIESTA, YAY HORRAY!

Have a nice day.

Hope you enjoyed the most scattered blog post known to humanity. (Hope my article wasn't so much like that. If it was, oh well. I've had like 10 articles kicked in the ass by the snobby Rookie editors. Too good for ya, Anaheed.)

Wednesday, September 11, 2013

Ancient Civilizations


I have always been fascinated by history. And by cultures. And religions. And humanity. In a world that is being engulfed in an unstoppable globalization, it is hard to remember that there was a moment when we were all vastly different because of our cultural context. Humanity took every possible route in its perfecting of survival, creating wonderful and unique cultures at the same time.

One of the biggest gifts of my life has been living in a diverse country. Chile's unprecedented latitudinal length leaves one's heart content with all the diversity one can possibly desire. Unfortunately, I feel that a bit of this pride in national culture is being lost, too, to globalization. That is why I'm going to take my youth as an opportunity to see it all before it's too late. And maybe even share it with you!

Some pictures of my recent trip to Easter Island:

(I'm sorry about the lack of pictures of the actual culture of Easter Island.)







If you want to learn more about Easter Island you can watch this:



(The BBC documentary is horrible. Anyways, it's a very interesting polynesian culture!)

Monday, September 2, 2013

Jazzity

Found through Google. Just typed in "jazz painting." My apologiezz, uncredited artist.



I would love it if my atmosphere constantly felt like jazz. Something a bit like the soundtrack of my soul. An eternal surge of serendipitous musicality, drones of sensuality, chirps of hilarity. I would love it if my life were titled "Jazz Tunes." The saxophone of my walk, the flute of my dance, the trumpets of my presence, the piano of my conversation, the base of my gaze. If I were a person, I would love to be jazz. A life fluctuating to improvisation's ways...




PS. I didn't think I'd ever say this but I need a good, fun book to read! I'm searching for something along the styles of The Perks of Being a Wallflower and Looking for Alaska. Any recommendations?

Edited to add: So I'm reading The Catcher in the Rye. Currently likey.
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