Tuesday, October 30, 2012


A friend and I went exploring. Here's what we found:

We're thinking of heading there sometime after school to read poetry. Aren't we artsy fartsy?

Saturday, October 27, 2012


My Friday: Started with an 80 minute test prep math quiz, followed by a few hours of frantically trying to finish the book I had a test on during English class, followed by the actual test (which I did great on, except for the fact that I forgot that it was supposed to be only two pages of writing and I wrote four. Yeah.), followed by lunch, followed by Social Studies, followed by a friend's birthday where I ate enough sugar to fuel a whole city with energy for a day, followed by going to a shrink.

From now on, however, I'm going to call her "psychologist" because shrink sounds derogative.

Her office was in a beautiful, spring-plagued street, where the houses seemed to have escaped from Hansel and Gretel and the tree's arms stretched from their sidewalk to the one in front. This particular office had a darling gate, exactly like in Hansel and Gretel, and when I entered (told to "sit on the blue sofa while I waited") an opera was playing full volume. The decoration was lovely yet simple, and there was no secretary.

Everything perfect for me.

Which was good, because I have tried going to pyschologists before and the experience has always been deflating. I've never liked them. It got to a point where I would be in a mood all day long just at the thought of today I have to see the psychologist. I would walk into the office, say "hello," and then sit in the chair waiting for the hour to pass. At first I didn't do this on purpose, I just didn't see what I could tell this perfect stranger, yet as my irritability with the topic grew, so did my obstinacy to talk.

But this psychologist was amazing. Because it felt like an interaction. It wasn't me just sitting there with her waiting for me to spill the beans, because although I might seem talkative or open here on my blog, in reality I am quite reserved and serious. Also, I didn't understand this sort of "one way" conversation, where I am the only one who was supposed to give her thoughts on things. Yet it's different this time. It's me having an actual conversation. And talking about things that I've never talked about with anyone. It didn't exactly feel liberating to do so, straining more than anything, but honestly, you can't go through life just keeping the important things inside. Especially because I do have behavior problems that I would love to solve.


PS. One of Santiago's (the city in Chile in which I live) gems are these hidden streets. It takes turning somewhere unexpected and you're in another reality.

Friday, October 26, 2012

Flashback Friday 3

1. My parents were gorgeous
2. I wish my mom had kept that sweater. Or my dad his.

Monday, October 22, 2012

My Favorite Things About Spring

This is my favorite thing about spring:

No, wait, it's this:

And this:

My best friends during the spring:

And even this during spring becomes a little bit prettier:

Sunday, October 21, 2012

If I Weren't Stuck in a Long Book


Books I'd rather be reading if I weren't stuck in an eternal monologue about many things that I forget when I'm done with the eternal chapter:

  • Kafka on the Shore by Haruki Murakami
  • Martian Chronicles by Ray Bradbury
  • The Blue Mountain by Meir Shalev
  • Paper Towns by John Green
  • Essay in Love by Alain de Bottom
  • Anything, Seriously by Anyone Seriously
It's an excellent book, but I'm getting faintly desperate after a month of steady reading and only getting halfways.

One of the things that scares me about studying English. Do they really just give you like, a week, to finish books like this one? I wouldn't be able to.
PS. To add to the fun and delight of this post, I must add that these pictures were taken at midnight. Fun.

Phony Sunday 3

This week I:

  • Went on a road trip to the beach and back for a day
  • Went camping
  • Had many tests
It might seem because of these Sunday posts that I dedicate my life to having fun and escaping the city, but this is not true. I have too many things to do (as a matter of fact, both road trips where because I had something to do somewhere else.) But it's okay because vacations are fast approaching and then I will be able to breathe, write, and read again.

Friday, October 19, 2012

Thursday, October 18, 2012

The Roots Project

There's this thing that many schools have called the IB, or the International Baccalaureate Diploma, which many students will associate with kind words like hell, purgatory, never ending pit of icy burning screaming killing blackness, but I like to associate with opportunity and learning (and, yeah, maybe, occasionally, the pit.)

Anyways, in 10th grade, the IB makes all of its students go through what is called the Personal Project, which is a stupid project that, however stupid it is, allows you to ANYTHING that you want to do and get graded on it. I really mean anything. The project is still stupid, but it can be great in many senses because it allows students to search for their individual taste and ambition and even get graded on it.

I chose to write a novel, which was a great decision (after all, that's sort of what I wanna do, you know?), however, I had too many options. One of the strongest competitors was to document my family's history.

I know it's my family and everything, meaning that I am without a doubt biased, but I have a heck of an interesting family history.

This is where the Roots Project kicks in.

I want to find out what happened. I've read some amazing autobiographies out there, and I don't care whether I have the talent or not, but I know that I have the material (I have learned that the key to a great autobiography is to know more than a lot about your family history. To prove my point, read A Story of Love and Darkness by Amos Oz.) I want to know what happened, and I want to be able to tell my kids what happened. I want them to know why they're there. I want to know why I'm here. There's so many things: my great grandma is still here (she's going to be a 100 and she went to college, in our very conservative country. A hero.), the pictures, the letters, the grandparents, the scrapbooks. They're all there, and I don't want them to stop being there.

Going to put this poster up somewhere in my room, so that this project doesn't get abandoned like so many do.

I made the map as a plan. I'm going to start with the interviews, because they're my priority. But I need to research first. What should I ask my great grandma? I don't know. I want to know. I'm exited.

My friggin' art skills.
I invite you too, to join the Roots Project. We all should know where we come from. That's what history classes are for. That's what photo albums are for. Why do I create scrapbooks and write everything down, if it's all going to get lost? I'm going to start the chain of favors by making sure that what I have in my reach doesn't get lost. Bon voyage.

Wednesday, October 17, 2012

Impossibly Hard Unattemptable DIY

How to make coffee.
But not any coffee.
Tastable coffee.
Ungagworthy coffee.
'Cause let's face it. Our society has formed a sort of cult around this beautiful beverage. But it's not like it's yummy. Sure, a Mocha Cookie Frapuccino never hurt anyone but it's not like five year olds cry "I want my espresso and I want it now!" If you're like me, and can't handle anything that will not make your doctor cry tears of desperation, then you have to try this out.

Materials you'll need:
(Forgot to include teaspoon, but that's common sense enough, right?)

The pretty coffee cup is INDISPENSABLE.

1. A little bit o' chocolate milk:
2. A little bit o' hot water:

3. A little bit of coaffee:

4. A little bit o' somethin' sweet tastin':

5. And sip sip with a dainty finger up:

6. Put some in a thermos for later:

7. And add an Oreo to sweeten the deal: (I of course had many more than the pair pictured, and I'm on my "healthy" week.)

Ta-da! Now you can get your butt of my very very absorbing blog and go get yeself some book-diving fun times.
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