Sunday, August 24, 2014


From Tumblr, I need to start taking pictures again.
I used to have a friend called Luna. That's Spanish for "moon." It was funny because her face payed homage to her name; it was spherical, round, yet happy. The happy part didn't pay any homage. I guess I'm not painting a pretty portrait of her, what with the roundness and the spherical and the way that most handsome people are miserable (right?), but she was beautiful. I've seldom had friends as alluring and blossomy as she was.

But then we both changed schools and I became a left-winged feminist and she became a non-politicized general bloom-a-berry child. And that was that.

The other day I had to recite a poem in my school's yearly Poetry Affair. (I don't know how to translate it.) Although I had practiced my poem like mad, I got it all wrong, and forgot it. I knew I was going to forget it, because I'm bad at memorizing and reciting and that kind of things, but I love acting and stages. It's okay though, because the day that I get a poem perfectly recited, I'm going to be a ton happier than I would've been with several good recitations.

And maybe it was because my turn was right after a girl in my class that has a stuttering problem. And she got up there, and recited anyways. And it was heart-wrenching and one was awed with the courage of it all and then I wanted to cry because I was nervous with my recitation that wasn't as beautiful as the stuttered recitation anyways.

And this gloomy Sunday I sit on my bed waiting for my sore throat to ease into normality again, and this gloomy Sunday I wish that the boy with the blue eyes and the strong arms and the perfect smile -the perfect boy who has led me on for a whole year- will finally let my heart calm itself a bit. And I'm sad and I want to cry but I have no tears and perhaps I wrote all of the rest just because I didn't want to write this.


Friday, August 15, 2014


I'm sorry about the shit quality of the pictures but they're from Facebook.

That, the man in the picture above, is my cousin.

He is a man of conviction, but he is also a man of dreams. He would kill me if he knew that I'm sharing these pictures my blog, but he would never suspect I have this blog. (Because the feeling that I should share this piece of internetia with my real-life people died out a few years ago.)

A few years ago, my cousin was the studdest of studs but then he let his hair and belly grow because he isn't going to fight against natural occurrences.

Like the need to wander.

He's leaving on Wednesday -that's four or five days from now- on a very long and very undefined trip through South America, with nothing but a couple of his favourite books, his guitar, a scrap of money and the bare necessities. 

He told us -you know, the family- about his plans, because that kind of thing were you go all Into the Wild on your family is not exactly pleasant, and I swear, he's such a good person, he'd never do a thing like that.

But I bet at times he wishes he wouldn't have told anyone, for they all fight. My whole family is constantly fighting against him, against his current, they're the dams in the river of his existence and now I'm going to stop this sentence because it's starting to get mushy.

I bet he wishes he hadn't told anyone because they argued. Why South America, the continent in which you've lived in your whole life? Why alone? Why now? Why don't you visit the Galapagos with us, when we go there in a few weeks? Bla bla bla.

And yet, I understand him.

And my soul will travel with him.

Because I can't go. Not now, at least.

I will be the stride in his feet and the lice in his hair because he is living out the one dream that I suspect I'll never be able to fill out.

Leaving. Alone. With destiny as your path.

Because I'm a girl. And I can get raped, you know. And maybe I don't even have the convictions.

Yay patriarchy.

I hope he uploads some pictures, but I bet he won't.

Wednesday, August 6, 2014

The Human Body

Because I am an absolutely self centered human being and because I want my Europe pictures to be useful for reasons other than Instagram and because I want my face to appear ocassionally on this blog, I am posting pictures of myself. If I were a serious blogger, though, I'd be posting pictures like these:

Real ""artistic"" pictures yippy yow.

Because I want to talk about the human body: Its curves and imperfections, decorations and concavities, secrets and whispers, growths and stabilities.

Let's think about it for a moment. Let's, also, suppose that everything has a spirit. Would you dare tell me that a snowflake possesses no spirit, nor the rain, nor the sea? That a little soul doesn't hide behind a book, that a blanket doesn't hug you at the end of the day?

However, the snowflake will fall and it possesses no will over it's falling and melting and evaporating into the air once again. And the sea might will with all its might to quit the swaying and just stand still, but gosh, no amount of adderall will help it stop fidgeting. And yet

us humans have been gifted a body with limbs and tiny fingers on our feet to walk and traipse the Earth

and yet

some people


to be


of it?

I wish we could all be naked all the time, embrace ours and other's bodies and understand that part of the world's beauty, resides in our perfect imperfections too.


PS. I seriously wrote this sober. What the fuuuudge.
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