Thursday, November 23, 2017

Favourite sounds



Today as I walked home I thought about how my favourite sound is the rustling of trees. "The tremor of the leaves," rather. And I thought about all the things that sound like tree leaves: Rain on a rooftop, applause, a person drowsily rolling under the bed coveres.

And the birds were politely discussing, and an ocasional suburban car drove gently by, and afar a dog was barking. And all of those were my favourite sounds.

There was even the murmur of a lawn mower in the air.

And all of these were most definetely my favourite sounds.

Perhaps, I thought, any sound is beautiful when surrounded by a blanket of silence. Any sound has its musicallity, its artistic sense, even if it's not pretty. Even if it's a baby crying, or an adult crying, a car alarm crying, a dog whining or crying*.

Downtown, no sound is beautiful. Because they compete for your attention and drown in the process. But amidst the silence, even your voice, with its slightly nasal undertones, can sound just fine.





*the word choice depends on how much you love dogs.

Sunday, November 19, 2017

Recording Life


I recently turned 22, which makes me sad because I am officially no longer a youngling. And surely I'm not the only who thinks that 21 is the eve of adolescence????

Perhaps I've told you this, but one of my Greatest Fears is the passage of time. This is the great highbrowed psychoanlitical reason behind my constant diary-keeping, picture-taking, scrapbook-making, blog-writing and any other activity-ing that will entail wasting my life on trying to preserve it.

I fear the passage of time because it is fleeting. Because you can't quite grab it, and the more you try, the more it slips by. "Like trying to contain a river with your hands." This is a quote by no one in particular, but I am most likely not the first person to think of that metaphor either.

I like to take pictures and collect memorabilia because they are the surest and most beautiful way of preserving the moments that strung my life, and the people who gave it laughter and meaning.

This is all born out of the Great Fear of reaching the End, trying to remember what my life was, and arriving at the chilling conclusion that I have no time left, and yet did nothing relevant with the time I had.

Nothing assures me that I will in fact ever do anything relevant, but these activities at least allow me to leave something for the record: Here I was, with these people, surrounded by these places. And cheers for that.

Much love,
Ana


PS. I am no longer using the Ana Ruiz instagram account, but at 22, I am no longer scared of the stalkers or trolls either, so, if you please, you can follow me on my non-pseudonym-all-Spanish account:

www.instagram.com/brujisima__

PPS. I also went back to my Bookstagram days:

www.instagram.com/latinliteratureexists
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