Lo acepto aquí, en quedito, escribiendo tu nombre en un pedacito de papel, mientras lo hago cuadritos y lo pongo debajo del colchón que ya no moveré; moría de ganas.
Así que lo dejo aquí, donde no puedes verlo, donde nunca te enterarás, donde mis tonterías se acompañan a ellas mismas y juntas, hacen un manual de cómo reír cuando se llora y el tutorial para escribir palabras mal; quería que aparecieras.
Lo digo sólo para sacármelo de adentro, para que mañana en el metro no lo grite, para no rayar las paredes de lo baños públicos ni contárselo al cervezabir de la esquina; podría haberte querido.
Si no te hubieras ido.

This is how we lie

Mi letra izquierda.

I love it

ANNI B SWEET- TAKE ON ME

And to be suddenly hit by the memmory of being sitted in your car while singing When you were young at the top of your lungs and driving around the city with out direction and with the only aim of delaying going back home for another hour.
And how good it felt and feels, even now, to remember it.
Oh yes, this is me getting idealistic. 

Something new, something borrowed, something blue.

Something new, something borrowed, something blue.
Originally uploaded by Olga Riebeling A

Trying something new

I have decided, this year will be of new things. Maybe.
So, taking my new editing of children literature class as an excuse to making pretty things, I try this.
I've never given watercolor a 2nd thought because if I could not make it as a painter with oil paint (or colors, or ink, or pastels) doing it with water seems like a crazy idea, but I'm not to disgusted with the first result. We'll see.

Original illustration by Paul Willoughby in Julian Barne's novel, Talk it over.

Cortometraje SIGNS Patrick Hughes Parte I de II

Signs, Patrick Hughes. Parte II de II

I wrote this for you.

I had never been so alone before. I have never been on my own before. And yet, I have felt alone before; I have felt that inside-a-crowd-but-alone feeling. I have been sitting next to my friends and felt alone.
And I get it, I'm the kind of person that feels alone. I'm the kind of person that gets depressed.
The funy thing is, I haven't felt so alone. And I haven't felt  down as I thought I would feel. Maybe it's a matter of days but I'm not thinking that way.
I'm just realizing what a mess I can be! when I dont have to pick up everything because there is someone else. How I always forget where I put something,  or why I walked to the kitchen or the room. I mean, I usually have a hard time concentrating but I have taken it to the next level. I find myself distracted over the simplest things; trying to make the oven work, placing pictures on the wall, looking at light that comes from outside, making mental lists of what is in the fridge and struggling to remember instead of going to the fridge and looking in.
What I want to say is, I thought it'd be worse. I thought that I would be worse. So far, the one thing I miss is having someone to talk to about stupid things. On the bright side, Im coming face to face with the queen of procrastination that lives inside me. Maybe not so bright.

The other thing I wanted to write was about a blog I found. It's called, I wrote this for you. It is a project a girl started because she was a bit down so she wrote to You, a fictional characther that is not fictional at all for it fits everyone. You is everyone and no one at the same time. I had read some entries before but hadn't gone into the blog completly. In there are 3 years of daily post about You; why You should feel better, why You should be yourself, why she missed You so much.
She decided to stop the blog in december and apparently got a lot of messages from a lot of people telling her to please keep going. On the first page or second, is the letter she wrote as in why she wants to quit along with the explanation for the blog, the idea... If you listen to me and go there, jump to the entries that started it in 2007. Most are no longer than 3 lines.
I foud this:
 "Buildings crumble. People die. Friends move away. But your memory of them will always stand. And they will be as real there, inside you, as they were when they were standing next to you.Your memories are real. They are the dreams of the past. And they will live with you always."
Which made me think of writing this.
I also found this :
"No one would ever think such mean thoughts about you. No one would ever say something so hurtful. No one would ever hit you so hard

Except yourself.

You are always the meanest person you know. And only you can stop you."
It has no comments and I wonder why. For me it is so powerful and true.
There are many, many, too many comments in this blog; most of them say things like "thanks for writing to me" or "don't stop writing, I foud it now, Im here". It is so moving because every post is about You.
This also makes me think that there is a lot of people out there feeling bad about themselves. I know it isn't easy, that it happens, that it is one of those things. But it is terrible anyway. How come if we only get to live once, we go and fill ourselves with horrible thoughts and feelings of distress and sadness?
And how sometimes, you can't do much for other people and other people can not do much for you...but how amazing it is when someone comes over and says, I wrote this for you.

Sigue volviendo

Y yo la sigo leyendo, cada que se va y regresa y vulve a decidir que no escribirá más pero un años después, lo hace de nuevo.

Y es que como me gusta leerla.

"A veces, cuando algo me importa too much,
pretendo justamente lo contrario para que,
si lo llego a perder, nadie intente consolarme.

Detesto sentirme como campesina indefensa."

X, la de los ojos negros.

Type

Typophile Film Festival 5 Opening Titles from Brent Barson on Vimeo.

Yo tampoco tenía Barbies.

Yo no tenía Barbies. Tenía una o dos. Un día mi hermana decidió que prefería el espacio de su closet para ropa que para cajas de muñecas. Y yo tuve muchas Barbies de pronto; Barbies, Skippers, Kens (sólo 1). Acompañados de el coche de Barbie, la casita de Barbie, la nevería de Barbie. La lista llega hasta el McDonnalds de Skipper y Barbie ( a teen job after all).
Y así fue que de todas maneras, llegué a la expocisión de Barbie y sus 50 años.
Las fotos van a otro lado, pero por favor tomen un momento y lean esto, ábranlo y léanlo con el zoom. Y después mueran, junto conmigo, de la risa.

I don´t know how to explain this, maybe because in order to explain something it is necessary to have a logical reasoning behind it. I, as usal, don´t have one for this.
How do you begin to explain beign filled with emotions that you can not separate?
In this momment I feel nostalgia, jelousy, uneasyness, happiness, peace and restlesness. My fingers try to type with speed but they only find motions complicated by the rush of bits going inside my skin.
I have before felt often like this, needless to say, and never have found the answer.
This is not a complain as much as it is a very hard question (or several). How do I catch up with life?
Im not at home, Im not in a familiar space (even though I feel very comfortable in this city) I go to a school I like, do things I like, eat what I like. I can not say Im missing anything. So why wont it stop?
I was walking back home today and I started thinking about how, it doesnt matter where you are, you are still the same you. People doesnt change. I ve been trying hard to explain this to Dear Roomate but maybe I wasnt listening myself. Sometimes I firmly believe that I dont need my own advice. She talks about wanting to go out and meeting people and when we are in a bar, with unknown people, she shys away and finds herself wanting to go home and sleep. I understand that, my answer was if there is something you have not liked doing for 23 years, it is most clear that you will not want to do it instantly just because you crossed country lines. She agreed.
Now, that was a matter of likes and dislikes, I will still enjoy figs anywhere in the world and think beer is an aquired taste I dont whish to acknowledge. That is simple.
The situation however, becomes obscure when we mention feelings; I try hard to make friends and even when it takes time and I do feel there is progress in it, they will see me as everyone else does; a mouse. The shy, quiet girl that goes everywhere when asked but is just, there.
Maybe it is not even so; my point to all this is that people doesnt change, and maybe I just want to do so.
I got what I wanted, I left everyone I know and feel safe with back home, I am free in the sense of not being restricted and still I feel imprisioned. The problem is me, then, of course. I know the answer then is, fix yourself, but I just wanna ask, how do I run from myself?
I was very determied of being here in a certain way, I was sure my mind was up for it, that my actions where up to it, that I could just be here, and do that, just be.
It has nothing to do with happines or feeling lonely, I am happy and I dont feel alone, most importat, Im not. Why do I keep looking for reasons , then? Why is it so hard to just be?
And then, it all turns to having too much to say and no way of figuring it out. Its like there is a wall inside my head and everything that is important and interesting is being held back behind it.
Was the cultural shock not grand enough? next time I'll be going to China and still feel confortable enough, still numb enough.
In other notice, I finished reading Niffenegger, it was a very surprising last 100 pages. Its amazing how when reading I can find myself in a characther, watching a movie too but when it comes to real life, I still have no idea. Which of course is obvious but still strange; if I can find myself that way then why not just be theatrical about it collect those personalities that I have already assumed as my own. That would be pretty fucked up.
I know by definition, Im longing, same as always. I cant turn it off. Dont know how to change it.
I must. or before I know it july will be here and I will still be me.

Will this vacation ever stop being re-use?

Collage for visualizing class, not so pretty but on the way.

Sólo un día soleado en otoño afuera del MACBA cominedo un gran merengue

Es Así

Irse es el más culposo placer.

Encontrar que en otro lugar te sientes en casa aún estando entre paredes desconocidas, caminando en calles sin saber a donde llevan y escuchando un acento que no puedes evitar pensar, un día tendrás.

De pronto, no hay quien te salve y la mezcla del miedo y la seguridad que esto causa te llena de la más pura melancolía. Esta es la definición del sentimiento, esto que se siente que es una mezcla entre nostalgia y emoción, alegría y felicidad. Una comedia dentro de un drama. ¿o es al revés?

Acabo de ajustar el reloj de mi computadora a la hora de un país que no es el que me enseñó a comer salsa Valentina con Rancheritos. Un país en donde la corriente no va a 120 voltios y mi maquinita para depilar no funciona sin quemarse cuando la conecto. Donde las banquetas no son anchas y no puedes caminar junto a otra persona y sino en fila de hormigas para que alguien más pueda pasar.

No lo había hecho porque no había necesidad; aún no era real. Fue real cuando pensé tengo que barrer porque el piso no se barre solo y mis calcetines se están ensuciando. Aún así es maravilloso, aunque la ropa no se seque a tiempo y todo esté cerrado los domingos. Parece como si jugara a la casita y por eso sé que algo falta, pero no importa, ya me asustaré cuando eso llegue.

Lo más extraño es hablar inglés con gente que habla español (y un montón de idiomas extraños), en un país que tiene el castellano como lengua oficial, en una ciudad donde todos hablan catalán en las calles. Lo mejor es que les entiendo. Más de lo que entendía cuando llegué. Y que la primera persona que me agregó a Facebook es turca. Que hay tiendas de té por todos lados y hay cafés, librerías, tiendas de teléfonos y peluquerías por igual. Que mi credencial de estudiante es magenta y me hace descuento en libros de Taschen. Que aunque no he visto la playa, ya vi el mar. Y las patatas bravas con sangría. Y que vendan alfajores Havana en el Corte Inglés, a precio de oro. Saber que he vivido una semana con alguien y sigo hablándole.

Lo peor es que a los únicos españoles que conozco son el señor que me renta y a su hijo de 5 años, el chico de MoviStar, la señora de Vodafone, la chica que cuida los libros de la escuela, la secretaria y la titular que parece sacada de una ilustración de Garance Doré. No tener Internet automáticamente, el desfase de horarios y el costo de las llamadas. Las fallas de las tarjetas del banco y no poder agarrar el teléfono por que sí. Contar las monedas de un centavo y pensar ¿cuánto es esto?

Lo mejor es que tus papás te digan “estás más valiente y más lista de lo que pensaba”. Lo peor es que no estén aquí para descubrirlo juntos. Saber que las relaciones son como ligas que cuando se estiran mucho quedan inservibles. Saber que tengo que cambiarme antes del 3 de enero y mover mis cosas de nuevo.

Pero me gusta, me gusta mucho. Y amo la Fnac.

I want to make a pretty blog

This is my moms present for me, so I can write plenty. So I can keep it in my purse.

El viajero del siglo

Además, continuó Sophie, él realmente se esfuerza por ser todo un caballero, no sé si me explico, ¡un verdadero, pudoroso caballeo¡ Ajá, se revolvió Hans. Pero Sophie no dijo nada más. Ajá, insistió él cada vez más inquieto, o sea, todo un caballero, ¿demasiado …caballero? Es un alivio, sonrió Sophie, poder hablar con alguien mal pensado. Y tú, se atrevió Hans, ¿lo consideras bueno? Quiero decir, ¿tú valoras muchísimo la… caballerosidad? Ya deberías saberlo, contestó ella asomando el perfil fuera de la visera. Me temo que soy, como lo quiso mi padre, una chica práctica. Hans tragó saliva. Todo era inevitable y fluido como el río.

El viajero del siglo, Andrés Neuman

Some earlier, some later.

171/365 Some earlier, some later.
Originally uploaded by :You, Me, and Photography

La mejor frase

"Manejar una moto sin lluvia, es como ir a los tacos de Santa Tere; pateas al perro, auyentas a las moscas y te paras en la calle sin cuidado.
Manejar una moto en la lluvia, es como comer en un restaurante elegante; haces todo con cuidado, vas tranquilo, te tomas tu tiempo y ves todos los detalles."

Doc. Guenze