i have discovered, that it is very easy to ignore me.
i am enjoying this realization.
mucho.
Thursday, February 26, 2009
Tuesday, February 24, 2009
old lives
i pretty much used to be very sure about who i wanted to be when i was a kid. it's actually kind of cute, being nine and already having planned out what i'd be doing for the rest of my life. what i didn't consider, was that, eventually, i would grow up.
and i would find that "cute" is never really something you'd like to sincerely describe yourself with.
i guess what i'm really trying to say is, college sucks. okay, so maybe it's not really that bad. i'm studying something decent. i'm working on becoming someone who might be able to contibute something good and noble to the world. i'm learning things to become somebody's hero. or maybe, just maybe, i'm a big coward who cannot break away because i would never want to admit that i have wasted the last four years of my life in an education that makes sense to everyone else but me.
i have in the past, considered depression. i must say it's a beautiful word. somebody asks you if you're okay, and you can just say, "I'm not, actually. I have clinical depression." and you wouldn't even have to explain yourself. you are a diagnosis. and a diagnosis speaks for itself. but i'm past that stage. i have come to realize that i don't have clinical depression because of three things primarily:
1. i rationalize. depressed people probably just feel.
2. i still take pleasure in pleasurable activities that i have enjoyed in the past;
3. and i know exactly what i think is wrong with me.
you know how when we're kids, grownups ask us stupid questions like "What do you want to be when you grow up?" the funny thing is, more often than not, we've already figured it out. when you're a kid, there's no limit to what you can become. you can be a superhero, you can be a coat wearing detective, an astronaut, a one-eyed scientist, a witch, a doctor, a superstar dressed in sequins... you can be anyone you want to be. and nobody would dare try to tell you different.
well, i wanted to be a writer.
and i say, look how that turned out perfectly. i am twenty years old (the meaning of which i would be trying to fathom for the rest of my being twenty, until i realize that i have turned twenty-one). i am in college. i am not learning how to be a writer. i am a nag. i am your average miserable adult who has not quite figured out what to do with the oozing misery that follows me everywhere i go. and i also think misery is a beautiful word.
in an attempt to make myself, a bit more, comprehensible, i would say that i think my biggest problem is simply the fact that i am selfish. becoming a writer, would only do me good. no one would probably even want to read what i write. i won't even be good at it.
but with writing, i would be happy. i honestly think i would be happy.
but i step a bit backwards, and i look at where i am now and at what i am doing. i look at the seeming lack of freedom. the monotone. the greyness. the pain of getting up every morning. the endless rationalizing. the nagging. the countdown until it's all over. the deep breaths i take to make it all go away. i am doing something, that i am sure will make the people around me happy. and if not happy, atleast make me out as less the disappointment that i really am.
i probably will never admit this on my deathbed, but i do want to help out in any way i can. i want to be able to remind people that there should always be hope. and that if they don't see it, then maybe i can help them look for it.
i see the decency and the significance of what i am doing. i should also admit, that there have been times when i have enjoyed doing them, taken pleasure in them and have probably even told myself that this could be a good part of my life.
i have decided, that i would like to continue walking down this path. i would like to know more, and help out more. but i think that the only way i would be able to do this, would be to discover things by myself. to be away from the people who have taught me what i should know, so i can decide on what i need, and what i want to know. i want to be able to make real connections with real people. i want to be able to be free to do what i think is necessary. i want to be able to feel fearless. i want to be able to do all this, and still be me.
and i still want to be a writer. more than anything else.
but right now, i'm just tired.
and i would find that "cute" is never really something you'd like to sincerely describe yourself with.
i guess what i'm really trying to say is, college sucks. okay, so maybe it's not really that bad. i'm studying something decent. i'm working on becoming someone who might be able to contibute something good and noble to the world. i'm learning things to become somebody's hero. or maybe, just maybe, i'm a big coward who cannot break away because i would never want to admit that i have wasted the last four years of my life in an education that makes sense to everyone else but me.
i have in the past, considered depression. i must say it's a beautiful word. somebody asks you if you're okay, and you can just say, "I'm not, actually. I have clinical depression." and you wouldn't even have to explain yourself. you are a diagnosis. and a diagnosis speaks for itself. but i'm past that stage. i have come to realize that i don't have clinical depression because of three things primarily:
1. i rationalize. depressed people probably just feel.
2. i still take pleasure in pleasurable activities that i have enjoyed in the past;
3. and i know exactly what i think is wrong with me.
you know how when we're kids, grownups ask us stupid questions like "What do you want to be when you grow up?" the funny thing is, more often than not, we've already figured it out. when you're a kid, there's no limit to what you can become. you can be a superhero, you can be a coat wearing detective, an astronaut, a one-eyed scientist, a witch, a doctor, a superstar dressed in sequins... you can be anyone you want to be. and nobody would dare try to tell you different.
well, i wanted to be a writer.
and i say, look how that turned out perfectly. i am twenty years old (the meaning of which i would be trying to fathom for the rest of my being twenty, until i realize that i have turned twenty-one). i am in college. i am not learning how to be a writer. i am a nag. i am your average miserable adult who has not quite figured out what to do with the oozing misery that follows me everywhere i go. and i also think misery is a beautiful word.
in an attempt to make myself, a bit more, comprehensible, i would say that i think my biggest problem is simply the fact that i am selfish. becoming a writer, would only do me good. no one would probably even want to read what i write. i won't even be good at it.
but with writing, i would be happy. i honestly think i would be happy.
but i step a bit backwards, and i look at where i am now and at what i am doing. i look at the seeming lack of freedom. the monotone. the greyness. the pain of getting up every morning. the endless rationalizing. the nagging. the countdown until it's all over. the deep breaths i take to make it all go away. i am doing something, that i am sure will make the people around me happy. and if not happy, atleast make me out as less the disappointment that i really am.
i probably will never admit this on my deathbed, but i do want to help out in any way i can. i want to be able to remind people that there should always be hope. and that if they don't see it, then maybe i can help them look for it.
i see the decency and the significance of what i am doing. i should also admit, that there have been times when i have enjoyed doing them, taken pleasure in them and have probably even told myself that this could be a good part of my life.
i have decided, that i would like to continue walking down this path. i would like to know more, and help out more. but i think that the only way i would be able to do this, would be to discover things by myself. to be away from the people who have taught me what i should know, so i can decide on what i need, and what i want to know. i want to be able to make real connections with real people. i want to be able to be free to do what i think is necessary. i want to be able to feel fearless. i want to be able to do all this, and still be me.
and i still want to be a writer. more than anything else.
but right now, i'm just tired.
Saturday, February 21, 2009
paris, i love you
Photo Credit: http://scenescreen.files.wordpress.com/2007/12/paris.jpg
The ignoramus that i tend to be sometimes, i just watched Paris Je T'aime last night. Or now that we're at it, i only realized that a film entitled Paris Je T'aime existed last night. I did get past the disbelief however, and was able to appreciate the underrated beauty of the film.
Like most of my favorite movies, this movie charmed me mainly because of the great lines from the characters. Some of the most memorable ones were:
Gaspard: It's amazing. As soon as I saw you, I needed to talk. It's like... I don't know. A strong, weird feeling. I thought, if I don't talk to you before I go, I'd be missing out on... something... important. Beautiful.
Hassan: I'd give you my card but I have none left. Too bad! Sophie, fancy a cup of coffee? Go on! Can I massage your feet?
Sophie: Why would I let you?
Hassan: Because they hurt.
Sophie: They do?
Hassan: You were running in my dreams all night.... Please have coffee with me.
Bob Leander: Can't we walk together?
Fanny Forestier: I'm so ashamed.
Bob Leander: Why? You did it out of love, I assume.
Fanny Forestier: And what do you do, out of love?
Bob Leander: I ache... for who we were.
Francine: Thomas Listen. Listen. There are times when life calls out for a change. A transition. Like the seasons. Our spring was wonderful, but summer is over now and we missed out on autumn. And now all of a sudden, it's cold, so cold that everything is freezing over. Our love fell asleep, and the snow took it by surprise. But if you fall asleep in the snow, you don't feel death coming. Take care.
Carol: Sitting there, alone in a foreign country, far from my job and everyone I know, a feeling came over me. It was like remembering something I'd never known before or had always been waiting for, but I didn't know what. Maybe it was something I'd forgotten or something I've been missing all my life. All I can say is that I felt, at the same time, joy and sadness. But not too much sadness, because I felt alive. Yes, alive. That was the moment I fell in love with Paris. And I felt Paris fall in love with me.
Although of course they sound so much more impressive in the film. If you're a romantic at heart, this film is probably for you. But if you're just some kid who simply enjoys watching films with english subtitles, this is probably just as for you.
I can't wait to see New York, I Love You. I hope they don't fuck it up.
Movie Quotes Credit: http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0401711/quotes
on curls and braces
I am fascinated with curly hair. Just fascinated. It's almost like an obsession. No. In fact, i think that it is an obsession. Quite positively. Surely. Because of this, i have sort of decided that i would get curls one of these days. Like this little girl's curls.
PhotoCredit: http://pro.corbis.com/images/OC001184.jpg?size=67&uid={57DE3499-9B1F-4A02-95D7-35545774BE52}
That'd be pretty wicked. And maybe I'll get braces. Green braces. Quite positively. Surely. Curly hair and green dental prosthesis. That almost rhymes with my name.
Only of course i don't have six words for a name.
PhotoCredit: http://pro.corbis.com/images/OC001184.jpg?size=67&uid={57DE3499-9B1F-4A02-95D7-35545774BE52}Only of course i don't have six words for a name.
poems in the tube
Tu Risa
by Pablo Neruda
Quítame el pan, si quieres,
quítame el aire, pero
no me quites tu risa.
No me quites la rosa,
la lanza que desgranas,
el agua que de pronto
estalla en tu alegría,
la repentina ola
de plata que te nace.
Mi lucha es dura y vuelvo
con los ojos cansados
a veces de haber visto
la tierra que no cambia,
pero al entrar tu risa
sube al cielo buscándome
y abre para mi todas
las puertas de la vida.
Amor mío, en la hora
más oscura desgrana
tu risa, y si de pronto
ves que mi sangre mancha
las piedras de la calle,
ríe, por que tu risa
será para mis manos
como una espada fresca.
Junto al mar en otoño,
tu risa debe alzar
su cascada de espuma,
y en primavera, amor,
quiero tu risa como
la flor que yo esperaba,
la flor azul, la rosa
de mi patria sonora.
Ríete de la noche,
del día, de la luna,
ríete de las calles
torcidas de la isla,
ríete de este torpe
muchacho que te quiere,
pero cuando yo abro
los ojos y los cierro,
cuando mis pasos van,
cuando vuelven mis pasos,
niégame el pan, el aire,
la luz, la primavera
pero tu risa nunca
porque me moriría.
Your Laughter
translated by Donald Walsh
Take the bread from me, if you want
take the air from me, but
do not take from me your laughter
Do not take away the rose,
the lanceflower that you pluck,
the water that suddenly
bursts forth in your joy,
the sudden wave
My struggle is harsh and I come back
with eyes tired
at times from having seen
the unchanging earth,
but when your laughter enters
it rises to the sky seeking me
and it opens for me all
the doors of life.
My love, in the darkest
hour your laughter
opens, and if suddenly
you see my blood staining
the stones of the street,
laugh, because your laughter
will be for my hands
like a fresh sword.
Next to the sea in the autumn,
your laughter must raise
its foamy cascade,
and in the spring, love,
I want your laughter like
the flower I was waiting for,
the blue flower, the rose
of my echoing country.
Laugh at the night,
at the day, at the moon,
laugh at the twisted
streets of the island,
laugh at this clumsy
boy who loves you,
but when I open
my eyes and close them,
when my steps go,
when my steps return,
deny me bread, air,
light, spring,
but never your laughter
for I would die.
of silver born in you.
by Pablo Neruda
Quítame el pan, si quieres,
quítame el aire, pero
no me quites tu risa.
No me quites la rosa,
la lanza que desgranas,
el agua que de pronto
estalla en tu alegría,
la repentina ola
de plata que te nace.
Mi lucha es dura y vuelvo
con los ojos cansados
a veces de haber visto
la tierra que no cambia,
pero al entrar tu risa
sube al cielo buscándome
y abre para mi todas
las puertas de la vida.
Amor mío, en la hora
más oscura desgrana
tu risa, y si de pronto
ves que mi sangre mancha
las piedras de la calle,
ríe, por que tu risa
será para mis manos
como una espada fresca.
Junto al mar en otoño,
tu risa debe alzar
su cascada de espuma,
y en primavera, amor,
quiero tu risa como
la flor que yo esperaba,
la flor azul, la rosa
de mi patria sonora.
Ríete de la noche,
del día, de la luna,
ríete de las calles
torcidas de la isla,
ríete de este torpe
muchacho que te quiere,
pero cuando yo abro
los ojos y los cierro,
cuando mis pasos van,
cuando vuelven mis pasos,
niégame el pan, el aire,
la luz, la primavera
pero tu risa nunca
porque me moriría.
Your Laughter
translated by Donald Walsh
Take the bread from me, if you want
take the air from me, but
do not take from me your laughter
Do not take away the rose,
the lanceflower that you pluck,
the water that suddenly
bursts forth in your joy,
the sudden wave
My struggle is harsh and I come back
with eyes tired
at times from having seen
the unchanging earth,
but when your laughter enters
it rises to the sky seeking me
and it opens for me all
the doors of life.
My love, in the darkest
hour your laughter
opens, and if suddenly
you see my blood staining
the stones of the street,
laugh, because your laughter
will be for my hands
like a fresh sword.
Next to the sea in the autumn,
your laughter must raise
its foamy cascade,
and in the spring, love,
I want your laughter like
the flower I was waiting for,
the blue flower, the rose
of my echoing country.
Laugh at the night,
at the day, at the moon,
laugh at the twisted
streets of the island,
laugh at this clumsy
boy who loves you,
but when I open
my eyes and close them,
when my steps go,
when my steps return,
deny me bread, air,
light, spring,
but never your laughter
for I would die.
of silver born in you.
Too cheesy for my taste. But rather entertaining.
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