On how things were and are

It used to be the three of us.

Now, it's the two of them and me.

Thoughts that have been wandering on my mind

I'm so looking forward to falling in love…!

… yet I'm so scared of actually falling in love.

What if I never find someone? What if I do, but he's just half a soulmate? What if he loves horror movies, drinking and partying really hard? What if I'm the only one making an effort? What if he makes me feel vulnerable by knowing so much about me? What if I get jealous over the silliest things? What if he doesn't? What if he breaks my heart?

What if my heart gets broken over never being used?

On acceptance

She likes acting and the theater. He likes sports and playing video-games.

I'm different.

I like reading and writing, yes, they could be considered “normal hobbies”. The problem is, I also like anime and video-games, but japanese stuff and cosplaying are weird things in my environment. Things that would make them ashamed of me.

I've also thought about tattoos and dying my hair a lot. Throughout the years I have eventually changed my mind about getting most of them, but there's one that won't go away. A tiny bird behind my left ear. And then some orange Hayley Williams-ish hair on top of everything. It would feel wild, daring, funny, liberating, so unlike me… I truly believe it would be a really good way for me to be brave.

I've always felt like I'm the one pushing the boundaries. I keep an open mind to whatever may come and then try to get them all to enjoy it or know it a bit better at least. Lately, it's been really frustrating for me because of this constant conflict between my mindset and their prejudices. Good thing though, they are way more open-minded than most people. Still…

But it's okay, because at least a part of me is home.

Seeing my heart in your eyes
For the last time, before you say goodbye.

Eshajōri 会者定離 (people meet, always part)

Valar morghulis. All men must die.

I just came across the title of this post on tumblr. That word was meant to express the idea of impermanence of all things. Everything ends because change is the only thing that remains (thanks for that one, Heraclitus), and as change is the only thing that remains, everything must come to an end. Eshajōri brings a new perspective to human relationships: all the unbreakable friendships, the burning hate and even the strongest love will, indeed, cease to exist someday due to life itself. The people who share those relationships will eventually die, and those feelings will die along with them.

I really don't know how to feel about that. Should I make huge efforts on relationships that will finish, doesn't matter what I do? In fact, should I even bother at all? I am gonna die sooner or later, so why should I try to live anyway? But I also do not know what happens after you die, just as I don't know what would happen if I lived… though the first one I'll know due to life itself. The second one is a chance that's been given to me. The only way I'll get to know what happens next is… well, by living.

In the end, not life nor death make sense. Let's just not waste the first one while we have the second one for granted.

Sorry I lied, hope you understand

I lied some days ago. Six, actually. I told a lie which wasn't even that important, it was no big deal, but I've been feeling this weight on my chest ever since and maybe writing it down would release some of the pressure, so…

I lied because I wanted to hide my feelings. With social media these days, you usually tend to feel more like a number. You are just another follower. Only your friends tend to read what you say to them. I was used to being a number, really, but then he appeared. He read everything. He wanted all of us to remain people, individuals he could recognize. I was someone… and he started growing. Followers here, followers there, everybody wanted a piece of his attention and there was just not enough of him for all of us. That's how I became a number… or so I thought.

I gradually stopped trying to get my bad jokes to get to him; there were times when I'd force myself to think if he'd be interested in what I was thinking to tell him, then I would get frustrated and not even try. It hurt knowing that you cared about someone who probably didn't care as much about you, that's what my heart felt but my head didn't dare to translate.

One day I simply decided to get some time for myself: I'd get rid of him in my social media, so that I'd just get rid of the pressure as well. It went well. It actually didn't, I felt a bit better but I missed him. I also knew the way I was acting was a bit childish: I never wanted his attention, but I accidentally got it and when it seemed I couldn't get it anymore I kind of got upset. And lonely? Sort of. Hard to explain.

Then this other day, I just said: “Okay, I might be just a number because a lot of people is interested in him now, but who cares? I'm gonna be a great number. And if he notices me and I get him to smile with my nonsense, then it's okay!”. I got a new attitude and tried to make those things affect me less, and I got him into my social media again.

And, finally, the magic happened.

I had some silly joke for what he shared with his followers, and a few minutes later… he welcomed me back. He noticed I had left, and he was also glad I was back –can't quite understand why, I mean… my jokes are TERRIBLE. But it made me feel valuable, even if he didn't have enough time for all of us, he had room for each individual in a special place. And now I regret lying and telling him it had been just a mistake. It was, of course, but not as I made it look like. And although the explanation for that mistake is longer than 140 characters, I wish I had told him the truth. I also wish he could understand it, because I feel like I haven't been clear enough throughtout this Bible I just wrote.

I don't know.

Seis segundos

“Ella nunca me miraba a los ojos. Siempre tenía otros lugares a los que mirar en las ocasiones en las que los míos buscaban los suyos. Casi resultaba frustrante.

Ella nunca me miraba a los ojos… hasta hoy.

Su encantadora risa en el parque me despistó de sus dedos entrelazándose con los míos; tras echar un vistazo a nuestras manos unidas, mi mirada no pudo evitar subir hasta toparse con un par de curiosos ojos verdes. Me quedé sin aliento.

Fueron los seis segundos más aterradores que he vivido nunca. Caía al vacío, caía mientras la miraba y me miraba, caía y de repente sentí los pies en la tierra. No había vacío, comprendí, había algo. Ella.

Fueron los seis segundos más reconfortantes de mi vida. Al entender que se me había permitido contemplar su alma, me perdí en ella. Buceé, exploré y nos encontré en aquella familiaridad que eran sus ojos. Supe que se sentía tan vulnerable como yo, y por eso me sentí afortunado de haber recibido esa oportunidad de contemplarla.

Fueron los seis segundos más eufóricos del mundo. Pensar que ella estaba investigándome tanto como yo a ella y que, tras tanto tiempo, ninguno hubiera rechazado la mirada del otro, despegó mis pies del suelo y me hizo sentir que volaba. Mi pecho se infló de aire y de calidez, y sentí que en ese momento sería capaz de hacer cualquier cosa. Incluso de besarla.

Fueron los seis mejores segundos de mi vida… hasta que llegaron los siguientes seis segundos. Y los siguientes. Y los siguientes.”

Firefly

   The sound of the guitar and his voice flooded the small room. Either he had lied or his perception of his own voice was as wrong as pink water and green clouds could be. His chanting was delightful, although there was indeed some insecurity showing here and there; he really believed his singing was not angel-alike. How could he? How did he dare?

   I shyly joined the chorus, causing a bigger hesitation from him that immediately stopped. The song continued to be sung, our voices entangling with an intimacy not even bodies had ever experienced. My eyes got accidentally caught on his, and neither of us was able to look away. I honestly can't remember what happened with the guitar and the lyrics we were singing. I can't even remember anything else beyond his deep, green eyes…

   I can't remember.

Soon, but not soon enough

An angel has died today

An angel is gone

Grief him with your heart if you may

Or don't grief at all

An angel has died today

An angel is home

Cry to get rid of the pain

And lift up your soul

I said goodbye too soon

But not soon enough

My wings grew strong and fluffy

They lifted me home

Yet my heart refused to leave

To flee the life it had chosen

I left my heart with you

And from the Heavens I'm watching

I promise

I will protect you

You will not ever be alone

I will protect your

Son and your daughter

As if they were my own

We will meet again, soon

But not soon enough

Questions crowd into my head

As to what that moment may be like

Will you remember me?

Will you remember my face?

Will you stretch me into your arms

And hold me to eternity?

Or will your weak, human mind

Forget me?

Will a long and full life be enough to erase me from your thoughts

Or will you, on the other hand, die too soon?

You should not die.

Your soul shall persevere through time and space

For everyone in Earth to know your love and bliss

Still, you were made human; not even I

Can stop fate nor God.

Too beautiful for too little

You are to become an angel by my side

But your dying will come too soon for your family

And not soon enough for me

Enjoy while you can, my dear

Live a full life, the one you deserve

I'll be waiting my turn to enjoy your company again

Soon…

Desiderative thinking on a lonely night

I want someone who'll dance with me, hold me to keep me from falling and turn that move into art.

I want someone whose voice will merge with mine, creating melodies that'll bring joy to our souls and smiles to our lightened faces. Melodies that will only stop when we kiss.

I want someone who'll listen to me even when I don't want to talk.

I want someone I can listen to for hours without ever getting tired.

I want someone that agrees with me, I want someone that also disagrees and still respects and values my opinion.

I want someone that'll make my heart follow the rhythm of love. Someone that'll make it as scary as worthy.

I want someone.

On what we share.

We are all the same, yet we are so different from each other. Studying psychology, that statement has come to me as an epiphany.

Psychology studies human behavior from so many points of view –environment, variables that affect our growth, even genetics. We all have a brain. We all have skin, eyes, lips. We have hearts. Lungs.

We all have a brain, and yet each brain works differently. Isn't it like magic?, the fact that everyone has a brain and no one thinks, does, speaks, imagines, dreams of or loves the same stuff. We were genetically programmed to have brains, but we weren't programmed to have the same experiences. It's overwhelming and sometimes scary, studying psychology. It's also exciting. There are so many posibilities for each of us to be unique… And still, it is so hard to know someone deeply, completely.

The only thing I can know for sure is that we all share one thing, something some of us have already experienced but everyone will get to live one way or another: death.

On missing her

Months have passed, though they feel like a hundred years. Bringing back the memories of the last time I hugged her entails salted tears and tight lips. I don't want to cry.

This is my first time. I've never lost someone I cared that much, cat or not. Am I over it? Maybe I'm not, because I still miss her. Maybe missing her doesn't mean I haven't moved on. How could I know?

She is out there. Alive. Well fed. Sad. Does she know that I love her, that I just can't have her? That I wish things were different? Will she ever be happy again? I don't want to cry.

I don't want to cry.

I don't…

Nomeolvides.

Identity

We are everything we are. Everything we've lived, everything we've experienced, liked, hated, forgotten…, has turned us into the people we are today.

We are, but we change, and changing is part of who we are. I'm not the same person I was five years ago, yet something remains: I still have a thing for chocolate and books, although I'm more mature and fearless than back then. I was, but I'm not who I was anymore.

Identity is complicated. It changes, but there's always something there to comfort us, a tiny little voice that calms us down whenever we don't recognize ourselves. "It's still you, this person you've become", it says. We believe that voice because it brings back our memories. Those stay with us forever, and yet they change too. Some we forget, some we remember quite differently to the way they happened. Some we love. Some we don't.

The change is good and also something we need to get used to, because we can't stop time and stay the same forever. However, it's always a relief to recognize the person you've become and identify it with the one you were. We are the ones that are gonna be with ourselves until death comes, aren't we?

That's why it felt so good to re-read “The unchosen one” the other day. It's something I wrote a while ago about something that happened years ago, yet it feels fresh. It feels like me. That text is not everything I am; I chose which things I'd say and which ones I'd keep to myself, and that choice –which is something only someone with my same identity would've done the exact same way– is one I don't regret at all. I feel identified with it, if I were to make that choice again I wouldn't change a thing.

“The unchosen one” is not everything I am, but it is everything I once where and one of the many reasons why I am who I am today.