Abstract life at present, and a little further

The words have been hiding from me; they went away with feelings better locked away than felt. This acquaintance took me by surprise at the beginning, now not so much; and as I remember the day when a small group of girls tried to smoke a cigar, being unsuccessful to even light it, I come to think that some things are for the best, and we get to see that in time.

I find myself, along with the rest of the world, not far away from the second month of the present new year; a year that promises more than the  novelty of 366 days instead of the usual 365. Changes and options are approaching in an unusual speed, most of them mostly good. Others, like vampire love stories, tire me, for they have been the same too often, for too long.

And as the sun sets and the breeze gets colder, so do I, submerged in this world of mine so filled with double binds.

I was talking the other day with someone who told me he believed it was true the world was coming to an end this December. I suppressed my laughter; his intellect (yes, we carbon based entities hold huge amounts of contradictions in ourselves) helped me do that. But I don’t want to talk about the conversation. I want to think while I write… Anything that I could truly want to do or to have in case the world was truly coming to an end, is not something I have any control over. I can’t control it, and this bothers me, me, the person who can tell if her orchid has been moved 1 cm from its original place. No, I will not tell you in specific what lies in the deep bottom of my heart. At least not in this post.

So, I guess life is like a book. Why do I always create a simile between complicated things and simple things? Who’s to know? But well, a good book can describe water in a bowl, simply that, and marvel its readers while at it. A life and a book can be composed of simple things, but nonetheless be meaningful and worth having. Both are unpredictable and give you surprises, and not all the time what you wish to happen will happen. It’s neither good nor bad; it’s just how the story goes…


The eleven, twelve and two thousand

The new year was welcomed with bright lights and loud sounds in the dark. It was windy and chilly outside, as chilly as it can be in a tropical country’s summer night. I couldn’t help to remember the past occasions when a view very similar to that one took place along with a dog scratching his fear away on my legs. Miss him. I’ve never been a fan of fireworks, and dog claws are not the only cause of that… they are just so loud (it annoys me a bit… or more than a bit), and many people end up in hospitals because of them. If seen from far away, they are an ears safe beautiful visual experience.

The old 2011 was a year like any other for me, full of free time, books and intensive work sprints. The year that has left us now was a great teacher of the lessons I keep learning on and on through my life: rely on my own, keep on hoping for the best, walk on. The year has also fed a strong suspicion of mine: my life is not meant to be normal.

Changes life brings from time to time are exciting and a bit scary too, and every new year turns our heads in that direction of thoughts. I’ll slide to the comfort of memories. Memories where I’m throwing grapes to my grandfather’s mouth for him to eat (no, I was not 5 years old, that was yesterday); where everyone at home can be doing their own thing but somehow together; where chairs break under people’s weight and nothing bad happens, just jokes and giggles; where I can wake up at 8 am with no rush to getting ready and go out to education or work duties; where trips in old but new trains happen; where kids learn to ride bicycles; where money is a luxury and not a necessity; where sisters find a new deserved happiness; where people graduate and swear not to place a foot in a university ever again (the library doesn’t count); where green lives; where attempts of cooking happen successfully and unsuccessfully; where some small or big amount of rain falls down each day for months and months; where laughter attacks burst so strongly that people have to run to the toilet; where life happens and everyone I care most about survives it.

In 2011 I found the love of my life. And I lost him numbers of times. I guess it’s good to see that some things will not change immediately with the beginning of this year…

The brand new 2012 received me at an early hour followed by an internet connection use, a sports bra, a cereal and milk breakfast, some salt and some water, and obliged meditation. I have no resolutions, but hopes –slash necessities– as it follows. A good job, a reconciliation between my childish heart and my centenary mind, answers for some of my many questions, strength, lots of laughter, and strawberries all year long.

Happy new year wishes for everyone.