Tag Archives: thoughts

Slipping

Standard

I’ve been off, lately. You wouldn’t say, if you didn’t know me. No one really noticed much.

At school, I’m as good as ever, even more sociable than before. I have good grades, I have friends, I have teachers who like me. I do my work, I answer, I read. But I don’t feel it there anymore.

Out, I am fun to hang around it. I hear it often, because my girlfriends call me every weekend. I’m the one they like to get drunk with. I am the one they want to go out to dance with, because when I go out, I’m almost the old me again. I shout a little too loud, I’m excited a bit too much, I take way too many pictures and I laugh with all my heart. I sing along to the music, but this time around, I look at my best friend with a smile playing on my mouth and pain in my eyes. She knows. She understands. This time, the lyrics break my heart, little by little, while I try to keep dancing to the beat. It’s all fun, because it goes away for a few hours, that annoying feeling in my chest. I’m excited again, about nothing in particular, but I am. And yet… I don’t feel it there anymore.

At home, my mom got the hang of it. I am writing again and being silent again. I write and read and write and read and do homework due for the next semester till late hours in the night. I draw mindlessly, constantly listening to a band she knows too well. I smile and I sit next to her when she watches her series and I hope she doesn’t notice. But tonight she told me I should live in the present and I understood she understood. It’s the words I can’t pay attention to anymore, it’s the lingering, the staring, the waiting, the nervousness, the always talking about the same subject, the nonchalance I play so badly. It’s the constant going out, the nervous eating, the always finding something to do. The constant talking about the future or about the past, as if I’m living there.

And yet, I still count days and hope for a brighter moment in the here and now.

 

Advertisements

Who am I, after all ?

Standard

A question I’ve had to answer for my psychology class and one that I probably shouldn’t answer myself. I don’t know who I am, not really, not yet. 

I am maybe a sum. The sum of all things I love and hate, the sum of the songs I find myself into, of the books I’ve worshipped and the paintings that moved me to tears. A sum of all the people I’ve ever met and whose traits I’ve tried to borrow, or, quite on the contrary, I’ve been mocking merciless. A sum of all the friends I’ve chosen and who stayed, but also the sum of my parents. Yes, I am mostly the sum of my parents: shy, but always determined in my actions, as dreamy as persevering, rational yet always wishful. I am a sum of the decisions I keep on taking, ever since I’ve had the power to choose and up until this day, of the opportunities I’ve had and of my luck, a sum of my destiny’s favours. A sum of the wishes that drive me, of my dreams and of my ambition, which I need to keep on growing. None of all these defines me more or less than the other. I am one ordinary human, but unique in my own way. Unique, just like everyone else.

Maybe I am a huge contradiction. A contradiction between the stars, to which I will always aspire and the earth that I am bound to. Between the optimism that characterises me and the pessimism that takes me by surprise sometimes, between the wish to fast-forward my life and catch up on all the good that I hope to find in the future and the lingering nostalgia of past memories. An infinite contradiction  between right and left, that doesn’t define only me, but rather all of us: between my mind, my thoughts, that scream at me to make sense of what I feel and my spirit, who whispers softly to stop analysing life; and who usually whispers louder than any scream.

The only thing that I am sure of is that I am always-changing: a mirror’s reflection for the strangers, who pass me by on the sidewalk; a quiet girl for those, who watch me from afar, with no intention to befriend me; a loving mother to my little puppy; the most special, beautiful and intelligent daughter they could’ve wished for to my parents; a quirky girl yet always ready to sacrifice herself for her friends. Who am I to me? I am all this girls, all these adjectives, all these words put together and bound with the thoughts that flow each second through my mind, never stopping.

I am someone. But I still need a little more time to define who this someone really is. I just need a lifetime. 

19

Standard

When I turned 18 it felt like a conquest.

I could finally get a driver licence – which I haven’t got until now. I could finally drink legally – which I had already done, but never legally. I could enter that cool club without a fake I.D. – which I never got asked for, curiously, after I turned 18. I could leave the country without having to ask for permission, a could rebel, I could even end up in jail – none of which I did, because I am by definition a nice person. But now I could. And that’s more important than anything, right? The only was in which I took advantage of my new status as an ‘adult’ ( but honestly, that really is just a term, because how the hell am I an adult when I still have phosphorescent constellations on my walls and a huge poster with Johnny Depp on my door, that will never come down ) was to get a tattoo done. Of course, I could have asked for my parents’ signatures, but now I didn’t have to. So, in a way, I took as much as I could from all those newly discovered perks. Oh, and I got a summer job – only for those over 18, okay? AND a really cool credit card, that got me to spend like a maniac. ( quick notice here: credit cards – really dangerous. Seems like you have tons of money and then you have to pay 3 euros for a snack at Paul and the waiter tells you you’re card is empty… )

When I’ll turn 20, it’ll be a change.

And it’s there, you know, it’s visible. You change the prefix. You are officially cool. You are the new generation. Or, at least that’s how I imagine it. Twenty is nice. It’s a milestone, it has a nice ring to it. You’re definitely not a child anymore, at 20, but you can still get your mom to help you out, because you’re a newbie to the real world.

But today I turned 19.

It’s such a weird age, if you ask me. I feel like I haven’t even got an age at all. Actually, I feel like those depressed middle-aged women, because now I am the oldest teenager – not cool enough to wander with teenagers ( not that I would ever want to relieve that experience ever again ) and not old enough to be taken seriously by adults. I don’t even know what to do with my age. I can enjoy all the perks of 18, but they got a little dust on them now, because time already passed and I have been able to be all grown up for a year now. Plus, there are no songs for this age ( feel free to contradict me and suggest a really cool playlist, but the point is, there are no super-known songs for this age) because, probably, even the always imagining lyricists have nothing to say about it. By all means, let’s just all wait for that change of prefix, or be nostalgic about the freshness of adulthood.

However you see it, 19 is nothing but a longer while to reach your feared and hopeful twenties.

url.jpg

21 Days to go

Standard

Taking advantage of my last sips of the delicious Caramel Machiatto I decided to write a bit. I just came back from doing some shopping for St. Nicholas. I bought lots and lots of sweets, tea cups and warm socks for my parents and for my grandmother. I’m very excited about this Christmas. Actually, no, I’m excited about Christmas in general, to be honest. I know, I know, it’s “over commercialized” and so on. I’ve heard this side of the story, too, because one my friends is a very cynical soul ( so am I in general, up to a point ). 

i just can’t help it, that warm feeling inside once December starts. I love everything about it. I get so excited when the first Coca-Cola commercial with Santa comes up in the cinemas, or when Starbucks change their cups to red. I love listening to carols on the radio, all of them! ( Last Christmas was once my favourite song, so yeah…). I enjoy the slight taste of cinnamon in every food and I actually always wanted to have one of those ridiculous red-reindeer jumpers. I can’t wait to walk with my best friend around the shops and buy all kinds of stupid things for the relatives or help her choose a gift for her mum. Or, walking under the lights in city centre, taking pictures. What about those cute Christmas-markets, where they sell mulled wine and ginger bread?

 I mean, how can anyone really hate Christmas?

I agree that the world doesn’t get better for a month, that people don’t change just because they see some lights on the streets and drink more hot chocolate. But it does send a positive message, to spread joy, make people smile. It should be more about that than about buying huge presents, I agree. And, like it or not, I actually think it brings a bit of warmth in this cold months.

 

 My favourite seasonal songs (that you probably never even heard) to cheer up all the grumpy cats out there:

Before I’m 17

Standard

I have no idea where my sweet sixteen year has gone. I think I mostly slept through it, which wouldn’t be unlike me.
However, here I am, the last day of being 16 ever. Creepy.
I don’t really care about ‘getting older’ at this moment, because in the morning I know I won’t feel any different. I’m just in for the cake.
But I am proud of this year. I made fabulous friends, I finally, finally went to a French course, I improved my piano playing, I read the whole SH collection ( give me some credit, it was pretty huge ), I discovered Hannibal, I even learned how to make a Caesar salad – not from Hannibal the cannibal, though.
There are things I didn’t get to do, of course, but there’s a lot of time ahead. A lot of days and hours and minutes ready to be filled with fantastic stuff ( like sleeping).
So come on, 17, let’s see what you’ve got.

20131125-220331.jpg

Happiness

Standard

I was so deceived today to walk past the central square and realize that the Christmas market is closed. It’s obvious that is was closed, I just… Expected it to still be there. I’m very bad at saying goodbye to Christmas. Even undoing the tree, it gives me a sad feeling.
Do you know when you are going somewhere, and you’ve waited so long, but all you can think about on the way is: This just lasts two weeks. In two weeks I will be just as miserable as I am now .
You’d say you are so happy to go away, but that’s not real happiness. I hears something very wise, coming from a rather naive character:

DOUGLAS: No, Arthur, you are cheery. No one’s interested in the secret of true cheeriness.

ARTHUR: But that’s not true. I’m fairly often just completely happy. Like, for instance, when you get into a bath quickly and it’s just the right temperature, and you go “ooooh”. I mean really no one gets any happier than that.

MARTIN: What a depressing thought.

ARTHUR: No, no, it’s not though, because those sort of things happen all the time, whereas you’re hardly ever, you know, blissfully happy with the love of your life in the moonlight, and when you are, you’re too busy worrying about it being over soon, whereas the bath moments, there’s loads of those! Oh, like when you realise your knuckles are ready for cracking.

DOUGLAS: What?

(ARTHUR cracks his knuckles. MARTIN and DOUGLAS make disgusted noises.)

ARTHUR: See, I was happy then! Oh, wait, I’ve got another one!

Now, for those of you who don’t know, this is a Cabin Pressure quote. Yes, I’m a fan of the radio series, especially for moments like these.

20130114-222354.jpg

The end of a bad day

Standard

I am having a very bad day, so bare with me for a while.
Do you ever have days when you just want to kill everyone around you, when you put all your effort to answer others’s questions, when every remark makes you want to kill yourself, when you hope that by hitting your head repeatedly against the desk will kill you, when nothing can make you smile?
Because I’ve been having those for about a week. And today my nerves have been stretched to maximum. I hate those imbeciles that don’t grade us based on our qualities, that popular girl everyone seems to be in love with, that person that is lucky and gets all good grades. I mean, the only one who has a more depressing life is the character in my book. And he was chosen to be a character, which is as good as things can get.
I want to be a fictional character. It would be much, much better. Why can’t Peter Pan come flying in my room? Why doesn’t the Doctor appear in his Tardis and take me away? Why can’t I solve cases with a high dysfunctional sociopath? Why can’t I kiss Jack Sparrow and then save him from the death? Why can’t I live in Barcelona and be one of Zafon’s characters?

I mean, not even Christmas songs can cheer me up, which is something.
Ugh, 3 more days until the End of the World. Hopefully.

20121218-185432.jpg