Useless Concern

If I were famous, I´d still have a secret alias to express admiration in my place
without it being tinged by the fact that I am indeed me.

Libros Usados

Post-it encontrado detrás de la puerta del baño real:

Basta con la virginidad de los libros como gran valor. Un libro usado, que te llega via Ebay, tiene esa marcha de más que a mi me recuerda la biblioteca de mi colegio... ¡y encima cuesta tanto menos! Tanto que tiene el gusto del robo y la ganga (that damn sweet taste). Cómo es que uno tarda tanto a veces en entender cosas sencillas. Saludop. Taluegop.
María Carolina, Infanta de Kijara

Nostalgia

I´m a little sad when I don´t know how to communicate an emotion I have. You may say well sad is a pretty easy thing to communicate. And I might reply yes but sad is all that comes through to you while there´s really a bigger dimension which is there´s something I need to express but am unable to, and that´s why I´m sad... and embarassed to be sad and not furious.
Knowing that nothing I feel may actually be unique only makes it worse... others have felt this but I will never find them in the position to talk about it and even if I find them, the emotion may be similar but it will never be a complete match. I miss my childhood, who can help me with that? I miss my mother and my dad and my brothers and their families and the mentors and mother-sister-teachers who shaped my soul, the feeling of being completely protected from harm and loss, I miss my dogs, my cats, my gardens in their golden seasons, my pony, the scent of jasmine and tangerine and basil filling my brother´s land rover, the feeling of my whole life ahead of me, water from sweet streams bubbling around my feet, the red earth, the always important festivities which interrupted work and study and which were the perfect excuse to feel the day was special, the music seeping out of houses at all times. I miss ASA, how fabulously frivolous our concerns were half the time, I even miss sitting down at my glass desk at home to do homework I had probably already half finished in class, or sitting at the piano and taking in that scent of pine which drove me mad with belongingness. Or the school library, where I often stayed long in to read the most meaningful books that were to become the underlying geography of my mental... skyline.
So what the hell, I´ll start by feeding it to you generous, pious people, and doing so as best I can, sacrificing many an aspect of narration... and then stop abruptly, maybe half admitting that I already feel a little better. So much so that I leave. Seeya.