Friday, December 25, 2015
Friday, December 11, 2015
A Recipe
Ingredients:
A good amount of anything you like
Some patience
A handful of nice people
Directions:
Blend every single bit of life in a cake.
(Re)build broken hearts
Carve some pumpkins for fun
Check if everybody’s fine
Chop the grief away
Close it in a safe place
Cover faces with cheer
Cut revenge out your life
Decorate your soul with affection
Divide moments with others
Drop a spoonful of sunshine everywhere
Fold your secrets and keep them somewhere safe
Follow yellow brick roads
Insert new people
Leave pain alone
Make friends
Melt joy into ice cream topping
Mix the sad and good times in a bowl
Open your mind up to new experiences
Pack everything together and travel
Paint the smiles you saw
Pour some laughter in
Prepare yourself for change
Push away what made you cry
Raise a glass to toast life
Reduce the tears
Reheat passion
Replace sorrow
Salt the sweets
Season your routine
Separate what is right from wrong
Spread love
Sprinkle sugar and cinnamon
Stuff your heart with tenderness
Surround yourself with good people
Taste different, new things
Tie yellow ribbons
Twist and shout
Warm some cookies until they almost melt.
Finally,
Wrap everything up with some gift paper and place it under the Christmas tree.
Thursday, November 26, 2015
Thank you for the company
I’ve never met
you. I mean, I have, but not truly in person. Moreover I know you have no idea
of who I am.
I’ve never
really talked to you, but I’ve heard your thoughts, I imagined what you were
feeling, how would I act if I were you. I, many times, disagreed with
your decisions; found them stupid, because maybe I knew how everything
was going to end up.
I may, at first
sight, have fallen in love with you, because of how you looked – I know,
superficial, I shouldn’t judge anyone based on looks. Or because of something
you said, some song you sang, an act you acted. I somehow connected to
you, or felt I was your lost twin, or lost soulmate, or maybe because we are
almost the same. We agree about the same things, because we think the same
things, and, as time went by, I thought we would be inseparable.
However,
depending on who you are, I may also have misjudged you in the very beginning,
because you didn’t look pretty, or you didn’t have a British accent, or because
I just thought you weren’t at all good, since I couldn’t see the whole you.
Furthermore I may have then wished you would be dead. Sorry for that.
I mean, I spent
days talking about you to my friends, my family, even to unknown people. I
didn’t sleep, just so I could see you. I sometimes waited almost two years to
meet you again. One year. Six months.
Then, we met
weekly. Or daily, when I could literally see you anywhere.
However you,
out of nowhere, suddenly disappeared from my life. It wasn’t me, it was you.
You just simply decided you should move far away from here and live happily
ever after. Or you killed yourself. Or you were unfairly killed. Or you just
simply asked someone to tell me you were gone. How could you abandon me so
easily?
How could you,
after months, years, leave me with nothing, but the sweet memories we had
together? How could you?
I’ve always
wished you well, looked up to you. Now I won’t see you ever again and it
breaks my heart, because you made me cry and laugh like nobody else did.
So I’d like to
thank you, for all the good moments, when you made me stop in time, or travel
through history and for all the times you cheered me up.
For the reason
that there are just a few pages left for the book to end or because the season
finale is tomorrow.
Thank you Emma
Woodhouse, for all your matchmaking, your scheming, all your erroneous
thoughts, which I could so clearly understand when you couldn’t.
Thank you
Matthew Crawley and Lady Sybil for your sweetness, changing nobility’s habits
and for making me immerse in your gorgeous blue eyes. I thank you Dowager, for
your irony towards everything. Thank you Mary, for making me realize I’m
exactly like you, but in the same time so different.
Thank you Pi,
for all your observations about boats and stuff.
At last, I’d
like to thank you, beloved character, who is reading this and wondering why
your name isn’t here. The thing is, I love you just as much as the ones who
were previously quoted, as well as the ones who weren’t. However, the problem
is, this small farewell would turn into a bible of goodbyes, which would lead
me terribly to an infinite sea of tears.
So thank you,
characters of all types, shows and chapters. Thank you for all the company you
keep, and the space you’ll always have in my heart.
Wednesday, November 25, 2015
Saturday, September 26, 2015
Broken by History
She crossed the border illegally and went from princess to worker in a few days. She saw her house burn and her dolls turn into ashes. She lost a father because of jealousy, and went to another place to run away from two powerful uncles.
He lost his family in a shipwreck, and sailed through the seven seas from India to Canada. Before that, however, the Indian economy wasn’t doing well, and obliged them to sell their zoo.
She left a beloved home, a beloved country, a beloved past memory to run from the Nazis, because in their mentality, the way she prayed wasn’t the right one. So she had to move to LA as fast as she could, even though it meant to leave her ill father and a dazzling Gustave Klimt’s portrait in Vienna.
He saw in buzzling New York a new life he would never know in a small village in cold Russia. And the children of his cousins saw, in a balloon, a possibility to flee from Eastern Germany.
She spent months in the middle of nowhere, trying to get anywhere, because China didn’t really seem like a brilliant future for a grandmother, a mother and two little girls.
He never made it to Europe, but his body did, floating in the Mediterranean. He broke millions of people’s hearts. The Earth cried blood and salty tears, as it never cried before, for the boy who lived a little, and moved lots of cold individual souls.
Pieces of History’s infinite puzzle. Missing pieces, molded in a way they would never fit in their original place ever again. The edges would never fit, and all of them would be forever outsiders, lost between Mexico and the US, New Delhi and Montreal, Austria and California, Minsk and the big apple, Hong Kong and Sidney, Syria and the EU. Lost all over the world.
Children's fates, brutally taken away.
The forces of destiny have never been so cruel.
Saturday, September 19, 2015
Teenage whims
"All young people would have their little whims"
- Mrs.
Weston, “Emma”, Jane Austen, 1815.
To get a
whole pizza to celebrate, and Nutella in times of sorrow;
Never wait
for the cookies to be ready, eat the fresh dough;
Be as
impatient as a child; ambitious as an adult.
Selfish and
unselfish
To break
things and legs
Live in
drama and comedy
Tears and
laughter
Skip gym to
watch Netflix,
Skip
classes to fall in love or study before tests.
Immersed in
boredom, but always busy to stop for a while.
To look forward
to a party, and spend it in a corner, with a phone in hand;
Criticize society
and do nothing to change it;
To see
everything in black and white and ignore what’s gray.
Match
summer with ice cream;
Winter with
Starbucks;
And forget
about salad.
To be blind
and have eyes opened;
To shock
and be shocked,
Laugh
continually.
To complain
about everything and generalize;
Find
excuses all the time;
Love more
than it is possible, and hate intensely.
Have hope
when nobody has faith.
See magic
in little acts.
To
exaggerate and daydream.
To see
what’s good in people and quickly believe them;
Be naïve
and spontaneous.
To let
things go and hold on to them
To be and
not to be
To shout at
the sea, and cry when no one’s looking,
To judge
and be judged,
And face
men, women and children as equals.
To
understand diversity and embrace it.
To be, at
the same time, lost and found in reality.
Friday, September 11, 2015
Thursday, September 03, 2015
Friday, August 28, 2015
Scent of a Woman
In winter
she smelled like fire. It was a mixture of new books, cinnamon, orange, raw
writing and sunflowers that made everyone smile at her. She contrasted with the
white landscape: she never smelled like
snow.
Sitting on
a bench, the figure ignored the sights which announced that spring was here:
flowers and birds weren’t interesting at all. The crux of the matter was the
museum’s newest exhibition about Mary Shelley and Lord Byron. She then smelled
like ice, satin and pears; an uncommon scent for an uncommon person, who
refused to wear anything floral in April.
In July,
she was the exact opposite of summer breezes: she enjoyed high temperatures
with freezing air conditioning, which spread her warm scent in the air. Basil,
lilies and burgundy lipstick; dark stripes and round sunglasses, paired with
gladiator sandals, because she was more dramatic than classic tragedy.
Autumn,
then, came as a surprise. She wore white almost every day, as a protest against
“season’s color pallet”. NYFW wasn’t the only fashion dictator there was. She
competed with it every day, with her raspberry and lemons smell. A touch of
washed hair, smoothie and mascara, and she was ready to fight the world.
Her
great-grandmother used to say “Don’t forget to smell the world”. That was now her mantra, her life-decisions
guide, which she religiously repeated every day, while brushing her teeth.
Her life
goal was to show everyone that Carolina Herrera was too démodé.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)