on self-sufficiency...

I've read somewhere that life is that which happens to you when you're not paying attention. It might well be so; as I am terribly trying to live my life to the max and have as many experiences as possible, before I find out it is too late. And isn't this what life is made up of? experiences, happy moments and hurtful times; love and hate?
All these are for me the result of interaction with people around me; either the ones I love and would protect with all my being; or of people I come into more ore less of a collision with; depending on the outcome, obviously. I don't include work here, as that is for me a whole different planet; a place I feel isolated and alone; but at the same time able to be in my own world, which is a more than ideal situation, I must admit.
I've been obsessing over the concept of self-sufficiency for some time now: I've already gathered so many thoughts on it that I could actually write a short book; and the more I think about it the more it scares me. At some point, when deciding a new direction in my life, I thought about this as an attribute that could define me; but then I realized that I was fooling myself, I could never be that type of person. I am addicted to my friends and my circle; and only thinking that it might come a day when I will have nobody to call for a drink on the town makes me shiver.

photo: http://alifeofproductivity.com

And then, of course my train of thoughts derails and I dig deeper into the issue. There are people thinking they are self sufficient; and this piece in particular is inspired by such a person I've recently met. Isolated, alone, but kidding oneself with the illusion that computers, movies, games and such can replace the void only deepens the gap. You don't find insight by looking into your misery, you have to find the root of that misery and pull it out. Unless, and I am more and more inclined to believe this, you can only feel alive when you suffer. Everything else is just too superficial, too little for you. Don't tell me that being alone all the time, and even with people you are in your own world; locked up in your own mind, you will pursue happiness, because I won't believe it.
Ok, I might be over-social; a social butterfly if you wish; but the exact opposite of me won't give anyone a full and happy life. And although I know that a happy life is an abstract notion; we're basically and deep inside all just cut out the same way. So, yes, I do believe that we all strive to love someone. Please pay attention to the fact that I said love; and not be loved. Only by loving you can really feel existence; as only then you have the certitude that nothing is certain or lasts forever, and you might get hurt at any time; but you're still doing it.

So, you might say that happiness is somewhat tangent to self-sacrifice. Just as you feel very warm and fuzzy inside when you're doing a good deed.
When you condemn yourself to self-sufficiency you absolutely lose that warm feeling; but there is still a sort of self sacrifice and a good dose of resignation; which kind of gives you the same taste; and so you live off those truly intense emotions. At some point; they may replace loving someone; but they also leave you  utterly alone. Inside and out.

Self condemning; and self-flagellation, like I like to call it; through self-sufficiency; may hurt people around you whom would like to get closer; but you are the one hurting the most in the end. And yes, it is a bitter and attractive taste; I know; but even that is not something you'll taste forever.

The sadness of it all strikes me when I think of how we all get old and die. Only we can choose if we live our lives or not. The problem is that nobody can make us; and time(that same notion that's been obsessing me for a while) just slips away.
This self-sufficiency deal is so slippery that at times even I wonder if I'm getting it right. It's not about the others at the end of the day; it's deeply about you, the one condemned by a mere notion that sometimes in the past rooted in a vulnerable mid. And don't tell me now that it has no roots, or motive; or it doesn't keep residence in your mind; because I dare say that every shrink out there would raise a brow.
Well, reaching the turning point, where you will probably hate me; I have to state that most of us got hurt sometimes, maybe once, maybe several times; but what can I say? some are bolder and try again; and some...just quit.
I dare say this self-sufficiency idea comes from the hidden fear of not being sufficient enough. Any shrink out there to applaud me? Have you any idea how much it took me to realize this? And do you think it helped?
But, hey, I get it. It is much safer to hurt yourself by isolation and loneliness, than to be hurt by others! I really get it!
Even I am afraid to ask why I understand all these. I am not like this at all; I hate being isolated; I love noise around me at all times; everybody knows me as an extroverted type of gal'.
Last but not least so to speak; I get why the need for it; all the isolation and the necessity to hurt; but I don't understand the weakness; that is something I was not equipped to accept. And even the resignation, the giving up part, that is something alien to me, and I pray to all gods out there that I won't be forced to accept resignation as a way of life; for that would truly be the only time when I would be ashamed of myself.

Derailed, but still in love with the world,
Me.

on the passing of placid Time...

Has it ever happened to you, that when you hear a song you can only think of one person during the time it is sung?
This is the song I'm obsessed with currently:

I find that Italian is one of the most romantic languages on this Earth...as if it has been given to make love to it; as if all persons in love should sing in it to each other; as if you needn't know what it says; the love message is more than obvious. Top that with an excessive romantic mood, a writer's imagination, a little bit of hurt feelings...and you're in my boat altogether.
Looking around me I can see people rushing by, towards actually nothing. They struggle to get a good job, get a house and a car, and top it all up with a beautiful family. Is anybody really happy? can anybody say "Stop! I have everything I want right now!" ? And you know what scares me the most? The fact that time doesn't give a rat's ass about us; little ants that we find ourselves in a hurry towards some imaginary important goal.
Time, this placid Chronos, just dances his slow but steady pace by us; leaving us behind; giving us the illusion that we're actually alive. Do you know when I think we really feel like we're alive? I believe the only moments when we actually feel alive are the ones when we hurt; the ones that would make us scream inside.
Can't we see that this life is only worth living if we are happy? But instead, all we do is anything but being happy. Struggle doesn't mean happy; and it might look like we're getting there; but we're not.
Happy is like when I'm listening to this song and it hurts; it makes me want to be near someone I like very much, someone that makes Chronos look like a fool; someone who can hold me tight until it hurts; but I'm laughing with tears of happiness in my eyes. That someone passes his fingers through my long hair and caresses my face in such a way that my hearts stops for just a second; the same person whom, when he laughs, my breath catches in my throat, for the wonder of seeing the fine wrinkles circling his eyes.  That same person with smooth hair and seductive silver at his temples; the only person dancing always to my rhythm. What better image to evoke the passing of time than the silver in our hair?
 But instead of having his arms around me, and my head resting on his shoulder; dancing to our own song; made up of our own two identical and scary compatible minds; we are struggling each in his own universe; and the magic of our two beings brought together for a short while is mercilessly cut down by the distance we alone have managed to put between us. Still, I feel like I'm alive; and although our time might have passed us by; I am grateful for the feelings that proved I am very much alive, very much able to be cut and bleed out until I can come to understand a small part of the real meaning of life.
So, Master Chronos, spread your wings over us, put us to your test; hurt us and leave us breathless, bleeding and aching all over; but don't you ever dare to pretend that you can take from us that which is so deeply ours: our need to love and be hurt; no matter the challenges you and your friends, the Moirae think of throwing our way.

Bisous,
A mere mortal...

Randomization....on cowardice

We all have a penchant for suffering, for stress, for making our lives more complicated than they should really be. When we're feeling o.k., secure, loved;  we're wondering why is that, or how is it possible; when we're not....just the same.
I understand everybody's need to feel a little suffering, it is absolutely normal; it makes us feel alive; I'm no exception to that rule; but when that melancholia starts to get the best of me I start kicking and screaming and run like hell.
I'm really not the one to preach, as I tend to hover over things, and it takes me a period equal to forever to take a decision; but once I decide on something, there's no turning back.
I admire people who see what they want, or whom they want, and just put themselves out there, vulnerable at times, and grab for the object or person of their desire. There's no place for cowards in my philosophy of life; and cowardice often actually means a weakness of character. Any woman will tell you that she prefers a straightforward man to a coward. It is flattering to show a woman that you want her; but your indecisiveness will drive her away, away to another man's arms. And quickly; because we're not known as the most patient of our species...
On the other hand, it is the duty of a woman (I sounded just so Austen-like; didn't I? :) ) to encourage, up to an extent, the intentions of a man she admires. I find it inadmissible to encourage a man just for sport; just how I find it disgusting to hold on to a man whom has had enough of you. Yes, we're not all lucky in our choices of men; but holding on to him for dear life doesn't make us any more lovable. At best, we achieve his pity; at worst, he will end up despising us. Although, I kind of feel that there's a certain amount of despise in pity as well....
Furthermore, when the object of interest is hesitating; I see two choices: either try or give up. It is not a shame to try; but it is a shame to try over and over again, until you exhaust all hope. In love and war everything is allowed, up to a point; after which there's no return from the path of shame. I don't know about you, but I have no intention of going that way; as experience has taught me that if it's not going the second or third time; it wont. It will absolutely and undeniably not work! So it's better to save yourself some heartache and shame and all together give up in due time.
To be a second option is no option at all. And to humiliate yourself won't get you anywhere, except in the land of utter disappointment and regret. Of course I'm speaking from experience, and I'm curious if there's any woman out there who hasn't been through this same experience as I did.
Actually, it is very simple; we only like to complicate our lives as much as possible. I know that what I'm about to say may sound pragmatic to the bone; but there is plenty of fish in the sea. And if the first one doesn't hook, there's always the next. As most women in my situation, I am very romantic; so excuse me if I believe in a match...not necessarily a perfect one; but as perfect as possible; with a guy respecting and caring for your well being and safety. Because that's what we, women, are all about.
Life can be beautiful, and it is our own choice and our willpower that will do the rest. And time. Time can heal any wound. Just wait and see...

Bisous!

what to read this month?

Sometimes, just to remember where I'm coming from, I like to look over my old articles...and then it hits me: what is today wasn't yesterday, but maybe it will be tomorrow. One thing though  remains constant: I love books. Be it romance, fantasy, science, history or science-fiction, I love them all; and read all kind of crazy stuff.
However, there is a constant love out there, transparent all the time: the love for children books. I loved them since my infancy, I will worship them until the day I'll close my eyes forever. These books were the gates that opened my eyes to the world, made me understand that reading could take me places I couldn't even dream otherwise.
There was nothing quite like a new storybook, received as a gift from my parents, I would stare at it for hours, gently touch it, read it over and over again. When I'll have my own kinds I will gift them books, and secretly watch their reaction... if they will react as I once did, then it's true, children are addictive to the same things as their parents; and I will be truly proud of my inheritance.
A book is an item of worship, a small universe among so much uninteresting reality, a piece of blue heaven on a stormy cold day; the door to a parallel universe; available only for those ready to open their inner eye.
But, returning to my first book love: storybooks, I still have to admit that, as long as I can hold a silly- drawing, enchanting-named and crazy-colored book, life will never be dull, uninteresting or sad for that matter. This small piece of paper can be a time machine every time I open one, taking me back to my silly carefree childhood, and I love every minute of wonder; as I still open them with feverish eyes, trembling hands and wonderous curiosity.

So yes, although I'm already a grown-up, when it comes to books, my heart is still that of a child, finding great joy in beautifully colored books, with short texts, which might seem easy to understand, even boring at times, but having a whole different meaning when your heart is pure and not yet corrupted.
I do believe this helps me never loose my sense of direction, I will thus always know where I'm coming from, and what kind of adult I will want to become.
So yes, October is the perfect month to read stories, either for adults, or for kids, just nourish the small kid inside you, shake off the dust of the years, widely open your eyes and breath in the beautiful colors of autumn, as great books are, just like us, made of stardust....
Bisous,
Ana

Fall is coming.......

And you will see that I'm back, more inspired than ever! I can feel the chilled air moving my brain, resurrecting it to life from the drowsy stupor it lingered in during the hot summer...melancholia once again starts to stretch her arms over me, protecting me from the world outside...while my outside shell is mechanically going through its daily human and petty tasks; my inner conscience is slowly awoken by all the beauty laying on the world once fall is drawing near...

source: google images

Ah! Fall...glorious Fall! My soul has been waiting for you! my eyes have been waiting to feast on all your luxurious colors!

source: google images

Books tempt me daily, weigh on my soul; I would curl up in a dark place, with only but a flicker of a candle, and read...read....read! Mists and shadows, that is what I'm yearning for...cold and damp outside my window...so that I can chase the cold feeling away with a cat on my lap...sipping on some red dry wine or green  tea....

Ah, if only.....


Bisous!

Never too far...

Somewhere, out there, you know...I exist...
Sometimes....very often...I think of you....
Something....is always on my mind... you....
Somewhere...is the place we could be together....just us...
Sometimes ...I could even believe we are real...us...
Something ...is never gonna change though....you...me....
Somewhere...we'll still try to get close...to each other...
Sometimes...we will get very close...and burn...
Something...our lives....will always be so different...
Somewhere...out there..our lives met...in another time...
Sometimes...I believe in you and me...
Something...whispers to me " It's just a dream..."
Somebody....will always stay....between us....

Bisous!