Escritos, Lifestyle, Reflexiones

SE QUE NO SOY LA ÚNICA

En el primario era una niña muy contenta

Jugaba en el parque, corría, súper despierta.

Tenía amigos yo a la gente la quería.

Ellos a mí también o al menos eso decían.

En el secundario las cosas se pusieron raras,

Me topé con dudas y cuestiones, me preocuparon.

Me enamoré varias veces, pero al cabo terminaron.

Perdí la confianza, y mis neuronas reaccionaron.

Caminé por la vida hacia la universidad.

No la terminé, no me gradué, esa es la verdad.

Me cambié varias veces queriendo matar la ansiedad

No logré hacerlo solo pudo incrementar.

Y los dolores comenzaron a despertar.

E invitaciones a reuniones empecé a rechazar.

Fallé cumpleaños, recibidas, no me puedo engañar.

Desde entonces hasta a veces cuesta respirar.

Por eso te pido perdón…

Por decir siempre pero siempre que no,

Pues no pude y no puedo evitar el temor.

De quererme ir y que no entiendas la razón.

De sentirme mal cuando salga.

Quiera volver a mí cama.

Que mí cuerpo juegue una mala pasada.

Y después ya no tenga más palabras.

Mi trabajo también fue mediocre.

Al menos así lo viví, se volvió todo ocre.

Mí amistad fue gris, a medias, un desorden.

Desaparecí, me escondí, y llegó el desborde.

Un enjambre cerebral

Que no pude desarmar.

Un bullicio mental

Que no pude frenar.

Y no me tomó por sorpresa

En lo que escribo no hay destreza

Simplemente es mí certeza

Y lo que necesita una confiesa.

Hoy no puedo comer harinas,

Comer pescados, Tomar helados,

Es mi historia hace ocho años,

Es que todo alimento me hace daño.

El día a día me trae fatiga,

Y escribir es lo que más me anima.

Salir al mundo, ese que aún respira.

Volver a sentir, compartir, tener vida.

Y sé que no es hoy mi renacer

Pero tampoco mi perecer.

Solo quiero recomponer.

Lo que dejé de lado y no pude hacer valer.

cuento, Escritos, Highly Sensitive Person, Lifestyle, Reflexiones, Thoughts

Ese Día

Hacía años que el timbre no sonaba.  Y no solo el timbre, el teléfono tampoco. Ya nadie visitaba, nadie llamaba para saludar. Nadie mandaba correspondencia. Bueno, era eso, o ya ni el cartero quería pasar. Las viejas, que antes solían asomarse sigilosas a robarme las azaleas y jazmines de la puerta de entrada, ahora pasaban con sus pechos en alto, cuello estirado, murmurando por lo bajo.

Era como si alguien nos hubiera encantado; a la casa, y a mí. Como si… como si hubieran puesto uno de esos conjuros que duran toda la vida. De esos que solo pueden ser deshechos con grandes actos heroicos y que solo suceden en los cuentos fantásticos.

¡Pero hubo un día… Ah!  hubo un día…

Recuerdo. El timbre sonó una primera vez. Yo estaba muy dormida para entender algo de lo que estaba pasando, así que seguí durmiendo. Después, sonó una segunda vez. A la tercera vez, ya con la mente más activa, finalmente reaccioné. Salté de la cama, me puse la bata y, así como estaba, en pijama, descalza y toda despeinada, bajé corriendo por las escaleras. Casi pierdo un par de dientes al tropezarme con la punta de la alfombra que estaba justo a sus pies.

Pero recuperé el equilibrio. Crucé el comedor y seguí hacia el pasillo que daba a la entrada de casa. Uno metros antes de la puerta, me frené. Ahí donde, me acuerdo, había colgado un espejo cuadrado con bordes de mosaicos de colores. Me miré en él, solo unos segundos. Venía muy desalineada. Me acomodé el pelo detrás de las orejas como pude, me lo había cortado cortito hacía no mucho, y sin poder hacer más que eso, sosteniendo la respiración para no gritar de antemano, abrí la puerta.

Del otro lado, nadie. “Que extraño,” pensé. Y qué decepción, por dios. ¡Me había armado tan hermosa historia en la cabeza ya!

Mis amigos con bandejas repletas de comida casera y bonitos vinos.  Sutiles, de la costa argentina. También llegaban mamá y papá. Ellos traían el postre. Un Apple Crumble hecho con harina de almendras y coco, tal como a mí me gusta, y un helado de chocolate ochenta por ciento cacao como acompañamiento.

Mis hermanas venían detrás con un par de cervezas bien frías bajo el brazo; una doble IPA, amarga y aromática, y una Scottish, bien maltosa y unos snacks para más tarde. Y mi abuela, sí. Sentada en el asiento trasero del auto con su tejido en la falda. ¡Ah! Qué felicidad cuando la vi aparecer. Era lo único que me faltaba.

Pero, en fin, no. Del otro lado, no había nada de eso. En el piso, sin embargo, un sobre color hueso apoyado sobre la alfombrita de entrada.

Me agaché a tomarlo. Me temblaban las manos. Agarré el sobre y, manteniéndome en cuclillas, lo inspeccioné, del derecho y del revés. Estaba escrito mi nombre en tinta negra, sobre la cara lisa. Y solo eso. Ni remitente ni lugar de origen. Una carta para mí… de nadie.

Me levanté, aún con la respiración agitada y, con las piernas entumecidas, caminé hacia adentro de la casa. Le di un empujón a la puerta con la cola y fui hasta la cocina. Ahí me esperaba el café de todas las mañanas, recién hecho, humeante. Me confortó su compañía.

Con el sobre en la mano y la vista fija en él, fui hasta la mesada. Lo apoyé y tomé una taza del armario. Me serví a ciegas. La taza rebalsó. Me quemé la mano. Del dolor, le di un manotazo y cayó sobre el sobre, vaciando todo el contenido encima. Empapado, trate de salvarlo. Lo sacudí en la bacha para sacarle lo grueso y luego lo dejé colgando del escurridor, para que siguiera chorreando mientras iba a buscar el secador de pelo, que estaba en el baño de la planta baja. Con el secador en mano y encendido apunté al sobre para que el viento caliente le diera de lleno y lo agité por un rato. Ya seco, me senté a la mesa con el sobre entre las manos y crucé los dedos, esperando que la carta siguiera intacta. Respiré profundo. Despegué el cierre con cuidado y miré.

Adentro: nada.

Esto ya no me estaba gustando. “A alguien se le ha dado por las bromas de mal gusto, pensé”

Dejé todo sobre la mesa, compungida, y me fui a servir otra taza.

En cuanto me estuve por volver a sentar a la mesa, para descifrar con tranquilidad que significaba todo esto, el teléfono sonó. Me quedé helada. Luego de unos segundos, dejé la taza en la mesa y salí corriendo a atender.

El teléfono estaba debajo del espejo de mosaicos. Era uno de esos teléfonos viejos, color verde musgo. De los que vas poniendo el dedo en los agujeritos y girando hacia la derecha hasta que hace tope.

Bueno, la cosa es que atendí. Pero el teléfono seguía sonando, y del otro lado… nadie. Me asusté. Las manos me transpiraban. Me miré al espejo, con el teléfono todavía en la oreja. Vi cómo me caían las gotas gordas por la frente y el cuello. Quise cortar, para que dejara de sonar de una vez por todas. Pero cuando estaba a punto de apoyar el tubo contra el teléfono, escuché una voz, lejos. Esa voz… La reconocí enseguida. Era Mamá.

Y ahí me desperté. Esta vez de verdad. Me desperté en casa. La de mamá y papá. Estaba ruidosa, como siempre. Pero estaba completa. No faltaba nadie. Y lo mejor de todo… yo también estaba ahí.

Me volví a dormir. Tranquila.

Ma. L Thomas

Lifestyle, poetry, Thoughts

Wrinkle

‘Every wrinkle tells a story’

Since we are born, the only real reason for us being alive is the presence of love.

In spite of this understanding, we sometimes try to avoid it, wishing to deal with no pain at all.

Some souls mate easier tan others, finding their loved ones as life flows.

But, those other souls which have it harder, get into a ride full of bumps and crossroads, not knowing where to go.

They find it difficult to deal with romantic encounters and end up running around in circles, keeping at arm’s length possible kindred wholes.

As time goes by, and most souls have already mated, wrinkles, though in silence, speak their truth, showing how straight or warped their lifeline was drawn.

The picture of a lifetime on a face.

The painting of a loveline, done with a brushstroke, touching the wrinkle of an old and experienced grace.

Ma. Lulu

Lifestyle, Who I am

Dear sisters,

Oh dear sisters,

Oh dear sisters, 

My mind

Is not so blind.

Oh dear sisters,

Oh dear sisters,

Your life

Is not like mine.

Oh dear sisters,

Oh dear sisters,

All flaks

I’ll fight back.

I dont want to be afraid

Of showing you my real face.

I dont want to be afraid

Explaining you my real self

I don’t want to be alone.

I don’t want to have it all.

I don’t want to be a stone.

I just want to be on my own.

I just want to be part

Of something you don’t understand.

I just want to stay aside

Of what I don’t really stand.

I know I can live my life

Not feeling bad about my style.

I know I will live my life

Remembering who I really am.

Ma. Lulu

 

 

 

Lifestyle

Living Redundantly

Wisdom & intellectual abilities,

Won’t create uncontrolled actions.

I’m far away from conscious decisions,

No contradictions or unaware sanctions

Empty souls turn landscapes grey,

Fog drowns the atmosphere in shades,

I wait for light waves to clear my sight,

I wait for deep breathes to emphasize my flight.

I’m a foolish hypocrite, I’m full or tears and fears,

I reveal myself as nothing but austere.

And I’m up & about, my states are elusive,

But again all I do stays inconclusive.

Rejection blossoms in every memory,

So I’m constantly living in this redundancy.

The rational conversation won’t prevail on time,

I’m getting tired, even if these perceptions are mine.

I’m living redundantly

Lifestyle

FASHIONABLE KNOWLEDGE

1491705_10202721913987512_1503589199_nThroughout the last few years I have found myself quarreling with people about fashion in many occasions.

Bringing up arguments gradually became I must for me, so I would make uncomfortable questions, whenever I could, just to make people understand my point of view.

In return, the only thing I would get was resentful and irritated answers pleading for an immediate change of subject.

I really couldn’t fully understand why anybody would feel so driven by it. Why would people think fashion as something to be thrilled by when it only means that everybody should be dressed up in the same boring way, buying the same boring clothes, maybe even only changing the colour?

I certainly could only think of fashion as a disgrace. A disgrace not only for me, but also for the rest of the people living in this featureless and hopeless world.  

Why spend money just to buy the same pair of shoes your neighbour has? Why buy the same dress or t-shirt your very best friend, the person with whom you go out with, bought a couple of days ago?

Why do human beings have this urge of looking exactly the same as the person who’s standing next to them? Why don’t we want to be all different, unique, challenging to get to know?

Are we afraid of being left aside, not fitting in any group, because what we wear is so not trendy?

Am I the only one that’s wrong here? Am I the only one who thinks this way? Once again?

Although all these question keep coming back every now and then, and I still can’t quite get why do we need to be so predictable and stereotyped, I’d like to think that I have finally found a way for me to be more understanding with people.

So, a couple of months ago I started to give this whole scenery a second thought.

I decided to be more considerate to those who crave for fashion. I started to look inside myself. for something that might have triggered in the past a similar feeling in me.

What I found, was knowledge. MY OWN FASHIONABLE KNOWLEDGE.

I know it may sound, at this point, a little bit beyond compare. But please, let me put this forward with a simple question.

Where do we usually buy clothes? Big shopping malls? street-shops? Clothes-fairs? Online-shops?

And were do we get knowledge from? Don’t you think that when we sign in at University we are simply buying our own future knowledge? Don’t you think short- courses are somehow selling us some piece of information? What about work-shops and online lessons?

And don’t take this the wrong way. I, could certainly make a feast out of books, lessons and classes… out of knowledge.

I, myself, wear knowledge in a mostly obsesive way. I must confess that I crave for knowledge. And I dream about it.

I know I really know nothing. I’m 100% positive I wilL never geT to know enough. But I truly don’t care. I want more, everytime. Same as with clothes.

To put this in a different way, let me enlighten you with some personal comparisons that came up recently.

For example; handbags

The Handbag stands for the brain. Ready to let all that knowledge in, all the  knowledge we did choose to buy, but maybe weren’t exactly looking for.

It sometimes carries things we didn’t even know they were there. As when we occasionally come up with an answer we didn’t know we knew.

Red dresses. I like to think of red dresses as information we have already incorporated. Infomation that has been already digested and that we are confident enough to show off.

A Neckless should be seen as information we want to share with the world. Our new discovery. Unlike the red dress, a neckless, suggests information we are still not to sure if it’s valid. Nevertheless, it has already enlightened our life.

Rings are really special for me. In my world, they represent a precious piece of information we have produced ourselves. As it is so expensive, and difficult to find, we are a bit too scared to exhibit it. It could be stolen easily and wouldn’t be ours anymore.

Last, but not least. The new and so cherished eyeglasses. Our new way of seeing life. Our new way of seeing live after we have incorporated all that glamorous, irresistable and bewitching knowledge.

Do you have any special addiction or craving to share?

Stay tunned!

Ma. Lulu

Lifestyle

What makes a difference in life

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Hi there people! How’s your day going so far?

If you ask me, I’m finding it quite hard not to think of this day as a very special one. Not only because, for the first time since I started my blog, I’m adressing to you directly, but also, because today, of all days, I’ll be writing about “passions”. I’ll be writing about finding your way in life and getting to know what you really enjoy about it.
But before I go any further in this matter, let me state my humble point of view about it very shortly: IT’S TOTALLY ALRIGHT IF YOU STILL HAVEN’T FOUND WHAT MAKES YOU SHIVER AND FEEL PASSIONATE ABOUT. Yes! even if you feel you are already “too old” to do so. Even if you feel that the train has already gone by and you haven’t hopped on. I beg you to get that horrible idea out of your mind. There’s no such thing as being “too old” to do what you truly love. And so as for you to understand what I mean, I would like to give you a fine example of this: my own grandmother.
When she turned 70 she started to take piano lessons. She is now 84 and still thrilled by it. We all know that she most certainly will never get to play on stage… But here is when we need to stop and think for a while… Don’t you think she already knew that? Of course she did. It was never her intention to be the best piano player in the whole world. She didn’t even dream about playing to sombody else. Actually, I myself just heard her once.
The truth is, guys, it should be the same for every single one of us. Because It’s not only about being the best at something. Or being known and famous because of what we do. It’s just about enjoying our time the most we can while we are still alive.
My grandmother lost her husband a couple of years ago, and the piano lessos (and her grandchildren as well, of course) is what keeps her going. This is what makes her get up every single day and smile. This is what made her become a happier and better person herself.

A few months ago my mind went back to high school days. In between my memories I found a very particular one; teachers and elders contantly telling us that by the age of 18 we were supposed to figure out what we planned to do as a living for the rest of our lives. A lot of questions came to my mind as a result.

Did I struggle through the process? Did I make a good choise back then? Does the majority of children really know what they want? Do adults know what they want? Are student really guided during the process? Do schools have any idea how important this moment is in a children’s life? I couldn’t help worrying…

The truth is, when we get to that point of having to choose whatever we want to do for a living we ARE NOT prepared. Schools don’t do much to encourage students to identify their own self, their own journey. EVERY single student is introduced in the same generic bag of bullshit, making them believe that they are all the same. They ARE NOT all the same. WE are not all the same. Peolpe have different needs, different tastes, different “abilities”, different ideas. People have different inner urges… and society keeps unifying them!

Some people accept the fact that picking something to do at that age, even if they don’t really know if they truly want that it, is part of life and do quite nicely. Some manage to live their lives happily with no speacila regrets. Some others don’t really want to choose anything if they know it would make them unhappy and take some more time. But there’s also another good deal of people that feel really lost and missunderstood, and that’s my case. They end up picking whatever comes to their mind or what their parents chose back when THEY were 18. The feeling of being lost stays there and  in the future sometimes transforms into more profund.  

What we are not told when we are teenagers is that we ARE allowed to be mistaken and take back whatever we thought it might be good for us… We can start all over again knowing better! Their’s no need to be scared. “Lost time” is not as lost as we might think.  During difficult times, WE LEARN FASTER. Society is scared of making mistakes. Let’s not be!

I want to tell you how this process was and still is for me…

As a 25 year old girl, I’m still struggling myself with finding my own path in life. For many years I was so worried and so depressed about it… During my early 20s I was constantly hopping here and there, every time thinking that I had finally found what I was so passionate about and could do the rest of my life. But It always ended up the same. Me realising that I wasn’t so into it after all. I would definetely get bored in the long run and would feel I had nothing new to learn anymore. That was the point were I would get depressed and would punish myself for it. Even my mom would tell me I was not constant enough and that I should be more persistent. What she was saying, wasn’t so wrong after all, and that really hurt. I was quiting my studies oftenly, I was not finishing anything I started, and it was getting really frustraiting. It felt like I was failing my parents, that I was failing me, and that I was not meant to find that one thing I really loved.

As time went by, though, I was able to get to know myself better. I got to the point where I realised I was, maybe, I little bit different from what society wanted me to be. My inner voice was telling me I was not going to be able to stick to something in particular permanently. And not because I was not constant enough, but because I really enjoyed doing different stuff at the same time. I was always refusing to “get married” to one and only activity, I didn’t want to “get married” to a fixed job. I knew I could easily fall for a wide range of ideas and opportunities as long as it meant to be constantly changing, to be constantly shapeshifting. Getting to know that really opened my mind.
I wanted to explore different áreas, to learn whatever came into my mind. I wanted to read about wine, about food and nutrition. I wanted to know about psycology, to do sports, to get involved with visual arts. I wanted to sing and to listen to music as much as I could. I wanted to write songs, to write thoughts, to cook. I wanted to… I wanted to do everything.

But the question is, was I going to be able to do everything and be good at it? Was I going to fail because it was just too much to deal with? Was it the right way to go? I was really scared (I’m still are).

I had always been a girl who wanted to do everything perfect. With this scenario, I was doomed. It seemed SO hard.  I needed to put things into a balance and decide. What was more important for me? Being perfect (though imposible) or doing all this stuff I loved as good as I could even if that meant making big mistakes? I was so worried all the time, trying to figure out how to fit every activity and not feel overwhealmed and pressured. I still couldn’t imagine doing things wrong. It frightened me so much…

When I finally understood that life is not about being perfect and the best, but, the other way round, about learning and failing to get better and keep learning… That’s when I finally did my shapeshift. That’s when I became a multitask girl who happends to fail quite oftenly. That’s when I finally realized that, if I had to make mistakes in orden to do whatever made sence for me then I would take the risk. I was making a difference in my life, in my entire wellbeing.

I know, you are probably thinking that it’s imposible to do a lot of things at a time and get somewhere. That it’s more productive to do just one thing at a time and get there quickly.

Well, I won’t say no to that thought. I know that for some people, maybe the majority, it is and needs to be that way. But not for me. I mean, If I get bored then I’m done. Sticking to just one sinlge thing it’s not the way for me. And might not even be the way for you either, and you haven’t found it out yet. We are all different, we are all unique. That’s the beauty of life.  

At this point I want to tell you that I’m not all done with my struggles. I have still have worries, and quite a few. I still do, nowadays, get that horrible feeling of being lost. I still , sometimes, get scared when my mind starts to tell me I SHOULD find that one thing to do forever and ever and not be bored with it… The difference is that, instead of getting frustrated and giving up, as I used to do, I embrace it and use it as a trigger to shapeshift once again. I use it in my own favour and think of it in a more encouraging way. Maybe one day I will end up just sticking to one and only thing, and maybe I won’t. But, in the mean time, I just try and live… I just try my best to do whatever feels right for me to do in that precise moment.

Some people meet their passion very early in life, some others find it when they turn 20 or don’t even get there till they are in their late 50s. Some people have multiple passions and there are even some that haven’t found it yet or that will never have one.

The truth is… It’s not about the time WHEN you get there, is not even about having a passion at all. I even sometimes find that word passion sounds a little bit to perfect for me…

But finding something, at least a tiny winy little light in life, THAT’S WHAT’S TRULY IMPORTANT. THAT’S WHAT MAKES THE DIFFERENCE.

We are here for a short period of time. Let’s not waste it guys! We need to start enjoying our everyday life right now!

If you like to jog, then do it. If you like to sing, the do it. If you like to cook, then do it. If you like read, then do it…. It doesn’t matter how good or bad you are at it. JUST MAKE IT HAPPEN WHATEVER IT TAKES!

 

I’m happy I’ve taken these thoughts out of my system. I told you it was going to be a good day!

I’ll be in touch soon folks, please, in the mean while, LIVE YOUR LIFE and keep practicing your shapeshifting abilities!

 

Ma. Lulu