Happy Holidays!

Woah! I haven't posted a blog in ages! I've been busy at school, going out with friends, writing and reading (a lot)... But I'm back! My senior year is going good so far and I'm so psyched about going to college in a couple of months, but I'm also nervous: it will be the first time I'll leave my hometown, leave my family for many months on end. It will be also the first time I'm going to have to adapt to a new place and get to know more people, as I'm going to a town I've only been twice on holidays.

Anyway, that aside: MERRY CHRISTMAS! It's Christmas Eve and I'm at home with my family and I wish you all have a very happy Christmas and get lots of presents, hugs and kisses :)

2009 is almost over and what an amazing year it has been. Sure there were some worse moments, but overall, it's been a great year. The Summer of '09 was one of my favorite ones and you got to follow me through it through my blog. Time seems to go by so fast and when we look back at it, there are so many great and even some not so great moments, and you can't help being amazed at how far you've come.

"Tempus fugit" something I learned in Portuguese this year about the philosophy of Ricardo Reis. Time flies. It's true. One moment we're in the beginning of our High School years and thinking you have all the time in the world to make your decisions; the next moment you're already halfway through your senior year and your future just doesn't seem so far away.

2010, for me, will mean a lot of things: new beginnings (in every meaning of the word), new adventures and, as always, discovering something new about myself in this long journey I'll endure my entire life, trying to find out who I am.

So Merry Christmas and Happy New Year :)
"Let's hope it's a good one without any fear" :D

Last year.

It feels weird to arrive at school on the first day and realizing it's the last first day you'll ever have at that school and at high school in general. It's weird to know that will be your last year at the school as well. You're a finalist, a senior! Twelve years of hard work and your education, in the school you've been for all those twelve years, is almost over... I'm anxious and surprised simultaneously: anxious, 'cause this year I have a pretty good schedule and some pretty cool subjects - what better way to end high school could there be?; and surprised at how time flies and we don't get a grasp of it until the very last seconds.

Passion.

I sometimes see people who dream about being singers, actresses, dancers, etc, since they were little kids. I would be lying if I said I always wanted to be a writer. It might be my passion now, but I wasn't always too fond of writing. As a kid, I always dreamed of being some sort of entertainer: dancer, singer, actress... - but all of that was shattered when my confidence vanished. I guess people telling you over and over that you're not good looking enough and don't sing well and don't act well, sometimes can make you believe that what they say is true and therefore, to you, it becomes a fact and not just a subjective observation made by a person. After those dream jobs, the other jobs I dreamed of having also had nothing to do with my current passion: teacher, flight attendant, archeologist, etc.

Although my love for literature was a late bloomer, for as long as I can remember I've loved telling stories or making up stories. I always had a very vivid imagination, I guess. As a little girl, I'd spend hours playing with Barbies and all other sorts of dolls, making up stories. I always loved movies, so most of my ideas had a lot to do with movies that I watched. When I was in primary school, I developed a love for drawing and people sometimes praised me for my drawings, even though I still don't think my drawings are anything special. I still remember my first grade teacher insulting me, because to fill the sky in my drawing, I drew a small cloud. This love for drawing kind of made me come up with a comic book story and characters. I called it 'La Cucaracha'. I even thought about become a comic book artist, but that idea didn't last long.

After this, when I was in the 4th grade, I was very bored one day, and grabbed some papers, a few pencils and began writing a small twelve page book complete with illustrations. I just remember it was a sadistic story that happened in an island. I kind of liked writing it, but it wasn't until the 6th grade that I picked writing up again.

Like I've said before, I wasn't always too keen on reading / writing. It wasn't until we were asked to read a book in the 6th grade and do a report on it, that I actually began reading books. I started with teen / children fiction books - some books I probably would never read now. And that was when my love for reading began. In the 7th grade, a friend of mine and I began a book in portuguese called 'Cleo', which was the first out of the three or four part saga we had originally planned. We only wrote the first and half of the second before we stopped.

Once again, after that, I kind of abandoned writing and thought about becoming a fashion designer or a lawyer, but once again those dreams never really stuck around. I only went back to writing towards the end of the 8th grade / beginning of the 9th grade, when I began writing a story which I never finished. It made me realize that I still loved writing, so throughout the 9th grade, I began writing a lot, specially fanfiction.

Fanfiction was actually the main reason I began falling in love with writing again, and I decided to move on to my own original fiction again. Now my current dream is to be a published writer and I'm going to do anything to fight for that. I realized that writing was the only dream I knew I could fight for and I've gained more confidence in myself and in my own stories and poems ever since I began writing again. Whenever I come up with a new idea, I feel this happiness and adrenaline I rarely feel. For some reason, I feel like I have so much to say to the world and writing is kind of an outlet in that aspect.

Actually, I don't want to sound pretentious, but I want to be the next Arthur Rimbaud.
His writing amazes me in every possible way. He is definitely my biggest inspiration in writing. I can't judge my own work, so I can't tell if it's amazing or just average, but I can't see myself doing anything in my life that doesn't involve writing. I've to picture myself in every other dream job I 've had, and I just don't think it's right for me. My other dream is related to writing: traveling the world and find inspiration in other places and cultures.

I guess my passion has always been storytelling, but now I've finally found my way to express that passion.

Momentary happiness has a price...

...writer's block!

-facepalm-

Prescription.

Diagnosis:
self-deprecating

  /ˈsɛlfˈdɛprɪˌkeɪtɪŋ/
–adjective
belittling or undervaluing oneself; excessively modest.

Prescription:
confidence

  /ˈkɒnfɪdəns/
-noun
belief in oneself and one's powers or abilities; self-confidence; self-reliance; assurance.

Serious Message.

B I T C H .

You're not Willy Wonka.

I had to say it :3
Can't be depressing all the time D:

Quote I Love

"And then, there's another kind of love: the cruelest kind. The one that almost kills its victims. It's called unrequited love. On that I am an expert. Most love stories are about people who fall in love with each other. But what about the rest of us? What about our stories, those of us who fall in love alone? We are the victims of the one-sided affair. We are the cursed of the loved ones. We are the unloved ones, the walking wounded. The handicapped without the advantage of a great parking space!"

- Iris Simpkons (The Holiday) -

My letter to no one.

I don't remember how it feels like to feel... normal. For years I've kind of been depressed the majority of the time. It doesn't look like it, because I try to transmit optimism that I sorely lack to other people. I don't really know why I am like this, I don't really have any problems that could make me this way. I love my parents and my brother, no matter what; I adore my friends, who I think care about me (I will get to why I don't say I know); I do well in school, or at least better than average... So why could I be this way?

Ever since I was twelve, I've had some suicidal thoughts, probably because I had a reality check and didn't like it. I've looked out of the window and thought 'Maybe I should just jump. Not like anybody would care...' Then throughout the 7th and the 8th grade, I kind of didn't feel like I belonged with my friends, I felt like nobody really got me, I felt misunderstood. But I guess many people feel that way. But I wasn't suicidal. I was actually kind of cheery and optimistic compared to lately.

By the time I was in the 9th grade, I began to feel like I belonged with my friends, and this became stronger in the 10th grade when I began to discover who I really was, although I think my journey hasn't ended yet and I'm still prone to change. 10th grade I began to feel love again. In the 11th, I never felt more depressed and happy at the same time because of it. Rejection had its advantages, but it's still not an easy thing to take. But my suicidal tendencies didn't return because of that.

Sure love played it's role, but I think I just care too much about people. I listen to others and try my best to comfort them, and sometimes, involuntarily, I get dragged into their problems. And I sometimes don't know anymore if that's the only thing people really think of me: as the person who is there always to listen and to give words of wisdom, when all she feels is like she wants to end her life! I love helping people, but then I feel like if I were gone, I wouldn't make a difference.

And that's why I'm not sure if my friends really care about me. I love them, don't take this wrong, and they are probably the only people in the world, besides my family, I'd do anything to never see them the same way I am. But I can't really help can I? What good can I do? Apparently all I'm good at is creating more drama and being egocentric. Fuck, I don't really know if I died if I would make a difference. I'd like to die and see who would cry for me and how would people react, then come back to life and maybe, just maybe, I would be sure again. Sometimes the only thread keeping me from trying something stupid is my family, because I know my parents and my brother would take it the hardest.

But people think I am very good at giving advice, when the reality is: I don't know much. You ask me about love, and all I can tell you is about my delusions and broken hearts. You ask me reasons to live, and all I can tell you is phony bullshit because that's exactly what I need. You talk to me about your problems, when I already feel so low, feel worthless and sometimes don't know why I care so much. I'm probably worse off than you. I probably am dumb and I'm just pouring out my sorrow onto you, like at this precise moment.

I don't like who I am, I don't think I'm a good friend, I don't think I matter.

And I try not to cry, because I want to be strong for others. I don't want to be vulnerable. I want to fight, I don't want to give up and I don't want people to think I even think of giving up. I smile, I laugh, I tell you to do the same. I want to see you happy. But I don't really know what I can do to feel happy.

I try so hard to think another way, but then I dig myself a deeper hole, whether with my own problems or other people's problems.

I am too ambitious. I want all my dreams to happen. I dream a lot. I dream about writing and nothing makes me happier than seeing people reacting and writing is my way of escaping whatever I'm feeling at that moment. I often watch people's reactions while they read or watch a movie that I've already watched. It's something that fascinates me. I want to leave my mark. But that is too ambitious of me, and I doubt it will ever happen. But I won't give up on it.

And no one's advice can really help me, because no matter how many people have been through the same, I always feel like I'm alone in this, and nothing you can do or say will help me. I'm a lost case. If you hate me, I say I don't care, but I feel hurt, if I care about you. If you insult me, I'm too numb to feel the insults sting me, 'cause I've heard too many insults throughout my life that I can't even feel bad about them. If you love me, I probably might doubt it, and I don't know why.

I guess you're probably sick of hearing about me, but I just felt like writing this. Yes, it's probably egocentric. And maybe I am selfish. Maybe I'm a liar. Maybe I'm fake. I don't really know anymore. I don't like who I am. I lie to protect others and others hate me for it. I pretend I'm strong and fine and others think I actually am like that. Tell me, who am I?

I'm going to end this now. I think I've said it all.

The glass.

The glass:
It's not half-empty;
It's not half-full.

It's completely empty.
It was barely ever full.

Give me a reason to fill it again.

I need to let this out...

F U C K !
FUCK! FUCK! FUCK! FUCK! FUCK! FUCK! FUCK! FUCK! FUCK!
F U C K !

Okay, I feel much better.

Drawing.

I drew a smile,
And put it on my face,
And faced the world,
Standing ever so tall.

I drew a frown,
And threw it away,
And hoped the world,
Wouldn't seek it at all.

I drew a laugh,
And freed it to the world,
Seeing if all the colors,
Wouldn't fade to gray.

I drew some tears,
Kept them in my pocket,
And from the light of day,
I hid them forever.

I drew myself,
And hated the result,
So I crumbled the drawing,
And let it rot away.

G R A Y

When you're in love, there are two extremities: the one where you love someone and that someone loves you back; and the one where you don't feel love, don't want to feel love and no one loves you back.

In both, it's a win-win situation, because if you never felt love, you don't know what you're missing, and if you love someone and that someone loves you back, you are happy too.

But there is always a damn middle term to screw all of this up! The one where you love someone and that person doesn't love you back.

Why do I always have to belong to the middle term, the gray area?

I sometimes would prefer to be in the worse extremity,
the one where I'm immune to love.

Remember.

Remember that no matter how bad things get, how much you feel like you want to give up on everything and how shitty you feel about yourself, there is someone out there who will feel your loss if you decide to end your life. Remember you are never alone, even if you sometimes feel that way. Remember every bad thing that happens in your life will only make you stronger.

You are not weak.

You are not afraid of facing life.

Don't forget about the people who would cry and would suffer for what you did.
Never think there is no hope left for you - your light will come, sometimes you just have to wait.

Don't drown yourself in darkness.

Remember that.

Sometimes...

Sometimes I just feel like falling down to see who will catch me.
Sometimes I just want to fall asleep and see who will be by my side, if I wake up.
Sometimes I just think that nobody will be there to catch me and nobody will be by my side.

Sometimes I just want to end it all...

But I just can't, because sometimes I still have hope.

Prayers For Bobby...

...was an incredible movie!

The Meaning of Life

Is there really a meaning to life,
if everything we know and treasure
is merely temporary?

Contradiction.

I WANT NOTHING.
n o t h i n g . a t . a l l .

A n d y e t . . .
I WANT EVERYTHING.

Nostalgia.

I miss the days when you could set all your worries aside and run as if the day would never end and believe in every miracle and magical happening in the world; the days when I would write to Santa Claus and be too anxious to fall asleep on Christmas day because of the presents; the days when I'd pretend I was a princess and believed that one day my prince charming would arrive and swoon me and we'd fall in love and we'd live our own happily ever after... I miss not feeling hurt, I miss believing in myself...

Whatever happened to all of that?

Oh, wait. Of course I know the answer: I took off my glasses and saw the truth. Oh well, c'est la vie!

Fear

Fear: it controls us,
Makes us its submissive puppets…
We never question it, we just simply...obey.

Why can't we merely say no?
We deny so many things in life. We are greedy:
We want everything we find pleasurable
And shun what we deem evil.

Fear is the biggest barrier to many of our greatest achievements
That just never had the opportunity to happen.

And even after denying the title of cowards,
Even after regretting all the words you wanted to speak, yet never uttered,
Even after being on your death bed, writing your will,
Thinking of everything you could've conquered, but didn’t,
You still. Can't. Let. Fear. Go...

I'm kind of...

bored
sad
homesick
depressed
feeling alone
blue

I'm F I N E.
Just, Fine.

Easy?

It's so easy to talk about what sucks in life.
It's so easy to be pessimistic and to whine and rant
About why you think your existence is indifferent in this world.

It's all way too easy...

Then why isn't it easy to talk about the stuff you love,
Getting the words out of your mouth and hoping you do the people you love and care about justice?

Or maybe it's just me...

Verses I Shall Never Recite.

Could you be my Arthur Rimbaud and reinvent my rusty love?
Find me eternity and teach me to be as free as a dove?
And I shall promise you sincerely infinite times and more
That I will love you even when I can't see the sun anymore.
And I'll try my very, very best not to be like Paul Verlaine,
'Cause I vow on the moon and stars to never ever bring you pain.

Reading In The Dark

The darkness wears over me.
Merriment just became misery.
And all I can faintly see
Are remnants of what there used to be.
Everything becomes an illusion,
A mere figment of our restless imagination.
We all decide what to be believed,
To yet again by another lie be deceived.
All we need is that little light to guide us the way,
So that in clarity we shall eternally stay.

Self-Portrait

"La dernière innocence et la dernière timidité.
C ' e s t d i t .
Ne pas porter au monde mes dégoûts et mes trahisons."

-Arthur Rimbaud-

Snapshot.

Being behind the scenes is better than being on stage as the main actor.
Being behind the lenses is better than being the person who is posing for the camera.

Life is your stage.
Now, please strike a pose!

Yes, I am happy.

Yes, I am Happy.

I have the best group of friends, great parents, an awesome brother... I am happy.
People say I write, draw well and am very smart... I am happy.
I am true to myself and have pride in my uniqueness. Why wouldn't I be happy?

I think I don't have any talent whatsoever.
I don't believe in myself.
I have a lot of self-loathing within me.
I smile, even though deep down I feel like screaming and crying.
And even if I considered what I do well 'talents', I feel empty at times
And yearn for something I will never have even in my wildest dreams.

If people ask me: How are you? Is everything good?
All you'll get is a simple and vague: Fine.
'Cause that's the best mask for when you constantly feel sad.

But yes, I AM happy.

Win At Life

We are failures at life. We were dragged inevitably by our emotions, ending in delusion, a catastrophe of a phase of our lives. We suffered. We cried. But did we fail? Are a cup of suffering, a teaspoon of despair and a pint of temptation to give up on all our ambitions and all our dreams - all of this obviously a merely temporary state of mind - the recipe for defeat in life? A tragedy happens. Is that reason enough to let the days go by and not do anything at all to stop being pathetic idiots who whine about their sad, miserable lives? Time doesn't wait for us: it's cold and cruel. So the opportunity to seize our lives is entirely and only ours. If we waste it, it's our responsibility. But how do we invert this destiny?

First, we have to avoid being pessimistic. If we are pessimists, we think life is insignificant - we have a nihilistic view of our life - and that's how we end up letting the most important moments of our lives fleet by us. We have to get up from that chair of obscurity in which we've been swallowed into and say "Today is the first day of the rest of my life, and I will live it as my last!" And we have to believe in those words. And living every day like our last is loving, it's being with friends and family and people you care about and have fun with them, it's finishing checking that endless list of things you want to do before you perish from this world... It's thinking about the now and leaving the worries of tomorrow aside.

Secondly, we can't ever stop dreaming. Sure, as we dream, we also fear: fear we can't conquer our obstacles, fear of delusion... But we can't let these be a barrier to the journey we make throughout our life. Actually, they should be our impulse, our motivation to make our dreams come true, to conquer our fears.

And the last step is: we create our own destiny. We can't be alienated by fatalist thoughts and we can't stop believing that we don't have the power to change our whole destiny, change the ending of our story, our tale, our book. We all have that capacity. We hold the destiny in our hands and we mold it like plasticine, and it can become anything we want it to be.

This is the recipe for victory.

Now let us rise from this hole of misery in which we've buried ourselves, and let's get out! Let's explore new horizons! Let's socialize with our friends in an outdoor coffee shop with the sun shining above us in a beautiful summer day! Cross that - the place and the season don't really matter: just go! Life's short and the world is so big and so ours. Forget what we said before. We are not failures at life. We are winners!

Winds Of The Past (Story)

There are some things that happen in life you just don’t have any control over: failure, success, who you fall in love with… When you are young, you have these big ambitions and dreams, and when you’re older you love to recall the days you were naïve and innocent.

I must admit that I was slightly nervous about meeting you after all these years. After all those unreturned calls and letters you sent me, all those moments you probably needed me and I failed to be there for you. I’m probably not your favorite person in the world right now. Yet as you enter this noisy, small dinner, the only place that came to mind at the time, your face shines with happiness.

You weren’t hesitant in hugging me and asking me what seemed like million questions about my life. No signs of hurt or anger. Or maybe you just didn’t want to make this encounter awkward. You hadn’t changed much: your hair was slightly longer than the last time I had seen you before that summer when I moved; you had a slight tan, giving a nice glow to your skin. You looked healthy and confident.

We stayed in the warm atmosphere of that dinner for a long time, maybe three hours, talking about high school – the good old days. We had always been great friends since we were kids. You had always a harder time than me. I was always more introverted, but you were always more insecure. I still remember your loud sobs on the phone on the day you finally came clean with your parents. You were gay. I remember not hesitating one second to go to your house to try to make it better. I still remember how I wrapped my arms around you and let you cry on my shoulder. Your parents hadn’t accepted the news. They were very conservative about that kind of stuff.

That was back when we were only thirteen. I was unsure about my own sexual orientation. I admired you, because you had pride in your own sexuality and you dealt with the shit people threw at you.

You suddenly remembered my first romance back when we were high school freshmen. I had been with a girl and just couldn’t feel the sparks when we first kissed, but you didn’t know that, you thought it was just because we both just had feelings for other people and it didn’t work out. It only reminded me of the reason this meeting could go awkward.

I tried to avoid any topic that could lead to that moment I didn’t want to speak of. You were right in a way. I did have feelings towards another person. But I didn’t want to come to terms with it. I looked into your eyes as you told me about your senior year. The summer before that year my parents dragged me to another state, a couple of hours from my hometown, so I finished high school in another school. That was the hardest year for me, because I was avoiding you.

Then you asked me “Henry, why?” your expression very serious, almost pleading. You had gone all those years without knowing the real reason for me to ignore you and at that moment, that was the only thing that he really wanted to know…

The issue was inevitably brought up. I knew it would be, regardless of how the meeting went. You grew silent waiting patiently for an explanation. Why did I always have to be a coward? Why would I always run away from confrontations?

You didn’t care what people thought of you. But I did. I had to admit, I was very worried of how people would see me. I looked at you and felt small. I didn’t know how to explain my pathetic reasons. They all came out in short, unfinished sentences:

“I-I...Do you remember when-…Well…”

No answer seemed to do that question justice. I owed you more than an apology. I owed you the truth. And it was something I was afraid to admit even to myself. I had done everything to hide that secret. Wore another identity like a mask or a costume. Faked some feelings. I was not proud in who I became.

And yet you still waited for a response.

Why? The answer was so simple.

And suddenly, it poured out of my mouth.

When we were both in our junior year, I had developed some feelings towards you. I had dreamt of kissing your lips and getting my hands tangled in your hair. Of bringing my hands down to your waist and removing your pants and boxers. Of trailing my tongue down your torso… All of these thoughts reserved to my own mind.

I found out you also had the same feelings for me, when we were one day in your house, debating something about history when your lips met mine. Once you parted, your eyes glared over mine seeking shock, rejection, anything except what I did: kiss back. Lust took our bodies over and the next thing I remember was covering your neck in kisses and taking off your clothes, one piece at a time, leaving you bare naked before me. Then you pushed me onto the bed and started unbuttoning my shirt, dragging your tongue down my torso and making me shudder, you knew exactly what I wanted to feel and were spot on with every single touch.

This was all new to me. It was my first time. And I didn’t regret it at the time. You made me experience many new feelings and sensations - some painful, some pleasurable – and I felt loved for the very first time. After that afternoon, nothing could make my mood go down. Nothing at all. You were also smiling and you cupped my face between your hands, turning me to face you so you could kiss me. I felt whole at that moment. I wanted to come out of the closet like you.

But my family, they just couldn’t keep their mouths shut when I got home. They somehow managed to bring the topic of homosexuality up when we were having dinner and my parents were having a heated debate on how they thought that a man should elope with a woman, not another man. I felt myself getting smaller and going deeper into the chair. Luckily they left me out of the debate.

The next day, I went over to your house. All I wanted was to feel your lips pressed against mine, it would make me feel the bliss I felt the day before. I wanted that feeling to come back. Feeling your warm body wrapped around me, I finally let the frustration from the dinner the previous night out. I talked to you about it and you made me feel better. You thought it was best if I came clean to my parents. “I will,” I told him. I never did.

A month later, as I arrived home, my parents were both full of joy. My dad had been promoted, that was the good news. We had to move, that was the bad news. I had met you almost everyday and cherished every moment I had with you. But I never managed to say those three words: I love you. I didn’t want to leave. I didn’t want to tell you either. I couldn’t tell you. I couldn’t accept it either. So I wrote a letter and put it by your door the morning I left, which was only two months since we slept together. It didn’t say much, just explained why I couldn’t tell the news in person and at the end it said “I love you.”

As much as I loved you, I couldn’t face my parents about my sexual orientation. I decided to put on a mask. My mom introduced me to a girl and I had to put my mask on everyday. It would’ve never worked out between us in the end. I couldn’t handle the secrecy, so I decided to put my past behind us.

When I finished my explanation, you were close to tears. I wrapped my arms around you and apologized. Then you asked me another thing “So after all these years, why did you decide to meet again?”

This wasn’t going to be easy. So I decided that words wouldn’t be needed. I took out the small piece of paper from my pocket, slightly crumbled in the corners. It was so light, yet it felt so heavy as I placed it on the table and pushed it in your direction. You read the big letters in a fancy calligraphy my mom had picked out: Mr. Weber, you are invited to Henry Scott and Sinead Metzer’s wedding.

You stared at me, before looking back at the invitation in front of you. “I’m sorry…” I whispered. You were hurt. You were sad. And you were confused. Why had I invited you? Well, because I couldn’t go through with it without my best friend there. Only in front of you, I could take off my mask. Do a ‘striptease’, stripping off all the lies and personalities I had worn, until all that remained was my true self. Only in front of you. You looked at me and accepted it. “I’ll be there.” And I wanted so much to kiss your lips again. To feel your skin brushing against mine. To feel your warmth. But I lowered my head in defeat to life. In defeat to my cowardice.

Our meeting ended like that. Both of us with mixed emotions. I didn’t feel whole, a part of me was missing and I longed that part. You still loved me, but you accepted my decisions. We are the love story that never got written.

And as we walked out of that dinner, we gave each other a friendly, farewell smile. And I saw you fading away in the distance. And a fresh wind blew when I couldn’t see you anymore. It blew away the good memories as I put my mask back on. And I went against it, against the winds of the past.