Why I'm writing this

I tend to have this big dreams, and when they don't work out, I always come back to the same place: I'm focusing so hard on the end result that I end up hating the process: I'm in this vicious circle...

Anyway, I've always have this grandiose idea of me having something wonderful to tell, and the truth is, so far, I  don't have it. I believe I am good with words, and I can beat about everyone at writing an effective letter. What I am not good at is just letting myself go, just having a pen have it's way. So this blog is me giving my pen free reign. Right now I'm going through a though time, so it may be a bit grim for a while, but, one day, I hope it will be the archive of this wonderful life I've lived.

So, as of yet non-existent readers please bear with me, I promise this will go somewhere soon.

Oh and, thankfully, I'm getting sick of Sarah McLachlan, so I guess I'm feeling better.

And a broken heart

Mending your broken heart is apparently the most demanding thing ever. Two days into this mess, it's evident that this is going to take a while, that all this time self-love and self-respect took a vacation from the soul their place got rusty, and now it's going to take a lot of work to fit them back in. The thing that I don't quite get is, how do you get there? How do you surrender everything that you are to someone else and don't see or don't care of how hard it will hurt when they decide they don't give a crap any more? 

They say love is blind, and they are wrong. I cannot fathom falling in love with someone whose's value you don't see; I believe love is a choice, it's not just one you make right in front of the person when he shows up. Is a choice you make every day and it'about what is truly important to you. Love is about finding this one person who get's just this close to that ideal. What love is is blinding. Loving is like looking into the Sun: it can be so violently bright it hurts, it can be so mesmerizing you forget about everything else.

The question here is whether going blind for someone is worth it. Is it?

I shall become a bookworm

I used to be the kid who had his nose into a book all the time. As I grew up, I don't know what the hell happened, because I still thoroughly enjoy reading, but have neglected the hobby. So next year I plan to to this Cannonball Read thing. I'm not sure I'll actually write the reviews, but I want to read the books.

My list so far is quite short, and is taking input from whoever wants to give it:

1. Life of Pi, by Jann Martel
2. Don Quijote de la Mancha, by Miguel de Cervantes
3. Infinite Jest, by David Foster Wallace
4. Alice in Wonderland by Lewis Carrol
5. Through the Looking Glass by Lewis Carrol
6. Room, by Emma Donogue
7. How to be an American Housewife, by Margaret Dilloway 
8. ?
9. ?
10. ?
11. 
    

Only 45 more books to go!

I love music

It seems to inform everything I do. I'm no music junkie, but I have well curated iPod. And I love listining to it on shuffle while I work. So when appropriate, I will let you know what music informed whatever you just read. I've noticed it can be very telling.

Last post was written to the soundtrack of The Wonder Years, btw. I need those on DVD!

About this H. guy

Ok, so here we go, I'll vent about my concerns one last time and then I'll start writing about rainbows, bunnies and all that. So about me (me! me! me!)

I'm twenty five years old as of today. I live in Guatemala City, where I was born and which is the only place I've ever lived, yet there's something about my and this place where I don't think we love each other as much as we should. My native tongue is Spanish, but for some weird reason, I'd rather write in English... It seems so much easier; I think it may have something to do with having spent the last fifteen years reading mostly in English. Anyway, pardon the eventual clumsy language.

I feel like an outsider (and this is just exposition) because, half the time, people have no clue what I'm talking about, and this extends to most of my closest friends. I don't think I'm exceptionally smart nor exceptionally cultured, I just take different sources than most people surrounding me. I quote from Heathers all the time, but I don't know any one who has seen it; apparently neither Winona Rider nor Shannen Doherty are as well appreciated as I'd like.

I just quit my job. I hated it. And not having a job hasn't brought me down the way I expected, something I'm totally adding to the "you're a grown-up now" column. I'm this guy most people get eventually sick of who prides himself in his job, talks about it a lot and whines  constantly. I've figured that since that is not changing any time soon, I might as well find some fascinating job so people will obligue my bitching about it. I'm currently accepting offers and ideas.

I just got my heart broken, and what hurts the most is that it doesn't hurt as much as I wish it did. I'm terribly afraid of there not being a love story for me anywhere. I want the fireworks, the clumsy first kiss, the sweaty hands, the flowers and the serenade. I want to be fought for.

I'm very afraid of not living up to my own expectations.
I will get over that.
Soon.

About Aspirational Brownies

To say that this has been a shitty year is to understate it  (yes, I know there are hungry people and wars and all, but I'm more concerned with myself, sue me!), but this is also the year I believe I'll see in twenty-odd years and  say "So THEN is when you grew the hell up!". The past twelve months have seen me being my fittest and my fattest, my most joyous and my most gloomy, the most in love and the most willing to hate and punish. 

After this storm, which hasn't quite left, I find myself happy, scared, excited... I've come around to this place I didn't quite remember, this feeling where you look at yourself in the mirror and see yourself so handsome, so alive, so deserving of love, so capable of giving it. 

It may seem vain, but I can tell what my true feelings are by looking at the mirror, and today, I saw this tall, handsome guy, with a face that no longer belongs to a child and this willing smile, this itch in his feet to run and dance. And I loved it.