Since I
left high school and my home country, I have been living my life in phases, in
moods, themes and emotions. I can remember very clearly what happened when…
Everything is coated in a taste, a feeling very different from anything I felt before. The first time coming to America, the first time going out West, the first time seeing a trestle, a prison, a corn field…
And I realized that the reason why I have such distinct memories is because they have been tainted by art – a movie, book, a song, some kind of magic that draws you in an blurs the lines between reality and some other fictional world that you somehow have been drawn and tempted into and stained with.
Starting a “new” life has really been the onset of my initiation into the world of adulthood. I have grown up. I have finally arrived. But I wasn’t graceful. In fact, I crashed into adulthood, loudly, clumsily, throwing a fit. Looking back, I realize now how lovely it was. How twisted and violently absorbing it was to swirl, to willingly let go and be pulled into fiction, into romance, into deep nights of thinking, endless car rides – the scenes rushing past the window like my thoughts rushing through my mind, pulling, having the feeling or being sucked out of my body into my soul and out of my soul into my body. And, my aura. The aura of adventure, of change, that aphrodisiac, the zenith and culmination of energy that makes feel so ALIVE. So FREE, so absolutely mad with sanity and insanity, intertwining people into the sheath of relationships and connections. So many connections were made during my fantastic years.
I stopped them because they dragged me back. You see, they were selfish. They didn’t want me to leave them. They fed on my emotions, they fed on my vulnerability and my lack of confidence and in growing conjured up voices of control and fear.
I was afraid. I sometimes am still and afraid. Of life. Of things, of the fantastical world that captured my heart and my mind and fed me romantic daydreams and molded my realities, the stuff of great stories. But when I crashed into adulthood, the sharpness slashed me naked. Meaning that I would walk into a new phase, a new chapter shaper, more structure, motion-less, emotion-less. And yet, now, I am not lacking in emotion. I am happy. In the strongest way I have happiness in my life and although it is a boring happiness, it lets me breath.
But in being still, the whimsical fantasy has caught up with me, and Oh! How glad I am to see these old companions. They have changed too. In breaking through, they too have lost their fierceness and possessive desire of me and my attention.
Everything is coated in a taste, a feeling very different from anything I felt before. The first time coming to America, the first time going out West, the first time seeing a trestle, a prison, a corn field…
And I realized that the reason why I have such distinct memories is because they have been tainted by art – a movie, book, a song, some kind of magic that draws you in an blurs the lines between reality and some other fictional world that you somehow have been drawn and tempted into and stained with.
Starting a “new” life has really been the onset of my initiation into the world of adulthood. I have grown up. I have finally arrived. But I wasn’t graceful. In fact, I crashed into adulthood, loudly, clumsily, throwing a fit. Looking back, I realize now how lovely it was. How twisted and violently absorbing it was to swirl, to willingly let go and be pulled into fiction, into romance, into deep nights of thinking, endless car rides – the scenes rushing past the window like my thoughts rushing through my mind, pulling, having the feeling or being sucked out of my body into my soul and out of my soul into my body. And, my aura. The aura of adventure, of change, that aphrodisiac, the zenith and culmination of energy that makes feel so ALIVE. So FREE, so absolutely mad with sanity and insanity, intertwining people into the sheath of relationships and connections. So many connections were made during my fantastic years.
And then they were gone.
I stopped
it.
They
stopped.
I stopped them because they dragged me back. You see, they were selfish. They didn’t want me to leave them. They fed on my emotions, they fed on my vulnerability and my lack of confidence and in growing conjured up voices of control and fear.
I was afraid. I sometimes am still and afraid. Of life. Of things, of the fantastical world that captured my heart and my mind and fed me romantic daydreams and molded my realities, the stuff of great stories. But when I crashed into adulthood, the sharpness slashed me naked. Meaning that I would walk into a new phase, a new chapter shaper, more structure, motion-less, emotion-less. And yet, now, I am not lacking in emotion. I am happy. In the strongest way I have happiness in my life and although it is a boring happiness, it lets me breath.
But in being still, the whimsical fantasy has caught up with me, and Oh! How glad I am to see these old companions. They have changed too. In breaking through, they too have lost their fierceness and possessive desire of me and my attention.
Yet, thank you for coming back. I am melancholically
glad to see you…
