The Andvari May

  Escribir, para mí, es cuestión de varios elementos. Inspiración (el cual se manifiesta en una serie de pensamientos profundos mezclados con una sensación intensa de ahogo). La canción perfecta a ese desahogo (la cual escucho al momento de escribir, pero ya he venido escuchando durante varios días). Para el momento de escribir, ya tengo claro qué es lo que dicha canción me produce y cómo esto está relacionado al tema. Y, el ambiente del lugar. (Normalmente, no pienso en qué lugar quiero escribir, sino que cuando llego a un lugar y conecto con el mismo, y ello con las emociones e ideas que he venido cocinando, entiendo que es en ese lugar y en ese momento dónde debo escribir). Hoy, sin embargo, aunque tengo la canción, tengo el lugar, y tengo las ideas; tengo también otro elemento... ¡Miedo! Tengo miedo de expresar lo que pienso... tengo miedo de dejarme llevar por las ideas embotelladas... tengo miedo de quitar el tapón sin querer quitarlo. Tengo miedo de mi arrogancia y de mi vul...

IF YOU SEE, YOU'LL READ ME! I am deleting all my social networking apps. Sadly, I can't delete WhatsApp because is very recursive for my job. Important information is passed down onto us teachers through that means. I don't remember needing to know everything about everyone. It was enough just a couple of minutes with my peers, most of the time, sitting on a curb on the streets catching up while laughing and making jokes on each other silliness.  I wake up in the morning and I grab my phone more for wanting to check Facebook, Instagram, and then WhatsApp (if not other apps). That's the first thing I do in the morning, and quite often the last. With that, it comes the tendency to become a part of that vicious surreal world by posting pictures and information about your whereabouts and goings. It's as if you were willingly castrating your own freedom by believing that somehow, other people care about your life events, when clearly, despite the many likes, they don...

  The natural instinct when being broken is taking a hide. There are several reasons for it, I guess. Either you don't want for others to see you vulnerable, or the pain drags you into darkness for it is there where it lives. In my case, I have a very particular, yet not unique way of dealing with the pain of a broken heart. It seems that for me catching up with reality takes some time, but when I do I sink in the pain and hit rock bottom.  I still remember the day I was told my grandfather had passed away. I was in a cab with my sister. We were headed to the airport to take a flight to get the chance to see grandpa one last time before passing because we already knew by then that his passing was inevitable. We received the news and my sister started crying unstoppably. I just couldn't believe it. I felt guilty for other reasons I'm not gonna talk about in this post. But, I felt guilty and blamed myself for not having another chance to see him. This trip took another color....