It should come the day...

It should come the day when it will be enough.

Enough of beating myself up

enough of not feeling self-confident at all

enough of comparing myself too much with others

enough of thinking people don't have reasons to love me

enough of getting better and then fall again in the same old story...

"There's nothing to lose, but our chains"

But what if we are not strong enough?

Even worse: what if we suddenly lost the strenght?

Life is not easy when you feel like crying almost every single day. When you're always tired, with lots of work to do. When you're kind of losing your social life, spending too much time alone in your room. The good part of not having full-time roomates is that you can have your own (and bigger) space, but it makes it so easy to get distant to world. And having such a calm floor doesn't help that much...

Tomorrow I'll work on theatre, physics, english, economics and spanish. Well, I think I rather would say: "Tomorrow I would like to work on" because, I don't know why, sundays seem to have less hours than any other day of the week.

The spoilt part of the land

Fingers are sliding over the keyboard.

It seems they have nothing to say.

No way!

Keeping, always keeping.

Deep, there in the bottom.

Hundred of millions of things happened. I'm still surprised about that, although what else should one expect from a uwc. Shaking one's beliefs, endless theatre crisis, sudden disappearance of self-confidence, lying on the stage looking at the sky and talking to oneself, the return of Paca, Suissane, Italian ragazza...

It is not possible to have a normal life here... but anyway, nobody came here looking for one!

I think that lately I'm getting too much introverted... and I wonder when it's going to stop. I'm almost never feeling like party or going out, I'm even finding myself, sometimes, thinking that I wouldn't mind that much to be left alone in the world for some period...

Actually, I'm afraid of isolating myself too much, but hey, the other way round isn't good either. Heroic tension, that's it. ("Based on psychological term "enantiodromina". Like a pendulum, if our emotion goes to one side it has the capacity to go to the other. 'Black only becomes black when it is introduced'.") --> You see? Theatre was/is eating myself, and maybe that's why these days I find it so complicated to get into characters. Maybe myslef wants a revenge.

Suissane is taking me to the spoilt part of the land she's growing in... and Paca is getting so worried about it.

Tot allò que es fa enlloc d'estudiar

Hui Paca, després de la cançó, tenia quelcom que dir-vos.

http://uk.youtube.com/watch?v=Ptd3NZ4g850

De com es curen els dies grisos

I que millor que detalls, quan estàs trista.
Que millor que trobar-se un kitkat amb una nota de Serena: "NON VOLGIO CHE SI SPENGA LA LUCE DEI TUOI OCCHI!!!!" ...
que trobar-se un poema d'Alberto a la llibreta de teatre. Sorpreses d'abans d'anar a dormir!

Hay una flor escondida

en el medio del rosal,

es la más bella de todas

pero nadie la puede encontrar.

No es porque esté lejos,

ni escondida tampoco está,

es porque como es tan bella

su belleza parece normal.

Yo una vez conocí a esta rosa,

y ya nunca la pude olvidar,

compañera de aventuras,

de deleites y demás.

Si alguna tú te la encuentras,

verás lo bella que está.

Pero no te olvides de decírselo,

porque eso a ella le hará ser más.

Te quiero, Neus.

Suissane

Una flor.
O pot ser no era ni flor, però era quelcom bonic.
Es deia Suissane.

Suissane somniava entre papallones. A ella tant li era si feia fred o calor, perquè allò important era que el sol espurnejara.
Els núvols però, encara que puga parèixer mentida, també li agradaven. Suissane era d’aquelles que pensava en positiu, d’aquelles que se’ls estimava perquè, tot i que li taparen el seu estimat, li donaven aigua. I amb l’aigua, amics i amigues, Suissane creixia.
Creixia, i creixia!! I s’enlairava amb el vent, plenant el cel de somriures.

Però Suissane, com totes les flors, o com totes aquelles coses tan boniques com les flors, era una miquiua coqueta. Més que agradar-li, de vegades fins i tot arribava a necessitar que els que passaven a la vora li diguessin com de bonica era. I quan açò no ocorria, s’entristia molt moltíssim i es ficava a plorar. I també creixia, és clar, amb aquesta aigua salada; però per ser salada, de vegades acabava sent també una mica amarga.
Aleshores Suissane pensava que ningú la volia, perquè ningú li deia les coses boniques que ella esperava sentir. Allò que Suissane no sabia, és que la gent tenia por. La gent tenia por de dir-li allò que pensaven.
De no dir-li prou, o de dir-li-ho d’una manera que no fora prou bona per ella. De vegades el que passava era que els vianants donaven tant per sentat que Suissane era bonica, que creien que no era necessari dir res... com anaven a dir-li ells res a una flor! A una flor tan preciosa que de segur que estaria cansada de sentir carantoines, a ella, que pareixia tan certa i ferma.
Però el que la gent de vegades oblidava és que, de vegades, són aquells que pareixen més ferms i estables, els que més necessiten tindre quelcom a què agarrar-se.

Imatge: internet

What's the weather like?

Vladimir - Hey, Neus, what's the weather in Spain?
Neus - Well... I guess sunny.
Vladimir - No, I mean, in yourself.
Neus - Mmm... I think my weather is like when it stopped raining a moment ago and you're sure the rainbow will appear soon... but it's still hidden somewhere.






Later on, eating bread with oil and salt, I've told him
"You know? I also feel a bit like a hedgehog."


Erizo!
De puntas pinchosas
damaging with dards
those who I love the most.
Erizo!
.
.
.
gris.




A ver cuando cuelgo la tela del arcoiris que aproveché de uno de los tantos paraguas que se me han roto.
Le dará alegría al techo blanco.