Writing from the crisis within (Thoughts from the eye of the storm of love liaisons)

They say that one should not be writing about anything unless it has already finished it course. Sort of like starting a tale without an ending. Telling accurately the facts from an event while is in development compromises the truthfulness of a story. Lucky for me, I am not here to write about facts, but on feelings.

I’m here to vent my guts out.

Something happened… a while back actually, but only now that I’ve had some free time to think about it… it has hit me, and  hard. Ber warned: What I feel it’s crazy, senseless and lacks of a great sense of logic. But that’s why they’re called feelings, and this is why I do believe I’m in the middle of a seasonal emotional crisis.

Let’s start from the beginning: more than 16 years ago… since I am trying to find some sense of these last days’ consequences, let’s commence exploring the causes. That and because I like to talk about myself.

This is about love, boyfriends, sex and other crisis. I knew you would be interested.

Why do I look so miserable in this pic? Mind me… hence, 15 year old me

The Past: After plenty of childhood, I suspect I’m still a child (childish)

I have always been very mature for my age, but that doesn’t mean I had to quit my childhood sooner than I should. In fact, I’m still so spoiled by my family that I’m highly dependant on them.

This codependency has made me look for approval, love and support almost solely from my family core, which has of course fucked up my sense of need for a romantic relationship.

My household was all the love source I ever needed.

You see: When I was a kid I studied almost my entire life with my twin brother, his friends were my friends. I used to attend school with the same kids for over 10 years straight… so, I never had a boyfriend from school or any other place else whatsoever.

By the time I was 15 I got transferred to an all-girls school… so obviously, no boyfriend prospects in sight. I was a mama’s girl… I could still hung out with my friends, go to parties, the mall, cinema… and had lots of fun while doing it.

It’s not like I was growing appart from the world, I had a lot of guy friends, but I always wondered why they didn’t seem to have any interest in me.

My Sweet 15… wearing a Marilyn Manson t-shirt. Oh, Lord.

The fact that I was already 5’10” tall by the time I was 12 (now I’m 6’) might have had something to do with it… but also I wasn’t very girly girl… I was (still am) a huge metalhead, and as long as I endured my puberty I only wore heavy metal band shirts, jeans, military boots, and -my favorite item ever- a red vest.

My first band shirt ever was a Korn shirt, I’d never forget.

Even so, I do remember a couple of kids that liked me… but they never, EVER made any pass on me… actually, they were kinda frightened.

I know that I am intimidating, especially for a beardless immature hormone-exploding boys that are only looking for approval of pairs.

I knew that, I always have known. But I also knew, that I wasn’t willing to wear pink dresses and cute outfits just to attract boys. I liked myself the way I was and I wasn’t betraying myself. So it was ok.

Now I see that I was a pretty fucking hardcore girl. Nevertheless I also remember feeling kinda sad too, because unlike my girlfriends… I was romantically alone. 

Still, that didn’t prevented me from being a happy teen. I really was.

Crazy hair me giong thru Uni days like I didn’t care

The THEN: Unbothered and silent

Then I got into Uni, I was 17… still never kissed… and abashed owner of an identity crisis while adjusting to the “early adult life”. I loved my major, all I did back then was study, read books, go to conferences, theatre plays, art exhibitions, alternative cinemas. It was a very nurturing time for my brain.

I was very self conscious about the way I looked, there was just one guy taller than me in my 80 student crowded classes. I tried to meet other people, but I used to find them so childish… I lost interest of guys very quickly (yawn).

And this is where the mindfuckery starts… Do I wanted someone that liked me? Yes. Do I wanted to invest my time in a relationship? No. Did I try to have guys to take on a date? No. Did I showed somebody the slightest interest? Also no.

So how the fuck was I getting a partner? Didn’t think that through in those days.

Suddenly I was 18, and I said to myself, well… it’s time for SEX. And I did something terrible. Terribly dangerous. Kids, please don’t do this.

I met some dude on the internet, and make an appointment with him to meet. I wanted to lose my virginity once and for all. So we were getting together and I told no one. NO ONE KNEW WHERE I WAS.

(Now it’s time to stop the story and tell you DO NOT EVER DO THIS. That was extremelly reclkless of me, very very stupid and havily dangerous. I was a very inexperienced girl meeting a strange man. I WAS AN IDIOT. And the only reason I didn’t got hurt it’s because I was very lucky that day.)

A very flattering picture of me

We got together, we chatted a little bit and then we kissed. It was my first kiss… wasn’t great, wasn’t hideous… but you know what happened? I had a laughter attack, perhaps because I was nervous… couldn’t stop laughing.

I was shrieking and couldn’t stop… he just stood there looking at me like I was some kind of a freak. Never happened to me before and never has happened again.

Long story short, he wanted to have sex in the back of his car, I refused… and then I got in his car (fucking dangerous) and drove me home. Never spoke to him again.

From some reason, my friends always thought I was a very experienced vixen… and I never convinced them otherwise. I used to have two good friends, and they would obviously talk long and extended about their relationships… they were ALWAYS in a relationship… and there I was, a 20 year old that has never been taken into a date. Living under the shadow of a lie. I wasn’t envious of them at all, but did I felt kinda sad… and this little drop of sorrow kept growing and growing into a deep swamp with time.

The turning point: Abandon the boat, were sinking

Two major events happened in my early twenties that I think permanently distort my self esteem and change the general image of my id, ego and superego. Can’t quite remember the timeline, but here it goes:

1) For the first time in my life I had an intense depressive episode. My identity crisis took me into a point of no return. I spent days in bed, sleeping and crying… A lot of things were happening at the time, school was hard, life was hard, I didn’t know how to act, how to think, I felt so much pressure… and I had no one to talk to.

I could have tell my friends how I felt, but that would have destroyed this perfect image of the strong powerful woman they had of me, right? That was so egocentric… but I felt it was the only thing I had to aspire. Te goal was to return to that idea they had of me

I didn’t leave my house for weeks, I overate and overslept, I was in this semi conscious state where all I could feel was sadness.

I missed a lot of tests, exams, classes, projects… one of my uni mates asked me why I was skipping classes… I tried to tell him I wasn’t feeling well, and he just said: “I think you are a coward… things get a little rough and you back up and hide.”

That made me reached the very deepest level of my depression, I actually started to think about dying. In a terrible rush of bravery, I locked myself in the bathroom and wrote to one of my friends. It was a desperate shout for help.

I distinctly remember sitting on the floor with my laptop and telling her how awful I was. I avoided telingl her about my suicide ideas, instead I presented her a less worrying metaphore: I wanted  to leave everything behind and go far far away where no one knew me. Start all over, never looking back.

She just said: “Oh, I didn’t know you feel this way.” And I can’t remember what other words she wrote… because they were so unimportant that didn’t help me at all to improve. Years later I realized she wasn’t really my friend, she just hung up with me because somehow she envy certain characteristics of my personality that she didn’t have.

She was a very troubled girl. I hope she’s well now.

Why is this important? Well, this cold act of fake friendship and abandonment led me to really want to show the world that this invincible idea of a powerful, independent and unbothered diva was really me.

And so I did.

I thought I could do everything. And my goal was to sock and allure

After hitting rock bottom I lifted myself up. Got my act together, went to school again, got a killer job and started fucking all the man I wanted. Just like that. 

You would be very impressed to know how easy is to get a man into bed.

2) For the second milestone of my love life, for a moment I guesses than the shore of a normal life was ahead. I was wrong.

At some point I got a boyfriend. It was a weird relationship, long distance, tormented, packed with crying, manipulation and lies. I didn’t know at the time this guy was emotionally mistreating me. I’ve never had a boyfriend before how could have I known better? 

Most of the time he made me feel guilty about everything that went wrong with us. I was truly in love with this piece of garbage. What a dumb.

At last this unhealthy relationship wasn’t very much aligned with my Independent woman persona, so one day, after all of the stress, the tears and the fuckery I said to him: I love you… I don’t know why, but I love me more. What I feel for you will pass someday. In the meantime, I don’t wish to know a single word from you ever again.

And never did.

The chapter is over: I don’t want to be like this anymore

These two chapters in my life shaped the whole conception of what I had about dating, relationships and loving someone. What a booger.

Bottom line, I didn’t need the drama, the stress and all the effort. I had a lot other things to set my mind into. Some other important things.

I had a loving family, a cool gang of friends, and a really good start in my career. I thought I didn’t need anything else. And for many years, I didn’t.

I have had some lovers, but that’s it… nothing more. When a man showed me the slightest interest, I guided the relationship into the bedroom, got what I wanted and then left )ghosting they call it nowadays). 

If I got tired of them, I simply disappeared. And that was it. 

Whenever they wanted me, I was available, it felt good to be desired. I never talk to them about themselves, their ideas, their lives, the yearnings for their futures. I did not want to know them.

And I was fine, until today.

Something silly happened: I’ve been seeing this guy for about a year… we got together once every other month or so… not very often. That was enough for me.

The problem is that I learned that he had a girlfriend, and this is a huge problem for me, even if I don’t want to go into a relationship with him. I won’t we the other woman if I can help it. There is too much drama in that situation that I don’t even want to get involved myself in. 

And, most importantly: Sorority.

If I ever were in a monogamous relationship, I wouldn’t like to be cheated on… even by a woman who doesn’t really want my partner.

It’s over, I told him. I didn’t ghosted him. I faced him. He just said: “I can’t see how I could ever have a relationship with you”. And those words hit me hard. Hurt me, in fact. I didn’t deserve that.

That time when my bestie made a mask of my face

From the eye of the storm: Why am crying?

It is quite odd, you see. How could the words of an unimportant man hurt me that much? A man I did not want. I liked him, of course… But nothing more. So, why… why was I crying?

A lot of things of my past were revealed to me that very moment, and I started to make myself impossible questions. Those men wanted me… but they didn’t like me. They didn’t really like me.

Why? 

Why no one has ever approached to me, and asked me out, for instance? Why they have always kept me in the hiding? Why he couldn’t ever have a relationship with me? Is there something wrong with me?

Now I am sitting in my bedroom, glancing to the digital clock, remembering how almost 17 years ago, when I was a raging adolescent, I was also making myself these same questions.

Unlike those days, my sense of hope has darkened, and my will to stay strong and true to myself has also weakened.

I know I am good person, I know that I like the way I am… but I can’t help but feel saddened about the fact that others might not feel the same about me.

I want to change that, but wonder how.

Is it worth it?

I’m a Sh*tty friend & Prob I’ll Die Alone… But I’m OK With This (Pt.1/3)

Before I went to sleep last night, I saw one of those FB notifications from a contact that shows how long two people on the social media platform have been friends for. I knew them both, but one of them, I used to call a best friend. I haven’t talked to him for YEARS.

What happened?

But first… let me be clear out some things before you get the wrong idea:

Do I care much? No. Do I miss him? Neither. Wanna start talking to him again? Not really. Am I a sh+tty person and gonna die alone? Most problably.

And before you start putting me in your douchebag list let me explain. Hopefully I will clean my name.

Look, I KNOW I am a terrible, terrible friend to have… Not because I do bad things to you, drain your energy, insult you or by any means take advantage of you. No. I don’t do that… In fact, if you do that, you’re an *sshole. Thank you, next.

I am a horrible friend because I really suck at maintaining contact and interest. I will not call you to have a small talk, I won’t chat with you through FB messenger, I will not text you (maybe just in your birthday and xmas). But if you call me or write to me, I would definetely take it where we left off. Could be years ago, but I’d answer as we just met yesterday. I’d be really happy to hear from you.

Call it a social disability that I have.

What happened to my friends?

I used to have a nice squad, you know, we attended school togeteher until highscool, we even started going to the same University! But now I am fairly likable 30 years old lady who has read a few books and watched a shit ton of weird movies enough to maintain an interesting conversation… who happens to have an only friend.

The dilemma relapses in this simple premise: If I don’t even care to have more friends rigth now why do I started to ask myself what happened to all those people I used to love so much?

Shocking. Let’s take a trip back in time.

On my first class of my first semester of University, a teacher told us something I’d never forget. He said: In the next five years you’ll know your best friends for life, you could be sitting next to your bestman or bride of honor».

Bitch, where?

Now I am looking around and the only friend I could trust my life with… well… I do hope so… is this chubby mess I got stuck with since we were six years old. 24 years later, we’re still togeteher hanging from time to time to do absolutely nothing… but together.

Good old friendship y’know. Call me provincial.

But seriously, I couldn’t sleep thinking why all this people I cared about, are now gone from my life… for good? Here are the stories of how I lost the people I used to call friends (maybe I’d find some mystical answers after all this. Keep ypur fingers crossed):

Lux wrote me a letter in this diary I used to keep back in 2003 when I changed schools

1.- Let’s start back around 1998 when this new girl got into our school. My friend and I took care of her immediataly even when she was very different from us both, tho. Why? because we were pure-heart children, that’s why.

Let’s call her «Lux».

By the time we were 12 or 13yo, my bestie and I were into music like Garbage (meaning the band, not actual garbage), The Cranberries, Tv shows like Daria, movies like The Crow, rock & semi grunge attire. All those «edgy» things that impresionable pre pubescent kids would love to do to angry their parents. But Lux was more like the blonde-piggy-tails-SpiceGirls-lover she would definitely become later on.

Still given the differences in style, we hung together a lot, we had chemestry, we loved Buffy: The Vampire Slayer big time, she spent a lot of time at my place and she even joined me to a family trip, he had lot’s of fun… and all of the sudden, BOOM! puberty hit us way hard; and she spend more time with her Spice Girls dopplegangers squad (literally they started to impersonate them on daily basis). It was a slow and progressive goodbye…

Long story short, we grew very different from each other and when I left that school at 14… I really never spoke to her again.

I think from Lux I learned that you can find a friend anywhere, it doesn’t really matter how different they are from you. She was a nice kid, grew up to be kinda wild tho.

Last thing I heard about her was at my last «normal human» job: my boss once mentioned her name and proceeded to tell the sad story. They used to work with her as a freelancer… It didn’t go well. She even recomended a woman that was completelly out of her mind to work with us full time. All ended up with cops, let’s leave it at that.

This is one of Tris doodles I keep in an old diary

2.- Rigth when BFF and I where about 13, one of the outsider girls in our class started to hang with us a lot more… I don’t even remember the reason but, hey! Jump in!

She was TOTALLY different from us from the start, but the fact that we all made drawings anime style (I know, don’t judge me) really got us togeteher. Let’s call her «Tris».

Tris was the quintessence of a good girl: all pink outfit -head to toe-, mini skirts, glitery handbags, heels and supper glossy makeup. I mean, gloss was HER THING, ok?… And I only mention this because at the time I was at my Limp Bizkit phase: wearing sneakers, cargo pants, band shirts and a red cap all the time, you can figure how different we looked from eachother.

Triss was very sweet and nice girl so we used to hung a lot at my bestie’s… to be honest, I don’t even remember what we used to do when we were togeteher. I mean, what do we had in common that kept us as friends through those years? Beats me.

I mean… I knew her parents, I knew her brother (who happened to be this candy eye), she knew my family… we were pretty close.

Another of Tris’ doodles on my diary

Ages of fun a happiness passed by and one day, we witnessed a terrible view: Out of nowhere she started making out with one of our guy pals… why is that terrible you migth ask?

Well, this dude was SO NOT for her (he was kinda a dick head, but that’s another story for the chronicles), they were very, very… VERY unlike: he was one of those metalhead idiots (not that is too important but he was like 6′, 300 pounds and had a crater face) and she was well… this Barbie doll.

Obviously that relationship ended up quickly and messy (I do not know the details; BUT I could give my rigth arm that it was about sexual preferences. He was a creep, ok? Nevertheless… cannot be sure. I don’t really know if I want to be sure… ever).

The problem with Tris seemed to be that we didn’t quit talking and hanging with her stupid ex, so… that was a farewell for us, I guess. I mean, he was our friend too, what should have we done?

Years later I ran into her at her brother’s graduation (he attended classes with another of my case study friends: Number 10). Now made of plastic and wearing a large load of hair extenssions -not that is a bad thing if you like that sorta things, by all means- I remember she told me that I looked «SO DIFFERENT» at the time… which it was funny because she was the one that had gone under the blade quite a lot. I just had my hair straightened.

Never heard from her again.

From Tris I learned that we need to be very communivcative and open with other people through the hard road.

Elza and me maybe in 2005

3.- Wow, a lot happened in freshman year! Back to 2002: A «problem girl» got changed to our class. She didn’t know anybody that much… and she was kinda (very) weird, so we took her in as well. We were already the weirdos so… it made sense. We’ll cal her «Elza».

What was good about Elza it was that she was really funny and liked to party, she was loud, unapologetic, and always said what was on her mind with a big smile on her face. My mom loved her. She thaught me a bunch of cool things… things that only cool kids would know… not this nerd, of course. We talked about what her other friends were into like boys, booze, sex… but my mom didn’t loved her for that, of course not.

I do admit I was a big d*ckhead about her friends, I didn’t like them and I made fun of them a lot (somehow I don’t think this was the reason for our «break up», tho). But just with time… we stopped talking. Just like that. We just took separate paths, I guess. Last I heard from her she was a mamma.

Elza thaught me that EVERY person is valuable, you just have to give it a chance they migth surprise you.

Beth, other girls and me at a school event

4.- When I was 15, I left my school. I wanted to study art, philosphy, latin and literature, so I ended up in an all girls school ran by nuns. Spooky, rigth?

It was hard to leave the people I knew since we where kids, but I just had to do it, and as a matter of fact it ended up being really good 2 years of my life. In there I got accepted real quick by a lot of cool girls… that I never have spoken to after we graduate… yeah, them too.

But I became a good friend specially of one of those girls for those two years. Let’s call her «Beth».

Beth was kinda different from the others. You see, most of the girls there wanted to be all grown up women already (and looked so much like grown ass women). They partied hard a lot, had lots of boyfriends, where rich daddy’s girls, and well, they were quite gorgeous and popular.

Me?… I was an akward huge potato… and Beth was too… only smaller.

All girl class of 2005

Sadly Beth had some family and self steem issues so we talked about a lot of depp sh*t quite often, still she was always smiling and was very energetic. Her best quality was her innocence and how much she was willing to live her girly childhood without shame, even if the other girls where in the fast track. We took our time, play it cool, had our own speed.

**As usual, a boy ruined our further friendship… but not in the way you think. **

One day, we went to the movies to see Constantine (yes, I’m that old!). I brougth my brother along and he dragged his best friend with him. Beth got all head over heels for my brother’s bestie… The problem? He was a jerk.

A letter Beth left in one of my diaries

Knowing what was going to happen before it even happened, I told her I really didin’t wanted to know anything about their relationship since, well… he was a total idiot with girls. I don’t think she liked my lack of support, but I really wasn’t interested in all the upcoming drama. Some years later I found out that things went bad with those two… mostly it was sad and weird but still everything went straigth to hell.

Because of Beath I learned to be true to myslef, always be proud of me, of what I do and like because it makes me who I am.

We graduated and never, ever, ever got in touch again. A more mature me would have stayed at her side to give her some piece of advice. Sorry, Beth.

Four friends done… six to go… what do y’all say. Am I that bad?

Saint Divas: Mainstream Catholic Imagery Vs. The Metal Legacy

I do know that I’m way overdue with this matter but still I can’t help to love the past Met Gala innauguration party last May «Heavenly Bodies: Fashion and the Catholic Imagination».

I am not catholic, but I’ve always been exposed to it since primary shool and I do gotta say there are a few things of the catholic assemble worth saving: like gothic churches and Renaissance papal commisions… everything else is expendable.

In the other hand I’m a huge mtealhead and this is why, although I loved the celebrities display at the event, I already have seen all the looks before. And the place where I have seen it before, was on stage, wore by metal and rock bands.

Who said that everything’s is a copy of a copy… of a copy? (It was in Fight Club, BTW).

Let’s start this ranking, folks! Who wore it better… or better yet: who was already making catholics angry waaaay back in the day.

It’s on!

1- Rihanna or Pope Emeritus

Source: InStyle, Horror Fuel

Now, I’m a fan of Rihanna, for real, no joke here. Truthfully haven’t listened to Ghost BC, but they have been in the scene for a while… and by while I mean since 2008. So definetly the band Ghost wore it first and in my opinion WAY better than the Barbados born hip-hop singer.

Sorry Riri.

2- Rihanna or Marilyn Manson

Source: InStyle, Metal Addicts

Rihanna has a another round! BUT 18 Years ago a slimmer and more energetic Marilyn Manson was dressed as a white pope for his music video «Disposable Teens». The Reverend got a lot of people pissed while Rihanna sexualized the papal attire wich… got a lot of people pissed.

What do you say?, I still find Manson more appealing tho.

3- Eiza González or Nina Hagen

Source: Francis Apesteguy, Harper’s Bazaar

Someone dared and took the «naughty nun» disguise to a whole haute couture level without being cheap… and that someone was mexican actress Eiza González. Still, the german singer Nina Hagen was already alienizing the nun rope back in 1982 in this Francis Apesteguy shoot.

Forgive us all, mother Hagen, but this thime the winner is Eiza… there’s just too much going on… on your face. As usual.

4- Olivia Munn or Dolores O’Riordan

Source: Harper’s Bazaar, Youtube

Gorgeous actress Olivia Munn wore a H&M golden dress with a coat of mail over her head that immediatly got me to the 1994 The Cranberries music video «Zombie». Frontwoman Dolores O’Riordan was painted in gold, head to toe, with a similar beaded wig… Even if O’Riordan might have looked more like an ancient egiptian goddess you gotta admit it’s a memory popping.

I give my vote to Olivia, but, forever will remember Dolores’ golden voice.

5- Lily Collins or Siouxsie Sioux

Source: Harper’s Bazaar, Youtube

My Batman-fan knowledge was tingling with this one. Actress and daugther of musician Phil Collins, Lily, was wearing a Givenchy piece as a little nun/saint with a tull skirt, BUT I knew I have seen that red tear before.

And then it hit me: It was in the 1992 music video «Face to Face» of classic goth band Siouxsie and The Banshees were we saw a very sexy Siouxsie Sioux in a rubber black dress with face gems.

That song also happens to be Burton’s Batman Returns soundtrack, so there it is, in case you were wondering what all the Batman fuss was about.

Lily, you are a dear, but Siouxsie is EVERYTHING.

6- Amber Heard or María Brinks

Source: Harper’s Bazaar, Metal Hammer

This is a tought one, guys. Although I’m not a big fan of Amber Heard, you gotta be blind not to admit she’s just gorgeous in this Carolina Herrera dress, but the thing that really got my attention was the head piece.

EVERYBODY was wearing headpieces, halos, and crowns… I just knew I have seen THIS ONE before, and it wasn’t hard to remember where: The band In This Moment and its voice, María Brink0s head. She’s a combination of Lady Gaga fashionista, a metalcore Beyonce and a Rob Zombie’s witch.

I leave the winner up to y’all because I can’t make up my mind.

7- Lana del Rey or Sharon den Andel

Source: Harper’s Bazaar, Only Sharon den Andel Tumblr

There was a Holy Trinity in the Met Gala: Alessandro Michele, Lana del Rey and Jared Leto were a terrifying cool gang; but, if I ever have to think of an overdose of wings, feathers and corsets, Sharon den Andel of Within Temptation comes to mind. Always.

Sharon is the quintessence steriotype of a goth girl since 1996. Nevertheless, I have to give the bay to Lana because she killed it. Truth be told.

8- Madonna or Anne Nurmi

Source: Harper’s Bazaar, angst-im-wald

Speaking of feathers, headpieces, veils and over-the-top style in general is sad to say that Madonna has failed, deeply. You can totally do that in a Jean Paul Gaultier apparently. The queen of pop’s look just makes you say WHAT THE HELL?! when it really it’s supossed to invoque heavenly creatures.

Listen, kids: When you wanna give a goth vibe to the party, all you must do is take a look at the finish singer and tecladist Anne Nurmi from Lacrimosa. She’s been rocking every goth trend from fish nets to leather skirts since 1991 and is with no regrets the queen of pale aristocrat-spook style in cathedral-metal music, if there is such thing.

9- Kate Moss or Till Lindeman

Source: Harper’s Bazaar, Fanpop, Youtube

«Go big or go home» is the premise that Kate Moss decided to ignore when going to the Met Gala. Instead she opted for a simple little black dress from Saint Lauren house wih a little bit un feather fun (meaning boOoRING).

Never dissapointing the metal guys have been wearing feathers more stylishly that the top model for a time now. First, Marilyn Manson did it in 1998 Rock is Dead music video (The Matrix OST) with his see-trough jump suit. Then around 2010, Till Lindeman, a huge german hairy muscle man, decided to tour with his band Rammstein wearing a red feather choker around his neck. How delicate.

Guys, you rocked this one!

10. Mindy Kaling or Freddie Mercury

Source: El Comercio, KPFA

Not even the queen of England could wear a massive crown over her head without me comparing and excelling Freddie Mercury in every possible way. Sorry, Mindy, that’s all I have to say about that. It’s definitive: You just can’t.

Source: Harper’s Bazaar

Honorary Mention

She deserves her own mention because there is absolutely no comparison. You just have to check out Blake Lively (you know, Deadpool’s wife) at the Met Gala: Diva, divine, sublime, stunning, majestic, magnificent, insurmountable, masterly perfect… doesn’t sum up to the definition of what this woman really is.

Just wow.

Source: Quién

What do you say? Agree with my results? Who else rings a bell?

Even though I loved the gala, wasn’t much surprised because I have already seen it (it has taken me a lifetime of metal band fangirling, but knowledge is knowledge); excep for Blake, she’s a new saint virgin indeed and must be phraised.

Can I get an Amen to that?!

Reality shock: Why I didn’t cry at my mother’s funeral (Spoiler: I’m not evil, I swear)

Before you feel offended! I loved my mother more than my life. She was my best friend and as I grew up I always wanted to be like her.

Paradoxically, I didn’t cry because all the love. Or that’s what I believe.

Yes, like all mothers she used to get into my nerves but all because she would, also, give her life for me and wanted me to be the best version of a human being I could possibly developt into. I owe her everything.

I was happy. My big latino family was happy; until one day almost five years ago a phone call would change my little nebula, and everybody’s around it.

I was alone at work, and someone call me saying my mom was in some sort of «accident» and I needed to get to the airport. She was working in another city at the time. I called my aunts, they were also on their way, so instead I headed home first to get a suitcase with the basics and then I’d get a cab to the airport.

On the way home I was serene, I wasn’t worried, all could repeat in my head was «It’s going to be ok», all over again and again. I didn’t care if she got burned, or all her bones broken, or had her legs apuntaded… as long as she was alive we would most definetly get our lives back. Happy and peachy again dead sure.

But when I got home my uncle phoned me, he was at the airport where some representative of my mom’s job was waiting for us. He just said in tears: My love, your mother is dead.

I hung up and breathe violently in. I got paralyzed… even today I can’t really describe a feeling I never had before. The rest of all my family were watching me expectantly in silence. My grandma cut the sage of doubt: She’s dead, isn’t she?

I just noded.

Everyone shouted.

Now that I recall all of it: **The death of my mother, as a momentum, is like a dark room inside my mind. A pitch black chamber only accesible through a single door, and any time I’d feel conquered by the past, I open the door and find myself screaming non-stop at the top of my lungs inside of it, forever. I take a deep breath and close the door again. **

This thought makes me feel better.

After the most dreafull reality check that could ever exist on anybody’s life I found myself eyes wide open, both hands extended on the table palms down… just sitted there, looking to the floor. I could’t cry. I wanted to; but I couldn’t.

I have never written about this before. It’s about time. Yes?

She’s never told me, but I know my grandmother never forgave me for not crying. As odd as I migth be, still that’s pretty damn f*cked up for a person, right? No?

Don’t get me wrong, I sttill feel deeply sadden about my mother’s death. I can’t watch any loving-family-realted movies without crying my guts out… and that never happened to me before (years of horror movies watching practice had me pretty numbed).

Sad and still pissed… that’s what I feel today; but stragely, at peace.

I’ve been thinking long and hard about why I couldn’t weep that day five years ago. I don’t know if I was in a state of shock, because I didn’t lock myself in, I didn’t mute for long, nor went away (mentally or physically). Reality call me back right away and I responded.

After I delivered (kind of) the gruesome news, my other uncle, who had a severe heart attack barely three months prior, shut his face in pain and grabbed his chest.

«Sh*t, son!», I thought. I couldn’t alienate, it wasn’t the time. I had a sense of responsability that binded me to take care of my family.

So I ran to the cabinet, grabbed an aspirine and shoved it down his throath, againts his will. No one’s else was diying that day. I had to be strong. I still have to be strong, it doesn’t come hard for me. It’s in my nature, and it’s fine. I am satisfied with it… in fact I wouldn’t want it to be any differently.

In retrospective, I am very glad my mother was a woman on her own. She did what she wanted to do when she wanted to do it… better said when she felt it was right, and most of the time she was right. My mom didn’t missed out of the glorious perks of life: she travelled, loved her work and was great at it, helped others, was a mother by choice, loved, lost and survived.

Most in accordance everybody loved her back. She was a hard woman with a giant heart. I like to think I inherit that very same peculiarity.

The hours passed and we were at the funeral service. It was AMAZING for me to meet all those people who knew my mother, it was astonishing, I was overwhelmed: all the friends, all the tears tied with laugther, all the memories. I had the tremendous joy of listening to those good things about my mom from all those different people; I was actually smiling through the piteous act of the funeral honors.

It was a bittersweet experience (cliché non-untended, but what the heck), my mother had to leave this realm for me to fully understand the backspin of her actions into other people’s lives. I was happy and sad at the same time… I was the one hearten strangers.

I like to think death is a part of life, we can’t scape from it and somehow that’s not necessarily a bad thing. For the first time in my existence I couldn’t do anyhting about the dreaful issue we were stepping in. There was nothing I could do to bring my mother back, to turn time back, to make things up.

I just settle and reluctantly accepted that my life was never gonna be the same. I just had to arrange everything over a tragedy… and move on. It sounds terrible, but from day one I had to move on. I don’t know why, I just had to. I still have to.

Everyday I remember my mom, so many knowledge she left, so much inspiration.

I got to cry camly a few nights after… even every now and then I get o cry camly, missing her. Somehow I think she prepared me for that moment, I was ready to not be paralyzed by violent fear and sudden sorrow. I didn’t feel alone, I had to be the one doing heardest thing: Accepting the unchangeable.

I got to yearn her company progressively, gently little by little; and not madly raging about the injustice of life.

That’s all.

Am I wicked?

Originally posted on Steemit.

Collage nostalgia: Why my «Dear Diary» wasn’t like the other girls’

Recently I was very inspired by @fab.iana posts (go pay a visit, kids! It’d be worth it!) into sharing some corelational content.

Her entries got me thinking retrospectively… because when I was a kid I used to do pieces like that… hardly wanting to compare to art compositions or anything such (!), I did enjoy making analogue collages.

In fact I have several notebooks filled with magazines cuts, shapes, words and pictures.

Suddenly I realized something: Those notebooks were my diaries… not like the «dear diary» pre-pubescent kid shennaningans of how my day was. But they were part of my thoughts and feelings of that trascendental mutation from child to gronw up.

I’ve always like to make collages, I found them not only conforting, but they keep me focused and calm. It’s the mind connected to mechanical bodily processes: as in «using my hands».

I just like to use my hands to make things «cool» things if possible. Because after all, everything I do ends in a simple mantra: Creation. Construction to add… to improve.

Now, after all those years, I’d like to tell that weirdo of a girl self: «Hey, dumbass! write the freaking date at least!» Because now that I overhaul them I have no fucking clue what they mean.

At the time I had to be thinking about SOMETHING while making them… right? Even a «nothing» is something.

Did I just wanted to frenetically fill the blank pages with pictures?

Although I’d sometimes leave most of the page empty. (Gotta be honest: I do really have a huge intrigue about what was I into at the time to have a Salma Hayek next to a symbol (?) in the middle of two spaces. It itches.)

Or simply payed tribute to my once obsession with crosses?… I do remember that phase, tho.

Sometimes I’d make WEIRD looking doodles… now what the hell is that (freaking out)

Second looking at it I think it has something to do with Marilyn Manson… The singer, never the murder cult leader.

And other times I would build deep images as this… I could find a couple of mindful meanings to that one, actually. How deep, no?

Mind me for a minute, I’m just frowning thinking here.

As years passed by I can clearly notice the collages where a lot more «meaningful» or clearer at least. The hungry pages were running out and I was getting older.

(This is an obvious tribute to Brandon Lee, who was my childhood hero…because of all of the The Crow misterious halo… I know, silly me. Hard to avow.)

Impromptu, changed of diary, change of style: I started to draw, fuzing techniques and making the piece simpler and straightforward.

But still, I can’t tell accurately what this compositions are all about. I’m clueless.

I’m sure it was a confusing time… as all adolescent trials are. Gladly those moments were over without aftermath, and even I don’t know what they were about I did got to overcome them thanks to self expression trough collages.

So, thumbs up for the little artsy me of the time!

Then, Uni came by… and as surprinsingly as it might sound, my mind was less clouded. It’s funny how I found a certain order in all this chaos. It’s peacefull somehow.

Chaos is order, mess is orderly, ramdon shapes become «one»… neat, arrange, shipshape. Wow… now THIS is really the brain of a collage stundent. No wonder we lost our minds over there weekly.

It’s funny how I constantly feel something it’s terribly missing when watching an empty wall. As a matter of fact, places without personality give me anxiety… and the creeps. Only crazy people are minimalist. Patrick Bateman coming to mind.

I know, when I’m an old woman I’d regret to have stop making collages… it’s an effort that other daily trivial task drain off my body. I can’t afford the time (and glue) investment because I have become a blue average adult of the flock.

Sad sigh.

Lastly, as if the spaces in my notebooks were not enough, I found a old, also analog, photo of how my bedroom wall used to like… and I’m beggining to think the American Psycho is in fact sitting on this side of the sreen.

It’s hideous I know. But by the time I thought it was cool. Gladly my mother was the chillest kind there ever was. And to be fair, the collage making save her lots of load in child therapists.

Do you do any art, guys? Let me hear about it!

Hope you ejoy it, ta-da!

Originally posted on Steemit.