I'm not sure if I should start writing anything. I assume people don't stop around this blog to read anything, but looking at pretty pictures. I try to keep this blog personal in the most non-personal way. Sure, the pictures are deeply subjective. It is my view, mine only, thus some will like them, others will not. I guess I said it once, and I will say it again: escapism. I read yesterday a blogger saying that expats who once wrote good blogs and at some point started 'writing' food blogs, have lost it. I think I have lost it. It is been a long time. So I keep posting pretty pictures once in a while, as most of the time I don't even bother to do so. I do photograph a lot. Depending on my mood, of course. I can go on without taking a single photograph for days, sometimes weeks (I'm not counting on those silly instagram updates) and suddenly I can take hundreds of pictures in a single day. Most of them are kept in my pc's hard disk and will never be seen by anyone else but me. This post isn't about photography. You see, I don't really make a lot of sense... I don't know how to say this properly. I know one thing. I'm one of those who have lost it.

spring awakening.

Spring awakening at least in this part of the world takes uncountable cups of tea, pieces of cake, cold feet, frozen hands, the expected frustration... This year, it snowed in march, again. And this cherry tree picture was taken in may last year, as the same tree is still barren. I don't thrive in constant gloomy atmospheres, I can sleep until forever if the sight through my window is nothing but infinite grey walls. I'm not those sunny people who bright a room with their smile, neither those who instantly fall asleep after a long warm day, who claim summer makes them lazy and sweaty (oh, those poor things!). No, I'm one of those who never get tired of warmth, brightness, birds chirping, bare legs, ice cream, flowers... But the very same birds from last year have rebuilt the very same nest in the very same spot in the very same tree I see through my window. Sometimes it rains, sometimes the sun shines... It's a long awakening, nonetheless I wait.

the internet and me.

My blog is where I post pretty pictures that somehow make the world appear to be a place worth living in... Facebook (I'm new in this) is where I moderately socialize and state a few of my thoughts. Twitter is where I bitch about anything with no regards to anything/anyone whatsoever. 140 characters that equal psychoanalysis. Though I'm thinking of creating another blog concerning the same purpose. Hmmmm... Have I missed something?

*edit: How could I forget my tumblr? Where I post random images and texts that I either like or love... and that somehow inspire me. Pure escapism as well. Feel free to visit it and click next, next and next... and elope... Looking at others' tumblr's can also be a dangerous tool against you doing something important, such as writing your college essay or just studying.

such a perfect day. isn't it?

Things I can not stand: people who regard Brokeback Mountain as that "gay cowboy movie". Please, will you shut up?

how soon is now.

I can never be entirely happy for right now. Something seems to be not completely right in the present. Do you ever feel this way? The past is always sweeter. Perhaps because I tend to forget it wasn't always that way. But... What's happiness? I immerse myself in nostalgia from times to times, I do it incessantly. I do a lot of shopping, too.

far is the place where you can truly live.

Had the funniest dream... I lived in a sort of collective dorm at uni and I hated it. All the students slept together in the same room, with hundreds of mattresses lying on the floor. One night I was on my own, and George Clooney and Brad Pitt came out of nowhere. We talked, and at some point they wanted some tea, but their wish was pretty idiosyncratic. Clooney wanted chili tea (!), and Pitt, chili + three other ingredients which I can't recall... Then I had this sudden thought of finding Julia Roberts, because she was the only one who might know how to make such special teas (!). I couldn't find her, but then I found a classmate who wanted to help me and we went to this restaurant inside the campus, but it had just closed for the day, and no way they would open it one minute more for anyone. This classmate plus another one took the train all the way to the Lousiana Museum of Modern Art (the distance!) to buy the teas. Then suddenly I was back to the dorms and all students were children again, they all left together conducted by women who seemed to be nuns. I didn't follow them. It bugged me how they standed so perfectly in line while walking. Walking in pairs, like animals entering the Noah's ark. Then suddenly I was at this party, I spotted Ingrid from Anywho, and I mentioned how much I loved those monies earrings she had shown on her blog. She acted pretty suspicious, like if one shouldn't trust a stranger's compliment, and somehow I thought her attitude had something to do with the jante law. I told you it was the funniest dream...

In time: I haven't seen Ocean's Eleven lately, in fact, I don't even like that film.

Learn it, kids.

While asked to mention the most remarkable news on the media in the last years, people in my Media History class came up with a lot of tragedies (think tsunami, terror attacks), but it took a loooong time until someone mentioned Princess Diana's death, which just reminded me I'm at least 6 years older than the average. But how can not someone remember, even as a child, that day when it didn't seem to be anything else available on TV? The slow motion images of her face, the coffin in the tearful streets of London, that tear jacker song over and over (yup, I bought the CD), I mean... I was home alone, and my mom asked me to watch our lunch ("turn off everything at 11:30am"), and of course I forgot about it completely, and the chicken and everything else burned. I couldn't leave the little screen, and I cried like a baby watching that show. The power of media. I was what? 13? 14?

Of course no one mentioned Brazil winning the World Cup in 1994. Or Ayrton Senna's tragic death earlier that year. Wait a minute... You've never heard of him? How come? He's the freaking best F1 pilot in the history of F1! Learn it, kids.