efuerza

those days when it used to be that stumbling into the lines which were drawn to show you who and how and what you were supposed to be, those are the most fruitless, hated days. the ones where the path of resistance was the end sought, the path that bore the person so horribly average that there was nothing distinguishable left about you. the path where you'd swallow those words that might have been spoken had you been able to resist, and stuff yourself into those clothes stamped and mass-produced to death, and blare the so-called music proclaiming so many things you truly would never do so yourself.


don't be branded. don't fall in line. and most certainly, do not remain silent.

molds

as i find myself going to bed on this blissfully ordinary summer night, i'm thinking about all the moments that brought me here. the moments of dragging myself out of bed to face another day of high school, another day filled with screaming lockers and glaring bells and florescent lights. the moments of dreaming of a new place, the place that would help me discover that person i so desperately desired to create, the place that came to be here - this place. my two-bedroom apartment on folsom st. with its' big windows, cramped kitchen, and hotel room carpet: the place where i now can be still and know that i am me, que soy yo, that i am free.

free from all the glaring bells and probing eyes and jagged words that once kept me from finding and meeting and growing this person that i am and have been since i found this two-bedroom apartment with its bubblegum pink bathroom counter top and squeaky, aged floors. this freedom is one i so often forget, but so adore to remember. the freedom to be veg/pescatarian depending on which day you ask me, the freedom to be a 22 year old girl that loves whiskey and ice-cold 40 oz. O.E.'s, and the freedom to be someone dreaming of a phD in cultural anthropology (that one still makes my heart jump a bit).

this freedom...it's beautiful.

balance.

 My hope for the way I live each day (an excerpt from Paulo Coehlo's "The Alchemist")

"A certain shopkeeper sent his son to learn about the secret of happiness from the wisest man in the world. The lad wandered through the desert for 40 days, and finally came upon a beautiful castle, high atop a mountain. It was there that the wise man lived.
Rather than finding a saintly man, though, our hero, on entering the main room of the castle, saw a hive of activity: tradesmen came and went, people were conversing in the corners, a small orchestra was playing soft music, and there was a table covered with platters of the most delicious food in that part of the world. The wise man conversed with everyone, and the boy had to wait for two hours before it was his turn to be given the man’s attention.
The wise man listened attentively to the boy’s explanation of why he had come, but told him that he didn’t have time just then to explain the secret of happiness. He suggested that the boy look around the palace and return in two hours.
“Meanwhile, I want to ask you to do something”, said the wise man, handing the boy a teaspoon that held two drops of oil. “As you wander around, carry this spoon with you without allowing the oil to spill”.
The boy began climbing and descending the many stairways of the palace, keeping his eyes fixed on the spoon. After two hours, he returned to the room where the wise man was.
“Well”, asked the wise man, “Did you see the Persian tapestries that are hanging in my dining hall? Did you see the garden that it took the master gardener ten years to create? Did you notice the beautiful parchments in my library?”
The boy was embarrassed, and confessed that he had observed nothing. His only concern had been not to spill the oil that the wise man had entrusted to him.
“Then go back and observe the marvels of my world”, said the wise man. “You cannot trust a man if you don’t know his house”.
Relieved, the boy picked up the spoon and returned to his exploration of the palace, this time observing all of the works of art on the ceilings and the walls. He saw the gardens, the mountains all around him, the beauty of the flowers, and the taste with which everything had been selected. Upon returning to the wise man, he related in detail everything he had seen.
“But where are the drops of oil I entrusted to you?” asked the wise man. Looking down at the spoon he held, the boy saw that the oil was gone.
“Well, there is only one piece of advice I can give you”, said the wisest of wise men. “The secret of happiness is to see all the marvels of the world and never to forget the drops of oil on the spoon.'"