Un tren de hielo y fuego

The splendor of looking through my father's new acquisitions for his antique book collection is a hardly describable joy. He shows me the last one he got in Argentina, about the process of cheese fermentation. The endless pages of tables on different cheese fungi bring a spark to his eye that I rarely get to see.

I ask him to recommend a book to me.

He walks down his immense bookshelf, pacing between two stands, "AH" he says, while handing me a very yellow-covered book. It is originally in French, he says, so buy it in its tongue and read it. And this copy I'm not giving to you anyways, he says, because it is signed by the author and you will lose it.

"Do you kids remember when we saw the train of ice and fire depart?" and I have no idea what he is talking about.

The book, written by Ramon Chao, is a chronicle of Manu Chao's former music group, Mano Negra, as they travel in a reconstructed old passenger train from Bogota to the coast. The red colored locomotive, splattered with yellow butterflies, carried one hundred musicians, acrobats and artists, whose purpose was to put on free shows throughout their journey.

"You really can't remember?" he asks expectantly. Heads shake. "Shit did I waste time with you kids. What was the point of taking you to these things?"

Still muttering curses of disappointment, he beings glancing through its pages while Kinder and I exchange an eyebrow raise and a smirk.

"Ok ok.... do you guys think this could be us?"

He hands me the book. In black and white, there is the picture of a long, psychedelic train with hands sticking out the windows, waving. Standing on the sidelines, with no one else to see it part, stands a tall, thin man accompanied by a big-headed four-year-old boy and a long-haired six-year-old girl. The picture captures the threesome from behind, but it still shows what was, undeniably, the three of us approximately 15 years ago.

Shit I wish I remembered that. He rips the book away from me again, now with a hint of a smile but still mumbling about the waste that we are. He continues to glance through the book for at least half an hour. In the meantime, Kinder and I ponder about the deliriousness of the tale, and how I would have loved to be Ramon Chao, documenting such a freaking tripy experience.

"Found it!" He screams in ecstasy, and puts on his sweet storytelling voice that brings him back 20 years to his days as a radio commentator.

"'Ricardo Alarcon, the president of Caracol Radio, and his two children, arrive ten minutes before the departure. I hastily dispatch them...'
There is even a reference to us, kids; A one-sentence one, but a reference nonetheless. How the hell can you not remember this?'"

His face makes me feel like jumping from the couch and pretending a sudden memory flow but I've never been much of a liar. So he puts it back on the shelf and proceeds to show me a copy of "El General en su Laberinto" that has a dedication on the front page from Gabo himself.

"Take the other copy.... fuck I hope you remember this when I'm dead and don't simply throw the book to the trash like your mother did with my records. Really, will you at least remember this? Autographed by Gabriel Garcia Marquez? Probably worth something?"

Yes, father. When you are dead, I sure will.

I am finally happy to live in the USA

I have never quite adjusted to this country. I could be a reticence from my part, but I believe it was mostly that I couldn't tangibly see the ideals that Americans so proudly preached. This idea of a melting pot looked more like a mosaic to me; people of different races and nationalities stuck together in one space, without mixing or interfering in each other's colors. 

For the seven years that I have lived here, George W. Bush has been the president of this nation. I for one knew that he didn't represent the amazing Americans I had happened to meet, but I also knew that he had to have been elected by someone: by the majority. To think about it made me sick to my stomach. 

I am one of the few latin american immigrants that I know, who doesn't have to be here because of lack of a better option. I chose to live here, with the hope that at some point the ideals of the country would reflect my own. That the nation could see that integrity, intelligence and tolerance cannot be based on religious beliefs or in racial backgrounds. Whoever understands that we all deserve the same would understand why I had such high expectations for this nation.  

Now that they are fulfilled, I am sure that people around the world will radically change their views of this country as much as I have. 

Thanks. 

And so my blog is...

Ok so I promised I would link you to the new blog I'm going to be writing, and this is it.

I am happy about the subject I chose. Before I had posted on this blog about the Zen ones that had been catching my attention. It's an honor to do one myself, geared toward people my age. I am quite excited about it and hopefully you will enjoy it too.

As for Gainesville, football season has once again made my weekend fun. I am very excited as to this last year in the ville. I am planning to enjoy it extensively.

You can take the boy out of the town, but you can't take the town out of the boy

Anyhow, it's been a while, but the fact is that now I am back in class and between the moving in, starting classes and first-week partying it's hard to sit down and write. For one of my classes though I am required to actually start a new blog; a decent one, a real one. Not this constant rambling thing that this is. It should develop an audience and have a specific theme for the writing. That sounds like a dream to me, but trying to figure out what to write about is sort of driving me insane. This is more or less an apologetic post to the few who read this, because I will be neglecting this blog a little bit to focus my attention on the one that is actually being graded. I will post the link as soon as I have it. If you have any ideas on what I could write about, please don't hesitate to tell me.


On another note, I am loving Gainesville too much. I thought the sadness of leaving Bogota would last longer but so far so good. This is where I want to be.

Cheers

Why it is easier to ruin it

When something is really good and we know we have to give it up, we try to ruin it. It is a self-defense mechanism, so that amazing things become torture with no reason whatsoever. Just so it is easier to let go. When I had to leave Paris, I started thinking about everything I hated about that city, but it wasn't much. I magnified it though, remembering the exhuberant prices, the smelly subway, the cold mornings, the ugly parisian looks... later, when I got back to Gainesville, I remembered the good things again, and smiled.

Now it is different to remember bad things to try to trump the sadness, than to sabotage something good just because it has a deadline. That is what I try to do every time in Bogota. I think about everything I don't like about the city, the people, the life in general... and the truth is I love it. But loving it has always made leaving so much harder, that I decided to keep it neutral; to love it as a vacation spot. To never date someone here that I like too much nor find a job that I would love, nor visit my friend's universities to see if I would like them better. Having a double life means developing an ability to let go. I have it... I need to become pesimistic a few days before it's over simply to make it easier. I simply need to think that where I'm going is always better that the place i've left behind.

Fake little girl

It was quite a shock to me when I found out through CNN, that the adorable Chinese girl that had sang the host's national anthem was indeed, not the girl who had sang it. The very cute girl was lip-syncing at Beijing's "Bird's Nest" stadium; the real singer's face was deemed "not suitable."

Ok so all through the opening ceremony of the Olympics I had been teared eyed. And this little girl made me feel like adopting her; I am sure her parents don't want her anyway. But a fake?

This incident may indeed symbolize what is going on in China in a larger scope. The image they want to project to the world vs what is actually there. They want to show perfection by taking the voice of one girl and the face of another... couldn't they find a girl who could fit both roles or are they too picky with their own people? Anyways, as soon as this got out they made China look like liars, really. With something so incredibly unnecessary! How about all those things that do actually matter? For how long can they hide them? China may be a growing super power but its people remain oppressed and it is still a very developing nation.

The sickness of aging

With age we get to become more cautious. More cautious about our feelings, because we know what it is like to be hurt. More cautious about what we say, because social decency is engraved in our minds; more cautious about our decisions, because they begin to have consequences... in the end the carelessness of youth begins to weight on our backs.

Our heart begins to be something we don't hand out easily. We stop taking risks. We become calculating; we are careful with each step, we stop trusting people. We realize that there are many ways to avoid crying. We allow opportunities to just pass us by because they are too good to be true. We become cynical and abandon the idealism of other days. We begin to settle for what is comfortable instead of what is magical.

That is why I don't want to grow up. I don't... I have dreams and will never let them die, and I will always believe in the true goodness of people. In my career, I will get to see horrible things, depressing things, senseless wars and ridiculous fanaticism for shallow ideals. I know this. But let's stick to our grace shall we? If we see something that is worth fighting for, for crying out loud, fight for it. Don't let it get away. Because there are very good things in this world, but they are few, and we need to know how to recognize an unbelievable thing when we see it.

"Y’see, madness, as you know, is like gravity. All it takes is a little…push. - The Joker

So Heath Ledger is dead and that makes watching the new Batman movie eerie, morose yet exciting in a sick way. All I was thinking as I watched this ridiculously good performance was "This man drove himself crazy to truly fit himself into this role."

And it made me start thinking... how thick is the line between depressed and insane? How quickly can our mind drive us to make irreversible decisions?

The movie was fantastic. But the cost of it was the life of a talented actor. Many writers, artists, musicians, and overall artistic geniuses are what some people call eccentric, and to some, this eccentricity drove them to their death. When I was in my preteen years I truly believed that in order to become an amazing writer I was going to have to start seeing a shrink.

Overall, a great movie, that I hadn't seen before because I didn't feel like waiting in line too much. I waited 'til a lot of the fuss had died down. It was my brother's fourth time seeing it.

"How come this movie keeps being awesome?" he asked, when the credits rolled in.

"Is there anybody gonna litsen to my story?"

I am oh so happy... or in more simple words, I love the world!!! jajaja ok too much of an inside joke. Anyways, I only have a week and a half left working for Semana, surrounded by some of the most fascinating peopleI have ever met. Eduardo Arias, the magazine's cultural editor, took me in as his young, music-learning mentee, and has therefore brought me many CD's when he walks in the door with a picturesque hat and mochilas. I upload them as I work and hence have some amazing music added to my repertoire. Right now I'm uploading all of The Beatles discography.

Alfonso Cuellar I oficially named my mentor. He is the Editor in Chief of this amazing medium, he loves American politics as much as I do, and he is also strangely bilingual like me. Hence, I aspire to someday be like this man and I am very happy I got to meet him.

Yesterday, the magazine's director, Alejandro Santos, asked me if I would consider returning to work here after I graduate in... one and a half years! Who knows, maybe I will... in any case, it's a good thing to know you are wanted after graduation and not have an existential crisis of not getting a post-graduation job.

To chill or not to chill

I am, by nature, a stressed out person. I obsess with my friends, school, guys, weight, traveling... in the end, many things that are supposed to be enjoyable can easily been made into a nightmare if enough thought and analysis is put into it. That's why I need yoga and to read regularly, to switch-off my brain with TV and to party in the weekends.

But for my desire to become more Zen, to fully appreciate this idea that happiness is a way of living and not a destination, I have found several blogs of people, not Buddhist monks nor self-help coaches, but just people, who have managed to make their day to day lives as enjoyable and happy as possible.


Zen Habits

Is the first and my favorite one. This is the one I would like to share now, in order to not overload with information. It's quite charming really, since this is a 35-year-old guy with many children and a weird habit of waking up at 4 a.m. It's a cool read.

I love la Candelaria

And so it is... I am discovering my own city. I was born and lived here until the age of 13, and after that have spent practically every summer in its "cool" places. I usually club in wherever people are going, chill at country clubs and enjoy nice expensive restaurants. This is the life that I left here, of the city's elite and my bubbled-in friends (they are bubbled, yet still so amazing... how does that happen?) and recently I've been venturing a little bit out of my bubble.

I spent the weekend in a pretty cool house in the middle of Bogota's downtown, the old part of the city, with it's antique houses and universities, the great restaurants and random people. It is sad that I needed the help of foreigners to show me this city again, but usually an unaccustomed eye can see more beauty than the usual one.


I don't think I will describe it more, because I am not the best at doing this. For those of you who speak the beautiful Spanish tongue, this is for you. For those of you who don't, this is the one you need to read. Come visit.. trust me. I have met people from all over the world, yes, including Americans, living in this part of town... and oh, do they love it.

A google competitor.... finally

Check out Cuil.
It's pretty awesome, it searches way more pages than Google, and the layout is fantastic. Ladies and gentlemen, the search engine of choice.

Some people disagree, that's fine. That's why I like having a blog.

Rambling

This is necessary for me every once in a while... I don't do it often, but I probably should. Since this is a personal blog and not a professional one, I guess I can write my "thoughts on pretty much everything," that including my moral doubts and cultural clashes.

Today I felt torn, and it happens usually, between my Colombian morally conservative self and my wanna-be-European liberal views. It's a constant contradiction, and I begin to wonder whether innocence is a way of living or a born-into trait. Are those who remain innocent to many of life's most hideous things staying in a house of crystal? Are those who have known the world and experienced too much, lost, forgetting their morality in the first place, finding pleasure in everyday occurrences? Do they have a meaning or do they just wonder the world, trying to find themselves and with each walking step getting even more lost? Do they know what they want? Does knowing more and experiencing more show you what you want, but what if you know it in the first place? Will you lose your grace? innocence? emotional beauty? purity?

I'm quite attracted to purity. I believe in pure words and pure feelings, black and white morality, which becomes grey when there is no doctrine but one's own to guide the way. Is the superficial life a good one? Can a deep person connect to a shallow one in a level more than physical? Is there anything more than aesthetics? Does thinking too much automatically depress you? Are those who are happy those who decide to live in a purely shallow level? No desire to grow mentally and emotionally... is adventure in our heads or our bodies? Should we be trying to find a balance?

Right now I am stuck, not quite able to find myself. I know I am Colombian, I think as such in many ways, judging people quite often, realizing that most are not even worth knowing. I am also friendly but aloof, ready to stop. I find promiscuity to be disguting and social classes an unavoidable reality. I find beauty in many things and I enjoy partying, but I am constantly trying to find meaning to everything I do. I realize partying, for people in a country so screwed up, with no particular dreams or hopes, the every day life is what keeps us so happy. It is the enjoyment of good stable friendships and the kindness of strangers.

I know I am American. Hard to admit, yet true. I am quite cynical and I see people for their skin colour, I am acceptant of every realigion and type of person yet mantain my purely skeptical view. I am sometimes closeminded as to what truly happens in the world. and most of all, I am quite naive.

I am not European. I thought I was. I thought I could have similar views, taste for culture, of seeing the world, of being open-minded, of speaking various languages and like people for who they are in spite color, race, class, nationality... I dont have a taste for the exotic. Europeans search exotiqueness and they find it often in less developed countries, whether it be in Asia, Africa or South America. I share their love for good food and good wine and traveling, that is for sure. But the fact that it is acceptabale to live like an adolecsent up until your mid thirties is depressing to me, as well as libertine way of looking at love and lust, the lack of passion, the lack of flavor.

That's what they come searching for here, let them find it.

Trying to find oneself is not an easy thing. Sometimes I wake up feeling exitentential, like today, and so I write, and I think, and I speak way too much. I am also good at appreciating my very perfect life. Purpose? Nobody knows it yet. Happiness? It's a way of living, not a destination. Moral grounds? Love is love, hate is hate, no betrayals, no lies, no misconceptions and no corruption. This is something I hope stays with me no matter where I go, no matter who I meet, no matter how much I live, I am never going to lose that small part of myself that I finally got to find. Happily, I feel much more mature and stable, much more of a complete person, than many who are older than me. Does age truly bring you wisdom or are those who are wise born with the trait., and those who enjoy swiming in ignorance doomed to drown in it?

La zona cafetera

I thought I should write about my weekend, because sitting at the office right now, I can't concentrate at all. Is it the extreme exhaustion? Or the fact that it was such an amazing trip that in my head I'm still there? Who knows... but let's write.

The troopers: Jens, a German guy I met here in Bogota, Torsten, his visiting friend, Cami, my best friend, and well, me.

Destination: The Coffee Zone.

Mode of Transportation: Flota, translating to "very-dangerous-bus"

Day 1.

We left on Thursday at 3:30 in the afternoon, and enjoyed a nine-hour bus ride! It was quite decent though, since we sat in the front, the chairs were very nice and comfortable, and the driver, a careful one. The German guys had wanted to go by plane, but the only way Cami could come on the trip was if we took the bus, and it was a fantastic idea. The view of the mountains, the sky, the crops, was so beautiful it became almost romantic. We got to Armenia at around midnight, having slept slightly and being extremely excited. There was a foreshadowing of it being a quite fantastic weekend.

Casa Jardin Zen
What made our short trip a memorable one was our decision to change where we spent the night on each night. We arrived to the Casa Jardin Zen pretty late, but were so awed by its beauty that we stayed up for a while, just going up and down the stairs, trying unsuccessfully to go outside, checking out all the rooms and their unique design... Cami and I went to sleep while the German boys went to a nearby and empty bar to look for a mojito.

Oh wait. Before going to sleep we did definetely get attacked by a huge spider... ok not attacked, but it was freaking us out as much as possible just by crawling on the other side of the room. It crawled out the balcony, and we were happy. Already in bed cami tickled me in a spider kind of way and my reflex was to smack her in the arm, quite hard I must say.

Sorry Cami, I really don't like spiders.

Day 2

I got woken up by the crowing of a rooster at... nine? Maybe it was a hangover rooster who woke up to late to crow... who knows. It was still a wonderful way to wake up. Cami and I started taking pictures of our magnificent view from our room in the second floor. Mountains... again, as green as they could get. It was quite the honeymoon sweet. We went down to wake up the guys and have some breakfeast. The owner of the house, who is called "La Mona", was certainly mad at us for being so loud the night before, but we won her over with our charm and she ended up helping us quite a bit. After taking a shower in a bathroom where anyone in the living room could see me with my head full of foam, we left, on to negotiate a day with a cab driver to he would take is to the Valle de Cocora.

El Valle

It took us some time to get up there, but once we did, it was oh-so worth it. The palm trees are called "palmas de cera" and they are the Colombian national tree. There are only six species in existence, five are in Colombia, and four in this valley. It is really one of the most beautiful landscapes I've ever seen. Right there we ate some trout that had been fished in the nearby river, with patacones., Yuuuum. good stuff. Then the driver took us to where we would be staying our second night, The Hippie Hilton. And no, I'm not kidding. This was the name.

Hippie Hilton

Georgio, the owner, welcomed us with a big hug and many crazy things, including his museum of meteorites and other archeological discoveries, and the bed where Simon Bolivar spent a couple of nights. He also had a couple of snakes, the mice to feed them, and a litter of newborn golden retrievers. Our sort-of-tent was one of many, each of them with a different theme. One resembled and amazon-type cabin, the other, a trailer, and there was one filled with glow-in-the-dark stickers. Ours, was decorated with records and Beatles posters, had a hammock, a water bed, a rustic kitchen and a small fridge. The toilet was separated from the rest of the room only by a piece of cloth. The shower was outside, and it only reached up to the shoulders. The river, only steps away, could lull us into sleep. After hanging out for a while in this very trippy place, we went to the nearby town of Salento to buy ourselves some dinner. We arrived to this town in a small bus, walked around, had some beers in the town square, and went to a very Colombian slaughter house to get our well-deserved-dead cow. After waiting a long time for a bus, we got back to the Hilton, Jens marinated the beef while Torsten started the fire and Cami and I just took pictures. :) The night was awesome, a little cold but quite sureal.

Day 3

El Parque del Cafe
After some laughs while each of one took showers and the others attempted to take pictures, we decided to go back to Armenia to the bus terminal, so we could get to El Parque Del Cafe. When we finally got there we decided we didn't want to go on any attractions, since we know that there are far better ones in other parts of the world, but the coffee experience was well needed. We went on the cable car up and down, walked some trails through bamboos and coffee plants, Torsten got bit by humongous ants and Cami and I tried to teach them about rural legends. Then we had lunch at a very-touristic-therefore-not-so-good place where Jens made Torsten eat a Bandeja Paisa. It is a Colombian dish, typical from the area, that has beans, ground beef, pork, sausage, rice etc. Torsten hated it.

Canopy
After such a suculent lunch we went to do Canopy, and we had a great time climbing up trees (with ladders jaja) and then launching of with pulleys to the next tree. A Tarzan-like experience, giving un a great view of plaintain crops and bamboo dwellings. It took and hour. We were exhausted. We had FUN.

Delirio

Our last stay in another century. We arrived to this huge hacienda, filled with antiques and paintings, with a nice pool and too many rooms. After taking a dip in the pool we got ready and set off to Montenegro for a night of adventuuureee. After looking for a decent place to eat, a little beggar kid took us to a decent place where we ate some more trucha. After this, we went off to find a party spot. Everyone in this little town stared at us, since well, we were speaking in English and Jens is probably the blondest person many of them had ever seen. We went inside a small club, had some drinks, Cami and Torsten got attacked by the local people (With kindness I must say.. many of them wondering where we were from and if they wanted to spend the night at their house) and after not much more of this we took a cab back to the delirio. Then, we sat by the pool, looked at the stars, talked for a couple of hours and went to sleep in our huge rooms, of the huge, fancy house, that was certainly haunted.

Day 4
The last day of our trip. We had a good breakfeast in Delirio's huge dining room, and then headed off to Armenia to meet with Jens' mentor and his very mexican wife. They are quite a fantastic couple, and I noticed how happy they were, and how long they had been together. I wish that fate for each and every one of us. We had ajiaco for lunch with the same fantastic view that we had the first day from the Casa Jardin Zen. Then it was time for us to go on the bus, this trip only taking 6 hours, because our driver was a little deranged. It seemed longer though, because of our lack of AC. Good trip, good times.

I curse Murphy's Law

So I decided to leave.

For the past month I have been pondering, asking people for advice, and pretty much just driving myself insane trying to decide whether I should stay in Bogota in this pretty cool internship that I am at, or go back to the "ville" to study my ass off. I decided that I am a student and I should act as such, since I have the rest of my life to be in an office working. So I will be back in the small Gainesville, enjoying Gator football (and my last chance at understanding the game before I graduate), campaigning for Obama, even though I cannot vote, and having some crazy adventures.

So thanks to those who helped me make my decision. In the end it was a matter of where would I be learning more. In Semana I had a position I would like to have when I graduate and become a full-time employee. But I wasn't going to be doing anything journalistic, nor learning any new skills. And I only have three semesters at most at the ville. So I shall go back, and enjoy the anonymous life of a poor college student and party-up.

Be ready.

Articles that seem interesting

For those of us not that internet savy, or probably still naive regarding the advertisement business, the shocking horror of facebook ads talking straight to us makes us feel paranoid. I had this discussion with my friend Cami the other day, where we both found that all the ads popping up among our newsfeeds were strangely appealing. I got ads about publishing writing, about health, about rock, or art... all things that interest me. I started thinking that Facebook had either gone cool, or there is a way that some big brother somewhere actually knows what i'm interested in and decided to share this knowledge with the Facebook staff.

Check out this article from the economist

That pretty much explains it... freaky....very freaky.

Bizarre Day

The weirdness started when my brother and I walked up and down fancy stairs to get to the building's club house. Ready to work out, the cold and the constant light rain accompanied us all the way. It hasn't stopped yet, and yes, it is midnight.
Later in the morning, Colombia's Minister of Defense announced that Tirofijo, the FARCs main leader, was dead. He announced it in the middle of an interview, with no planning nor government back-up. He is said to have died in March of a heart attack, which to me is quite ironic. This terrorist, with once pure ideals of social equality and a fair government, wasn't killed in combat or by a military plot. He died of old age. That's how long this absurd war has been. To the point that those who started it are timing out and passing on the torch to their predecessors.
Then was the earthquake. A quick shook up of 5.5 in the richer scale that almost gave me a heart attack that would have put me in the same hell as Tirofijo. Maybe a level or two closer to the ground in Dante's inferno. It was long, and we panicked, and I ran under a door because they always told me in school that was the safest place. After the floor stopped moving and the books were left hesitant in the edge of their shelves, my mom told me, with a giggle,
"Andie, there are no door frames in this house,"
And she was right. The too modern apartment has those gigantic wooden doors that reach all the way up to the ceiling. And so I laughed, as my heart continued to pound, still to the rhythm of the seismic waves.
The epicenter wasn't that far away from Bogota, and around seven people died. I had never felt such a strong shaking of the ground.
And for the last occurrence, the lights have been out in my apartment building all night. They finally came back on, but it doesn't last long. It just seems like I'm going to wake up very very soon.

On writing a novel

There are all types of opinions on writing. Some authors I admire, like Irene Nemirovsky or Mario Vargas LLosa studied literature and absorbed master pieces, dissecting them and creating prose styles of their own. My father recommended I didn't do this; Most people who study literature have an occult or sometimes quite evident aspiration of becoming authors themselves. But closely studying masters usually trumps the imagination, he says, and many become easily discouraged when they start idolizing classic writers and realize they will never compare.

I realize I will never be a master. It's not an aspiration and not even a distant dream. But I do want to write, and I don't want to stop myself from doing it because of pure fear of failure. If I dont start now, I don't know If I will ever be ready. I am pretty sure I will come up with a manuscript, show it to a couple of friends and put it on a shelf, together with that cute story I wrote when I was 12 that involved all of my friends and some serious drama. I found it the other day, and it made me nostalgic. I remembered when I wrote it. It took me a couple of weeks, but I was absorbed and ready. I hadn't thought about who may read it and whether people would like it. I wrote it because it was in me; I wrote it because I enjoyed the process.

So this summer I will write. Until now I have thought a love story, as corny as that sounds, because I know love, and it is the only intense feeling I feel qualified to write about. We are in a generation with no purpose of being, with a lack of passion for life, of life-and-death drama, so we are left to ponder about our senseless relationships that we are trying to dramatize enough to fill that void that plastic lives give to us. So when I write that love story, I will let people know. maybe, who knows. But at least I know i'll be trying.

Again... life pondering

Coming back to Colombia would be the easy way out. That has always been clear to me, yet it is not until this summer that I have realized that I am not such a fan of what is comfortable.