In the rain – soaking my clothes

I like to think of the posts I make as in-promptu, as a thing of the moment, but usually I have a clear idea what I want to say, from beginning to end, even if I dont know the how. This is not that kind of post. As soon as I got to the bus station I started writing this.

Look at the picture. Thats me, my outfit of the day. Anything wrong? Maybe you dont like it? Thats fine, really it is, that not what this post is about. Try hard and give reasons as to why those clothes would be reasons enough so that a piece of garbage follows me in the street to say some nasty things.
It’s 13:48 and I leave uni. I am walking to the bus today courtesy of a proffessor who cannot calculate his time suitably and I leave my classroom with an hour left for the next bus. I cross the bridge that gives access to our uni and stop to pull my thighs up. My pitch black, no see-through thighs, my almost pants thighs. And I continue my way to the station.
I’ve noticed a young guyvqith his bike sitting across where I stopped but thought nothing of it. He was dressed in my city’s football club gear and looks as anyone in this city.
At some point along my way while I am shipping on my juice he comes behind me and says something about my legs and my ass that I am trying to forget as quickly as I can. May I refer to the picture above again please? Well apparently it was temptation enough for a young man to grab his bike and follow me to a close distance and say all the things that should never be said to an unknown person, in the middle of the street, making they feel extremely uncomfortable and as usually happens, having to look away as a means of protection (maybe if i show no interest they will leave). Apparently my outfit was not only worth the persecution but also a turning around in the first corner and passing beside me, this time quietly, again.
I need not say what this is, I need not qualify it. I need this to stop.

Floure

Honesty blog

I wrote that ^^ when I started this blog. The reason? In a conundrum of classificatory titles (beauty blog, humour blog, whatever blog) I could not find myself represented. I could have then called it Pariah Blog yet that was offensive against my own persona, I am in a battle to love myself, so I decided on Honesty Blog. And today in one my worst weeks I feel the need to remember that this is indeed my place to open up and speak.
I am stressed, I am angry, I am frustrated, I am sleep deprived, I am the worst me.
Problem #1: how hard can it be for a bank to write a statement saying I have money and I can use it? Well, apparently it is and the incomprehensibleness of the situation is freaking me out.
Problem #2: a notification that if I don’t pay my flight today the price will go up. Why.didnt.you.tell.me.that.before.?. Like one of those three days I’ve been waiting for you to reply to my previous email?
Problem #3: team mates trying to not attend our first, last and only meeting for the presentation on Tuesday. Are you kidding me??? Bonus: she doesnt even reply to my messages.
All in a day were I have reduced time because a) i have a paper to write, b)i have a paper to revise (#easteriscomiiing), c) i finally got to meet my friends to celebrate my bday which was on 4th March, d) i have to pay the freaking flight
*Heavy breathing*
You feel me?
Floure

Floure

Memories #1

Sharing few memories here

Floure

Give me a minute

How did we end up here is beyond me. I once hated him. Or so I thought. I knew there was a feeling there that made me erratic and anxious to the point that my chest hurted. I thought I hated him because that is the natural reaction to someone’s bullying and dismissal. I thought I hated him because there was no other feeling to have in such a situation. I hated him because there was no reason for his behaviour but pure and absolute hate towards me; and so, I hated him.

Time has passed and I wished it would be more time so our relationship would be ridiculously justified by the passing of the years, as if all that time would say: things have changed. But the truth is that in a short period of time the feelings remain the same though we might not call it hate. I still feel erratic and anxious, and my chest still hurts, for him.

My dad is holding my hand the best he can, he is as nervous as I am but at least he is not shaking. I am dressed in white, pretty flowers in hand and traditions and superstitions hang on my body. My best friend is a few feet ahead of me, talking to the children and somewhere further away is him.

I take one step forward. Another. One more. Another one. Countless more. And I feel his hand on mine, I see a little glow in his eyes and a gulp down his throat. This is a moment in life and last night, when we were apart, we promised that we cheriss this moment for the rest of our lives, no matter what, this minute counts.

I feel his hand slowly, deliberately caressing my skin from my hand to my waist. My pulse in raicing and I don’t understand what he’s doing, but if this is what he wants, me, his bride, won’t say no. He takes half a step closer and pushes me to meet him halfway. He presses his forehead to mine and breaths happily. I look up at him and quickly wipe that traitor tear and smile at him. His traveling and active hands take my face in warm embrace and he gets close enough that only me can listen him whispering “give me just a minute”.

Like that, memories flood me of all the times that he has said that, and right know the meaning is more evident to me than ever before. He said it before our first I love you. Struggling with his speech, he just took a deep breath looked me in the eye as he hold me close. After a minute of feeling us, there was no need to say it but he still did it.

Before I met his dad, he hold me safely in his arms and said “I’m here, you can have a minute”.

When we told the world about our love we fought the painful shock and surprise as best as we could. By the time we got to the cab hand by hand and sat, he said “I think I need a minute, love” and so I crawled to his lap and hold him tight.

Now, on the day of our union, if he wants me to be close, connected, being one with him, that I give to him. I give him all my minutes.

Please…

Infopost: This exists

Floure

In the rain – Too dark to see the drops

In the rain – Too dark to see the drops.

In the rain – Too dark to see the drops

Hello there…

… I think I am back. Maybe.

It has been an awful amount of time since I last wrote anything here. Damn me. But I am back for a while and with new hopes and illusion, though no ideas on how to translate those into posts. So patience is required my friends, or click unfollow. Please do not. 

So, first I have few things to say.

1) I can now confirm what multiple times suggested in this blog: I will be a semi-permanent individual in the USA for a little under two years. I have been accepted in the Graduate School of a university that for safety reasons I probably should not mention but that I cannot promise that you will not get to know by other means or hints in oncoming posts. Also I will be something that is unknown for is inexistent in my country yet very interesting and also daunting, a Teaching Assistant.

1.5) If you want to know about that in future posts, hey just say it!

2) I am sometimes terrified, sometimes excited, sometimes overwhelmed, sometimes fed up with the prospects of becoming a semi-permanent individual in the USA.

3) Fuck you burocracy.

4) Life is still hectic and I still cannot cope with it.

5) I am about to graduate and I honestly can’t wait. I will miss the people though.

6) My eyes are open, I can see, but can I act?

7) Final remark: keep your voice and use it. Say whatever you need, as loud or quiet you may want it to be, say, talk, speak, do it.

One day you might find yourself in the middle of a fist of agonizing cries that will mute your voice. And by the time you are done crying, a deathly weakness upon your bones will trap your voice in the depths of your silence.

8) I almost wrote your instead of you’re. I want to cry…

9) I discovered hockey. I am an expert of hockey now.

10) Bye

Bye!