could the world make any more sense

Late last night, I was having breakfast at McDonalds with some friends. They were having fries, I sneaked in a box of waffles (I don't know if I ever told you about my craving waffles phase: a couple of years back all I ever wanted to eat for days in a row were waffles; i mean, i went out, I ate waffles, I went to the supermarket, I bought waffles, I saw a brick, I thought of waffles; well, it's all coming back to me now, apparently). Anyway, when I sat down, directly opposite at another table was this guy glancing at me- he wasn't creeping, we were just sitting opposite of each other. For a moment I thought "This guy looks awfully familiar, hmmm", but I brushed the idea off and went back to my waffles.
After we finished eating, the guy came up to me and asked whether I was on insert summer school that we both attended when we were 9 and Wham! I replied insert name and things began to unravel. We both went to this lame summer school slash camp for bored kids back in 95. He was this shy Indian boy who liked cats and Mario and I was this shy Romanian Girl who was scared of feathers and mice (there were a lot of those over there), so we naturally clicked, as much as you can click when you're nine. We never kept in touch.
Who knew that 17 years later we'd meet again sitting opposite each other, late at night, at McDonalds? Story of a lifetime much? Maybe the world does go round.

Georgy Girl.

Who doesn't love a story about an underdog overcoming adversary? Actually, I'm not sure if not being able to get a date or get laid would be seen as adversary, but let's just go with it to make Georgy's story seem more thrilling. Not that it needs it, mind you. Hanging out with Georgy while drinking wine from a box, which actually tasted like a mixture of green tea and red beans, was actually more entertaining than previously expected. I know, it doesn't sound like it, but that first scene with the little girls dancing while Georgy was cheering, being all goofy and lovely about it got me hooked.
Long before Molly Ringwald's Sixteen Candles, John Hughes gave us Georgy: a funny girl who is unlucky in love. This, of course, is made more obvious by her glamorous and coquettish roommate Meredith, who has more parties and suitors than she can keep up with. Some girls have all the luck.
Anyway, one day, something changes. Not in Georgy, but in everyone else. Men that never noticed her before are now on their knees, crying for a bit of attention from her, which of course is overwhelming for the poor jolie fille. She gets not just one guy but two! Ok, the dudes aren't exactly Jean Paul Belmondo or Guillaume Canet but still, the girl gets her man.
Of course she also learns life lessons and grows up a little along the way too. Isn't this what always happens in these kind of movies? And isn't it great? Yes and yes.

Anyway, these overly dramatic comedies that are actually tragedies if you care to look closer, these movies where everyone seems to, like, speak in proverbs and do amazing (read quirky) dance routines that you shouldn't try at home, trust me, i speak from experience, really hit base sometimes. Amongst my attempts to not do the aww thing I hate so much sometimes, i understood something and it really stuck out. I think Georgy mentioned it at some point, in a really reflective, philosophical, deep, I have a beard and I'm a hundred and fifty years old way: there are two kinds of people in this world, people who create stories, and people who witness them. I keep thinking about it. That and the dream I had this morning. I was best buddies with wong kar wai, we were splitting rent and all and he was taking care of me and my random asian kid. at some point it turned into a nightmare because we were being evicted from our house and the only person that could save us was penelope cruz but she was at the gym and you needed a special ID to get in. I jumped the barrier on a staircase leading to the gym but got chased and they didn't believe me when I said I lost my ID card. I then decided to jump onto one of the letter O's in yahoo.com so I could swing over to the gym (through presumably a portal). Then I woke up.

state of mind

When I put my hand on the back of my neck I can still feel the Syrian sun. It's red, dry and feverishly hot. Maybe I was sunburnt and that's my only souvenir. I took my camera out just a few times during my nine-days stay in Syria, and that's probably one of my biggest regrets. That and wearing a bohemian dress in the desert of Latakia, which stopped me from climbing on top of my camel. *Yes, there was a camel with my name on it. *Yes, my logic is astounding. 

During my climb to the Citadel of Alepp, where tourists gathered around to look at the locals looking at them, I met this adorable little boy (in a purple t-shirt and cheeky smile) who completely stole my heart. We talked in minimal English and French (I think at some point I was so excited I even said something in Portuguese. some things are better said in Portuguese, you know), which is why I still don't know whether he said he was from France or Ireland. I think he said he was seven. The only piece of knowledge I could pass on to him was that the place we were in was considered to be the oldest, largest castle in the world. His inquisitive eyes seemed to be waiting for more, but I started whistling instead. I figured little boys dig that. He did, because at some point he reached and grabbed my hand while we were climbing the stairs. my heart pretty much melted. 

Damascus is full of people and travelers, and the food is delicious and cheap. I really liked bread rolls with fillings of egg, rice, and olives and onions, and their coffee, in their tiny cups, and the cheap wine and the extra cheap cigarettes. Breakfast was amazing every morning and I really can't begin to describe what I ate every morning because I might break down and cry at its awesomeness. *People that know my love/hate (mostly hate) relationship with food might question this. Maybe I was just happy. There were also these stands by the streets that sold the thickest smoothies, blended from lots of fruit and little milk. They would come in huge, dirty jugs, but no one minded, because they were the yummiest things everyone had ever tasted and almost for no money at all. 

I guess that's it, you can tell these people live on very little, but their hearts are far from small. That's what I loved most about this place. other's happiness became my own and everything seemed to have this sort of ethereal calming effect on me. 

On my last night, we took a bus and went to mount Quasiun, the "lovers mountain" that overlooks the whole city of Damascus. We nestled ourselves on the chairs, under the open air. It was dark and starry. In the distance, the Umayyad Mosque shone discretely, while the lights from the Four Seasons Hotel blanketed everything in a thin layer of golden light. I wanted to freeze time in this ancient red city. I was so far away from all I knew, I began forgetting things. As if life had only begun in this new place. Priorities began to shuffle unconsciously, and the easeness with which I was ready to let it happen captivated me. 

But I couldn't freeze time. The moon soon pushed in and we headed back to the hotel. And then we left. 

And now it's all just a warm memory in my mind. That of a sunburn, but on the heart. I hope dearly it never washes away. 

inside of sonny rollin's sax

Although I do not often think of it

it strikes me that everything I do not taste

and I would not dream of tasting

undoubtedly has a flavor

and even if I forget it

the flavor waits patiently

to be tasted.  It hides

over and inside of everything, fitting

anywhere cozily alongside smells

and particles of light.

And speaking of patience

there was a moth in the bathroom

stall that I chose yesterday at four,

and when I returned at six

to use it again, the moth was frozen

still to the linoleum wall like a Pompeiian dog

and I thought it was dead,

but I hoped,

and I gently sent a difibrillating finger toward it. 

It was disturbed preemptively by the air

that I had disturbed near its back

and before my finger

reached the moth it groggily flew

into the screen of the bathroom window.

Immovable but so movable,

I think that moth could have lived forever

uninterrupted on that tile

if I hadn’t come back intent on breaking

its concentration.

I saw a girl today

who choked on a mouthful of gnats

when she carelessly laughed outside

near twilight, and I

fancied in that moment

gnats the unmelting snowflakes of the summer

always in front of me

and when one disappears I notice

ten others falling, in my hair

and in the back of my shirt

and at the mercy of the wind

but heedless of my wishes

but I bet if I wanted I could catch one

on my tongue.  It seemed easy enough then.

And I wondered then about you

and I got the strangest feeling

like I was locked in the trunk of your car

like in that video

the Travis video

and it felt like pouring rain

but it was scorching outside

is everything here make believe

if I could catch you on my tongue

and hold you inside and let you dissolve.

Or how fixedly would you wait or what stray wind

would claim you if I did not.

variations

The Wonder Years

A random memory: having snowed heavier than usual, we got a few days off school. some friends who lived in the same apartment block and I went exploring. i was six years old at the time. they were a couple of years older than me and, although I felt like a sheep, I was delighted to tag along. we walked along a dubious little street, a path we had never been down, and after some time arrived at a kindergarten. we hid behind the bushes near the fence. i felt weird. then the kindergarten bell ran, presumably for a break, and one of the boys suggested we all get stones and throw it at the kids as they come out. I felt ill at the idea, because 1. that’s not nice and as someone recently out of kindergarten I wouldn’t want that happen to me, 2. I tend to exaggerate all my visuals in my head and I could see my rock hitting the forehead of some poor three year old girl making her bleed and forcing me to go to jail, never to see my parents again. by the time I looked back at them they all had a few rocks in each hand and were telling me to hurry up. I was six and wanted to fit in. I grabbed two next to my feet, and inhaled deeply. am I even allowed to say no? all of a sudden the kindy kids started running out and one of the boys counted, “1, 2… 3!” at that point, I saw the other rocks fly across the fence, I panicked and thought the easiest way out of this was to throw… badly. I threw a little to my left and it landed only two meters away, not even over the fence. as it landed pathetically I heard the boys moan in disgust, but in unison we all turned around and started sprinting, I could hear a few kids exclaim to a teacher some people were throwing rocks, followed by a teacher running to the fence and yelling at us nuisances, oh I hope those kids don’t grow up and end up like us. I felt so scared, my heart was thumping, wanting to leave. maybe the kindy teacher will be a really slow runner, and can never catch up? we ran and ran till the kindergarten became out of sight. we sat down by the benches in front of our apartment block, all breathing heavily, the boys laughed, and made fun of my throw. I pretended to be embarrassed, but really I was happy that I didn’t hit anyone and wouldn’t go to jail. I don’t remember hanging out with them again after, and spent the rest of the break watching some drama about two sisters who can turn into snakes.

because you smell like a warm croissant in the morning

"Immature people falling in love destroy each other’s freedom, create a bondage, make a prison. Mature persons in love help each other to be free; they help each other to destroy all sorts of bondages. And when love flows with freedom there is beauty. When love flows with dependence there is ugliness.

A mature person does not fall in love, he or she rises in love. Only immature people fall; they stumble and fall down in love. Somehow they were managing and standing. Now they cannot manage and they cannot stand. They were always ready to fall on the ground and to creep. They don’t have the backbone, the spine; they don’t have the integrity to stand alone.

A mature person has the integrity to stand alone. And when a mature person gives love, he or she gives without any strings attached to it. When two mature persons are in love, one of the great paradoxes of life happens, one of the most beautiful phenomena: they are together and yet tremendously alone. They are together so much that they are almost one. Two mature persons in love help each other to become more free. There is no politics involved, no diplomacy, no effort to dominate. Only freedom and love."

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Osho

we're getting really good at distracting ourselves

Girls and the boys to whom they cling.
Girls and the hands they hold.
Girls and the legs they cross.
Girls and the words they understand and don't.
Girls and their freckled noses.
Girls and the unexplainable noises they make.
Girls and their own girls.
Girls and the food they will only smell.
Girls and their unspoken needs and deeds.
Girls and the cigarettes they either smoke or detest with the same intensity.
Girls and the souls they'd want to edit in photoshop.
Girls and the polyester lining of their favorite dresses.
Girls and the mascara which either clumps or runs.
Girls and the beds they sleep in.
Girls and the beds they dream in.
Girls and the pictures they take of their cats.
Girls and their bubble baths and cupcakes.
Girls and their thighs, always too big.
Girls and the ears they refuse to whisper in.
Girls and the tears they shed on the inside.
Girls and their ability to feel the most when they are most lost.
Girls and their little contraceptive pills.
Girls and the words that undress them.
Girls and their need to be free, while longing to be captive.
Girls and the courage and vulnerability they are cordially invited to express at the same time. 
Girls and the pieces of life they leave behind everywhere they go.

(photo: Jacques Henri Lartigue)