Ripe Enough for Picking?

I saw my life branching out before me like the green fig tree in the story. From the tip of every branch, like a fat purple fig, a wonderful future beckoned and winked. One fig was a husband and a happy home and children, and another fig was a famous poet and another fig was a brilliant professor, and another fig was Ee Gee, the amazing editor, and another fig was Europe and Africa and South America, and another fig was Constantin and Socrates and Attila and a pack of other lovers with queer names and offbeat professions, and another fig was an Olympic lady crew champion, and beyond and above these figs were many more figs I couldn’t quite make out. I saw myself sitting in the crotch of this fig tree, starving to death, just because I couldn’t make up my mind which of the figs I would choose. I wanted each and every one of them, but choosing one meant losing all the rest, and, as I sat there, unable to decide, the figs began to wrinkle and go black, and, one by one, they plopped to the ground at my feet.
Sylvia Plath, The Bell Jar

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Saturday Running through the City 


Yesterday I went to Creative Mornings Lima, part of the Creative Mornings community that organises free conferences (coffee included!) all around the world. This month’s topic was music and we listened to interesting stories about how the music world works behind the scenes. I applied to be a voluntary, let’s see how that goes. After that I ran to teach Spanish, home to have lunch, then I jumped on a taxi to go to the hospital for my doctor’s appointment. After consulting in the previous months one doctor that just seeing me and touching my neck told me I had diabetes AND cancer (and that told me not to worry, people with that kind of cancer live a long life) and one that told me that the problem was my body and I would have to be in a diet my whole life, I have found (miracle!) a serious doctor that doesn’t invent diagnosis and gives me a series of exams to do to scientifically prove what I have (he thinks nothing serious) and what not. I was starting to feel doctors with brains didn’t exist. This is to say: there are plenty of hospitals and doctors in your town, if you feel sad, uncomfortable or not satisfied (or the three of them, like me) DO NOT stay, try someone else, another hospital. Next week I’ll do my exams, find the problem and the solution. I just had to step away from that place and now I definitely feel I’m in good hands.

At night I was so tired I stayed at home. Before going to sleep I opened up Netflix to watch a comedy, I clicked on the smiling face of Drew Barrymore in the poster of Miss You Already and discovered she was actually the friend that sees her bestie find out she has cancer and go all through the process of chemio and more. Beautiful movie, but I couldn’t finish it. Sometimes you just want to laugh and go to sleep. 

How was your weekend? 

Check out http://creativemornings.com and let me know if there’s an event in your city! :)

Sunday on the Floor


The day I wanted to blog my computer decided to stop writing. I wanted to post all the pictures of my trips and tell you about them but half the keyboard doesn’t work anymore. 

Here I am from my iPad, drinking coffee and eating a chocoteja, surrounded by the Sunday newspaper. I guess I should say I’m sitting on the floor on my yoga mat because we don’t have a couch yet. New flat, no furniture. 

In a few moments I’ll start reading the last part of Immortality by Milan Kundera, a book  that truly surprised me. I was lucky to find it on my way at a second-hand book sale. Next to it, waiting, there’s a book I wanted to read since high school and that is finally mine: The Bell Jar by Sylvia Plath. I am an achiever, that means I feel bad if I haven’t done anything productive. It doesn’t matter if it’s Sunday. Right now I am torn between feeling guilty that I am writing and then reading and convincing myself I deserve it at least one day a week. 

Last night I watched the last episode of Girlmore Girls, Fall, and I’ve got to admit I cried a little bit. Lorelai is the hardworking, strong and inspiring woman that should be the focus of the show, and Rory is a selfish and spoiled 32-year-old baby that cannot put her sh*t together. When I was younger I liked that she loved to read and was good at school because I could see myself in her but she is definitely thousands of kms away of what it’s a great character like Hermione Granger. 

Yesterday I went to the presentation of the summer courses at the photography school I dream to study so bad. Here in December you get another salary apart from the one you normally receive, and here I am again torn between “investing on myself” like my mum called it and saving up because we have to buy a house and you have to save the more you can. I am always a mind with a body dragged by two extremes. 

What do you think? 

My Photos & Music – October edition

Since I haven’t taken a lot of photos this month (I spent most of September and October at home working on my thesis), and I wanted to share what I’ve been listening this fall, I decided to put together photos and music in one post. Years ago I used to use 8tracks, but now I can’t find any song I search, so I created the playlist on Spotify. The photos are not good and a little bit boring this month, so sorry for that. If you want to see more of my photos click –> here.
Let me know in the comments what you’ve been listening lately! :)

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PXB #2: Tropic of Cancer – Henry Miller

tropico del cancro henry miller recensione

 Like a (deeper) Bukowski in Europe. Paris, its streets, bars and hidden places, and a man wandering in it, searching with his weird friends for women, a distraction, something to pass time by. Sex, alcohol, literature, art, and Paris, Paris, Paris.

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PXB #1: His Last Bow – Sir Arthur Conan Doyle

his last bow sherlock holmes conan doyle

Sherlock Holmes for me means tea and warm blankets and stories set in cold evenings with protagonists wrapped in scarves, hats and long overcoats. This little book found on a second-hand bookshop contains short stories with no chronological order. The last story is the one that gives the title to the collection, and it’s also the epilogue: set in 1914, Sherlock, retired and living in the country with his bees, decides to take one last case. I think you can find almost all the ebooks for free on iBooks and Kindle since there is no problem with the copyright, so you have no excuse for not reading them.

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