jueves, 17 de febrero de 2011
domingo, 28 de noviembre de 2010
viernes, 26 de noviembre de 2010
This is an interesting blog post because as the title suggests, some things are indeed better left unsaid. At times we may not have the words to express how we feel. May it be the biggest joy or the saddest moment in our lives, words are sometimes not enough. A show of one’s love can be expressed by a single caress or a simple glance and sparkle in your eyes. A stubborn tear that manages to roll down your cheek in the moment you least expected is worth more than a thousand words to express your sorrow.
We always wish we knew what to say to make things better for a friend who is having a rough time. I know I’ve always had trouble offering words of comfort, but the warmth of a strong hug is sometimes enough to show you care. People don’t always expect you to tell them it’s all going to work out in the end. We don’t need to hear the storm will pass and eventually it will all be better. It’s not always what you say that can make a difference.
Yes, words can be complicated and sometimes can get us into trouble. But for some of us, words can also become a source of comfort. I find strength in every verb, I find significance in every noun, and I find faith in every name that I write down. For me, writing is a liberating feeling and an empowering action where I can find a sense of reassurance and hope for what I believe.
We may not always know what to say, we may not always say the right thing, but what we feel will always find a way to pull through. Some of us feel the urge to talk things over and in that attempt tend to find ourselves in a deeper rut than where we started. Patience is a virtue, and when lost at sea sometimes it is better to ride the current than to fight it. So if things are indeed better left unsaid, only time and destiny will have the words we need.
martes, 9 de noviembre de 2010
Blogging: a not so secret gateway to release your inner thoughts, your darkest secrets, and your most hidden desires. I guess we all have a part of us that secretly desires to be a writer. Or some of us even aspire to become the hard headed journalist who isn’t afraid to defy even the most tyrant of all governments. Or is it that we all seek that sense of self recognition that we are here, with a purpose and a voice ready to be heard? Whatever the reason, blogging has offered us the release button, the escape key to a world beyond the realm of the four walls that abide us.
I have always considered myself a writer. Ever since I was in the first grade I enjoyed writing short stories and in some occasion even won literature prizes and had my stories interpreted by the Imagination Machine. I can still remember the actors who interpreted my Leprechaun story in front of the whole school when I was only six years old. Those were the types of things that motivated me to keep writing. Keeping a journal in class and a diary at home helped me to keep my thoughts and feelings flowing.
But I guess those are some of the perks of growing up in a talent oriented environment. I am forever thankful of having the chance of growing up in Anaheim and attending an outstanding public elementary school, with the most excellent and dedicated teachers. With an exposure to Impressionist artists, scientific experiments, and literary masterpieces, my school program was the best I could have asked for. Learning about Picasso’s Blue Period, Monet’s Water Lilies, and even Van Gogh’s madness is something a young child should never live without. I remember being fascinated by Van Gogh’s brushstrokes in the Starry Night, but even more amazed when I read about the story behind his work, the story of his life.
The life of an artist is never that of a fine line, but then again there are no fine lines in art or in life. A life is a whirlwind of emotions, a rollercoaster of sensations, and a never ending expedition to foreign lands. Everywhere you look you learn something new. You may have thought you’ve seen it all until you turn left and find yourself at a new horizon. You sometimes think nothing can surprise you again, and yet you always seem to have forgotten the way of things. But you can’t live life being afraid. You can’t write a new page in your diary thinking you’ve written it before. Every page you turn has a different ending and every word you put down has a new meaning.
A writer must write, an artist must paint, and a person must live, just as a lover must love. Love is a fearless act, a forbidden word at times, and a constant transforming definition of life. I’ve always been a writer, and I’ve always been an artist. I grew up as a person and am not afraid to admit I became fearful of living at some point in my life. Now the world has shown me a new definition in my dictionary. I have become a lover and am not afraid to live anymore. I live to love and love to live, and my life has become my work of art and my love has become my masterpiece.
Thank you love for showing me the meaning of LOVE.
sábado, 11 de septiembre de 2010
What is a runner?
I used to think a runner was one those crazy people who woke up at extremely crazy hours on Sunday mornings, only to be seen by the other crazy people who were coming home at that same hour. Well, it turns out they are!!
You have to be crazy to run and tell people (non-runners) that you have to go to sleep early on a Friday night because tomorrow you have to hit the trails. To them, it just doesn’t make any sense. Soon they start to look at you funny and say things like: “I don’t understand where you’re running to...” or “What’s the point of running? Isn’t it very boring???” And the answer is always the same: I just love to run. You should try it.
Honestly, I’ve often given up on explaining to others my reasons for running. I can say I run for health, to lose weight, because it makes me feel good, or simply because I can, but in the end it always brings me back to the place where I started. To the first day I decided to stop walking and just run. Nobody told me to start running, I just saw the 1km mark and headed forward. Pretty soon, it was 2k, 3k, 5k. Running 5k seemed like a lot to me, the non-athletic type, until Nike showed up one day with their fabulously orchestrated scheme and showed me the 10k mark.
Ten kilometers in unison with hundreds of thousands of people in over 30 cities around the globe seemed overwhelming. The thought of being part of something extraordinary and the desire to achieve my goal were just too difficult to resist. An at that moment, I was in.
Now, I’m not saying it was easy. It took me a while to consider myself a runner and it’s a challenge to be able to say it every day. Every day a runner wakes up and every step he takes outside the door comes down to self-satisfaction and self-achievement. A runner is an extraordinary person with an astonishing will and drive to excel with every stride, and it humbles me to have the pleasure of knowing many who have inspired me to try and do the same.
So, whether it is a half or full marathon that you are running tomorrow, remember not the reason why you are finishing, but remember the reason why you started.
Good luck runners and TwitterRunners!!!
lunes, 7 de junio de 2010
So why just order a drink when you can order YOUR drink???
But what will define your search for the right kind of cocktail?? Many times we pay little attention to what we’re drinking, creating mediocre palates and settling for any mixed drink. We underestimate the basic components of a good cocktail, and are misled by the overpowering dullness of sweet and syrupy flavors or coloring agents. As quoted in the “The Fine Art of Mixing Drinks” by David A. Embury, a drink will never be any better than the quality of the cheapest ingredient in it and a great cocktail will always be defined in the end by the quality of the spirits, liqueurs, and modifiers.
According to Embury, the base is the principal ingredient of a cocktail. In the art of making cocktails, the base is generally one or more spirituous liquors, typically rum, vodka, gin, whiskey, tequila or the zealously produced mezcal. Making up 75 percent or more of the total volume of a cocktail, we should be conscientious of what it is we’re actually drinking.
In the search for my signature drink, my eccentricity and insatiable curiosity have led me to stumble upon all different types of liquors and cocktails. As a foolish young girl I was willing to try anything and sometimes settled merely for what was available. But as in all aspects of my life, my passion for knowledge and perfection has helped me discover horizons otherwise unimaginable, and it was in the middle of this search that I found what I was looking for.
After a troubling love affair with vodka, a tedious encounter with whiskey and a customary relationship with rum, it never amazed me to find myself dumbfounded by the mysticism and romance captured within a bottle of mezcal. Captivated at first by the mystery of the unknown, I let myself get taken away by desire. A desire that slowly turned into passion and then a full understanding for everything that is behind a single sip of mezcal. In the quest for knowledge I was taught that after an investment of over eight years of passionate hard labor, the end product is a handcrafted artisanal potion that captivates even the most skeptics of us, but most importantly, in the end, I learned a lot more about myself than I did about cocktails.
May it be mezcal, vodka, whiskey or gin; straight up, on the rocks, neat, dirty or dry, remember to be true to your own nature and always follow your instincts, they'll rarely steer you wrong. In the mean time, I’ll take mine straight.
miércoles, 3 de febrero de 2010
We’ve all tried to accomplish it, or at least had the intention of trying. Leaving that hurtful vice behind is a thought that flirts around with us at some point or another. A pleasurable addiction that consciously hurts us, but has given us so many guilty pleasures that it makes it hard to leave behind. So you play around with the idea at first. To make it happen, first you need to let people know. Your friends and family support the idea, and yet, somehow, it’s not the first time they have. You know that in the end the intention is what counts, and you feel glorious, triumphant.
So then, you go on with your life and the next day you feel you can take over the world. Somehow just saying it out loud makes you feel like you’re over it. You’ve finally defeated the beast, but the minute you look away it comes back. Haunting you, hurting you, slowly eating you away. A part of you can’t deny the taste for it, but the rest of you is screaming out loud for help and begging you to stop.
So the next time, you say: this is it. It’s over. I’m done with it. I’m through.
You acknowledge the fact that it’s painful, and are truly determined to give it all away for the serenity of just being you. This time, you not only tell your friends, but you decide to act. You go through a day or two, thinking and saying to yourself it’s for the best. You lie to yourself repeatedly saying this is what you want: “Honestly, I wouldn’t have it any other way.” You say to yourself: I am so much happier. And yet, you take a look in the mirror and can’t pronounce a single word. Your eyes defy the words you speak and deep inside you’re hoping you can find a way to stumble, a way to inadvertently trip over yourself and fall like
And somehow, it gains on you again, convinces you its ok to feel this way and to accept the terms of your engagement. You don’t see how you could have it any other way. You are a victim of your own ambition and become a person you would never thought you would be. You deny your own freedom and tell yourself this is how it should be and you accept it. You accept the fact that you have lost the key.
You go on through your life in a fog of denial and uncertainty. You say to yourself you are in control and yet feel like you’re floating in a dream, painfully knowing one day you’ll roll out of bed and wake up. And when that moment finally happens, when that day finally arrives, you open your eyes to reality and see. You see a parallel world where things just aren’t what they seemed. The curtain is unveiled and even though you’ve known all along what’s behind it, you despise it.
But you are no longer angry, you’re not upset, and you are no longer sad.
Somehow, it’s different this time.
The clouds slowly begin to fade away and a glimpse of light appears in the horizon. The sun is finally shining and you take a deep breath of clean air. You take a look around and see familiar faces. Then one person takes your hand, and then another, and another. And then you realize that there is no key, there never was. The door is wide open and all you have to do is take the first step and walk through it. This time, there is no way you can fall. All odds are on your side and the road has never been wider. So you take a look around, point your finger and say: I’m going that way.