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.