want to grab everything I can this year because I-ve been idle enough in the past year who was supposed to be a good year for me and it wasn-t. Concerts, going to the seaside and swimming at 4 a.m, writing and drawing.
Though I don-t think I-ll be going to see Emilie Autumn in Florence. Though the ticket is very cheap, The overall cost of the trip there and all that will clean me of the few bills I have in my pockets. I really wish I could go though. I hate to say next time but in this case, next time. Maybe she-ll come around to some other place I might be.
I wish I-d have enough money by June or so, so I can go to Sicily.
I-ve been thinking about Sicily so much last night it took me a long time to be able to fall asleep, even though I walked for hours across Florence earlier that day.
I wondered how I would see it now if I were to go back there for a few months. With these eyes, with these feelings, with the things I know now. Not in Catania, no, not in any big city, back to that really small city I lived in when I first came to Italy, in Gela. Small place where absolutely nothing happened. Where you took your basket and walked out in the street in the morning to buy vegetables and fresh fish.
I remembered walking on some side streets one day, the hot sun beating down on my head in the afternoon, everything quiet, the town looking as if it was asleep, not the people but the city itself. The flapping of the washed clothes put on string to dry. The way the white curtains of the room at the first floor were moving in the breeze coming from the beach. Eating ice cream.
I was working there from 4 in the afternoon to 4 in the morning with only a 3 minute break for a cigarette or any small moment I could grab to catch my breath because we didn-t have a break. Giuseppe was cooking with a cigarette in the corner of his mouth and he was working hard to support his mother and his little brother. I was washing dishes and fish, and octopus here and there if needed, opened sea shells for cooking. The owner-s little son was carrying boxes and running around back and forth all night. Everyone was working hard for 5 euro an hour with only one free day a week. I remember my first pay was of 25 euro for all that work. And you know what the funny thing was? It was just fine.
It was just fine because I had the sea 5 minutes away from where I lived, because I could walk out in the street and buy fresh fruit and fish, because everyone said hi, because everyone would lend you a hand, a small bit of their own already small bit and everyone worked hard.
I was thinking about saving up some money to go take up a place there for the summer (it-s insanely cheap), a room, and maybe work on and off during the season, that-s when they need dish washers, waiters and what not. I don-t mind washing dishes again.
I don-t mind...
I don-t mind working hard and having that peace of mind again. The return to a room with a small balcony and white curtains. The walk in the morning with bare feet through the sand, watching the sunrise. I don-t mind.
Truth is, I am standing here paying for the mistakes of the people before me, things that I have nothing to do with. So I want to pack my bags and go to that small city with rent for four months or so and some pocket change and throw away my cellphone number and talk only with those two-three people I actually care for. Draw. Write. Work some low-class work as people like to call it and never hear from anyone else again until autumn, when I have been promised something by someone whom I hope will keep their promise. I deserve that promise.
But until then, I-d like to do that. Find some way to make enough money to last me through the summer in that small city where life is not at all expensive and stay there for a while. And watch the sea. Write. Day dream and make long distance phone calls. Get friendly with the police officers because they-re very suspicious of people out early in the morning. Eat real Sicilian ice cream and just walk by the pier at sunset, run on the beach in the morning.
Think about everything then not think about anything at all.
Like suddenly noticing the sound of birds for the first time
Upon awakening in the morning
I finally noticed how cold this cheek was
Upon being gently touched
I don't know anything yet
What the heart is seeking
I don't know - Arai Akino - Kirei na Kanjou
B.
Don-t say it if you don-t mean it.
Say the truth and nothing but the truth. It-s so easy to say something as in opposed to actually doing it. We all say: I-d love to do this, and we talk about how it would be if we would do it but just how many of those people actually do it? So if you can-t stick to your word, just don-t say anything at all.
If I had a dime for every time I-ve been told: I-m here for you. I care for you. I support you. I-d be so rich I wouldn-t even care for anyone-s honesty anymore. But I-m poor and honesty and truth are some of those driving forces that keep me going. Maybe I search too deep and I demand too much of something else but I-ll continue to look for it none the less and/or make people give it to me anyway. I-m like that, I-m pushy.
I don-t like those: I-m really busy, talk to you later.
I like those: I-m really tired right now, I just can-t keep my eyes open so just let me sleep and we-ll talk when we talk.
I don-t like those:You can count on me!!
I like those: don-t expect me to back you up if you go too far.
I like those: I can-t really do all that, I-ll try but don-t take it for granted that I-ll be there.
If there-s anything I am sick of are empty promises. I had so much of those I could write a book on recognizing the symptoms of Person Soon To Make An Empty Promise. I daydream but I know that my feet are on the ground and all I-m asking is to get some honest to god sincerity. It-s as hard as it is for me to open up and when I do I am struck by an empty: oh.... or some other exclamation that makes me so furious that I feel like breaking things. In the past few months I did great efforts to open up but I don-t see any use in it, things keep backfiring at me in the form of empty promises of things to happen, shoulders to lean on when I do decide to open up so...no, I don-t feel like it anymore. Maybe one day I-ll feel like telling my life story or my little daily wonders to someone else who-d really listen not just say they will because they feel like it-s their duty, but not right now. It-s no one-s duty to listen to you but people say they will because they feel like it-s the right thing to say. It-s not. Don-t say it unless you-re ready and most likely you-re not. So don-t say it.
One of my acquaintances once told me: I could call my mate at 4 a.m and tell him I-m in trouble but he-d never come, he-d make an excuse. You and me don-t even know each other well but if I-d call you at 4 a.m and tell you I need help, I know you-d come.
I told him I wouldn-t and we laughed it off but he knew I would and it was one of the nicest things anyone has ever, ever told me because it was about trust. He had always said it like it is and never told me anything just because he felt it was his duty to say it, even if I was a young woman he knew I could take it and if I couldn-t he-d make me take it until I got used with it. Actually he never even paid me one single compliment but the mutual understanding we had of each other, the fact that we knew each one of us would answer at that call at 4 a.m if it ever came, was what actually mattered. No one said anything and no one ever made a promise but there are things you can-t fake and someone to have your back or a shoulder to lean on is one of them.
I don-t need all those: I-ll climb mountains for you. I don-t need your forever if your forever lasts as long as right now.You want my forever? I-ll give you my forever if I feel like it-s worth it and I will climb mountains for you and I will hit people in the face for you. I-ll come and pick you up if you call me at 3 a.m because there was no one else to help you out, I-ll cover up for you and I-ll buy you a coffee. I-ll give you my forever but you can-t take my forever because it-s too much to take.
So say you won-t go all the way. Say my interests are not your interests. Say I scare you or make you cry or make you angry. Say I-m impossible. Say I-m not that good looking. Say you don-t feel like talking. Don-t say you can-t talk about it, say you don-t want to talk about it. Don-t say we-ll talk later, say you don-t feel like talking about it, that you-re not interested. Don-t say I-ll think about it, say you don-t like it and you don-t want it.
Don-t give me bullshit. Say it like it is and we-ll be partners, friends, forever.
B.
If I had a daughter that did or does the kind of things I did, I-d kill her.
I wrote this entry in mind with me and the future me, for someone else in the future who might or might not come, that amazing partner in crime and ever best friend(s).
If I had a drink now I-d toast for all girls with a husky voice, for waterproof mascara, for everyone who hates me, for everyone who likes me, for all the nights and for the Devil.
I run away from everyone else and push the gas to the floor by myself because I-m worried I might get them in trouble. I have enough sense to stop when things go too far and enough nonsense to jump over when they get over the line. Sometimes I-m the one pulling you back, other times I-m the one who leaves you behind. I do it because some people need to be kept safe, as in I want to keep them safe and I do it because I got nothing to lose and I don-t have a reputation to maintain. I pull them back because they-re my friends and I don-t want them to get hurt, they have things to lose, reputations included. When you get hurt the first time it-s the worse and it can push you in a few very different directions. Some of us are deeply hurt other thrive on insults, like I do. If people wouldn-t hate me I-d probably be bored out of my mind. Their hate is my amusement because I don-t care about it and it makes me laugh to see them pissed and fretting over my bad behavior, my clothes or opinions just because they have no life of their own or, well...are so far behind me they can-t keep up. Sorry darlings but it-s the truth, the more you speak behind my back the more I believe it-s because I-m way ahead of you, it-s the only logical explanation. I-m the last person on earth people should bother to hate because I fucking love it, it-s my energy. The more you dislike me, the better I feel.
Keeping up a reputation is a burden for me, I never realized how much of a burden it was until I lost it. I swear to god it must have been one of the most epic moments of my life though.
You-re a bitch.
You-re a loser.
You-re ugly.
You-re a whore.
You-re a no good.
You have no education.
You are a sinner.
You have no family.
You-ll never have anyone to care for you.
You have no shame.
You have no heart.
You are not talented.
You are a troublemaker.
Oh shit, this feels good! I remember thinking.
Yeah honey, I am the mother of all those things mentioned above.
If you-re worried about getting hurt you shouldn-t have told me to hit you as hard as I can.
If you were only happy to daydream about adventures in the wild you shouldn-t have kept insisting you-d want them to happen for real to us.
If you say you wanna lose control, expect me to take that literally.
You ask me: so you don-t wanna talk to me again? And I say yes, don-t expect me to do the opposite. I don-t do the drama thing, I-m too busy doing epic shit to bother.
I won-t do explosions (well, not too often) and it won-t be 24/7 fireworks because this is not a movie but I-ll fuck up your world if you ask me to. As long as you-re ready to take the worst with irony and fight back to rebuild when the wall falls down on our heads brick by brick (because it will fall) and as long as you don-t take yourself too seriously. I-ll get you in trouble and I-ll show you life, no, we-ll have to discover it together because I don-t know all of it either, as long as you-re not worried about losing your reputation. Because when I say you are fucking beautiful you should believe me and no one else because my mouth drinks vodka and smokes Marlboro so this tongue does not lie.
I wanna be rich.
I wanna own a flat in some big, metropolitan city.
I wanna run miles of highways.
I wanna buy a Jeep and ride on the off road with it.
I wanna climb rocks and get a pilot license.
I wanna get more tattoos.
And fucking live.
I say fuck a lot but it doesn-t mean that when I say
You are my fucking best friend
You are fucking gorgeous
You are fucking amazing
that I don-t mean it.
B.
B.
B.
B.
My back might just be alright. I jumped up and down a few times and I did not feel any pain. I am itching to wake up tomorrow morning and have a go but I don-t want to ruin everything due to impatience so I-ll wait over the weekend, until Monday. I know I said three weeks but seriously...when you get injured for overworking yourself you know three weeks is just one week too much to wait. I-ll start with a slow, patient stroll and see what happens. If there-s no pain, I-ll start again. Not with the same running time I was left when I got the injury, true, but I know I am patient and focused enough to try again, for the third time at the same time I was left and if something else happens to stop me again from going forward...then it-s gonna be a fourth time of trying and I-ll keep trying until I either break my bones doing it either I go running up those mountains. You can-t stop me so shut the fuck up.
One of the goals is to run 7Km (to begin with, as in the test for endurance is that distance, then it will continue to increase) but the problem is I have no clue how to measure up the distance and I-m still not sure if I run 2 or 3Km or more in the morning (as in on my usual course) so I need to work out some type of measurement. After I reach all that, I can have a go at sky running. I am still consulting books and other people for reference but I think that-s the best thing to do.
I try not to get myself wrapped up in it. I don-t consult runnersworld.com unless it-s for some articles and advices and you won-t catch me dead in a forum, it seems people are so focused on building up drama even there and I don-t like that. I don-t like gossip and I don-t like drama. Running is one of the few sports these imbeciles have not yet compromised because all you need are some running shoes and off you go, nothing more nothing less. It-s when you ask yourself what type of special attire you need, what impression you-ll make, etc. when you need to ask yourself if you-re in it for the right reasons (yourself and what you feel) or the wrong ones.
I run for a specific purpose: to reach my limit and after I reach it, to try and break it.
If running shapes my body, great but I won-t make looking better the purpose of this, fuck that shit. If running will make me live longer I guess that-s a plus. The two most exhilarating moments I went through last year were when I broke two of my running limits and they happened in the morning when no one was watching and no one was there. It was my personal victory and I crossed them running in the middle of the street yelling: YES !!! to the skies with my hands in the air and there was no one to cheer on me or pat me on the shoulder. It was my victory over myself and that-s MY what and why of running.
B.
I believe my back is healing. I feel the pain rarely and very, very faintly, almost like it-s not even there. I still need to rest because whenever I put a lot of pressure on it, that faint pain comes back, but I hope to be able to run again in maximum three weeks. Mom-s boyfriend had me going to Florence again and carrying a big pack all across the city and my back felt it but there are some sacrifices you have to make to make a living so I hope it didn-t affect the nerves too much.
Either way I plan to keep myself busy this year. I don-t know why but in the past two-three years I-ve become much more aware of what surrounds me and even if it has nothing to do with me, it still affects me. I mostly put it on ignore mode because I am superficial like that but it takes only a small shove to make me turn back to it again. My mother is probably the only one slightly aware of it because she-s so often around me and can see it up close and personal but other than that, I don-t mention my thoughts to anyone else. I remember I wanted to a while ago to my friend from back home but she dismissed it and didn-t take it seriously, just like when Jo said she wanted to travel with the Red Cross to Africa. Gradually though, even Jo forgot that ambition. I wonder what her ambitions are now.
However, even if I don-t really do much, I wanted to keep myself busy this year, mind body and soul but the body part is on standby until my injury heals fully so I have the other parts to take care of. I haven-t forgotten of my ambitions and I haven-t forgotten about the person I want to be, though I disappoint myself often but I don-t allow the thought to leave my mind. As long as I keep that trail of thought, there is no way I will grow weak or back down. Perhaps in a way, that-s what gives me a sense of purpose, the sense of purpose I don-t get from having a career or a job or a dream of a family like everyone else.
From 12th of February until 12th of April there are some meetings I want to take part of at the Public Library in Arezzo. The flyer was pinned to the wall among other flyers. It had a compass on it and it said Oltre i Conflitti (beyond the conflicts) so it catch my eye. I missed the first meeting on the 22nd of January that was an overview of all the conflicts taking place across the globe, I would have liked to be there for it but for some reason that flyer didn-t appear until later. None the less I am attending the second which is probably the most important on the list for me, A Century Of Crisis In the Middle East on the 12th. The one dealing with Sierra Leone and the other wars in Africa is in March and I hope to be present on that one too. There-s four of them in total, the other two dealing with Yugoslavia and Caucaz and all of them are hosted by people who have witnessed those places first hand so I am not gonna witness any thoughts or ideas of people who think they know what they-re saying.
I hope to have enough money in the late summer or autumn to go to study Arabic in Istanbul and I still hope to be able to go to Jerusalem. At one point in my life, a few good years ago I dreamed of buying a motorcycle and drive it to Jerusalem but for the moment I-ll have to make-do with a bus or an airplane. I love flying but I don-t like it much for only one reason: I can-t fly an airplane. So that means I am allowing myself in the hands of someone who does and in the hands of a machine I can-t control myself if something goes wrong. I don-t like that feeling so maybe one day I-ll afford to go get a flying license myself, I-d really like that.
None the less there has been a lot idleness in the past two years and though I broke it as often as I could, there were still some restrictions but I kind of had enough to be honest. I know there is some importance in being idle, as Oasis said, but I-m not that kind. I-ll probably grow to be the type that even when I turn 70 I-ll still try to keep myself busy because it-s in my nature.
I-m trying to be here...where life happens. I know I tend to think too much but if I don-t something will click inside my head and proceed to make me retarded, I-m sure of it. I-ve been in the dumps and did a lot of very stupid things and on a certain level though I am not proud of them or of the knowledge they tainted my soul, I have to be grateful because they made me understand a very important thing: what you see is a two-sided coin. Good things can happen because of the wrong reasons and vice versa. I think that as I will grow older I will come to a better understanding of that and that it will prove to be very useful. I don-t know when or how but I know it will.
Knowledge is important and for those who are smart enough, power. As far as those who won-t lift a book or ask any questions and believe everything they-re handed already made, packed and delivered, well....no, actually I don-t even pity them, they-re the ones standing on the sidelines. There-s the few of us who really, really wanna take the off-road.
B.
Zell Dincht. He was pretty much who I wanted to be like when I was 14.
It dawned on me the other day that now, at 22, that the hairdo I sport now and then looked very familiar....
This is also for everyone who keeps asking for new pics of me
B.
I once had a friend. I introduced her to my favorite anime and we created two Mary Sues for it because we both were the type to make lulz out of anything so neither our Mary Sues were taking themselves too seriously: hers whored herself around with half of the cast and was the most strikingly obvious spy in existence, mine was a psychotic trigger-happy-chain-smoking-drunkard. That-s how Ian Gallagher McCormick came to life (her father wanted a boy so he failed at names cause he was so sad he didn-t have a baby boy he got insanely drunk and named his girl Ian), when I was around 17. There was very little she couldn-t do (she was a Mary Sue afterall!) and she was nothing short of epic. But that funny Mary Sue occupied my mind a lot during that time because, leaving aside the laughter we had discussing their adventures, her character took a shape of its own and in my own time, in my mind, she turned into a real woman with no anime features and characteristics of her own just like I would have created a character for a novel and in time she developed her own personality and she grew, she matured. Her image songs that consisted mostly of punk rock pieces changed to Yuki Kajiura melodies that suddenly had more to say about who she was. Ian is me and she appeared in a period of transition in my life and was the personification of everything I wanted to be, I analyzed her closely and intimately and the more time I spent with the serious Ian in my head, the more I understood how much she mirrored me, my hopes, dreams and aspirations. From a character I used to goof around in a make-believe world where everything was just fine, Ian got a life story of her own, she got smeared and tainted, she got put down to the floor and sometimes felt like not getting up but she still did and by the time I arrived at the finish line...I remember it even now, seeing her in my head as she was coming back:
A woman in her late 20s now. She didn-t have that flaming red hair anymore, now it was bleached to white and burned by the sun, scorched and rough to the touch. She was the last one to arrive for the reunion because no one knew where she was in all this time. I see her now driving that Jeep through the woods and dirty roads, a car with so many stains and broken pieces of metal it was a wonder it could still function. I see her a week later with a small army backpack on her shoulders, roughed up boots and a tank top, walking over green hills that looked a lot like northern France, hiking her way through the small mountains and checking her watch every now and then to guide herself by the small compass attached to it.
I see her speaking fluent French as she reached Paris and headed towards the safe house, switching from language to language with every foreigner she met, circles under her eyes and eyebrows frowned but not in anger, just because she was used to focus her glare or in the past years she saw too much of the desert sun.
I see her, a dark silhouette by the window watching the Eiffel Tower in the distance, in a tank top and large cotton pants walking barefoot across the tiles, her back a small mass of muscles worked by hard climbing and physical fights and her shoulders straight, her arms visibly strong, her posture confident. She could handle herself.
That was the last time I thought about her, about....let-s say 4 and a half years ago or so but she came back in my mind quite often in the past few weeks, I don-t know why. She was one of my biggest moral supports years ago, the reflected image of the person I wanted to become, someone who did not copy anyone but looked up to some seeing what she liked and what she didn-t and thus becoming a person true to herself despite the hardships. She got me through that particular time in a rather shabby manner because I didn-t allow her much control, I was still lost and unsure of what will become of me but she made me pull through. We left together for Ireland afterward and though I should have let her be there with me, I denied her again, still unsure of myself.
I analyzed Ian. Leaving aside the Mary Sue spy-ass-kicking-binge-drinking-trigger-happy-crap and taking note of the Ian I created intimately in my head, the one I didn-t share with anyone. I-ll leave aside the details but it was with her in mind I went to my rock climbing class in London and experienced a feeling I never thought myself capable of experiencing. I walked there without thinking about...well...anything. I just went for it and by the time I realized what the hell I was doing I was climbing my 3rd wall all the way to the top. I walked out of there after failing to go up a forth cave-like wall because my arms gave in (it was my first time, give me a break) with a liberating feeling and I kept looking at my hands and checking myself because my instructor said there are very few people who climb all the way to the top the first time so I wasn-t sure I did it either. But it was so much fun I didn-t care, I just kept on going up and up and I found the process fascinating because you couldn-t always grip the first thing you found, you had to find the proper one and until you found the right piece of puzzle, you were suspended a few floors in the air. I think Ian was with me that day, among many others. I looked back on it and thought: this is Ian...me. That person who can make things happen with her will, by her own will and hard work without waiting for anything to fall from the sky. She can do it...I can do it.
I remember now a quote of hers: this one-s for my life. When she leaped into the future that threatened her life but she had no way to go back, left or right so all she had to do was go forward and take the dive. For her life. For who she was. For the people she cared for the most. She believed in all those things: her life, being alive, her friends, because I believed too.
I remember her tomboyish ways and the manner in which she wore her bomber leather jacket with the Timberlands on and the aviator glasses, one leg on the edge of the building, leaning on her shoulder in it, looking towards the horizon as the sun was going up across Shanghai. Or was it Tokyo? Matters little. But I remember the security in her movements and the proud look in her eyes.
She was very lonely and her loneliness reflected mine but it was with her in mind I learned that sacrifices have to be made in order to progress and if loneliness was one of them, I was capable of paying the price. I couldn-t believe I was, but it seemed like something I could take. And I didn-t expect that. I didn-t expect to have that much self control.
I learned, through her, a lot. She morphed and shifted until she was nothing like the humorous prototype I created to fill the hours story-telling with my friend. She made me think about patience and hard work and if I-ll ever get to run for over 7 Miles or do sky running, it will be because I payed attention to what she taught me. She-s not someone else, not someone I saw on TV or read about, she-s someone who never existed because she-s the reflection of me and the person I wanted and still want to become. The future me is my role model because I still have many options and trying to find the best ones to lead me to that person is the hardest journey but it-s gonna be the journey, right, that will make me arrive there because patience, knowledge and strength are not things given to you but things you earn. Ian said so and I believe her.
B.
