Oh, you have no idea

I think we all like to believe that we *actually*, most definitely know the people on TV whose fictitious lives get intertwined with ours.
When in fact, surprise-surprise! We don’t!
Have you ever watched a movie, or a tv series or listened to a piece of music and thought to yourself:”That’s it! Someone out there gets it!”. But how do you know? Just because someone put up en ensemble you think they get your pain, or your misery? Or maybe your daft short-lived happiness?
Well, they don’t. When actors get home, when musicians go to sleep…the dream is gone. They can show you facets of yourself, but they’re not yourself. And you certainly have no idea what they, as persons, have been through.
I think that nowadays people get too obsessed with certain people and because of social media people think they’re entitled to know more about their favourite actors’ lives.
But they are not. We are all strangers walking around with masks and yet, if at some point our stories coincide, that doesn’t give us the right to assume we know people from atom.
I guess what I’m trying to say is…no one knows anyone that well. We don’t even get ourselves. How can we presume to know another human being, let alone someone we’ve never seen?

Some thing’s end

I remember walking the empty streets of an old town…
The statues of long gone angels whispering to me
”What are you doing here?
What long-forgotten stories are you chasing, child?”
Was there someone following me?
or was I onto something?
And how come I no longer heard the echo
That has guided me through winter?

Did you know that where ghosts loom
Daffodils will come to bloom?

Be a learner, be a Language Warrior!

Do you speak English?
How many times have you been asked this question? In the world we live in, knowing English seems to have become a prerequisite. At work, within the hard walls of your office, or simply walking on the street-you hear English almost everywhere nowadays. Schoolchildren know it, your friends know it, and you want to know it.

People learn the English language for different reasons: maybe they want to travel more, maybe they need it in order to get promoted at work, or they simply regard it as an intellectual exercise. Whatever the reason might be, you want to speak it too. But learning a language-with all its slang words and subtleties, can be a daunting tasks. Where do you begin your journey towards knowledge? There are hundreds of books, materials, courses available. This can be a bit confusing. But you’ve already made a decision. That cannot be taken back. And like the old saying goes-where there is a will, there is a way. In my not-so-long experience as a teacher I found out that having a community that shares your desire for learning and that supports you can be very helpful. But here’s the thing: you need someone on your side on this journey. Because it is a journey that will carry you to amazing places in the world and that will give you the opportunity to meet amazing people, that you might not have met otherwise. You need a teacher, my friend. And good teachers aren’t easy to find, I know. Why are good teachers hard to find? Because not many can give you the opportunity to see yourself as you truly are. To see your own skills and flaws, to see your potential and to tell you when you’re on the wrong path. And that is a lesson in itself. A good teacher, in my opinion, is not the person who will praise you everyday, and tell you how amazing you are. Your mother can fulfill that role very well. A good teacher is honest with you, pushes you to become better-not by sugarcoating things, but by telling you the truth. When you’re learning a language, you need someone to explain things to you, to push you to do the work you don’t want to do, a person who understands your efforts, but who will not spare you the hard truths. Once in a while you’ll meet a teacher like this.

I’ve been fortunate to have these kinds of teachers in school, but lately I’ve been listening to a new teacher. I’ve been watching Mark’s livestreams on HelloTalk. Mark is an American English language teacher from Cincinnati, Ohio, who I discovered when I signed up on the HelloTalk app. In a world that drives us to be divisive, his goal is to make at least one friend in every country of the world-with 47k+ followers on HelloTalk alone, I think his dream can become true. What I find fascinating about his approach is that he managed to create an engaging learning environment, where you can contribute and where you can listen to interesting debates. Do you have trouble understanding a grammar concept? Did you ever want to know the meaning of an idiom? Ask Mark. He doesn’t discourage anyone from learning, he’s not the person to put you down if you misspell something and yes, he will tell you to practice, practice, practice-and teach someone else what you already know.
You can find Mark on HelloTalk at @markdrumsamson and you can also like his Facebook page-A Friend In Every Corner with Teacher Mark. For the past months I’ve been watching his clips.

He always says: “Be a Language Warrior”, but I think the real battle is less metaphorical. One day you’ll find out that you did it, that you’ve learned, but you’ll also discover that along the way you’ve learned about life as well, and, if you’re lucky, you will have found a friend.

Call me a dreamer…

But someone else has dreamed it before me.

Long live The European Union!

A tedious post without a title

“Write the truest sentence that you know,” said Hemingway.

Sometimes that is the most difficult task for a writer.

The truth is: I miss writing. I suffer from an interesting case of ”brain fog” these days. I open the document, I stare at it waiting for something original to appear on the screen, but words seem to evade me.

When I was in high school, not too many years ago, I used to dream that one day I would become a famous writer. I remember spending my summer writing in my diary and dreaming of meeting Mario Vargas Llosa, whose words both crushed me and saved me. I wanted to say important things, I wanted to write so that people would know the real me, not the mask I had been carrying around until exhaustion.

I was unaware then about the reasons people write. I thought writing comes naturally for some, I didn’t ponder much about the difficulties writers encounter. I didn’t know about their own traumas, the things that keep them up at night, their routines and hopes.

Maybe some day I’ll publish a book, maybe I’ll publish *that* book.

I don’t have a conclusion. Maybe this post doesn’t even need one. I’ll let these words drift away for a while in the sea of words that the internet is.

Just a thought for today

It must’ve been someone who told me, or maybe I dreamt these words, or maybe I came to this conclusion alone: being a writer doesn’t mean you can write about everything you like. There’s a responsibility you carry for your readers that obliges you to be intelligent. You must choose your subjects carefully and it’s advisable that you write about things you personally know, otherwise you might sound too pretentious, superficial or you can easily lose yourself in the warped meanings of the words.

Sometimes I wonder…

If you were my friend only because you needed a friend.

 

The saddest things in the world

“I hugged my father and he started to shake. ”

A child crying unconsoled in the crib.

Paying for sex.

Saying “I love you” when you don’t mean it.

The words we don’t say until it’s too late.

 

Los Angeles

“It’s a city at the end of cities” says Ian McEwan in his book “Psychopolis”. What a poetic way of saying “what a depraved hole!” And how ironic is it to live in a city with such an angelic name where a woman aborts her fetus in a gutter?

I actually googled the population of L. A. and it’s about 4 millions. That seems rather insignificant compared to the hype about it.

I’ve never been there, but I know the feeling of living  somewhere at “the end of cities” all too well. I’ve only lived in small cities and towns, but honestly, any place can be Psychopolis.

My own Psychopolis is a place where nothing great happens, where people are sad and weary and monotonous. Where children don’t laugh in the streets. Where buildings are old and colourless.

And the anxiety keeps you in one place.

To the man who helped me get a chocolate waffle from the vending machine

I’ll never forget you.

Maybe the reason why I’ll never forget you is that I feel that you were the first person who wanted to help me, without gaining something from it. Sure the airport employees were helpful and polite, but it was something they did because it was stipulated in their employment contracts.

But helping a young girl choose a chocolate waffle from a vending machine she doesn’t know how it works is not something that’s stipulated in a military man’s employment contract, is it? 🙂 Your job probably consists of protecting people and running from one place to another at the signal of your walkie-talkie.

I didn’t expect you to help me, and I remember I felt so silly asking you. But I was alone in a foreign country and I was hungry. And you…were kind and polite in a reserved manner and pointed out to what buttons I should use and with a soft smile you told me “Enjoy!”. There was something so amusing and out of ordinary in our short interaction and I am so fond of this memory.

The chocolate waffle tasted stale and too sweet, by the way.