La storia di una ragazza non italiana

Queste post sara in italiano - in onore alla bella Italia che tanto mi mancha. Forze avro qualche sbaglio, non e la mia prima lingua...ma voglio imparare di piu...non solo la lingua, ma imparare il suo umore, il modo di vivere....voglio....voglio diventare italiana...

Quando sono stata in Italia l'italiani mi hanno insegnato tantisme cose - come amare il arte, le cose semplice... e come fare delle cose semplice arte,

Le perzone italiane hanno tante emozioni...loro conosciono che e la felicita, la tristezza...e vedenno quelli emozione di maniera salubre.

Andare all' Italia e come andare al psichiatra si c'e lai dei problemi emozionali. Mi a ha fatto molto bene.

Grazie Italia. In especiale, grazie Roma. Ti adoro. Adesso e per sempre.

Falling in Love with Art ain't Easy

Art is not an easy thing to love. There is a level of sensitivity that you have to have, a level of eccentric-ness you have to posses, in order to understand Art. And even then, you won't understand art in it's entirety.

It's like trying to understand a mystery. We might be able to reach our own conclusion to it but in reality it will never be solved - there isn't one absolute truth to any mystery in life. And if there were I don't think we are meant to find it.

Therefore to love art is to undergo a turbulent relationship. To love an artist is even worse. Maybe that's why I don't let myself fall in love with someone or vice-versa...I enjoy tranquility. I even enjoy the desire to achive love but in reality never loving.

Which is probably why my art is so messed up...

A Taste from the Past

Songs and smells are known to trigger our memories but what about taste?

Today I had strawberry milk. Suddenly I wasn't in my little kitchen anymore but back at home, holding my Mum's hand as we walked out of the supermarket while I sipped on a small carton box of strawberry milk.

I used to get spoiled whenever I went to the supermarket. Mostly it was done with the intention of shutting me up.

The taste reminded me of the mild sunny weather of my hometown in spring and the laid back atmosphere it gave off.

Of course, I got caught up in the emotion and went to the nearest world foods market and bought a can of Guarana.

It reminded me of my road trips to Brazil in summer before Christmas. We'd stop at the botanic garden on the way up north for our picnic of sandwiches and guarana (which we'd buy at the gas station) and watch the koi fish and monkeys that lived within the glass greenhouse.

While I was at it I decided to buy a bottle of cider and create a new memory. Now I'll remember sitting on the little white steps of my first home, looking at a white picket fence covered in ivy and listening to Pavarotti's rendition of Ave Maria.

The Gentleman

When he leans back on the armchair and his deep colored eyes shoot across the room to gaze into mine...

When he smiles that mysterious boyish smile, holding the door open for me to pass by...

And when he puts both arms on either side of my head to protect me from the crowd on the bus, with his strong chest bumping gently agaisnt mine, his warm breath tickling my ear and that earthy scent of his filling my senses...

I get very, very excited.

Viva for the well bred gentleman! Watch out for the diguised Don Juan.

I'm Alice in Wonderland

Today I became Alice. I took a nap in the sun at the bottom of my dead hydrangea garden, lulled to sleep by the sound of a lost bumblebee.

I woke up at 6pm, with the sun setting in the background. Groggy eyed I met with the stare of the neighborhood cat. I got up, grabbed my blanket and it followed. We had tea.

A few days back I discovered a hill in the middle of my neighborhood. It overlooks the city and my quiet little suburb. I felt like I was in the countryside looking down on gray human monstrosities.

Before the hill I discovered a cherry blossom garden with a brick castle behind it. It was tucked in behind some bushes and stones. My friend, the Queen of Hearts, had been with me at the time. She'd come for a day visit and we decided to tour the town. As usual we'd talk about the game. I don't care much for the game anymore, although I like to glance occasionally at the deal. I might play when I get a good hand.

For now I've got my hands full chasing a white rabbit.

A Fleeting Romance

He spoke - softly, husky, confident. I blushed - shy, nervous, excited.
Petals played with the hem of my dress and fell. We never met again.

A Secret Garden - shhh!

I want to find my secret garden, but it's hidden and I lost the key. When I do find it I'll befriend a Robin and Dickon will help me grow the roses. We'll have gardenias and lythianthus and many animals to frolick around with.

I'll name the goat Beckham.