sketchablepaperfold

an aiming to be designer, with the soul of a writer

My Very Own Hard Way to Self-Forgiveness

I’m concluding that self-forgiveness is quite the hardest way to forgive. I mean, when someone you love does something “wrong”, you scream, you cry, you feel disappointed; but then, you get over it, you forgive the person and life goes on. You know that people do not act according to your own principles, you try to grasp that concept and try to reach the stage of acceptance.

Nevertheless, when it comes to self-forgiveness, the whole picture becomes worse. You have no one to blame, but yourself. You can’t use the strategy of understanding and accepting differences. You just can’t.

Yesterday, I was wandering through my ancient journals, trying to find any words, reflections about the reason that led me to choose the Arts field, instead of another one. I truly believed that, at some point, I would have written something about it. I’ve read 6th and 7th grade ones – which had five pages, each – and found nothing. Then, I started reading the 8th grade journal, the most complete one.

It was my final hope, since I haven’t found anything before, and I just returned to journaling during the summer after 9th grade (time when the choice was already made, and which I relatively remember). After reading a few pages and finding nothing on the subject, I decided to use the finder, and search the word Art. Again, I found nothing.

In the end, all I could read were silly things. No reflection, no thoughts on the future, no writing about stuff worth reading years later. All of those pages were filled with nonsense according to the following scheme:

Day 1 – I’m so in love with Subject A. I truly hope that we’re meant to be!

Day 2 – I’ve been talking a lot with Subject B. I think I might have a crush on him.

Day 3 – OMG, I’m so into Subject A!

Day 4Subject C asked me on a date. I don’t know if I should go, since I’m completely into Subject B!

Day 5 – Date with Subject C was great! I think I’m in love with him.

And this crap goes on and on and on during… let’s say: four years, I guess.

The world can’t have the smallest idea of how bad I felt when I read those pages. I had the vague idea that my life had been relatively normal, and that I had written something worth my own reading. After all, it couldn’t be further from what I thought!

This is actually my point with self-forgiveness. It’s been four years since I left 9th grade and all it implied. Now, I had no idea of who I was, back then. In the end, my idea of myself was completely wrong.

My current idea involved the existence of a brain, and not such hideous stuff! I had no idea that I was so confuse, always changing my “feelings” [honestly think they were only sensations, but ok]. I would never think that I was so in and out of love that easily.

Honestly, it all made me think about the present. I’ve recently found out that I wasn’t trying to do the right thing. I’ve already introduced you to B, the one I’ve been liking since almost two years ago.

To make to long story short, I had a massive heartbreak a few months before meeting B [and when I say massive, I really mean it. I’m totally aware that it’s not exaggeration] . For that exact reason, I spent half-year denying my feeling, saying that I was only trying to get him back. After a long time of reflection, I concluded that I was ready to start over.

Yet, recently I started to feel nostalgic, and missing all the things I had with him [despite he was not even close to be the right person for me]. It took a while to figure out that I was, truly, missing all the concept I had given him, since I was completely devoted to him. Of course, it’s hard to heal from that sort of injury. And that was the moment when I noticed that besides liking B, I was actually trying to replace what I had lost, and to find someone who could actually be my home again.

Wrong, wrong move. Silly Amy. You’re so silly!

In spite of trying to be fine on my own, I was willing to head back to a relationship [with someone who doesn’t deserve to be mistaken and broken by me, let’s say. Just thinking about hurting him breaks my heart]  Now, just imagine how insane I felt when I finally realized that’s exactly what I’ve done my entire life. It simply ruined the image I had of myself. Worse, I could even try to accept doing this at 12 or 13. But doing this at my age, nowadays, even in an unconscious way [which is the case] makes me sick.

Forgiveness of our very own mistakes. Self-forgiveness. Gosh, it is hard. The only thing I can do now it’s to accept that, and stop feeling “attracted” to everyone that’s nice to me. It’s so sick, and I don’t like it. Not at all. I wonder how I spent so long doing that, without even noticing. Sometimes ignorance is considered a blessing. This time, I’m absolutely sure it was awful.

Hurray, Amy. You really screwed up. You’ve finally hit the guilt course, and the collision was a lot harder than you expected.

[I wonder how will I cope]

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The Unsent Letter

[This will be a different sort of post. I confess that it’s stuck on my throat, and I don’t seem to be able to handle it anymore without writing. I believe it’s called addiction, right?!]

Diane,

I don’t even know exactly how I should start this, which words should I use to say everything that’s been compressed in my throat for a while.

I have no idea how we’ve come this far. It’s been almost a month since the last time we spoke. A month, you know?! An entire month.

I got worried, I wrote you. Short sentences, few words, I know, but that’s all I could do. If you were really trying to be away, or if something was actually happening, you wouldn’t feel like talking or writing for hours – I know that. I tried to reach you in different ways, different days, so that you didn’t feel pressured. You never replied.

I would try to go to your place, but I know that also wouldn’t work. So, I was just left with staying here. Nothing to say, nothing to do but to wait. Wait, without knowing how long it would take for you to even mention that you were alive. Without knowing what was happening, after all.

I wish you would, at least, give me some answers. Some real answers, you know?! At least, once.

Yes, I wish I had them. Because being here, without having the smallest idea of what’s going on in your head to be away for so long really stinks. You’ve no idea of how much.

Where the hell are you, Di? Where did you go? Where the hell is my best friend?

Really, where is she?! I haven’t seen her in a long, long while. And, to say the truth, I’m tired. Extremely tired of waiting. Waiting for you to give me a word, an answer. Waiting, at least, for you to have the smallest hint of how much I care, and how much this bothers me.

You know, sometimes I feel like screaming at you, so that you could, at least, try to grasp how tired I am of being the second in line, the one who gives it all, and doesn’t seem to get a single thing in return. I wish I could scream you a WAKE UP!, so that you could understand what you’re doing, and how angry and frustrated I feel.

Go ahead, tell me that you’ve got a busy life [just like you actually did, a few minutes ago]. Ask me again why the hell am I asking you to send an invitation for a meeting through an old-style train. Grasp the differences within my words, and ask me again why am I saying that sort of thing. Yeah, you’ve seen it. You noticed that it was slightly different from my usual, didn’t you? Ask again. Do it, just ask.

And in that very moment, I would only wish you were in front of me so that I could explain it. So that I could put everything in the simplest words, once and for all, with all the almost raw emotions I never allowed you to see. So that you could finally see that, after all, I’m made of flesh and bone, and my blood is still running. Just like my best friend in college said [yes, best friend] “People tend to think I’m too calm the like, but then, they cross their limits and just get shocked when I react.” I subscribe each and every single word he said.

You crossed the limit of the line I drew a long, long time ago. You were always worried about being with those creatures that weren’t even your friends. I have to spend time with them, you used to say, in a guilty expression. On the inside, I only laughed. A lot, actually. You had to spend time with those whores. And what about me?! The one who was always around when you needed anything, anything at all. No, I was a decent, reasonable person and I was completely able to understand how hard your life was.

I never said I had a busy life. Ever. And, probably, most of the times you tried to reach me, I was busy, and deeling with a huge amount of things at the same time. But I would quit whatever I was doing, and give my full attention to you.

See, that’s exactly why you thought it was weird for me not to say the usual it’s all right, darling. You are used to have the passive Amy, the one that’s always waiting for the chance to help, and then, to be left. Forget that, I’m just tired of it.

Ask me, ask me why I said that. And I’ll only say that you were never able to express gratitude for any of my words, attitudes, and the like. I was always worried about you, while you were worried about not letting anyone else down but me.

It’d be a whole new world if you actually read this, wouldn’t? You probably blame me for being fake, wouldn’t you? But try to think the other way around: did you ever give me the space, the opportunity to say it? To tell Hell, I don’t agree! No, you didn’t, right?

So, just don’t get shocked. Sooner or later, I’d lose it. Everyone knows that. I’ve handled it while I could, more than what I could. Yet, now, I couldn’t do it. Not anymore.

Old Nostalgia

I usually tend to feel older than what I actually am. This is just one of those days.

I was just sneaking around some facebook pages [I guess this is the time when I confess that I’ve got a life, and I’m not addicted to facebook. Thanks for asking] and it just hit me, without a decent, proper warning. I was watching some photos of a friend, taken about one or two years ago, while we were still attending to the same school, and the feeling installed in my heart.

I caught myself missing all those insane things we use to do, the times she lost herself eating the cookies I had bake, the times she sincerely hugged me. Gosh, she was quite a girl. Pretty, clever and fearless to say what she wanted to say.

I went to college, and, obviously, we went apart. Yet, I miss that little girl, I really do.

While I was looking at the pictures, I felt this enormous fear of letting life behind – because, sometimes, I feel that’s exactly what I’m doing, day after day. I feel like I’m missing all the things I shouldn’t; loosing my supposed to be friends and the people I talk to; feeling like, in certain moments, I’ve got no one to talk to.

I see everyone else being only normal creatures, going out and keeping in touch with old friends. In the other hand, I look around myself, and it’s like everyone is going away.

I do feel old, nostalgic and the like. Well, some people say they get party blues, and I’m just like them. Furthermore, I get vacation blues. Quite unpleasant, ha?!

To say the truth, I don’t even know where else I should head this post. It seems like my little boat decided to stop in the middle of the ocean, and I decided to quit rowing. So, I’ll just enjoy the view, and try to clean my head. I truly need that. Yet, I’m afraid I’m not able to do it.

Personal Thoughts About A Girl Named Amy

There are things that I, honestly, can’t avoid.

It’s obvious that no one needed me to come here and read an entire post just to grasp something that’s being broadcast, all over the world, about another girl named Amy [and I’m saying another, since I’m not talking about myself]

I absolutely won’t try to build a replica of an episode of biography channel, since I don’t even know much about her story.

All I know – and it is not much – I’ve learnt from her songs and, I must confess, I’m only familiar with a few.

She was the kind of person that actually felt what she sang, and anyone with just a bit of sensibility would understand it. Amy, I think, didn’t write just to make money, but because she needed to write. And she had the sort of song that everyone sings along, even with the radio.

It takes a lot of courage to tell the world what she said on Rehab. Honestly, I’m quite sure I wouldn’t be brave enough, if I was in her place. In the end, she put the entire world singing Rehab, which was, clearly, her story.

I must confess that I enjoyed her songs, and loved the “happy” ones, like Valerie. There was this almost childish smile that caught everyone that heard or sang Valerie, and I got that smile over and over again.

Yet, something really, really different came to me when I heard Back To Black. Not the first time I heard it – since, then, I didn’t get half of her words – but after reading the lyrics. The moment I heard that song knowing exactly what she was saying, I felt a different, particular emotion.

I truly knew what she sang and, again, I must confess that Back To Black was my song, the one that could have been, easily, written by me. Not because I liked it, but because I knew exactly what those words meant – I had been there. She sang my life too, in that song.

And that feeling made me say what I’ve already said: that she needed to write, just the way that every writer needs. We live for writing, we only live with writing, we can’t even think properly without writing [because, without knowing exactly how, this huge lump installs itself in the throat, in the heart, in each and every single part of our being, until we write]

When a person truly feels something, and writes about it, the reader gets the whole thing, the whole feeling. And that happened to me with Back To Black. It only takes a few words, a few notes to give me goose bumps and, quite often, to lead me to tears.

A song! it’s only a song!, would those blessed [or not] insensitive creatures say. Yet, for me, it’s not a song. It’s a story, a statement, just like every other thing that wasn’t written with hands and/or brain, but which every letter that was given to the world came from the heart.

And yes, it was simply a personal review that a supposed Amy made about another Amy. Blame me for not researching at wikipedia, and not googling a single thing I wrote.

Decisions, Decisions

I shouldn’t be here, writing. Instead, I should be drawing.
Still, I don’t feel like doing none of them, and I know that if I allow myself to write more than just a few lines, I’ll just spend another day without drawing.

Let’s just face the facts while we can: I can’t be here. I have to draw and I’m 100% sure that if I don’t do it, I’ll feel a tremendous amount of guilt tomorrow. I know it.

Still, why is it so hard to choose?!

I guess I’ll just have to do as if I were still a kid: sweetheart, if you draw, you’ll be allowed to write, ok?! I’m only afraid it won’t work, since I’m feeling sleepy.

Amy, get ready. You’re in the guilt course, and it will hit you as soon as you wake up, tomorrow. The countdown starts now.

The Past and the Future Still Enjoy Haunting the Present

Living in the past. Here is something we’ve all been told not to do. Yet, honestly, what do we do besides that?!

We’re always stuck with what we’ve done, always. What you did yesterday, built the day you’re having now, and what you’re doing now will determine how tomorrow will be. So, there is no visible way that lead us to live anywhere but in the present – at least, for a person like me.

The past is always there, haunting you, waiting for you to blink an eye and get distracted. Then, it’ll just jump above you and throw you at the floor. Or – even worse, I guess – it’ll guide you to the closest window, to watch the sunset, sigh and feel the loneliest creature above Earth.

Someone decided to create something which is – sometimes – mean: memories. Those beings which, sometimes, gently offer a tender smile to your lips but, to make it a fair game, they’ll also provide you serious heartaches. For creatures like me, doctors invented – or simply discovered – the broken heart disease. Therefore, at least, I’ll be “allowed” to say that I’ve got a heartache, so yes, I love it! [I’d like a bit of sarcasm, please!]

A person will think about the past – at least, about what she did yesterday. But the catch is that yesterday is so close, that it seems to have happened one hour ago. Curious thing, the psychological view of time, ha?! And, of course, a person will always think about the future: what will we have for lunch or dinner? What will I tell at the meeting, next week? What will I tell him, tomorrow?

See, our notion of tomorrow is quite similar with the idea we’ve got of yesterday: they both seem too close to be denied, labeled as something different from the present moment, and we just accept them as part of the family, as someone who’s sleeping in our guest room. We nod, we smile, and we resign.

People often say that we must live the present, and consider it as a gift. I’m just deducing that, when we’re thinking about one hour ago, or ten minutes from now, we’re not living the present. We’re just stuck at what we did, and what we’ll do, but haven’t done yet. The curious thing is that I tend to take my thought utopias about the future – even that future that will happen tomorrow – as granted, just as if they were actual truths, or better, memories.

For example, right now, I’m not living the present. I’m just here, writing, settling down my ideas, thinking. In that very moment, I presume, a voice will rise and say But, my dear, thinking is a way of living. And then, I’ll just be quite rude and disagree. No, I don’t think that thinking is a way of living. It’s just a way for a person – in this case, me – to feel better about the whole outlook, and try not to notice everything else, happening around me.

[Sometimes, I wish I could scream, and throw a few people a bucket of truths – so that their eyes opened and they truly could grasp reality – instead of being here, unable to say a thing. I’m truly aware, though, that someday, I’ll just lose my mind, forget everything – what I had; what I could have, but simply don’t; what they think and how they’ll react; and specially, what they’ll think about me, that moment forward – and just say it. Everyone knows that day is coming.]

It’s just like that time I said I’d throw some white ink to this blog. I’ve been willing to do it for a few weeks. A few days after broadcasting I’d re-built the color scheme, I actually did it, and I’m pretty sure it didn’t even took a week.

My Life Could Be A Movie, But I’d Rather Have A Prime Time Series

Here and there, I think that my life would be enough for a movie. Here and there?! Sometimes?! Gosh, what am I saying? I always think that.

However, in the following moment, I grasp reality: three hours would be even less than insignificant, and it wouldn’t even tell a tiny fraction of the story.

No, my life would truly be enough for an entire collection of books, a saga, an actual odyssey of adventures and misadventures transposed from paper to screen film. And it would be broadcast all over the world, so that everyone could enunciate which and how many features of my being, my existence, they’d share.

But it could be better than all of that – since not every movie lasts longer in our memory than the time it takes to reach the bottom of one or two sweet popcorn buckets, or to hear the noise, the attrition between the straw and the ice cubes.

Better and more efficient than being on red carpet once and getting the Oscar for best dramatic movie would be a prime time series. [Yeah, blame me for thinking big!]

Yes, one of those which have countless seasons, which last episodes always end with an intriguing to be continued…

One of those that almost leads the audience to sympathize with the story, because it seems so real and it could happen to anyone [And they wouldn’t know that the story was real and that, in the end of the credits, an any resemblance to real life is not a mere coincidence would be included]

One of those series that in the exact moment that everything seems to be all right, there’s a problem coming, and this scenery would happen over and over again, getting to upset the most insensible ones who, doubtless, would leave the couch with a rude it’s always the same thing! They only do this to increase their ratings!  [Surely they wouldn’t know that lives which, sometimes, look like mexican soap operas actually exist and it’s not all the time they’re solved with a simple channel switch.

It would be great, wouldn’t it?! Oh boy, it would! We all wish we could just switch the program, switch the channel, or even throw the television throughout the window and invest our time in something more useful, profitable and interesting.

They’ll be an amount of poor viewers, those who’d follow the story, my story. At a certain point, they’ll end up feeling just like me. Together, we’d bring companies like Kleenex to the undeniable success;  laugh – perhaps – from nothing at all; appreciate the spring breeze; relish a nice hot chocolate; and tenderly smile hearing ballads – but only the sweet ballads – from Norah Jones.

[Yes, I truly wrote this last sentence hearing Those Sweet Words, one of her sweetest songs, and I just couldn’t avoid smiling]

After Birthday Considerations

Some things just happen when you quit planning them.

I’ve always been one of those planning freaks, I confess. There was not a single date that I didn’t plan ahead, thinking of every detail, every word, every move. Turns out, when the day came, it couldn’t be further from my plan, and I just felt so bad, because I was never able to achieve what I’ve dreamt.

My last birthday – three days ago – was just like that. I’ve planned it all, and I there was not even one match with my plan.

This year, I kept it simple, exactly for being aware of the enormous differences between reality and my very own utopia. I arranged a small dinner, with my best friends – they weren’t allowed to come. I ended up having lunch with my parents, at the mall and having dinner at home, just like every other day. And in the last few hours of the day, I’ve been talking with my best friend from college.

The dinner with my two friends on saturday became a lunch, yesterday. And yes, it was nice.

It’s been a while since the last time they’ve been in my house. They were only here for a few hours, but now, I always feel like they’ll just appear in my room, or leave the balcony. Now, I’ve got that thing of looking outside, to the balcony where they’ve been yesterday, because it’s like they’re still there. It’s a cosy feeling, and I just adore it.

Nevertheless, in a few moments, there was that weird, uncomfortable silence between me and one of my friends [I guess we can call him B]. It’s so different when we go out alone, without his sister – my best friend [let’s call her D, shall we?!]. Sometimes, when we’re together – the three of us – it seems like there’s an insurmountable barrier between me and B, an entire ocean of things we actually wanted to say to each other, but we can’t, since we’re not alone.

It’s so disturbing. And then comes the time when they go home, and I watch them leave. That’s the very moment when I feel an immense emptiness, as if I was loosing a part of myself.

I often feel like those women whose beloved ones left in a ship, with a one-way ticket, just like I said in Life as a Movie; Penelope as the Main Character.

When he is leaving, sometimes I try not to stare, since, once in a while, I feel like I’d just lose my mind, follow him, and never let him go again. Most of the times, I actually look, though – I just can’t avoid. And with each step he takes, the sense of emptiness increases.

Sometimes I wish it could be just a little bit simpler, and that we could spend more time together, philosophizing, deeply talking about ourselves and our very own ways of observing the world. I wish I didn’t have to stare at him without a word, when the entire world is around us.

I wish we were together in rainy days, just like we did before, walking under my umbrella, since that allowed us to create a brand new and personal world that was just ours, and share moments that felt like a wonderful lifetime.

I wish I could hold him, and never feel like Penelope again. It’s a quite tiring feeling, after all.

Wishes – Deep Wishes. Nothing Else.

Sometimes, I just wish it could be easier. Everything, you know?

I wish living in our planet could be simplified, and not the hard thing it is nowadays. I wish I could breathe easily, knowing that I’d afford my college degree and find a job. I wish I could live as a young person, since I’m young and always behaved like an adult.

I wish I didn’t have to worry about a few things I worry.

I wish I could know exactly what to do, and how to do it. I wish I had an honest idea of the answer to the typical where do you see yourself in five years?, because I absolutely don’t. Well, I don’t even know if, in five years, I’ll be in the hemisphere I’m today, so how could I possibly know what and how I’ll be?

I wish a few things could be different, better. I wish that people didn’t have to worry about the insane expenses of their governors, could be sure they’ll have food in their tables and afford their kids a decent life.

I wish I could be like every college student, that keeps her old friends, and once in a while, meets them and attend to class dinners.

I wish I could understand all those statements I read in the internet about debts and familiar economy – stuff I actually needed to know so that I could help my parents – , but the people who write them just tend to forget that society isn’t made exclusively of lawyers. I wish they could understand that, and become more helpful than they are right now.

I wish I could truly collaborate in a creation of a better world but, sometimes, I just don’t know if I have the strength to do it.

Heading Back To Myself

It’s even hard to grasp that my classes are finally over. It’s so weird and different from high school… I was completely used to have a week just to do nothing at all, and say “goodbye” with teary eyes. This time, I couldn’t even notice that it was heading to the end.

Well, except for drawing classes, of course. I wouldn’t avoid the tears, even if I tried. That teacher – the one I honestly hated so many times – was simply amazing. He was the only one who I asked for personal advice about college, and his answer really helped me.

After all, I didn’t say goodbye to anyone – except my best friend over there. It just didn’t sound like an ending…

And now, after those insane last two weeks, I’ll have three entire months to rest, and do whatever I want to do. I’ll be able to think, to write, to go out with all the people I want to… But it will be really weird not getting up at 6 o’clock to have a class at 9, and not to spend all my time at college.

It will be great to be at home, since I’ll be able to draw each and every single day and truly commit myself with it, so that I can definitely improve. I’m heading to the 2nd year of fashion design so I need to be great.

And I’ll ease my mind, try to find a job and improve my skills, and try to figure out what I really want to do, who I really want to be.

Yes, this will be another vacation time dedicated to myself. Just like it’s used to be.

Oh, I forgot: in two weeks, I’ll have my birthday. I can’t even realize that another year has passed. It still seems like I’m convict saying  – and believing – I’m not going to college! After all, one year has gone by and, now, I can’t imagine myself anywhere but there.