ineffit: (abel)
 I think of the rain sometimes.
The difference between Fahrenheit and Celsius is greater when you understand the distance. If you have only experienced one of the two then there is no point of reference and it's hard to understand that forty degrees can mean a hundred and four. It is a bit like that with the rain, but it is also more difficult to explain.
When I think of the rain it seems to me like the rain lasted forever. There was rain every month, the was random rain sometimes, when it wasn't supposed to rain and no one was expecting it. There was rain when nobody knew there was going to be rain because nobody bothered to look at the weather report; if rain came then rain came and there was not much to do about it. Rain was fine, nobody worried about rain unless it wasn't coming.
I walked about twenty block under the rain one time because I didn't want to wait for the bus anymore. I ended up so wet that my teeth started shivering and my skin turned purple. If I could spend all the days of my life deciding if I want to take the bus or get wet, I would pick either because both would mean there would be rain to see. But it is different here and now.
There is no rain. The winters are cold and unforgiving and it only rains at night. Now I don't get to decide between taking the bus or getting wet because there is no rain when the sun is out. There is no soaking of the streets, there is no smell of wet dirt.
I finished writing my first long story on a rainy afternoon. The drought makes me feel like there aren't enough words out there for me to express what I want to say, and I think about the rain when I'm desperate and lonely. I think about the sound of water hitting the streets made of stones rather than concrete, and the trees dancing with the wind, and the grey skies that open up to let the heavens cry. And I often wonder, what's the point of having grey skies if we don't get any water down? 
I think of the rain when I sit on the edge of my bed and there is only silence. The clock ticks and tocks and there are no raindrops. The bookshelves crack and shake and there is no thunder. Here, there is thunder without water, and it feels like screaming with no sound, it feels like heartbreak.
It is easy to think about the ocean when it rains, like waves of happiness, a memory of the water that keeps coming around. It is easy to think, "ah, that's the same water," and smile. And when it rains I feel a little bit less lonely. And when it rains, I feel a little bit more at home.
But when the winter hits, I look out the window and wait for the spring. And when spring doesn't rain, I wait for the summer. Then I wait for the fall. Then I wait again. I have forgotten when it's the time for rain, but in my mind it is always raining.
ineffit: (Default)
 the year is almost over again, and i figured it was a good time to write something. i haven't written something in a long time, and i mean something that is not for any of my classes, because if you count that then i've been writing kinda too much but i didn't necessarily enjoy it all. 
when one writes, sometimes is hard to come up with something to write about. there is nothing really i want to say. or maybe there is too much and that is why it's so hard to write about it. too many thought always lead to not being able to pick one to focus on and then i lose my train of thought and end up not writing anything. i have done that too many times. the thing is, that the more i spend without writing something just for the hell of it, the more i forget how to do it, and if there is something in life that i will never forgive myself if i forget how to do it, that would be writing. 
i am not, by any means, a fabulous writer. sometimes i don't even think i'm good enough to read, but i like writing, if not for others (considering nobody reads this blog) for myself. i write for myself. for the longest time i just wrote and wrote, filled notebooks, and papers, and cards, and napkins. i wrote on the public restrooms walls, afraid someone would know it was me because you're not supposed to write on them. i wrote on doors, and walls in my house and got yelled at but kept on doing it because the police couldn't catch me on that. so i write. it doesn't have to make sense but i like the sound of words in any form; when writing, when talking, when reading, when singing. i love words in a level that not even i understand, because i don't love them like anything else i've loved before. when i like something very very much, i get overly excited and emotional over it, but words? words i love with a peace that i never thought i'd have over something. i love words truly from the bottom of my heart. someone said one time, that love wasn't about intense emotions but balance. words make me happy. words so important and people don't take them into consideration as much as they take other things. words go beyond what we see as words, and transcend to communication, and communication can take so many forms. some people don't know how to write, so they paint; some others do math. as i see it, it all comes down to the way we transmit something to someone else, and that is what words mean to me. beyond just the things we put down. 
words come better when you're writing, i have to remind myself: if you don't try to write something, if you don't show up and do your part, if you don't put your hands to use and try, at least, the bare minimum, and write something, nothing is going to happen. write. show up to work and write. whether you write something worth can be determined later. can be determined by someone else. but if you don't write anything, there will be nothing to determine. there will be nothing. 
so here i am, writing before the year is over. writing about something i wasn't even thinking about. avoiding the things that are socially important to talk about something that is important to me. here i am writing. talking about myself, something that i try to avoid at all cost but always end up doing. if the year ended and i didn't write anything i would have failed myself. goals are a strange thing, but here is mine: write. at all times. if you see the opportunity, take it, run away with it, write at any free moment. when you think whatever you wrote is absolutely no good, remember that you did your part of the job, you showed up and wrote. remember how bad you used to be, and remember how much better you are now, even if you think is not worth reading. keep on writing.  
when the year is over and the next one comes around, things out there in the world will probably not be as good as they could be, and maybe you can't do anything to help, and maybe you want to change the world, and maybe you want world peace, but you don't know what will be of any of that, and maybe the world will be better, maybe we'll catch a break god bless please lord. whatever it is, you have this. whatever it is, write. just write. 
ineffit: (derek)
 Dear Mr. Shaun David Hutchinson, 

A little bit over a year ago I read your book "We Are The Ants" and I decided it was the best thing I had read in a long time. It speaks to me in so many levels, I had to go back, read it again, highlight all the things that made me cry, and separate all the end-of-the-world chapters. It is not often that, as a reader, we come to find books that make us feel this way, and I cannot thank you enough for that. I don't think I liked YA before this, so I'm going to blame you on that. 

I'm trying to say something specific here, I swear, I just need to put my brain together. You see, I've had depression since I was very young. I thought about killing myself a few times before I was even twelve; I want to believe you will understand why it is important to me to say this. Sometimes, when we are depressed, we think nobody understands. We think, "so what's the point?" And it takes someone telling you that they don't see the point either to make peace with yourself. To understand that, no matter how many bad days there are, there are always good days too. It's hard. But you know that already. 

I'm not a teenager anymore, and I've come a long way, and had a few traumas myself, to tell you that your book was not just a book to me, and no matter how much other people didn't like it, how much it didn't matter to other people, it mattered to me. 

After I read "We Are The Ants" I decided I wanted to read everything else you'd written, and I came across "The Five Stages Of Andrew Brawley."
This is what I was trying to get at. Here's the thing: my favorite part of We Are The Ants is that it doesn't focus on the fact that the characters are queer; it's just something that is, and it's okay. The thing about Andrew, it's that somehow it ends up focusing in this fact. 

When I was around the age of ten, someone in my family told me this story. We come from a small town in Mexico, but I never got to see much of it. In that town, there used to live a gay guy that I never met. He decided to be openly gay. He wore woman's clothes and talked 'funny' and wore make-up and had long hair. He was gay. For me, when I finally understood what it was to not be straight, he was a hero. 
One day he was walking down the street, and I'm not exactly sure why or how it happened, but someone decided it was a good idea, an acceptable idea, to throw gasoline at him, and set him on fire. They burned him alive. He had to run and jump in the town's fountain. He survived, and he kept on being gay, but I will never forget that it was okay for someone to set a person on fire just because they were gay.
He wore the scars for the rest of his life, and for everyone who saw him, it was something that was inevitable. What did he expect it he was gay?

Today, gay people can get married almost anywhere in the world, and they have rights, and if you set someone on fire you will most likely go to jail. Today, it's easy for some people to forget that it was not always like this, but I don't want to forget. For some reason, I don't want to forget. There was a guy in a small town in Mexico who got set on fire because he was gay. It hits you like a slap on the face, doesn't it? When you are old enough to understand that these things happened. This things still happen sometimes, somewhere. That people still get killed because they're trans, because they're gay. That we still cannot come out of the closet because we are afraid. 

Rusty reminded me of this, and I cried more than once thinking about him. I don't think a lot of people would understand why I cry. I told several people, when I was reading the book, "they burned him alive," and nobody, nobody could understand what this meant. They burned him alive just because he was gay. and it makes me cry every time. They burned him alive because he was gay. 

I'm still not sure if I'm disappointed with the truth of the book or not. I honestly can't tell what would be worse or what was more horrifying, but I can tell you that I'm grateful for you to tell the world about this. Whoever read your book needs to know: There was a guy out there, who got burned alive just because he was gay. And whether we like it or not, it's something we don't have the privilege to forget. 

As always, thank you for writing. 
Love and respect.

"Maybe we don't matter to the universe, Jesse Franklin, but you mattered to me.”
ineffit: (castiel)
 For my final project in my Comp II class I had to write an argument. Because I'm fandom trash I decided there was nothing else I could write about but fanfiction. So here it is, because a lot of people on the internet helped me and because it took me so long that screeeew everything, I'm gonna post it. I got an A+, so THANK YOU ALL PEOPLE WHO PARTICIPATED ON MY HOMEWORK.
Diana, I love you, bruh, you are the bestest. Laura, you have no idea how much respect I have for you. C., I understand, I see it, I know what you mean, but I still have to disagree, because you should have a book on your name as well, you are that good. To all my fandom friends, and just all the people who fandom: I love you, keep at it, you are important, you are amazing. 
The sources of all my shit are at the end, this is MLA format (or the closest I could get). Also, I have all the rights to this paper (they give them to me when I submit it to the school), so just so you know. Stealing is bad. If you're going to use anything from here, please do refer to this paper. It's in the system. Everyone will know. Just don't do it. Be awesome. 

The Struggles of Being a Fanwarrior )


ineffit: (derek)
I got the opportunity today to think, really think, about something that has been bothering me lately. When it comes to realizing about your own mental issues, most of the times it takes a bit to stop blaming said mental issues of everything bad in your life; it's going through this stage of "godammit I have mental issues" to "now everything makes sense that's why I'm so fucked up" and from there is extremely easy to think every single bad thing happening. Don't feel like doing anything? Damn my depression. Don't want to go outside because people? Damn my anxiety. This kind of thing that happens when the brain decides to be lazy and take the easy exit. From there on end is more than just extremely complicated to see that, no, is not the depression what makes things stop being pleasant, it's most likely the fact that now it's too comfortable to blame the depression about it to try and change it.

"I have depression, I can't help it." Mental issues are dangerous like that, and it's hard to keep thinking that mental issues don't define who you are. Mental issues are part of the problem, they are part of you, not you part of them, if that ever makes sense. It's something you have, no something you are.

There are a bunch of things that I enjoy doing, or at least I used to enjoy doing them and now I don't know anymore, because I don't remember how long it has been since I did something I liked, and it was extremely easy to go "I'm depressed, I don't want to do anything." The real question was if is it really that the reason I don't really feel like doing some things that I used to enjoy a lot. Yes, maybe part of the reason is that I feel tired all the time, and sometimes I feel like just not existing anymore, but sometimes it may be also the fact that I don't enjoy doing that as much as I used to anymore. Do I not like it anymore? Yeah, I do like it, probably just as much, but right this moment, when I enjoy other things just as much, that specific thing doesn't look as appealing as the other things I could be doing. Sure, some of those things I do them to escape reality, but to be honest, a lot of the things I do because I like them are to escape reality, that's a thing that I do. 

I figured, then, since this is something that I used to like, and I still like it but I'd rather do something else right now, is fair to think of it as all those fandoms I have "left". The fandoms I still know like the back of my hand, and I still follow in some ways, and still talk to people from those fandoms, but I do not involve myself with participating in them. I don't write for those fandoms anymore, I don't really read anymore --maybe once in a while when I'm feeling nostalgic; they're something I still like, and I still get excited over, but not something constantly in my mind. 

I don't write and read as much as I used to. I don't paint and draw as much as I used to. I don't watch as many tv shows and cartoons as I used to. I don't watch as much anime and read as much manga as I used to. I still love it all with my whole heart, but it's okay to take some distance, maybe I'm trying something new, maybe I need something different; and if I ever have free time and feel like watching something I haven't in a long time, then I know, for sure, that I'm still alive. 

ineffit: (sammydean)
I came across a Teen chat room the other day. Sometimes I still forget I'm not sixteen anymore, I'm not gonna say I went there to see what are the teens up to these days, because I didn't, but that's what I found.
It'd seem 'people our age' don't care anymore what the young are up to these days, like it wasn't just yesterday, or last month, or last year that we were still teens; like it wasn't the other day when we weren't still allow to get drunk (but we did anyway); like we are already allow to not mention our parents anywhere, because we are oh so grown up. But to be honest, we should know that is time we don't forget what we did before we turned thirty. Let's not forget how it was, let's remember how much we hated what adults did to us. Why did we even want to grow up?

I came across a Teen chat room the other day, and between 'ANY GIRLS FOR CAM' and 'YOU WANNA SEE A BIG COCK' lost around, they were talking about politics. The teens we think are too stupid to understand what is going on in the world, were talking about politics, because contrary to popular belief, they know. They know who is going to be twenty when the people you choose for the government are in the power taking stupid decisions.
It is them. And they know they're fucked. They may as well be more fucked than we are now, and whether you want to accept it or not, we are pretty fucked. How much did you have to borrow for school? Who did you have to beg to give you money? How many of you were lucky bastards, and how many were just bastards?  

I guess the point is, when you see teens talking about politics, out of nowhere, in a chat room of all places, you know there's something really wrong with the world. 
ineffit: (stiles)
 Maybe I did or maybe I didn't, but I will never know for sure. 

See, my sister and I we do this thing where we get extremely bored and just go out and buy things to any store we can find; the closest one to home is Walgreens, and the irony of this is that you can find whatever the shit you want there: dog food? Yup; clothes? Sure thing; condoms? Duh; food? Is that even a question? 
So yeah, we go to Walgreens and buy Doritos at 10:00 pm on a Thursday and is nobody's business. 

This time, though, was memorable because of the fact that it was winter, I was extremely bad dressed, we were buying something I don't even remember, and this beautiful girl walks in, wearing a nice coat, kitty knee socks, short skirt, pink high heels, and I froze on the spot.
No way, I tell myself. No fucking way. There are pretty girls dressing like that these days, come on, you and your fucking wishful thinking. Right. So. No way. Then she fucking walks into the kids aisle to grab a teddy bear and a fucking coloring book. And crayons. I'll be damned. 

When I found out about this side of the human nature, one of the most interesting creatures I found weren't exactly the masochists; why not? Well, pain is a pretty common thing, and a lot of people enjoy it even if they don't know, in small quantities maybe, but they do; you can build your pain resistance and there you go. No, one of the most interesting were the pets and the baby girls. Oh, man, the baby girls. 

You see, a lot of people think these creatures are sick, trying to create a pedophile-friendly environment or some shit. They're fucking wrong. These people embrace that state of life we all are forced to leave behind at some point. They don't want to fuck their parent either, they're fucking looking for comfort and safety.
These people are fucking cool. They go back to themselves and explore, and do whatever it is that makes them happy, because you don't necessarily have to leave that part of yourself that made life easy and carefree. And there are other people who find them just incredible and precious and want to take care of them, and it doesn't mean they want to fuck a kid. Alright.

But then again, is kind of really rude to ask someone you don't know if they like to call their partner "Daddy", and play with toys, and make of coloring some sort of foreplay. One does not just ask someone if they're a baby girl, okay, you just don't. Or maybe I would had if my sister hadn't been there, she's open minded but not that much.

I wish I had, though; it would had been pretty cool if she would had said 'yes' and not hit me with her shoe on the face. 
Wishful thinking.  
ineffit: (sammydean)
I finally watched The Great Gatsby. The new one with DiCaprio and Spiderman, not the old one. And there was a reason I hadn't watched it, I knew there was a reason. I mean, I'm not DiCaprio's biggest fan, I like him just fine, like any other person with eyes and ears and access to movies who can see the damn man has talent, and we all cursed all those times they didn't give him his Oscar; you see, I didn't exactly mean not to watch the movie, but it wasn't my priority either, it was just a movie that I thought, well, hey, I should watch that one, what with it being a classic and DiCaprio being there and all that.
So, it was in the back of my mind. Watch the Gatsby. But there was a reason I hadn't.

When we get bored, my sister and I go to the store, or the mall, or the bookstore, or the library, and we buy things that we really don't need but we kind of really want to have just to say we have something.
And so we were at the store looking at the movies, and I wanted to buy Mad Max, because is that kind of thing you just ought to have and I needed to watch it again (and again and again and again in the near future until I get sick and I can't make out faces anymore) and while doing that she saw this movie. The Great Gatsby. And she had watched it before, at school, because she's at high school and they always make you watch this kind of thing when you're there. She liked the damn movie, and she was set I had to watch it. We bought it. Along Mad Max, Spotlight, The Lorax and The Danish girl. And I shouldn't have damn it, I shouldn't have.

You see, we watched The Danish girl, because Trans cinematography and all, and then we waited and waited and didn't watch anything else until just two nights ago. And I hate my life so much, what the fuck.

There was a reason I hadn't watched The Great Gatsby, and it wasn't quite that I'm not a big fan of old movies, or remakes, or remakes of really old movies, or that that Spiderman Guy would never stop being the Spiderman Guy, or that I haven't read the book (which if there was a reason I hadn't even watched the book, where did you think I had read the book); I knew it was going to be one of those damn stories, that somehow change your fucking life forever and you just want to kill someone or cry forever, or kill someone while you cry forever, but at the same time, it leaves you so raw, open and exposed, you just... go to sleep with a sad smile in your face and hope you won't remember in the morning. That kind of story. The kind that makes you feel it was real and really a part of your life.

Or maybe is that I have emotional problems and my brain is fucked up.

Now I have the feeling I need to read the book because maybe there's something missing. Maybe I'm missing something.
And it is that kind of movie that leaves you upset because you can't be fucking upset with any of them. It's quite fucked up.

We have deep conversations at night when we can't sleep or we're thinking too much. You see, I don't like romance. If you ask me if I want to watch something, the last thing in my list is going to be romance, specially if it's sappy romance; I can do sometimes with romcoms, and sad romances, but my mood has to be very special, I have to be really bored or really, really want to watch the movie for a different reason. Romance is not my go to kind of thing, there has to be something special about the romance, something different, really different, or cliché, or just, something. And I'm not gonna say The Great Gatsby is a romance, because it could be, but I'm not gonna say it because it also could not be. But it sure as hell makes you think about love. 

I won't stop thinking for the next hundred years how Tom never loved Daisy like she loved him, and how Daisy never loved Gatsby like she loved Tom. What Daisy felt for Gatsby was a dream, and what Gatsby felt for Daisy was a fantasy, and Nick is the only one that matters. 
And I don't want to talk about love but after all, after everything, I really wonder if it's truly this hard to find someone who can respect you as a person. Because that is my definition of love. Everything else is madness. 


ineffit: (Default)

January 2019



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