mea culpa, mea culpa, mea maxima culpa

En la película "Vicky, Cristina, Barcelona" el papá de Juan Antonio no permitía que sus textos se tradujeran y odiaba al mundo. Yo no odio al mundo ni quiero solamente escribir en mi lengua madre. Llámenlo como quieran, no tengo ningún problema con el español, solamente que no tengo problema en reconocer que estoy influenciada por la cultura globalizadora y a veces pienso en inglés.

That having said and hoping you to give a shit about this understand, I may feel a bit better writing in a foreign language. I had a stroke of enlightenment* and realized that there may not be such thing called love.

Love cannot be a something. Love has got to be some things. Certain signals that are thrown here and there and sometimes makes the human race feel the whatever nonsense "humanity means", it has got to do with what a subject has to offer to themselves and, for sometimes better, others: As when you sincerely love to achieve goals, do stuff in order of self-fulfillment; As when a mother caress for their offspring and gives her truly best; as when your boyfriend makes an effor to go to the other side of town, not to posess you as human flesh but, just to smell your sweet smell; as when you say thanks to the waiter in a respectful way; as when you see someone's eyes and feel like heaven must be something likely; as when your gayest friend congratulates you for your massive drunkness and end up offering you their place to make sure you sleep well and help you if your cousin vomit shows up; as when your sister says she loves you a thousand times and then slaps you when you do something stupid; as when you kiss your boyfriend's eyes, hands, arms, nose. And so on.

It is little things called love. It is everywhere, in many little, yet magical, aspects in life.

Do not look for love, but make it. MAKE A LOT OF LOVE, and yeah, sometimes it will destroy, because things that are made with love are heat, and heat is energy, and energy is mass, and mass explodes, and so on. So then again I rather say I'm sorry than to ask for your permission. I rather be death than to sell you my liberty, then again, I rather sin.


*as in: Buddhism & Hinduism. A blessed state in which the individual transcends desire and suffering and attains Nirvana.