Another hard day in gastronomy class

Another hard day in gastronomy class

Toque latino bebiendo mojitos

"We are what we imagine ourselves to be."

Kurt Vonnegut  (via misswallflower)

My first encounter … with a book (the beginning of the addiction)

Being as I was when I was 10-years old, completely careless, clumsy, dramatic, and with a tendency to overrate video games, I never gave a chance to any literature. My dad was an avid reader, but he never lived long enough for me to realized it. He used to give me books, many books every year for any occasion. Which by my mom were dutifully pilled in a personal library I rarely used. 

Around my 11th birthday I decided (not so much out of choice but stupidity) that I was going to fail Math, because by that time I had much more important things to worry about and thus school was positioned maybe 5th place in my list of priorities. God I was an idiot!. 

My mom, very different form my dad was never patient with me regarding my education and when I failed, she decided that the only way to push me to study was taking absolutely everything away from me. She literally stripped  my room of all my possessions. And by “all” I really mean everything. By the time my mom walked out of my room with the last thing she was going to take from me, my room was composed of a bed, a chair, a night lamp, a study desk with all the necessary implements and THE library.

It might sound horrible, but I must say that during the whole process my mom was never mean to me. Which was worst. Additionally, I was a very proud kid, I never flinched, not even when she asked for my cellphone.

So, there I was, lying on my back in my bed with NOTHING to do, and of course I was not going to touch my school books. Are you kidding me?!

After I took several naps, scratch the hell out of the paint of my night stand and recorded the time I would stare without blinking, it had been only two hours from the beginning of the sentence. I was in hell.  

 Because seriously, what to do? what to do?…

After maybe 4 hours I started wandering around the room like a trapped panther, anything was a source of wonder, a fly was the most captivating bug. Dust was star dust, a precious and beautiful material that I had never seen before. And the shadows cast by the light coming in from my window was a new scientific discovery. I remember lying on the floor closing my eyes and moving my hands in front of my face to create a light-and-shadow effect which my eyes would register as orange and brown splashes of colors.

At some point I came across the book shelve, I remember shyly brushing my fingers through the white painted wood and eventually the books, slightly pausing to read the tittles: to kill a mockingbird, the Little Price, Moby Dick, Tom Sawyer, the Adventures of Huckleberry Finn, Kid’s tales, The Lord of the Rings, Little Women… There is a pattern you can picture here. 

"I feel the explosion before I hear it, and for one second, I stand in the middle of the square completely immobilized by fear, with people lying on the flour, screaming at the top of their lungs, running like rats, or dead. And my toughs are with the other group. So the revolution begins."

— Pom

"To me, all writers must go crazy. We need to retract from the world, and at the same time interact in such deep extent with our narrative that we melt into the story."

— Pom. From Analysis of Junky

"I overcame myself, the sufferer; I carried my own ashes to the mountains; I invented a brighter flame for myself."

— Friedrich Nietzsche  (via elige)

(Source: rabbitinthemoon, via lunarata)

Tags: quotes

"Inspiration is the windfall from hard work and focus. Muses are too unreliable to keep on the payroll."

— Helen Hanson (via writersrelief)

Tags: quotes

"It was just so easy to retract, retract from everything. I like to be by myself, in my head I can touch things I’ve never touch before, be with the people I love. For some reason, it has always been easier when I’m listening to certain music; is like the instruments talk to me. It’s my escape car, my magic carpet, the broom. It just carries me forward."

— POM