I miss being young

I was watching that documentary about Jared Leto’s band and I realized something: I really miss being young. I’ve been in love with a fan of Jared since he played Jordan Catalano on My So-called life. That TV show was so powerful and inspiring to me in so many ways I could talk about it forever.

Every character had this inner battle, specially Jared’s. And, every time he closed his eyes and leaned against the wall it was like there were a million things going through his had and he was carrying this huge load he just couldn’t talk about because nobody would understand… or maybe he just couldn’t express it in words. So, all we got from him were these simple 2 or 3 words sentences. He wasn’t from this superficial world. To get into his mind you’d have to go deeper. Nobody could have played it better than a future oscar winner.

To me, as a teenager, it was kinda like that. Every little thing about the world was so intense. I was this weird, complicated kid who was afraid of brushing her hair because it could reveal some disease – I got that from watching movies I was NOT old enough to watch with my mom -. But that’s just who I was… at least that’s what I felt like. A little Jordan Catalano, who could read.

When I was 15 one of our teachers asked us to write a text about a book. The book wasn’t poetic at all, but my review was. She said that there was a poet inside me, longing to come out and show himself to the world. I felt like I could do anything when she said that in front of the whole class. I felt artistic and filled with all these feelings… I’ll never forget her.

But I grew up. I’m a mom in my mid 30’s. That pretty much means I’m not allowed to die my hair blue ’cause I feel like I don’t belong. I’m not allowed to wear cool clothes ’cause I’m not Brad Pitt and people probably won’t hire me if I show up dressing the way I did back when my so-called life was still on. I have a pattern to follow… it’s the responsible thing to do and the kids gotta eat.

Which brings us back to jared…

He still closes his eyes in the middle of a sentence and you can tell he’s really emotional about what he’s saying. I wish I could do that.

It’s so cool that when you’re an artist you get a poetic license to express yourself even when you’re older. Steven Tyler does it very well too. And I think us, normal people totally deserve that. I mean, I miss it. I should not miss it. I should be able to be me and experience every intense feeling of the world instead of surviving every day worrying about finding a job or the bills I gotta pay.

Yes, there’s people suffering in Africa and even back home, right next to me and my complaints are shallow. I’m sorry. Blame it on the poet inside, who just wishes to feel, instead of just getting by.

Good night, guys. And please, no spoilers on my amost-10-years-old documentary. The babies only allow me to watch like 10 mintutes a day. It’ll take me a while!

Please, take me home.

I was reading this beautiful blog and it got me thinking about things…. The way she describes Canada as her home and also the home of her great, great grandparents with so much love and affection got me thinking about what it must feel like to be home.

I’ve been fantasying about walking into my own house, to find my family sitting by the dinner table, or perhaps just having a video game slumber party in the living room for way too long. The house in my head is not big and beautiful. It’s small and cozy… it’s also ours and it makes us not want to leave.

It is a sad thing to not feel at home where you live, to not have your own house. It’s a feeling of abandonment. You want to go home, but home is nowhere to be found.

Ever since I was a young girl I wanted to leave this place. I remember opening my window and crying over the view. I was seven. Everything was deteriorated  and poor and just plain sad. I didn’t belong here. It wasn’t the worst place in the world, it was just not where I wanted to be. I can’t really put my finger on the reason why I’ve never liked it in here… but it’s there, lost in my memory somewhere.

That same window has been threatening me for 33 years now. I haven’t moved an inch, but things are about to change. We are leaving, finally.

People say I should stay and fight for this place, but I don’t think it’s really my battle to fight for a place I’ve never loved. I think I’m lucky to leave. I’ve never wanted to stay.

I just need to be somewhere where I can open my window and smile even if the sky is gray. Specially if the sky is gray, actually. I seem to find the winter rather poetic and welcoming. I’ll finally see the snow.

I hope we all find our homes… and I also secretly, or not so secretly, hope the people in this new place don’t see us as intruders. I hope my girls are well accepted… I’m not really worried about me, as long as they are fine.

I’m keeping my fingers crossed and my hopes up. A better life is about to start.

Wish me luck,