Sometimes I find myself writing in English. And that makes no sense whatsoever, not only because I’m probably making a mistake per sentence –me, the grammar freak!-, but because that’s not the language I’m supposed to be thinking in.
Most of the times, though, it just happens when something is too much for me. Saying things in another language is way easier, because the words don’t seem so real, so near. And I’m a coward.
I’m such a coward that lately, every strong emotion (agh, feelings) get translated in my automatic brain so I can face them, in a more tame and foreign version. The main one is fear, because – I think- there is no stronger emotion than fear.
So let’s talk about fears. I’m afraid, I’ve said it before here- of going nuts, crazy, out of my mind, way beyond the crazy old cat lady I plan. I’m afraid of discovering one day that my writing is better when I’m drunk, not because I’ve tried, but because what other reason could explain all those alcoholic writers? I’m very afraid of that L world that comes surrounded with a hell of a lot of feelings.
I fear fences more than anything in this world and I’d defend my freedom above anything else, even if it comes with an L at the beginning.
I’m not afraid of death, but that’s probably because of my youth. I’m afraid of losing my friends and disappointing my people terrifies me. I’m afraid of heights, slugs, snails and frogs.
Huge smiles creep me out, as well as people who sound like a mainstream-thinking-machine with empty eyes and perfect words.
And I hate –someday I’ll speak about hates- when a blogpost gets too long.
No Comments