I remember counting days to disappear again, into a summer bliss.

Now I’m sitting here in my living room trying to figure out what to do. Tomorrow I’ll be heading for the mountains again, those tops that seem so high you could climb them and touch the sky. Another though my brain promotes that leads to solace.

This summer I won’t go to any mayor city in the world, although I’ve visited Barcelona a few weeks ago and I’m constantly going to Madrid, which I’m starting to realize it’s more like home.

I’ve heard a lot of people talking about what the perfect idea of ‘Home’ is. There’s this saying: home is where the heart is,  but seriously, what’s the point in claiming such a thing? What does the heart have to do with the feeling of being at home?

I think the idea of home changes constantly. And there’s a time when you feel like you don’t belong at all, like if suddenly the word ‘home’ became a tale spread by word-of-mouth that isn’t true at all, some kind of myth. But sometimes  you really feel you long to be somewhere, or with someone. and the idea of home totally makes sense. You might be away from someone you love, but whenever you both are together, never minding the place, even if it’s the ugliest and more devastating and dreadful place in the world, you feel like home.

So since I’m not at home and I’m feeling homesick as an astronaut, I’m trying to take some comfort in written words.

Hope you’re having a wonderful summer.

Robin McLaurin Williams.

Look me in the eyes,

this is only for the lucky people,

take me for a ride

and let’s try to feel alive.

But every now and then,

you feel like you’re mistaken,

you feel you don’t belong,

and you wonder what was wrong,

what was wrong.

Tell me another lie,

big enough for me to shallow,

take your time,

while you imagine how they’ll cry.

And then you realize,

You’re not talking to anyone,

that voice you heard before,

is your heart trying to hold on.

On art and vacuum.


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Tonight, at 2AM I decided that it’s a good night to write, even though I have quite a long list of things to do for next week, but it’s fine, I finished a painting and I’m way more relaxed right now.

But the thing is, I was thinking that maybe, art can’t exist in a vacuum.

What do I mean by this?

Well, I really think art is essentially communication, most artist use art as a way of telling what they’re feeling, what they think about something or as a way to complain about anything.

Anyway, I don’t want you to think about what the artist pretends to use his masterpiece for, what I want you to notice is that just as there’s no air in a perfect vacuum, there’s no art without trying to communicate A.K.A vacuum.

I think that’s the main reason why people make art, so other people can relate to it. 

I know this idea is pretty simple,but I think it’s important to think about it and I wanted to write it down since it enables me to clarify things.

Thank you for reading and sorry for being away for such a long time. 



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I find that motion helps my brain. This statement just popped in my mind, while I´m traveling at 300km/h on a high-speed train coming back to Madrid.

Planes, trains, cars, walking, seem to work as a catalyst, so I guess the thing is motion.

Motion is constantly helping me think, it allows my mind wander limitless field and my thoughts dance to the beat and I can’t make them stop.

I’ve always had this feeling, I don’t know if it’s because since I was a little girl I’ve been traveling frequently, but I guess it isn’t, because I know a lot of people who used to travel way more than me and they start feeling homesick from the moment they feel they are going anywhere, some others feel the urge to arrive save and sound as soon as possible and others start getting sick, I guess you can call it motion sickness.

Anyway, I don’t want to bore you with my train thoughts at these hours, I just wanted to share with you my thoughts, because I’d never really thought about that this way but certainly motion is the key.

Typewriter font and a large list of thoughts.

The latest months I’ve been living in this outrageous place called Madrid. This strange place keeps me running in circles without a clear idea of where I want to get. All my thoughts have turned into ashes, and I can’t find a way to make them burn once again. My mind spins around one more time. All this seems like a parlor trick, and I still feel as if I could crack the code, when I know I don’t.

I don’t have a great story to tell, I can only write and pretend that all I know is worth spreading, everyone knows that any idea is pointless if you don’t tell anyone about it, but how telling someone about anything you’ve think of makes it a great idea?

I don’t think that’s the point. I think there are a lot of ideas that none but you will ever know about that once, were worth thinking.

Also, whether you want to share it or not, the key is thinking, keeping yourself busy, proving little facts in your mind and exploring and questioning everything.

The ash and remnants of her thought.


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Alzheimer can evoke a great apprehension and sadness.

It was completely unknown for me before it hit me, before my grandmother was diagnosed. I’m feeling completely forlorn today, today is one of those days I feel incredibly alone and any attempt of building a state of happiness is a failure.

This disease, disorder or  whatever is nowadays a subject of enormous concern all over the world. In any developed nation, this problem has now become the greatest of problems. It isn’t something that you can’t really avoid. There’s not way to stop it or a cure. It isn’t something you can spend a few millions on and solve it. It’s greater than that. There’s basically nothing you can do, nothing anyone can do.

You’re destined to experience the insidious loss of your most human qualities.

Memory, abstraction, language, reasoning…these are just of the things that will change, and never in a good way. It’s a tragedy, not only for the people you know, but specially for you. This disease devastates
your live and your family. It’s incredibly painful to see any beloved relative, (in my case, my grandmother) slowly become a person who you never though they would be, someone you can hardly recognize.

I miss my grandmother, the one I remember, the one who taught me how to read, how to write, how to count to 1000 and how to play monopoly, my favorite game. That person I remember is now gone, she now has become a completely different person, she doesn’t know how to play monopoly anymore, she barely writes and read and of course, she just counts to 10, with some luck. She doesn’t know who I am either, if she sees me she simply smiles, but not because she can recall my name or remember my face, she just does that because she sees me smiling.

Sometimes I wonder what remains when you are forgetting everything, but I guess there’s nothing left.

Even though a few years ago I tried to fool myself by thinking she still could remember me because her ideas were somewhat more hidden, but were there, in the ash and remnants of her thought. Maybe they were, but I’m sure they aren’t now. Now I just try my best to remember what she was like.


I’ve come to the conclusion that when you lose yourself, everyone loses you by extension.



I needed to write, otherwise these thoughts keep collecting in my brain.


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