martes, 23 de octubre de 2012


I didn't even hesitate while writing the title.
Ugh. Ugh. UGHHHH.JHBFHYBERFBREBIEUFHBEIJE2URU389^%$$#@$$%^&*(*&%$#%$#!!!!
Woo. I needed that out. See, I'm failing school. Well, that's a little bit dramatic. I'm not failing, failing. My grades are just not what I expected. My Math exam is a nightmare, my Physics exam is crappy and I just found out that I failed the Biology exam as well. I'm doing a gigantic effort to not curse right now.
I just feel this knot in my chest... disappointment. Fear as well, since mom is going to be pissed. But hey, I deserve it. I'm not in denial or anything. I know I should've studied more. I'm disappointed in myself because I'm so stupid! Is October, almost November. I'm almost out! What the f-heck am I doing being all lazy?! I'm telling you, laziness... is strong. Though I'm done. I need to grow up and that means that I need to take responsibility for my actions. I'll tell mom about my lousy grades (when I'm brave enough) and try to listen to her scold patiently, with dignity and without giving any lame excuses.
I'm just really down... I'll get by, though.

Ana Vi

miércoles, 10 de octubre de 2012

Vocational Exam

A month ago or so,  we took a vocational exam on school. In case you don’t know, a vocational exam is supposed to let you know what you’re good at, so it’ll be easier for you to decide what you’re going to study. A guide, in few words.
I was super excited. They told us we had to be honest in the exam, so the results would be genuine and right. I did it thoroughly and with care, being absolutely serious in every single question. There are ten vocations. They figure out which is yours with a special test that was created  by a Spanish guy several years ago, really effective.
They take in count the ones who had a percentage higher than 70%. The usual for every person is to have several vocations. They tell you which and the professions you could follow. You select the ones you are interested in and they give you the info of each profession: which universities you could attend to study that profession, address of it, phone number and degree.
I got the results last Friday.

Out of ten, I have only one vocation. With a 98%, my vocation is :
“Literary Interest” Colegio
Oh Lord. You might think I wanted to do a flip and my victory dance, but, dear reader, I didn’t. In fact, I wanted to do all the opposite. I wanted to cry. I used all my strength to stop the tears from falling. The lady that was explaining everything looked at me worried. What’s wrong? She asked.
Of course she was confused. Before she showed me the results, she had asked me what I had in mind for my future. Creative Writing, Linguistic, Languages and Translation. I had answered. It was perfect. The results were perfect and my one and only vocation was Literary Interest.  I’ll list the professions of the vocation below and highlight the ones I ended up selecting:
  1. Library
  2. Journalism
  3. Law
  4. Education
  5. Languages
  6. Philosophy / Philology
  7. Linguistic
  8. Writer
As you see, all the things I listed to the lady before came out in the exam as professions I could follow.  What’s wrong? Why are you upset? She asked me. I swallowed my tears and looked at her embarrassed (I really hate crying in front of people). I’m sorry, I’m happy with the results. Really. I didn’t want her to think that I hated it or something, that was not the case. I was upset with myself. “I’m only good at one thing?” I kept thinking. What an useless girl I was after all. Really, I would like to know what’s upsetting you. Persisted the lady.
I took a deep breath and explained to her as best as I could what was troubling me, feeling like a pathetic, whiny girl. She scowled. I would like you to look at your personality result again, please. She told me. I nodded and read it again. Everything is in Spanish, so I’ll translate it as best as I can. Here’s what it said:
“She’s practical and anxious about doing things the way they should be done. She worries a lot about things. She’s pretty correct ( means I’m usually honorable and responsible at things).
Capable of being calm in critical moments.”
Okay… I read it again. I told her. Good. I’ll explain what this personality tells me. It tells me you’re a really calm girl that is never satisfied with herself or her work. I looked at her, my cheeks burning red. I’ve always known it’s hard for me to accept myself as I really am, thing that leads me to think that is hard for others as well, but I never believed my “emotional breakdown” had anything to do with that. I mean, it was pretty clear that I apparently was a “good for nothing”.
Well… that may be true. I just don’t understand why all my classmates have several vocations and I don’t. I know it sounds very immature of me, but it brings me me down a little that they are good at a lot of things and I’m not. I told her, resigned. What else was there to do? That was the ugly true. I was jealous of my classmates.  The thing is, Ana, that your classmates are good at several things, but you’re really good at one thing. That doesn’t mean your bad at the others, it just means you’re really really good at this one, specifically. She told me patiently. I blush just with thinking of how childish I must’ve seemed to her. But honey, don’t compare yourself with the others. You are all different and, anyways, they have to start with one career. You should be grateful. Your results are exactly what you told me you were thinking of studying. That only tells us how  right you were.
Seconds passed and my heart felt lighter. “This is what I love and I’m good at it”, I kept thinking. I thanked the lady heartily and left the office.
I’m not scared anymore, because that’s what I was, scared. I’m not disappointed either. Now, I feel more motivated, reader, because I decided that if these were the only things I was good at, I might as well be damn good.
I’ll write later.
Ana Vi

domingo, 7 de octubre de 2012


Just a glimpse of all my loved ones.
SAM_5027 My mom and my aunt. They are the ones I live with.Corazn rojo
My dear, dear grandparents. You have no idea of how much this pair makes me laugh (:
My aunt and uncle, always so loving and caring. Plus my uncle is hilarious in his own serious way (;
 My heart’s keeperCorazn rojo My baby girl, Valentina. She’s my cousin, her parents are the ones of the last photo.

There’s a lot of people in my life that I love and appreciate, but these are definitely my top seven. I hope no one’s stupid enough to mess with them, because my wild side (miau) might take over. I’m sure nobody wants that.
Love your family. Worship them and be tolerant. They are the ones who will love you when you are not so lovable.

“As mothers and daughters, we are connected with one another. My mother is the bones of my spine, keeping me straight and true. She is my blood, making sure it runs rich and strong. She is the beating of my heart. I cannot now imagine a life without her.”
Kristin Hannah, Summer Island

Ana Vi

Weird Dream

October 3rd

 I woke up with the flu, so I didn't go to school today. I lied back down and slept until midday(oops).
 Usually I dream really weird things, but since it's usual, those dreams are kinda normal to me. I almost always remember about what I dreamed, very detailed as well. It's always something pretty stupid, or funny, sometimes very disturbing. A mixture of faces, sounds, feelings and memories. 
 I like dreaming.
 It's like... I can enjoy my most secret desires, or even fears. It may sound odd, but I think a little amount of fear once in a while is pretty healthy. The rush of adrenaline, your breath quickening, your heart beating loudly... I truly enjoy those things. 
 Well, going back to the dream, I had this weird sensation after waking up for the second time today. The dream I had just had was... pretty disturbing, if you ask me. Not an usual disturbing but a where-the-heck-did-that-came-from disturbing. It was like this:

 I was at the beach with my family. I only remember about my mom and my grandpa being there, but somehow I knew the rest of my family was there as well. I was playing in the sea, playing with the waves and consuming in them. Everything felt good and peaceful. The sun was shinning and I, somehow, felt powerful. Like nothing could hurt me right there where I was. It felt like the sea was guarding me instead of trying  to pull me into its depth.
 Suddenly, I heard a terrible, sharp cry. It was a woman. She was crying and hysteric. I immediately knew what had happened. A wave had dragged her baby into the water. I felt dread creeping up inside me. More than dread, I felt a terrible, thunder-strong loss.
 I got so mad at first. How could the woman be so careless about her baby's safety? Was she insane? Leaving the helpless creature there, so close to the shore, without keeping and eye on him (I just knew he was a baby-boy)? But then I couldn't help pitying her. She seemed so lost. I don't even remember her face, I just know that I could see pure agony on it. I remember about tears and shrieks. Despair. I feel a knot in my chest just writing about it.
 I started looking for the baby in the water. To be more exact, I was looking for the baby's lifeless body in the water, since it was impossible that he hadn't drowned by then. My soul felt sad and heavy. I kept looking, sending up prayers, so God would give me strength and the ocean would pity us and just give us the baby's body back. I got mad at the waves that had seemed so friendly and welcoming to me before. How could they? Taking away a little boy like that.
 Without realizing it, it got dark, The sun had set but the beach was still crowded. Everyone was still looking for the body. I think it was really important to us to get the body back because it felt like it was the only thing that would lighten our heavy hearts and bring us some peace. It was the least we could do for the mother, that was nowhere to be seen by then, actually.
 A policeman approached me with my grandpa right beside him. In silent agreement we walked into the ocean, but it wasn't getting any deeper. We kept walking into it, the policeman guiding us, until a gap in the water appeared. It was like an entrance to an underwater cellar. The policeman looked down into it. I think I found the body, he said with grief.
 My grandpa and I looked down as well and saw the silhouette of his tiny body. We had to get it! We had to bring the baby back home. The policeman  tried to get into the cellar, but the gap in the water was too small for him to get in. I volunteered. That wasn't and heroic act. I was scared to death. I mean, I had to go down into a dark oceanic cellar to pick up a baby's corpse. Neither of us knew what was down there.
 Still, I was determined. I had to do it, for the baby boy.
 I don't think it's a good idea, the policeman said, you could get hurt. I was about to tell him that I didn't care when shockingly, my grandpa said: She's a strong girl. She'll do it. With both men grabbing my legs, I entered the gap. I was hanging upside down, the cellar was cold. It took a moment for me to find the silhouette on the ground, since it was dark. Still hanging, I tried to reach it, but I was still too high above it. I yelled them to lower me and, while trying to grab me by my ankles instead of my legs, they let go of me.
 I fell and hit the ground. I don't remember any pain, though. There were pools of water on the floor, but it was concrete. I got up and strangely, I felt more wet than when I was in the ocean. I approached the figure on the floor with a heavy heart. The second I touched it I knew something was off. I wasn't touching any flesh, I was touching plastic. The figure that I was now holding was a baby doll.
 The lights went on. I looked around in a daze and with pure horror realized I was in a lab, a dirty, wet, abandoned lab. There were other baby dolls, all wet and dirty, looking at me. At least a dozen of them, lying on the floor and some tables. I dropped the one I had in my hands and it fell in a pool of water, splashing me.
 You have to see this! I yelled to the men. Now that I think about it, they weren't even worried or sorry about letting me fall into that creepy lab. They didn't even ask me if I had hurt myself in the fall. Still, there was no answer from them. I quickly climbed the wall and when I was close to the gap they helped me out.
 When I was finally out, we just walked away from the gap to the shore. I didn't complain about their indifference towards my safety, it was irrelevant to do it. I didn't feel hurt about it and I didn't got hurt from it. I just felt numb. We walked in silence and when we got there, we saw there was no one there. Everyone had left. I could only hear some distant rumble, like thunder, but different.
 We stood there when finally someone appeared. It was the woman... and she was holding a baby in her arms. She thanked us for trying to help, and explained to us that it all was a false alarm. The baby hadn't been taken away by the ocean, but by his daddy!  Apparently he wanted to walk around with the baby and forgot to tell the woman his plans.

October 7th

 I woke up then. I know, I know. That's the end? Hey, no can do. It's not like I can control my dreams because believe me, if I could, I wouldn't be dreaming about creepy dolls that stared at me in an abandoned underwater lab. It was freaking scary. 

 I don't think I want to dream about it again. 

Ana Vi

P.S. Ironically, I can't remember about what I dreamed last night x)

miércoles, 3 de octubre de 2012

Begin Again

Took a deep breath in the mirror
He didn't like it when I wore high heels
But I do
Turn the lock and put my headphones on
He always said he didn't get this song
But I do, I do

Walked in expecting you'd be late
But you got here early and you stand and wave
I walk to you
You pull my chair out and help me in
And you don't know how nice that is
But I do

And you throw your head back laughing
Like a little kid
I think it's strange that you think I'm funny cause
He never did
I've been spending the last 8 months
Thinking all love ever does
Is break and burn and end
But on a Wednesday in a cafe
I watched it begin again

You said you never met one girl who
Had as many James Taylor records as you
But I do
We tell stories and you don't know why
I'm coming off a little shy
But I do

And you throw your head back laughing
Like a little kid
I think it's strange that you think I'm funny cause
He never did
I've been spending the last 8 months
Thinking all love ever does
Is break and burn and end
But on a Wednesday in a cafe
I watched it begin again

And we walked down the block, to my car
And I almost brought him up
But you start to talk about the movies
That your family watches every single Christmas
And I want to talk about that
And for the first time
What's past is past

And you throw your head back laughing
Like a little kid
I think it's strange that you think I'm funny cause
He never did
I've been spending the last 8 months
Thinking all love ever does
Is break and burn and end
But on a Wednesday in a cafe
I watched it begin again

But on a Wednesday in a cafe
I watched it begin again

I'm seriously loving this song <3

Ana Vi

martes, 2 de octubre de 2012


This is an essay I wrote for school. It's in Spanish, so I guess only Spanish speakers will be able to read it... Sorry about that. I'm thinking about translating it, who knows, maybe I will  :)

Stay Strong,
Ana Vi

El bullying, también conocido como acoso escolar, consiste en el maltrato hacia otra persona y el irrespeto por sus derechos e integridad. Es una situación que lamentable mente se está dando muchísimo (a pesar de que ya se le da más importancia) y puede causar muchísimo daño a quienes lo sufren, generalmente solos y en silencio.
 Hay varios tipos de bullying o acoso escolar: físico (golpes, patadas, empujones, palizas…), verbal (insultos, apodos, gritos, amenazas, degradaciones…), psicológico (intimidación, rumores, manipulación de redes sociales, presión social, extorsión, exclusión…) y el virtual (foros, blogs y otras redes sociales como Facebook para lastimar o humillar), conocido como cyber-bullying.
 El bullying puede darse en cualquier etapa, pero comúnmente sucede entre la pre-adolescencia y adolescencia, o entre primaria y secundaria, para decirlo de una manera diferente. Desafortunadamente, los niños de hoy se inclinan cada vez más a “ir con la corriente”. En el momento en que alguien se convierte en el blanco de un bully, se convierte en el blanco de todos los seguidores de éste.

Mi Experiencia Personal con el Bullying
 Para mí, el bullying es un tema espinoso. Yo sufrí de un bullying constante desde cuando tenía diez años hasta cuando cumplí doce. Se puede decir que de los cuatro tipos de bullying que mencioné, sufrí dos: el físico y el verbal.
 Fue muy duro. Pensar en las cosas por las que mis compañeros me hicieron pasar en aquél tiempo todavía causa que se me haga un nudo en la garganta y que mi corazón se acelere. Es una etapa de mi vida que por más que intente, nunca va a quedar atrás. Siempre voy a recordar cómo me sentí, las cosas hirientes que me decían, las risas burlonas, los golpes… Todo. Afortunadamente, mi caso es uno de los no tan comunes que terminaron bien.
 Puedo afirmar sin dudar que el bullying me hizo más fuerte. Me hizo la piel más gruesa, como dicen. Nunca cometí un acto de bullying antes de que todo me sucediera y nunca lo cometeré debido a que sé lo que es, de primera mano.
 Todo empezó cuando entré a un colegio nuevo en quinto grado. No tenía amigos, no conocía a nadie… en fin, todo era nuevo. Al principio todo iba bien. No puedo decir que estaba emocionada, ya que ya había cambiado de escuela muchas veces debido al trabajo de mi mamá y estaba cansada de los cambios. Aún así, aparte de eso, no tenía de qué quejarme. Poco a poco fui conociendo a la gente, hasta hice varios amigos. La pesadilla comenzó cuando la “cabecilla” del grupo, Alonso, decidió pedirme que fuera su novia y me negué.
 Enserio, ¿para qué iba a querer yo un novio a los once años? No conocía a Alonso muy bien, solo sabía que tenía catorce años en ese momento (estaba quedado), que era muy adinerado porque su papá era dueño de una estación de radio, que era muy burlista (yo había intentado no meterme con él precisamente por eso) y que para mí, que siempre he sido la más bajita del grupo y usualmente la más joven, era tan alto como un árbol. Sin dudarlo le contesté que no. Ahí fue cuando todo comenzó.
 Al día siguiente, su actitud era muy hostil y cada vez que me veía me empujaba o me jalaba la trenza. Yo me limitaba a decirle que parara. Luego empezó a comentar al frente de todo el mundo lo muy gorda que estaba. “¿Cuántos meses tiene?” me solía decir. Pasaba diciéndole a todos que yo tenía cara de puta (perdón por la palabra). Los varones del grupo, que siempre lo seguían como cachorros, se reían y agregaban uno que otro comentario hiriente, haciendo que cada vez me sintiera más fea y gorda.
 Mi amiga, o la niña con la que andaba en ese momento, se reía también. Cada vez que le reclamaba me decía: “Ay ya, no le haga caso. Uno se tiene que reír de esas cosas.” Tal vez tuviera razón. Tal vez yo me habría reído y ya de haber pasado esto solo una vez, pero era constante. No pasaba una clase sin que una falla de mi físico saliera a relucir. Me escondían las cosas y me tiraban al suelo para quitarme los zapatos y tirarlos al basurero o dejarlos en un lugar alejado, obligándome a caminar por todo el colegio en medias al frente de los demás.
 Al principio yo aguantaba todo eso en silencio y contenía las lágrimas. Luego, algo extraño pasó. Me volví violenta, contestando cada insulto y devolviendo cada golpe. Muy pronto me vi recibiendo palizas, y peleando contra ellos como si fuera un varón. Perdí mi feminidad por completo. Enserio creo que llegué al punto en el que no me importaba como me veía, no me sentía mujer. Yo solo peleaba y… perdía, por supuesto. Que me sintiera hombre no me hacía uno, y ellos me superaban en tamaño, fuerza y cantidad.
 Recuerdo muy claramente la primera vez que lloré al frente de ellos. Me habían llevado al fondo de la plaza, donde usualmente me pegaban y no había profesores. Me estaban tirando al suelo y haciéndome zancadillas. Al hacerlo me pateaban las espinillas, cosa que dolía muchísimo, ni siquiera dándome tiempo para poder defenderme o por lo menos echar a correr. No sé que fue diferente ese día, pero más que lastimarlos físicamente, quería que supieran lo mucho que los aborrecía. Comencé a gritarles lo mucho que los odiaba. Rompí a llorar y no podía parar. Ellos al principio me vieron extrañados, ya que yo nunca lloraba (por lo menos en público), pero después de un rato empezaron a reír. ¡Reír! Se rieron al verme sollozando adolorida en el suelo.
 Me topé a unas compañeras cuando estaba regresando al salón. Eran las populares de la clase, las bonitas. No sé qué aspecto tenía yo en ése momento, pero debió haber sido muy malo ya que me preguntaron qué había pasado. Yo estaba tan afectada y… dolida, que les conté todo. Ella me instaron a decirle a la profesora. Para cuando la clase inició ellas ya le habían contado todo. Sentí pánico, mucho pánico. Obviamente, nada bueno salió de eso.
 Pasaron esos dos años, los peores de mi vida creo. Recuerdo que siempre le decía a mi mamá que por favor no me cambiara de escuela, ya que yo era feliz ahí. Era mentira. La verdad era que me daba mucho miedo que en otro colegio fuera peor. Ella no sabía lo que me pasaba en el colegio. Nadie lo sabía.
 Alonso dejó el colegio, así que para cuando entré a secundaria todos me dejaban tranquila. Todo mejoró, pero me costó mucho hacer amigas otra vez. Yo me había perdido a mí misma. Había perdido por completo mi autoestima y mi identidad. No era femenina, ni gentil. Era brusca y cerrada, no dejaba que la gente me conociera ni me interesaba conocer a la gente.
 El tiempo fue curando mis heridas, junto a personas que fui conociendo conforme el tiempo. Muchos compañeros que me pegaban o insultaban antes ahora son mis amigos. Cambié de colegio (al Monterrey) y decidí ser social y dejarme conocer. Me encontré a mí misma. Toda esa experiencia me hizo más fuerte, pero dejó muchas cicatrices y hasta heridas que todavía están abiertas. Lo bueno es que ahora sé que puedo afrontar todo lo que me proponga y que no hay casi nada que el tiempo, la amistad y el cariño no curen.
 Después de mucho tiempo de reflexión me di cuenta de que yo no supe afrontar lo que me sucedía de la mejor manera. No busqué ayuda, sino que respondí al fuego con fuego. No me desahogué con nadie excepto mi diario. Cuando una guarda muchas cosas en su interior llega a extremos como pensar en el suicidio. Yo no niego que me cruzó por la cabeza un par de veces, pero de algún modo siempre supe que las cosas iban a mejorar. Además de que jamás le haría algo así a mi mamá, que en ningún momento me  dejó de dar su cariño.
 Lamentablemente, hay muchas personas que no tienen un final feliz. Por eso es que creo que en las escuelas y colegios, el bullying debería tener más importancia. Los profesores deberían estar más atentos y los estudiantes deberían ser más sensibles y tolerantes. Yo estoy segura de que nunca quiero causarle a otra persona el dolor que otros me causaron a mí.


lunes, 1 de octubre de 2012

Problems in Paradise

Well... there HAD to be something wrong. That's just the way life is, right?
Okay, I should explain myself better. The plan was, besides going to France for six months, going to the USA just after that so I could graduate there. Seriously, it's not just a whim. I want to graduate in the States because that definitely increases my chances of attending to an UNIVERSITY in the States, which is what I really want. 
I want to study Creative Writing, Linguistics and Translation. Unfortunately, in my country, universities are more focused on Engineering, Publicity, bla bla bla. Literature is absolutely underrated, and I really imagine my life revolving around it. Besides music, writing and reading is what I'm all up for. It is truly my passion, my joy. Wow... cheesy. True, though. How can you blame me? I bet all bloggers out there know what I'm talking about.
Reading is... escaping from reality. Escaping from the dull, somehow monotonous life you're in. Oh don't get me wrong, I like my life. I have food to eat, great friends that make me laugh like crazy, a warm bed to sleep in, a loving family, education... everything anyone could want. But of course, I'm a human being. I'm still too young to being immune to never being completely satisfied. I really hope that one day I'll be.
I don't do drugs, I read.
Then writing... it's so amazing to be able to create a world where everything is exactly how one decided it to be (control freak). You actually create people. You really know them. They can't stab you in the back or pretend to be something they're not, because you know them better than you know yourself. The funny thing is, even though one is aware of everything, you still get surprised of how your mind can come up with such things, how characters sometimes seem to develop on their own. You cry and laugh with them, you get attached and even fear and worry about them. It's something that is really hard for me to put into words.

Going back to the problem. It turns out that I might not have enough time to do some paperwork to get my student VISA. I need to be here for the taking of fingerprints, and when that time comes, I'll still be in France. So it looks like unless it cut off my thumb and leave it here, I have to pick between the two trips. 
I feel like pulling all of my hair out. How am I supposed to choose?
The AFS guy, who is pretty chill by the way, told me that as a friend, he recommended me to take the USA trip, since it was for a year and it would help me with college. The thing is, I WANT TO LEARN FRENCH PROPERLY ALREADY!  I need to learn more languages, and to be fluent with them I need to go to the countries they are from.
I'm not giving up on it yet. It's not impossible. Even though I feel really frustrated right now, I know God will guide me and to what's best for me. Everything will be fine.

Ana Vi