Burbank, CA

Destination Unknown

End of July 2019

It rained yesterday morning. I know, it shouldn’t be that big of a deal, but in Los Angeles it is always something cherished. By others. Not particularly by me. Yesterday though I enjoyed the rain to another level. I did not need a break from the heat, I did not need to have clouds in the sky covering up the sun. I need the sun. It is an actual necessity for someone like me who thrives when the sun is shining. Nevertheless, when Leo woke up and it was time for our morning walk, despite the few drops of rain, we left the house and we walked in the rain (just like in that book my brother gifted me a long time ago The Art of Racing in the Rain by Garth Stein). Something told me to bring with me my iPod so we walked in the rain, while listening to the songs that accompanied me in my road trip, and it was phenomenal. Epiphanies started happening at every step. The dog too seemed happier. It was spectacular. The plants and the trees all around us were releasing their scent all over, and the typical ozone smell was cleaning the air. It felt like we were going for a natural cleanse for our senses, Leo was clearly smelling the air, the grass, the flowers, the tree trunks, but he wasn’t forcing his stops on me. He did not need to linger on specific spots for long, because it was all around him, all around me, and how can you not weep when perfect mother nature is embracing us creatures in such a smooth way? Indeed.

Once again –because it happened before, I could feel my cells cheering at the sounds filling up my skull through my ears. One minute I was in Burbank, the other I was in Santa Cruz, sitting by the dog beach, enjoying the Pacific. Then I was back in Seattle. I closed my eyes and recalled the moments. Goose bumps. Then again that song that I never thought I could like. I feel 17 again and I can’t help but go back in time and back to Boston, where 17 was the way I was feeling basically every other day. The dog and I danced through the streets of the Burbank hills, and there was almost no one around: who would go for a walk in the rain? So the few people we were encountering on our path were making eye contact, and we would smile at them, acknowledging we were on the same page. We were happy to be alive and we had to celebrate it. Can you tell how much I’ve changed? I think I can.

A walk that lasted an hour and a little more, that felt too short at the end, but it lasted an eternity that felt amazing. Time is a construction of men, yes. Because in these moments there is only a “now” that you can’t really quantify. I started thinking deeply, I recalled teachings from the past, from when in high school we were studying philosophy, or even geography in elementary school. History back then was a burden: I could never remember dates. What I cared for was the way the story was told, and not a lot of teachers were good story tellers at the time. But I felt lucky. Oh if I felt lucky. All these subjects that in other places in the world are not even considered part of your academic curriculum, where I am from, they are taught to you. Mandatorily. Who would teach Epic in school? Yeah, no, you fools, not the adjective to say “dude, that was epic”. No. Epic, like literature, those long narrative poems that talk about heroes from the past and their story. It’s a middle school subject for us. Middle school. Let that sink in. Or at least it was. I really wish it still is. Italian peeps, is it still taught as school? I should ask my aunts Rita and Gloria, they would know. Oh goodlordwhatishappeningtome? I have tears streaming down my face thinking about how lucky I was. I am. I swear I always thought it was a curse to be born in a place where I could not be a rockstar by the age of 16 like Billie Eilish, but then… this? I’m sorry, it’s priceless. I had such an education (basically free in my home country) that I am so mad I can only now appreciate at such a deep level. Silly goose.

I’ve spent the first days in L.A. catching up with the episodes of tv-shows I had on my watch list. I binged those and then I thought “what about all those books you got and thought you could read while road tripping?” so I brought my box of books from the car, inside, and I started binging on these instead. Being able to get all the references without having to read the footnotes –as I already know about this or that philosopher, this or that historical character, this or that rhetorical figure, this or that episode in history, is making me feel dumb. Why am I only now realizing this? Where have I been these past 20 years? Was I even being part of this world? Oblivious. That’s the only word I can think of, but rain or not rain, road trip or not, I feel different now. I’ve always been an observer, but I have never felt the connection. I knew it was there, but I felt distant. Explained why I always felt like there was something missing in me. I could not belong. I could not relate to most of the people around me. No matter how many books I read, no matter the Divine Matrix, the “being all and one with the whole”, the “coming from the same source, the Big Bang, and we’re one”, I got it, but I wasn’t feeling it in my body. And I am not saying that all of a sudden I am now in touch with everything. Hell no. But even sensing a little bit of what it feels to be one and everything was magical. And I am glad that, to share it with me, there was another magical creature: a perfect beautiful dog. (God spelled backwards, I know).

If you haven’t read them yet, take some time to read these books. They may or may not help you, but I need to leave them here as they are now part of this journey I started as a houseless person. I can’t share photos of beautiful places because I am stuck in just one for now, but I can share music and literature: how about that? Find my Spotify playlist as well, if you want to feel young inside, as these are the songs that are currently played on the radios (mostly pop … I know, I know). If you do follow my suggestion though, let me know what you think, k? Cheers for now.

Find the books on Amazon by clicking on each image.

A book a day, for now we have:

Suggested by my friend Silvia

Wife of Linkin Park’s Mike Shinoda (who designed the cover)

Stumbled into this by chance. Worth reading.

Gifted by Aunt Gloria 🙂 .In Italian.

Got it in Boston never had the chance to finish it. Done.

My Road Trip Playlist

Los Angeles, CA

Destination Unknown

July 2019

I haven’t gone missing, I’m just back in Los Angeles, CA. It always takes me a little while to process this kind of things so I did not blog last week, while trying to feel comfortable again, leaving my “nomadic” situation. I’m still houseless, I’m just not constantly driving and seeing things. And that’s the worst part of it. Everything looks so familiar now in this conglomerate of cities: the freeways, the landscape, the habits… the people. To be honest, seeing familiar faces helped me realize that I missed this place, but most of all I miss who I was while striving for survival in this area of the world. It made me stronger and I like it. I say “I was” because I am sure something within me has changed while on the road, although it may not be that obvious. I’ve seen so much beauty in the past month, the past weeks I’ve spent in a car, that my eyes are now longing for more, more, and I can’t wait to find it… around me.

I don’t know how many people are reading or will read this, but for what it’s worth, I want to leave a note, if only for myself to read back in the future. I was at that Starbucks at Barnes and Noble in St. George, UT on July 8th, and I sat on a chair where there was a book left alone, no one was reading it. At first it captured my attention because I remember I read “subconscious mind” from afar, then I got closer. I grabbed it and read through the cover and the back: I don’t know if it was because I was tired, or because I was receptive for other stimuli coming from all around me (people sitting, reading, talking) but, rather than being focused on that book, I left it there and I still can’t remember what I did read at all. I do recall only those two words, I must have been really disconnected because the only reminiscence of that moment is something like “I’ll check it out on line” but then I did not. Just like when I get an idea, instead of writing it down I believe I will remember it, and then I punctually forget it. Anyway, long story short, when I reached my friend’s house in the Los Angeles area and she showed me where I would sleep for a couple of days, on the nightstand she left a book she thought I may like: The Power of Your Subconscious Mind by Joseph Murphy, was lying on that table waiting for me. She did not know anything about that other book that apparently passed unnoticed to me, and it wasn’t the exact book I saw that day in Utah, but it is somehow related to it. I felt like a message was sent to me saying “read something about this topic” and I couldn’t ignore it again. So I started reading this book and I eventually understood why I had to. I always believed in the great phenomenon our brain is, our mind to be specific, why I wanted to study it –my psychology and psychoanalysis background, and the neurosciences; I just needed someone (or something) to remind me of that. It is not to talk about superpowers, or some weird paranormal activities and pseudoscience, but whatever you feed your brain will fuel your thoughts and everything attached to them, referring to both food and words, and that is just the truth.

That book, or the message it wanted to send at least, found a way to get to me. I think the one that I found in Utah was actually Subliminal, by Leonard Mlodinow because doing a quick web search, the cover looks familiar, but who knows. Still, the point of all this was to remember that, at this temporary stopover I have to take, I need to feed my mind properly in order to thrive. Harder said than done but I can try.

As for the traveling part, my poor Sienna needs to be fixed so I can’t really ask for much more from her. Not to sound too crazy or more than what I already am, but lately I was really talking to her nicely, petting the steering wheel saying “one more Sienna, one more and then I’ll let you rest” for our last miles, and I can hear now all those weird noises, that squeaking sound when I turn it on; I just have to be thankful it lasted long enough to take me back to this part of California without leaving me stranded. With September approaching I need to figure a few things out. People are back from their summer vacations and the whole employment mess is back in the game. My wandering around is not over, I may just have not enough places to see or visit, but I won’t stop researching and moving around. I currently have no fixed destination once again, and I am open to possibilities, as always. I may not be traveling by car, but I am definitely going somewhere soon. Just hang in there and you’ll find out.

Santa Barbara, CA

Destination Unknown

June 14, 2019

Driving North along the Pacific Highway I feel defeated and upset. Don’t get me wrong, I am glad I could do what I’ve done, I’ve seen precious places I always thought I would never see, and most of all I added an amazing experience and stories I can tell to whomever wants me to tell them. I keep on feeling nothing whenever someone gets surprised and asks: you did this alone? You’re such a brave woman. I am not. It’s just who I am. Courage has nothing to do with what I’ve done and what I’m doing. I believe that, when you have nothing left to lose, whatever you do is just fine. You couldn’t have done otherwise, so what’s the big deal? But then this is just because in this very moment this is how I feel. An hour from now I may be staring at myself at a restroom’s mirror in a remote gas station in Southern California, thinking: you did it. You road tripped with poor Sienna falling into pieces but you did it, and now you’re back.

I am back. Back to square one, and I can automatically feel the weight of the world dragging me down again. What’s the next step now? Where did my freedom go? I need to sit and listen to what the ocean has to say. Before reaching Los Angeles, I stop at Dana Point and let the waves calm me down for a couple of minutes on a gloomy morning. I let my mind go and I can hear the ocean speak. He said “just be patient you’ll make it through. It has all be given to you because you can handle it, you only have to hang in there and wait.” I told him I am tired of waiting. I told him I can’t take it anymore and I told him I want to go home. He said “this is home now, you’ll see”. I wasn’t talking about home in Italy. He wasn’t talking about home in California. We understood each other so perfectly. And I kept going.

I wasn’t ready to drive through my beloved city. I took an alternate route and went all the way North to Calabasas where a friend lives with her family. I’ll stay with them for just a few days before seeing LeoBear again. I’ll take care of the pup for a little while again, and hopefully my mind will go back to be working properly. I need that consistency I tried to build up during the Spring and during my boxing challenge, and now I kind of miss it.

On Sunday we drive up to Santa Barbara. Of course I take the chance to visit some more of this beautiful California, and I can’t miss the opportunity to see my Pacific whenever I can. Santa Barbara is a small town compared to what I was expecting. A typical beach town with the pier, but if you look around, what you can see is more than pretty. Mountains surround you from the South, East and North, while your West wing opens up to the ocean. And it’s magical. The only flaw is seeing those offshore oil drilling platforms in the distance, but there’s nothing I can really do about it so I’ll pretend I didn’t see, and enjoy the rest.

I’m afraid of what is expecting me in a month or so. I know I am cherishing my aloneness more than anything, despite those few moments I wish I could share with someone else. Traveling alone has solidified even more my independence and my “relative” freedom, so anything that crosses my boundaries makes me feel uncomfortable, as if I’m trapped in a cage. All I can do is just wait. Always. Wait. Patiently. Until I’m free and alone again. But until then, how do I cope with the “in between”?

San Diego, CA

Destination Unknown

June 11, 2019

I’ve recently been told “sometimes you can be a really caring person and sometimes you just act like a dick.” I can’t see what is wrong with that, considering 1. if I had to be affected by everything people think of me, (as it used to happen on a very deep level in the past) I’d have to kill myself for not pleasing everyone every time; 2. depending on the situation, I react to stimuli and that is what, to you, is something “bad”. Can you always be caring? Can you always be a bitch? No. I alternate. And sorry not sorry, but that’s fine with me. Nature alternates. Sunny and rainy days. Deserted lands and florid areas.

I fit in the land around me. I fit in California apparently, as nothing stays the same driving from one point to the other, from one city to the other, and it just reminds me of me. I approach San Diego and I feel drawn to UCSD, University of California San Diego, so I find a parking spot close to the Library and I spend a couple of hours in the architecturally beautiful library after a quick run around the campus: if I could I would say rejuvenating but I still look old and tired so I’ll say “reinvigorating”. It feels nice to be in the academic environment again. One day I will find out why I always feel good, comfortable and safe when spending time in schools.

When I wake up on June 11th I take my time because the weather is gloomy and I can’t find a spot downtown that is really inspiring. I decide to drive through the city, I cross the bridge to Coronado Island and I stop at a local cafe where I get a chai latte after a while, and I just chill observing people around me. Not like a psycho, or maybe just like a psycho, but I just enjoy noticing what is going on around me, picturing different scenarios for those people who are sitting there, in silence, looking at their phones in a remote cafe in the middle of Ocean Beach. There is also a corner called Dog Beach, where I see all these people taking their dogs for a stroll, and that warms my day a little. I end up taking a couple of photos of the skyline from Centennial Park, and I feel a little accomplished.

I spend the afternoon at a park downtown where three dogs come greet me and their human approaches me too. We start talking and we eventually spend hours just sharing anecdotes about our lives, and the stories of those three rescue pups just amaze me. I end up in his apartment, taking care of the three dogs while he goes out for a business meeting. How crazy does this sound? I know, but I guess that’s just me. My friend Jordan calls me while I’m in that apartment –where I could see the city from high above the building– concerned about what I just told him: stranger, dogs, his apartment. He calls me an idiot and I have to stop trusting people so easily. He may be right. But what am I actually doing has nothing to do with people, I am just spending time with dogs. When he gets back, I say bye and leave, feeling a little confused for what just happened: have I really spent a couple of hours waiting for a stranger to get back home while looking after his dogs? Yes. With Jordan’s words echoing in my head and all, I just start driving until I’m tired and pull over for the night. I feel brainwashed. San Diego is too close to Los Angeles. I need to find somewhere else to go before ending up in my City of Angels again, and I am not ready yet.

Death Valley, California

Destination Unknown

July 9, 2019

Babe, I’m home. I pictured myself hugging the road sign where it says “Welcome to California” like a Koala hangs tight on his eucalyptus tree, but I could not really find the road sign. Going all the way from Vegas to the Death Valley, you can’t see any welcome sign. Not even Google maps, that always warns you with a blue banner popping up, said anything. Whatever.

The day started so smoothly I could not believe I was simply taking it easy. There was almost no one on the road once I passed the urban area of Las Vegas, and the long string of asphalt in the middle of nothing was a blessing to me. I took the time so stop, take photos, jump in the middle of the road, tell everyone to go f-un themselves and it was just …good. Reaching the Death Valley was like a dream. I even had to let a wild horse pass right in front of me. A white wild horse. Pretty little thing, so precious. For the first time in my life I saw a road runner: funny little creature. So fast, for real. I was imagining something as big as a turkey. Nope. Small and fast. The funniest of them all was the white-ish lizards that were even faster, but they looked like they were running only on two legs. I remember watching a youtube video of these reptiles, where one was escaping from a thousand snakes coming from all the angles and corners: she made it through by the way.

Every little thing in the Death Valley is beautiful. I am so excited and I just cannot believe I made it here. “Hey look Ma, I made it!” to quote one of the songs I keep on hearing of the radio (it’s by Panic! At the Disco, of course), oh and I actually wrote down a list of the most played ones so that I can create a playlist and listen to it (you can too!!) when I am down (or not) to remind myself of that time I took a road trip all over the US (mostly) and a little Canada, all by myself, with a van, sleeping in my car, seizing the day. Bad-ass. I know. I like it too. And bad-ass is exactly how I feel today, capable of doing anything, under a 110F weather. Go me. Except for a blonde moment I had. I could totally see it coming: I pictured myself in that very situation I found myself trapped in, and not even a second after I imagined it, it happened. What is it? Well, after seeing my favorite spots in the Valley, viewpoints, canyons, DUNES… fighter jets flying low and breaking your eardrums (the Death Valley must be one of those areas where they could legally perform supersonic activity just like over the Adriatic Sea in Italy), I saw on the side of the road some small dunes of another color from those I just hiked up. The rangers at the visitor center said that sometimes you can see grey dunes because there is hematite in the area, which is also one of my favorite rock, that I have in a box somewhere in the car right now, probably in the “random objects” box. I also have the “beauty objects” box, the “electric things” box, the “kitchen stuff” box… I mean, can’t you see why I am not scared of earthquakes now? My aunt said “Laura, you’re out of your mind” because I am not afraid of some soil shaking but, see this: I don’t own a house that can fall over my head, I have everything I need and own with me, in a moving metal box that can go anywhere and, unless it’s the Big One that should supposedly break and detach the whole Californian peninsula turning it into a floating island, why worry? But that’s just me. You can be afraid all you want. Anyway, the blonde moment. I went a little too far in my curiosity for spotting the grey sand, and got stuck in it with the front of the car. This is one of those cases when you have to pretend you like humans and ask for help. So I did. I started waving my arms in the air to the cars passing by, and the first car pulling over was of a German couple, the second of a German family. Yes people. Saved by the Germans. May the Germans be blessed. A few others just passed and looked. They did not stop. Not Germans, most probably. They followed my suggestion and pushed the car while I slowly hit the accelerator on reverse. We made it. They made it. I was so thankful that I wish, if there’s a God listening, that their lives could be blessed for a long long time. The cutest were the girls pushing along with father and mother to help me. Sweethearts. Cherry on the top: when I asked what I could give in exchange for their precious help, they all said “nothing, it’s ok, keep going” and then the father added “tell this story. You have something fun to tell” and it was amazing. I promise I would and here I am. By the way, if one day you will ever read this and this message will get to those kind German people who helped a stranded blonde out of the sand, in the Death Valley on July 9th, 2019 please know that you are AWESOME. Thank you from the bottom of my bipolar heart. One day I’ll pay it back, or forward.

To end the day in the most batshit-crazy way for many, I decide to spend the night in Ridgecrest, the town where the big earthquakes of the last couple of days hit because I just want to see. To know. Curiosity killed the cat. But I am wolf. Protected by a bear. Go figure. If I’m still alive tomorrow, we’ll talk more about Ridgecrest, now enjoy some photos of one the most wonderful places I’ve seen so far. Talk to you tomorrow.

Ghostwriters, anonymous geniuses

Reviews, Tv Series

Ghostwriter-2Another day, another interview. It happened by chance that I got to know the existence of an actual profession, the ghostwriter. I applied to a job post that was asking for a content writer, a passionate thinker, yadda yadda yadda. A few days before my interview, while browsing new series on Netflix, I found this interesting animated sitcom I decided to binge watch …just because. I started watching BoJack Horseman, attracted by the presence of Aaron Paul (although as a voice-over only), on a warm summertime weekday in LA, after taking some time off my job hunting routine.

It did not take long to realize another TV-series, another binge watching session, would have inspired another post. It is like when you see your whole life scrolling down right before or after a sudden event: pre-death experiences or whatever they call it. If you never experienced it, welllllll, I would not suggest trying it, but it means you definitely did not get hit by a car when you were a kid, flying for a few feets, thinking “oh shoooot, I’m dying”, touching the ground, sliding on the stoney side of the road, getting back up to see the world around you stopped for a second, until you noticed the broken windshield of the woman’s car who just hit you. It was her fault, but no one will ever know, as she moved you and her car while panicking, canceling any trace of the accident, making it hard -if not impossible, for the agents to declare …anything.

EXT. SS CITY. AFTERNOON.            
              
              TEEN GIRL
Did I do this, did I break your car's window? 
               WOMAN
     yes, you don't remember? 
              TEEN GIRL
         No, I'm so sorry...

Diane_NguyenOnce the flash-back was over, I realized the main character, the one I was supposed to “get introduced to” at this moment of my life was not BoJack but Diane. Diane is a ghostwriter. She was hired by BoJack Horseman to write his autobiography. She is an wannabe writer, who feels like nobody actually understands -or even sees, her potentiality, she is originally from Boston, and she is dating famous actor and BoJack’s rival, Mr. Peanutbutter. Yes, apart from the romance, the other details are pretty familiar.

Diane is one of the characters in BoJack Horseman who is portrayed as an actual human. She reminded me of Daria Morgendorffer right away. Never seen Daria, you all? Go check it out, now! Diane had a hard childhood, growing up in a family she did not feel like she belonged to, she attended Boston University (BU? Why not BC? Go Eagles!) with a major in Literature (and Equine Studies, but those are details). She moved to Los Angeles, California and she worked at a Starbucks, where she met her wealthy boyfriend, a star of the movie industry. Again, apart from the romance…

ce313c1c82b20d82e6c9c13a69f6c7b5--aaron-paul-hot-amazing-eyesBoJack hires her to ghostwrite his autobiography when, at a night party, he gets fascinated by her personality. By the end of the very first episodes you forget you are watching an animated series, and I personally watched the rest of season 1, 2 and 3 as if I were actually watching a normal, human based, show. Aaron Paul‘s voice triggered my imagination to the point that I was actually seeing his face instead of the cartooned character who was awkwardly too similar to Breaking Bad‘s Jesse Pinkman. But how did I get here? I was halfway through the first season when I had my Skype call with the recruiter. She asked me the usual questions: could you tell me your story? How do you see yourself in a couple of years? Why would you be the perfect fit for this job? And last but not least: who is really LG? How would you describe yourself? Honestly, it felt like she just asked me “Who is Gossip Girl?” …How would you answer? How would I answer? I am… me. I clutched at straws for a couple of minutes until she answered for me. “You are the Binge Watching Queen, you want to be heard, your voice is captivating, your blog is nice to read… and you will never bend to be a ghostwriter”.

…and this is why I am not the perfect fit for this job. Well then thank you. For reading my resume, for taking the time to take a peek at my blog posts, for telling me the truth, and yes, for making me feel fine, (just a little) hearing you claim, out loud, “you are the BWQ”! But I haven’t got the job. It was not to be “just” a content writer. I had to be the voice of a person who has a famous face. If they cheered at her, at her words, her posts, they would cheer at me, without knowing it. The recruiter saw that I could not be the anonymous creator of somebody else’s fame, career and respect. A living Diane, who eventually ends up writing a book ABOUT BoJack, not his autobiography that was supposed to be written as if it was him the writer who used the right words, the appealing style, the pleasant ideas. No… way. So I gave in to never finding a job where I can perfectly fit, I ordered some Indian food and binged on BoJack Horseman ’til the end.

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BoJack Horseman

Genre: they want to call it “adult animation sitcom”
Created by: Raphael Bob-Waksberg
Voices ofWill Arnett,  Amy SedarisAlison BriePaul F. TompkinsAaron Paul
Watched onNetflix 
Three Seasons, Thirty Seven Episodes binge watched in: Four days, nights included.

The story takes place in Hollywood, actually Hollywoo after the D gets stolen. BoJack is a former sitcom star, and he is a horse; Diane, his biographer, is a human and she will get married to a dog-actor; BoJack’s agent is a cat; Todd is a human in his mid-twenties who lives with BoJack in his house and sleeps on the couch, but gets little to no attention from his roommate; all of the other characters are either humans or animals, without interferences. BoJack was the star of a 90’s sitcom called Horsin’ Around, but since then he lives out of his old fame. Through BoJack’s shenanigans we get philosophical, psychological, societal and generally intellectual perspectives. No matter the several mistakes and flaws that become BoJack’s trademarks, the whole series seems to be based on the justification of the movie industry’s environment, which is misleading and toxic for many. The series includes sensitive topics like acting teen’s addiction to drugs and alcohol, unexpected pregnancies, abortions, sexual abuse, depression and other so called morally unacceptable behaviors treated on different levels of perception and judgement. Don’t believe me? Take a look and see for yourself.

Long hair don’t care

Haircut Madness

Wow, so many things have happened since 2017 started. I know, I’m bad at being constant and creating a routine. I am disappointed too, believe me. The plan was to keep a detailed journal of this painful (literally now, and you will see why in a few lines) hair growth process, but as always, I get lost in thoughts, lazy days, down moments and most of all, daydreaming. That is exactly the activity that drains most part of my time, and guess what? Nothing good comes out of it as I completely lose myself in my imaginative world, forgetting I have work to do for school, I should be faithful to my yoga instructor (Adriene!) and do it everyday but I don’t…but, you know, the world I hide myself in is so much better than the one I see outside my window.

la
Well, probably not right now. I am actually staring at the charming Los Angeles skyline and oh, those palm trees… although there is this one thing bothering me: my scalp. Yes, that’s right. As I still can’t recognize the person staring at me in the mirror, although my hair is sloowwwly growing, I could not stand the idea of traveling to my favorite place feeling like I am not myself. So, I got extensions, to feel a little more like …me. In fact, while my hairdresser was glueing donated real hair on my scalp, this woman came and said: “oh my gosh, you look so different now!” Ugh, no Ma’am, no! I am going back to look how I looked before I decided to be stupid. Yes. People who first saw me with my haircut cannot even portray me with long hair. I am sorry for you people but, more than ever now, I can state that your hair is the extension of your soul... not only of your nervous system, and these extensions right now are hurting like hell. My scalp must be really sensitive. Although I spent more than I could afford, I’ll have to unglue these things before I drive myself crazy. The pain is so strong sometimes that I get headaches, so again, I literally made the wrong decision. (Song playing in my head after this: one more time, doo doo doo doo… by Daft Punk) And honestly, it does not even give me that self-confidence I wish I could get back with long hair. Bummer.

img_3608I will learn one day, maybe. Accepting the changes and embracing the consequences. Hilarious how for many aspects of my life I change something everyday because routines to me are boring, but for some others it takes me a while to align to the resonance. I guess I will have to just stick to this… Talking about frequencies, Los Angeles is apparently giving me a hard time this time. Last year I fell in love, or better, I realized I have always been attracted to this place that whispered to my ears “what took you so long?” while I was making love to it, enjoying that panorama you see standing from the Griffith Observatory. If you can’t feel it, I am not sure it is a feeling that can be explained with words. Hair or not hair, my heart cried that day. I spent a few days in Los Feliz, which soon became my favorite neighborhood, and my new friends who were hosting me, really made me feel like I was home. I am realizing it now, staying somewhere else (Echo Park to be precise) while they are away, and it is not as going to trivia night or to karaoke together.

With my weird look, weird to me at least as I am showing curls I never had before, I am now letting Los Angeles know me from a different perspective. I am scared she won’t like me, I still have to go back to my favorite place, and I feel the need to hike up those hills to ask her if she still wants me here. Probably, if I had long hair, I would not care, as they say, but I am not fully positive about it, anyway. The sun is out, after a cloudy and windy Sunday morning in Westlake. I feel like my baby is calling and I don’t want to make us both wait. Meanwhile, as it took me forever to start writing again, here are these three songs (click here to listen to them!) as my gift to you, to show how good it is to be here.

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