There’s a reason this blog has not been active lately: I was confused. I needed to put my own thoughts in order before I could write. If you don’t know what you’re trying to say, writing is pointless.

I’m quite certain that I’m not the only one here who thinks a change is often good to make up your mind. Here I am, then, writing from a new perspective, from my new location, my home away from home, hopefully.

I do believe this place will become home, too. Canada has a way of slipping into your heart silently while you aren’t looking. It just happens to grow into you regardless of all the obvious inconvenience (tipping and taxes and expensive public transport). One day you simply realize you feel attached to the town, although perhaps you wouldn’t be able to put your finger on what its particular charms are.

I’ve found an amazing spot that brings back the old feeling of “If only I had a pencil”. I don’t suppose inspiration can come from a mere place, but this one is well worthy of a writing mood.

Picture a cozy victorian building on the edge of a park. In the second floor there is a library, a small reading room whose books are too worn out to catch anybody’s attention from their dusty shelves. The leather chairs and couches have a vintage spirit that makes you want to hold your breath out of respect. They welcome young scholars who sneak in here to nod off between their lessons.

Light pours in from the windows, through a climbing plant. Since everyone is asleep, I get to sit on the couch right beside the window, leaning against the glass. Peaceful as can be. It makes me want to write.

I don’t know that I will start to write often again, though. At this moment, there is really only one matter I would want to write about, and yet my attempts have been pathetic so far. Whatever words I use, they fail miserably. I simply can’t put it into words and anything else I could write about just seems trivial right now.

in other words, cerrado por reflexiones or closed until new ideas come – just to avoid posting more crap. I’ll be back when I have something interesting to post which I have reflected upon and written carefully. No more repetitive rants.

In the meantime, I’ll keep myself busy over here in my Spanish blog about studying in Toronto.

Rather than indulging in pointless ranting all the time, I’ve started doing something slightly more productive on this other blog: http://sonotthepoint.tumblr.com

A book challenge is a goal you set yourself at the beginning of the year to read a certain amount of books before the year ends (that’s the plain book challenge, at least). I challenged myself to read 50 books because i was feeling very brave at the time, but I will certainly aim at a lower number next year. When I joined the book challenge it was because I have tons of books at home that I intend to read, as well as a long wish-list of books I intent to buy and read. But sometimes I waste too much time and never get to read them, so I thought challenging myself would be a good way to cut down on procrastination.

The problem is that, as of today, I have only read 19 books. That’s not even half the books I want to read. Also, eventually, what happens is that I am tempted to give up on long, dense novels such as Crime and Punishment or The Magical Mountain and and read more YA stuff or shorter light reading, which kind of ruins the whole thing, because my goal was to read those books waiting on my shelf, not other books.

That being said, I haven’t given up on the long reads, though I did give up on The Danube because I couldn’t get into it. I might give it another chance in a couple of years.

To put things simply, for the last months I have been feeling like everything I ever believed in turns out to be questionable or a plain fake. Or maybe the things I used to believe in are the opposite of what I wanted to believe years ago and actually, nothing is based upon anything anymore. I wish I had been taught some values I could still live with, but I’ve always been so stubborn when it comes to making my own way and choosing my own beliefs… seriously, I don’t know what I want to hold on to, I just know I need to hold on to something. Otherwise I will drown (metaphorically, of course, I’m talking about morals).

I’m sorry if this seems vague or too abstract. I had a strange dream last night that someone said something rude about a family that has always been really nice to me, and in my dream I said “Don’t you dare have a go at the *insert family name here*s in front of me again! These are good people and they are like a second family to me, I’ve got nothing but compliments for them.” And the discussion went on… the things is, it reminded me of Hagrid’s loyalty to Dumbledore and how easy friendship was when I was in grade 9. My best friend and I would have walked through flames before we’d ever  “betray” each other or give away a little secret, or whatever. Now I don’t believe in best friends anymore.

Do I believe in loyalty? Yes, I do. I mean, I’m a Gryffindor (xD). I guess what I’m trying to say is… even when it seems like I’ve lost my values, I haven’t. I’m still a loyal Gryffindor. Go ahead and laugh. Some people don’t deserve it but there are some people in my life who are worth it, and I think right now more than ever I need to have my faith in loyalty restored. I was a disappointment to my best friend once, okay. I was betrayed by my best friend (a different best friend), true. But you can’t change the rules just because someone broke them.

Enough of this “loyalty vs. independence” nonsense.

I was browsing through the special offers in music at the fnac store today when I saw Sigur Ros’s last album for 9 euros or so. As I have lost my CD somewhere and only have an empty case now, I considered buying it again. I was staring at it for a while, then decided I couldn’t spend 9 euros on a CD I’ve already bought. For all I know, it might be in another album’s case and I’ll soon find it.Then I considered buying another Sigur Ros album. I tried to listen to it but the headphones weren’t working. I thought about it again while I waited for two tourists to step aside.

But the tourists didn’t step aside. One of them turned to me and said “Don’t buy that one; it’s not so good.” I said. “Oh… really?” He said “Get this one instead, it is way better. Honestly.” He meant the new album, the one I’ve lost. I said “Aw, I’ve already got that one.” He said “Well, buy their first album, the one with an angel and a blue background. That one’s good, too. But I wouldn’t recommend this one”. I said thanks, he said cheers and  they moved away.

I didn’t buy the album because it wasn’t so cheap, but at least I didn’t buy their worst album. For some reason it made feel real good. As a general rule, I hate it when strangers talk to me. But these people just gave me genuine advice. They weren’t asking for a favour, they weren’t making fun of me and they weren’t trying to flirt. They just wanted to share their opinion as fans of the band. And trust me, it is not often you find people like this at the fnac store.

Wouldn’t i be great, though, if we all did this? At the book fair today I heard a girl telling her mom she was looking for “Sacrificio… wait, no, it’s called Traición” and couldn’t find it. I could have told her I’d seen 50 metres down the road. I could have told her Scott Westerfeld is a genius and the title should have been translated as Feos, as the original title is Uglies. I could have told her Scott Westerfeld writes a very interesting blog and that his Uglies series is way better than anything Stephenie Meyer will ever write… but I just walked away because I thought they would find it awkward if a stranger started telling them all these things out of the blue.

But wouldn’t it be great if I had been able to tell her the name of the author and the publisher so that she could find it more easily? U_U

I’m sitting on the floor, by the boarding gate, waiting. I happen to have finished the book I brought with me for this trip to Frankfurt (On The Road) so I decide to start reading it again. It strikes me just as I am reading one of the many life-changing lines Jack Kerouac wrote… I am getting no feelings at all from the fact that I’m going back home. I’m not longing for my own bed, not really. I’m not sad my stay in Germany is over, either. I am coming home and I have merely had a chance to dig Frankfurt. I do feel like something was missing. Like the mixture of colourful exoticism and melancholy in the streets of Istanbul, or the enthralling perfection of crowded cobble-stone London streets, or the cozy atmosphere of humbly growing Dublin, or the unique punk-hobo vibe of sunny Montpellier. Not to mention the deep joy of stepping off a plane at Pearson airport and seeing all these different races and religions coexisting and thinking to myself “Now, this is the real center of the World here, right in Toronto, this is the future and this is where I’ve always wanted to be, and now I’m finally back home”.

So there’s me, sitting on the floor, staring at my book, and wondering what it is I’m learning from Frankfurt. And there is absolutely no answer. I simply don’t know. What are people like, what do they do, how do they talk? You see, I might have seen the coolest mall in town. I might have seen the landscape from the top of a tower. I might have seen the main train station and the pretty old city centre. But I haven’t really seen anything because I have been isolated from these people. I haven’t talked to any locals, I haven’t met backpackers or passers-by. It was just… holidays.

Finally, I decide this will be my lesson for this trip. I must not let myself travel on mere vacation ever again. After all, it’s all about digging the place and digging the people and oh well, if you don’t feed your anthropological interest you end up living on stupid chick flicks, don’t you? No sightseeing for me, thanks.

Gallows: Grey Britain

I pre-booked Grey Britain today. I’m excited.

The trouble with being Leonard Cohen’s son is, it’d be impossible to be as good a songwriter as your father is.

I’m not a fan of Adam Cohen’s songs or his band Low Millions, but I have to admit these covers of Leonard’s songs are beautiful.

If you’re interested, here’s what dad sounds like

some of you might like this version better

About that clip above, Cohen was not allowed to film inside the Alhambra, for some reason. You can see him visiting Lorca’s Museum House, I find the video heart breaking, despite the terrible translation.

Here’s the last song

In case you’re wondering why I’m spamming you with Cohen all of a sudden, I got 4 of his albums for my birthday. Yes, my friends, you have created a monster.