I want silence, sleep, rest, introspection. And blasting music, sleepless crazy nights, hyperactivity, carefree superficiality. All well balanced.
I
want wide-leg and high waist trousers (which don´t look like my Grandma´s).
I
want to share a bed solely and exclusively with men who sweep me off my feet.
The lame thought “well, he´s kind of nice after all, it´ll do for now” is from
now on strictly forbidden.
I
want to breathe deeply and deeply and deeply and deeply.
I
want to cancel my facebook account and use the time that I waste on reading my
“friends” ´s idiotic comments to finally dive into the unbelievable chaos of my
I-Tunes library and discover what music I actually like. And have.
I
want to play tennis and clap on my shoulder each time that I see the tiniest
improvement and not get mad at myself for not being a late-starter Serena
Williams.
I
want to sing Julia Stone´s songs but not just like that, just singing, no! I
want to sing Julia Stone´s songs while playing them on the guitar, myself. This may imply that I finally
learn how to play an F, which currently for me it´s more or less the equivalent
of saying that I need to finally learn how to wake up at 6 am and go for run
before the office. I mean...easy-peasy, right?
I
want the memories, all the memories, to teach me, pamper me, console me,
warm me up, enrich me, give me peace, give me strength. Even if
they refer to moments or people gone forever, that broke my heart or hurt me
badly or made me mad.
I
want the courage to believe strenuously in every cell of myself. Even in the
fat ones.
I
want to keep calm, even when I am mad and hyper frustrated, even when my mother
pulls the triggers of my mind and drives me mad, because I want to remember how
much I love her and how stupid it is to waste time arguing about trivialities.
Life is a bunch of days and I want to use them well. Very well. Absolutely
well.
I
want to ride my new bike with the excitement of a little girl. Even when it´s
cold and I tell myself it´s time to buy a car.
I
want to keep writing letters to my precious friends, to keep writing on the blog,
to keep writing. To shower with my words and thoughts, to moisturize my soul
with reflections.
I
want to be authentic; even if among my friends “authentic” is now a witty synonym
for being a bitch. But I know I am not a bitch, I am just not always aligned.
I
want to forgive, but not to be expected to forget. Forgiveness is a lesson, if
you forget, you don´t learn.
I
want to bake cute cup cakes and do hard-core handicrafts and melt the engine of
my new sewing machine by creating hipster colorful “stuff” (I know I still cannot
call my creations “clothes”…but just give me a little more time and I´ll get
there).
I
want to be grateful for my life, my family, my friends, each of my experiences,
my falls, my failures and above all, every accomplishments of mine, which I so
much tend to take for granted.
I
want to discover the surroundings.
I
want to enlarge my world and life.
I
want to be just fine.
And
satisfied.
And
cool.
You,
Thirteen, I am very ready.
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