basic facts;
Age: 20
Birthday: May 19, 1989.
Location: Bogotá, Colombia.
Occupation: Law student, amateur webdesigner, writer in progress, polyglot in training.
Hair: Dark brown, dyed black.
Eyes: Green/brown. I like to say they’re forest colored.
Height: 168 cm. People who know me first on the internet tend to think I’m much shorter. I don’t know why, really.
Weight: Over the modern aesthetics paradigm, but perfectly within the renaissance one.
Languages: Spanish is my mother tongue. I speak english quite fluently, manage to make sense in portuguese, understand most latin, mumble some french, can catch a few things in chinese, know less than basic japanese, have some idea of russian, kinda read arabic, and dream of one day learning finnish, icelandic, italian, rumanian, swedish… &c.
Pets: Two cats, 97 & Mr. Pink.
in a few words;
selfish, cynical, stubborn, antipathic, misantrophist, egocentric, complicated, obsessive, unbearable, arrogant, sociopath, lazy, despotic, capricious, neurotic, contradictive… introverted, ridiculously shy, loner, curious, insomniac, daydreamer, silent, ambitious, fragile, a bit paranoid, a bit schizoid; somehow happy and dissatisfied with myself. At the same time.
her subtlety;
The pale girl all dressed in black, sitting alone in the corner reading a book and sipping a cup of warm, black tea. The one who wishes not having to say hello or goodbye; never, ever starts a conversation; and is unable to carry on with one due to her monosyllabic responses. The one that creates and destroys entire worlds inside her head even while you’re talking to her, because is so overwhelmed with the magnificence of the universe that cannot find just one reason to keep her feet on the ground instead of floating in the vacuum of space. The one unable to sleep because the chaotic speed of her thoughts won’t let her. The one who involuntarily imagines passers-by dying under very violent circumstances, still sees monsters in wood patterns, never enters a room if she’s not invited in, and will fall into the very depths of hell if she ever steps on a crack on the ground. The one who always crosses the street without looking but somehow has managed to stay alive. The one afraid of everyone and everything. The one enslaved to the tiniest detail. The one with the ever-bleeding lips. The one able to unveil your deepest thoughts and intentions just by paying attention, and yet cannot understand what you meant when you smiled at her. The one that hints, but never asks. The one to be reached out, looked for and kept forever; despite the fact that she is the most difficult, if not impossible person to love. The one with the most fragile and stupid heart you’ll ever know, making her drown in tears over whatever makes it beat faster. Or slower. The one obsessed with words, their sound, their spelling, their meaning and their limits; and dreams to know them all, to master them, to use them at her will… but to never say them. The one with a knot on her throat keeping all she means behind her mouth, making her the sole owner of a gigantic, painful and almost unmanageable collection of secrets. The one that sees no point in explaining herself, because you won’t listen, much less understand. The one that will never look at you in the eyes; but if she ever does does, and you see her struggling to get a word out of herself to give it to you, you should ask her to write it down.
She will.
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