Dreams

Her eyes are about to close. The girl is tired. Lying on her bed, she keeps on writing as if it were an extension of her everyday life. She hopes to rest and sleep. By the time the clock rings 5, she finally puts her head on the pillow. And then, she watches her mother washing and drying the laundry through the window which leads to the next room in a house she had never been. Her mother suggests her to close the window since it was really chilly.
She can not see her mother anylonger but she sees an enormous sun- flower field with a small house in the meadow, far away from where she is standing. The girl decides to get into the house to see who lived there, but there is nobody there. But, there was food served on the table. It was steaming as if somebody just has been there but not anymore.
Afraid of this strange picture, she decides to abandon the place, running in direction to a long road. She runs and runs as fast as she can until she could finally see a tree with apples hanging on. The young lady decides to take one and bite it. However she eats the forbidden fruit with pleasure, she faints. She falls in a feather bed. She stays there for a long time, when something wet and cold rolled over her face. She opened her eyes; it was her mother who throws small drops of water to her. Smiling, her mother said gently. “Dear, it’s almost time. Get up. You have to go to school”.

STORIES OF LIFE

Matilda was a young girl born in a poor neighbourhood in the suburbs of the cityin the mid 50's. She had three eldest brothers of thirteen, fifteen and nineteen. Their parents died in a car accident. The orphans were sent to the capital orphanage where they were provided with beds to sleep and almost anything to eat.
The young boys were brave and abandoned the place one by one due to different circumstances. The first was called upon by the armed forces so as to do the military service. The second of the boys got married to a girl who met once by chance in the town nearby. And the youngest of them died of tiphoidea. Meanwhile, Matilda kept waiting for something to happen in her lifer, whether this change would be for better or for worse.
Unfortunately, she was sent to be the servant of a rich family in a fashionable neighbourhood in the main avenue of the town. Once she arrived at the Moffat's, her masters' home, she remained as if freezed at the sightseeing of such monumental house. The home was a sort of a castle, huge cold and with many rooms to clean. Mistreated and skinny, Matilda did whatever she was told from cleaning to who knows what else.
Humilliated morally as she felt, she dreamt about being happy as any 19's year old girl. She cooked, cleaned, sweapted, ironed and served to the Moffats for years. One day, she received a letter from her brother, the one who went to the army. He had returned from war and since then, he had being looking for her for many years. Nothing came up to him except the surname Moffats. He didn't know the address, not even the right place. Once Matilda acknowledged that she still had a brother who wanted to see and chat with his "little sister", She got ansious, excited and sensible.
Matilda asked the Moffatsto allow her to visit her brother. They accepted but with a condition to return thier home as soon as possible. " Just hours, dear. May be that one who sent that letter to you is not your brother and I don't want any problems with you , is it clear? " Mrs Moffats said. The girl consented the idea by moving her small head.What the Moffats didn't know was that Matilda's promise to come back was about t be broken moments later.
Sitting in a park's bench, her brother was waiting for her little sister. When he saw her his eyes were full of tears, he couldn't hide his emotion. Matilda was awestrucked, she was static as if she were a rock. She couldn't utter a word. Then, she reactioned and said:"I thought I had million of things to tell you about but i don't". And hunged to each other as if they haven't seen themselves for centuries

SELF-IMPROVEMENT

Some part of my feeling of emptiness comes from my lonely spirit in this room. Iam alone and sick. I want to cry. Iam almost broken but I have to go on. This i heard froman old lady. Sometimes, these words make me feel better, but for how long? Till I arrive home and I have to go on taking those pills? Or till the end of that long-lasting treatment with five or six doctors?

Nothing seems to be real. All my future seems grey and dull. However, being a religious person and my love for reading involve me in a world I enjoy most. "To live in a bubble is not a good option" my eldest sister said once.Now, I ask what thing is a good one?... I don't know. even my nephew told me I was like Don Quixote.Yes, I live in "other world" far away from reality but who cares? I just told my little nephew that my option to live in "other world " was mine and that because I loved it not because i needed it.

Believe it or not, Iam happy with my books, my family and my religion. I can read a lot regardless the language, whether english or Spanish. Authors such as Sábato, Garcia Marquez, Borges, Romero, Bronte, Fitzgerald, Wilde, Poe,Stevenson and Dickens are some of my favourites. I must admitt I get excited when I buy books. I feel like Roald Dahl's character, Charlie, when eating Mr. Wonka's famous bar of chocolate.

Unfortunately, not everybody understands this but few ones; thanksfully, they are my friends and I love chatting with them about books when we occasionally meet in a cafe.

Any illness may be cured if we enjoy small things in life that provides "something" to our lives.

I can assure you. Iam doing my best because I love feeling ok with me and the rest. My love for life is increasing as days pass by.

BE YOU AND ONLY YOU!

How many people should be killed so to talk to in our homes about insecurity and the respective misvalue of human life? A feeeling of emptiness invades me when flicking through the pages of a re-known newspaper when drinking my cup of coffee in the cafe. What's ironic of the situation is that in the place where Iam, there is a cd playing aloud a rock song about how beautiful life is. Something different from our reality.

I think for a moment how materialistic is our world and I think for a second about possible ways of guidance to stright our society ..the way its members think. And, there they come important concepts like authenticity, respect, love, solidarity, charity. Just consider for a minute how important and vital is authenticity. At least to me, it's one of the bases of selfcontrol and self- steem. Without them we are nothing but mere individuals who follow others' orders or carry out others' decisions; in other words, we are like puppets. Many people seem not to care about if they wear a amsk in order to hide their real personalities. they think the mask is normal. They are shaped the same. People seem likely the same but why can't we be authentic and value our faults and respect them? Ladies and gentlemen, wherever we go our sins accompany us as well.

How long can we stand up facing the dirt? Haven't you ever felt the moment when everything that surrounds you is out of control?. Then you do not know what iam talking about. To safe yourself is the possible answer we got.

I have to be honest and include myself in the middle of thst hypocrecy. iam also guilty of not doing anything noticeable to change a thing; not even my narrow minded thoughts! After all, we are all son and daughters of the same mother...

I suggest theyoung ones : Be yourselves, don't be afraid of going against the stereotypes. Share your opinions and give expectations to yourselves , expectations about things you want and love! Who knows? your wishes can become true regardless the negative aspects of society. Society do not form people but society is formed out by people, hence depends on each of us. It depends on our own sel-interest of progress as individuals.

HYPOCRECY

A feeling of hatre and rage invades my whole body. This guy who used to be loyal to my family, my own uncle wants money fro us, from two oldies and someone who wants to became a teacher, working for few cents. Iam not ashamed of saying this...Quite the opposite, Iam proud of my family and of myself. But, why people try to break others'peace? Can't we live or coexist peacefully all together?

My uncle wants my father to give him money for the years he has worked at my dad's business. My father agreed and acceptedthis since it is correct and appropiate."After all, the old man needs a bit of a rest"said my dad. But is it correct to give money to someone who has benn pilfering throughout these last past nine years? Somebody who claims to have worked years he didn't?

My uncle began to work the year after my brother's death. Yet, my uncle asks to be paid the moneywhich my brother made by working before his death!! Come on! My brother was still alive and he had worked a lot! It's not fair that my uncle now plays with our feelings! He is an evil person nobody has the right to play with others' broken hearts.

Then, I realized what type of person my uncle was! Amiserable, stingy and cold old man. Heartless, I have no adjectives to describe this sensation of thirst for justice I have right now.

Today, I left home carrying my precious "children", my books. Now, Iam sitting in a white room at my sister house while crying and writing this. "You know?, our parents do not deseve this!" I commented on my sister who looked at me tenderly. " They are good people... this problem is devastating them...They should be sitting in the galery in peace reading or doing something elsebut not going through this again: They suffered a lot Antony's lose...It's not fair!". Instead of being enterteined with some kind of activity they both, my parents, are accompanied with a lawyer all the time. As if this guy were a school bag...a neccesary burden.

Iam geting tired. Sometimes, I feel so weak as if I couldn't go on. Desperatly, I need peace, my family needs peace.The question would be: "May I get it?" May I be in peace? Or shall I wait till God says: ok, that's enough!"

Now, I realize that the sessions in the psychologist didn't help at all. My family and I can't avoid thinking about my brother's unfortunate event.

Iam a women who is deeply concerned with my family and what can happen to them. What'smore I can do anything for them so as to see them happy. I live for them and because of them. I can do whatever thing fo them regardless the consequences. This last sentence may be taugh but real. I only hope that the person who reads this do not make anyblanket judgement on what a person mind is made of, but to consider, feelings as something invaluable.

THE ODD STORY

I suddenly woke up in my sweated sheets. Once again, that nghtmare in which I found myself in the dark was there in my mind. The same nightmare occured throughout six days. In the seventh day, I woke up in the middle of the night. Once again, my body was covered by sweat. It was three o'clock in the morning. My large wet and damped room was in shadows. I couldn't see a thing. I sat in bed. Then, I realized my black leather sofa and my old books were there in their right place. But this time, there was something different in my room. There was something else. In fact, i did not expect her visit...Though, there she was, looking at me right to my eyes. Silent and even patient, she awaited for something. And it was then when she asked me: "Why are you surprised? I have already been announcing my presence". "What do you mean?", I answered.

-"In your dreams, my friend"

-"You aren't my friend!Who are you??"

-"You know who Iam" she uttered calmly.

I started to shake like a leaf and I also began to sweat more than I used to. Terrified as I was, I decided to keep silence. What caught my attention in that moment was the annormal way of sweating. My sweat was no longer sweat but blood. I screamed out loud. The noise hit the walls of my room and he corridor nearby which leads downstairs. It hurted a lot It was painful..I could feel it.She asked why I was so scared and why I was complaining about my pain if it had been my own decision to do it... to call her.

-"To call you? did I say sarcastically.

-"Yes, you did. If not, look at your right side and tell me what you see". There it was my penknife lying on my bed. I felt a bit dizzy. Without much physical strenght I tried to move but then I realized I couldn't but what I could do was to see my wounds in my wrists.

Exhaling the last bit of air my lungs had, she took my arm and said. "Come on, I's time". Then, all turned into darkness and eternal silence.

Me and the other me

How should I describe myself? What do I give importance to? To people's values.Being respectful, authentic and self-confident are personal features I appreciate the most. Whatsmore, they depict me. Yet, my faults do not delay to appear. One of them is my moody character which can sometimes hurt other's feelings.