Category: Creative Challange

August 8 / Creative Challange

{Day 15 of 30}

I disappeared from Internet. I am back for a while to the archaic times. The rhythm of the days was given by the strike of a laptop along with any intention or concern to procure work, write, or even post on Facebook.

Two weeks in the city of Auckland, a small apartment built on the base of a volcano. Out from the back door I can see the sloping hill covered with trees and grass that once would have been a fiery path of volcanic rocks. Those that are still under my feet.

N wrote me “I have an important question for you: How do you escape from the boredom of everyday life?”
Hmm… I do not get bored, I say, because I drink a lot of tea. In a cup I put a tea bag. Then I put hot water.  In the hot tea I put honey.  In the sweet tea I put milk.  Then I drink sip by sip by sip, and -just- for that instant – nothing else exists.

After this arduous explanation, I went for a walk in the sun along the street that goes to the supermarket. Just for an instant – I get out of the way to step aside, let the people in hurry pass me by, those who want to arrive.  And I look at the sky. They must think I’m stupid. I stood there watching the birds migrating. But they do not realize that they, neither, are going anywhere.

I keep walking and got to the supermarket. All vegetables require my attention but I stopped just in front of one container.  I think anyone has so thoroughly chosen their tomatoes! I watched them, took them in my hands, turned them, as if they were giving me some kind of information and finally chose three of them. At home I sliced ​​them with extreme caution, as if – in this in instant- the entire world depends of how perfect is a tomato slice.

On the garden I spent hours devoted to the study of hens’ behavior. There are three: one white, one dark, and one spotted. And my results of this field observation are translated as follows:
Scratch – peck- scratch
Peck – scratch scratch scratch

Peck- peck – peck (that’s the instant where I am chased by one of them).

Also the time, or disappeared or stopped (which in this case is the same) while playing the guitar. My fingers pressing strings sometimes with rhythm and many others without. But -just- for this instant – I do not think “good” or “bad”, just let myself play in peace.

Later I dive into the foam of a cappuccino. Swim in warm milk and sweet bubbles. Sipping slowly, warming my hands clenched against the cup. That soft pleasure of cotton. That warmth of home, then – just – for this instant- I do not wonder “what’s next”  after having drunk the last drop.

Here hours also are occupied admiring the cat curled up on the couch. I watch her and time is not longer counted by minutes, but for her tummy rising and falling while sleeping. How quiet! With his eyes closed as lines, peaceful, nothing disturbs. Then – just – for this instant- it seems as if nothing in the world could be wrong.

At the end of the day I write with paper and pencil, a blanket on my legs while the raindrops are slowly sliding out the window. Then – only – for this instant – no one write or read. There are just words that could mean nothing too. And feeling happiness for free – just – for this instant, I don’t wonder if is tied to something.

Foto: desconocido
Foto: desconocido
August 4 / Creative Challange

{Day 14 of 30}

They were waiting for at the bus stop in Auckland. I left the village waving from the window with my right hand to a group of elders who came to say good-bye. It was a long trip, a rainy and unexpected warm day. It reminded me of my college days when coming back from Guanajuato to my home town at the end of the week and one of my parents used to picked me up at night from the stop.  Here, in the other side of the world, two big Maori guys wating for me. They took me (again!)  to  Cameron Street, the house where we would find their dad, uncle, aunty,  an extra trampoline in the garden, a new boat in the garage, a potato growing in the window, and two small baby cats jumping around in the mattress where I sleep.

And from that mattress in the living room I hear the waves licking the beach in the distance. This beloved sound is part of me and I could not be more present now… The people and everything there in the village, the sheep, the mountains, all have become blurred in my mind. Like sticking my hand in my pocket looking for something and I just find emptiness. Thinking – Did I forget to put them here? All the memories? I was sure to have saved them in my right pocket – there is nothing. An empty hand.

I think perhaps everything is about the “inner journey” and the “external journey” is another way of that same inner journey. Why people travel to see beautiful countries, exotic places, have experiences? It is simple: To feel ourselves there.  To experience ourselves – there.
Where do I feel that experience? Where do I feel the landscape I see? Perhaps I feel it inside, somewhere in the chest?
Where do I feel the streets of the foreign country for which  I walk? Is it perhaps on my own feet?
Where do I feel the exotic food? Would not it be in my own mouth?
And then we travel to experience these things but in reality is about ourselves, right? What we seek is to experience ourselves. What we seek we carry it already with us.

I crossed the block to go walking along the beach and did not recognize the ocean. Maybe because it is a winter sea. It is a cold sea and I wear a jacket, and tennis shoes, and I can’t feel the sand between my toes, no warmth sun in the skin, and neither the stickiness of sweat under the armpits. Of course! so far I had not seen the sea in winter. It feels weird to see something so familiar and at the same time feels new. 

The next few days passed between movies, walks on the beach and meeting with Thomas’s friends. So many young people! I exclaim which resulted very funny. With Leo we went for rides in the car at night. We drove up the mountain so he could smoke a cigarette. And with the night view of Auckland and wearing huge jackets:

I could call myself homeless if you want to see it like that… I say remembering the TV program we saw by chance was a guy interviewed some homeless in the city.
– Leo laughs.
– Or … I can say that I feel at home everywhere.
Haha, you are funny Tulia. That’s true, you are definitely Not homeless.
– Although, I can’t stop craving for tacos!

Those days between the letters I received and wrote, I tell S:

Exactly where I feel “at home” or “foreign”?
If that feeling of being at home actually comes from inside us… because it is “here” where I feel it, right?  Then …  Is that some country, house, or group, gives us that  sense of belonging or maybe is something that comes from inside of us?

Because the truth is that… often I feel close the family from far away, and sometimes I felt “distant” even being in the same city.

“The Heart does not know any distance or journeys.”

 

Auckland City from Mt. Eden
Auckland City from Mt. Eden

{Day 13 of 30}

Will I remember this place?  The mountains? Shall I look around  wondering for the pine forests … the sheep, visits to the river? So far, the only place I feel sometimes nostalgia is for the Marquesas Islands, Nuku Hiva… if I strongly close my eyes and remember when we being welcome from the open sea. And it’s enjoyable, this nostalgia, to felt it so far…

“Remember” from Latin re-cordis:   through the heart again.

But Taumarunui is different. A village that has come out of the fog to give a welcome hug me for months and I know it will be lost back in the fog. Maybe that’s why I’ve taken so many pictures, vain subconscious attempt to keep something knowing it is a place that belongs among the clouds. I am grateful for my complete hibernation. It’s the perfect time to leave.

I feel so palpable the transience of places, situations, people and also 6 weeks seems such a life full of details, so full of different. Shedding sheep, drawings fog between the houses, different walks beside the same river, bike or ride the mountains alone or with company. No wonder how this time has passed. I feel part while I see from outside – all temporary… everything running on… When I arrived?, I was doing before this? Where was I? And then the feeling of the instant that encloses all (-or that forgets all). As knowing myself standing right here and be in constant motion … like the stream, the stream-time. And the inner understanding that:

Present is eternal.

 

And certainly I do not feel free … forgiven … saved … sure … not if I now that feeling of hang in the balance, of knowing that there is only a very slight line for something to go out of place in the universe, of better say: to fit differently. –  It is so thin the small change in perception and yet it changes everything. Maybe it’s this little tension, of knowing that in a thin inner line makes me feel throbbing and present.

Today I spent a whole day listening to talk C and P about their trip. Sometimes with genuine care, other joking, others only present with a blank mind (not needed anyway response) at the end of the night the point where I wonder if I am doing some effort to pay attention or not to put it? As the TV: I have the inability to watch it.  The TV just does not capture my attention, I see into a meditative state but I’m not seeing more than a reference point in the room.

I’m feeling much love for everyone, Greame, the home owners, Lynn, Robin, Mark, and Kiko the cat … knowing me into them… knowing they show me a part of “me.” One type of love rather neutral.

Last day in Taumarunui I tell myself…

Wash bedding
Shaking subtracted silhouettes
Remove odors of love from the pillows
Ignite memories and diaries
Pack with special care not to get ghosts
Make a deal with the witness cat
Watering plants with fluids leftovers
The last evening in the bath – boiling water
Collect kiwis for friends in Auckland
Say goodbye to my loved sheep
And my rubber boots…
And my work gloves that I will never use again…
Because I am done with being farmer: it’s time to city.
I left a warm and inhabited house.
The owners will never know the reasons for the sudden urge
Of wanting to make out in front of the fire
On the carpet that one day turned into camping, and war and love zone.
Shhh…
Taumarunui the place I’ve lived longer in NZ. Village of fog, so hidden from everything else … populated by a thousand old people playing bingo on Wednesdays and loving walking as much as ice cream and tea.
I leave spoiled, good eaten, and full of kisses.
Another place where I temporarily belong.

What Desafío Creativo is?

Is a Dynamic  that started in Caminomundos.  The challenge is to do some creative work for 30 consecutive days, can be posts, poems, pictures, etc. Do you want to participate?

HERE: This is a creative writing experiment where I’m mixing my dairies. Sometimes I write from the present or sometimes I just post my old dairy that I wrote when I live aboard a sailboat for one year.

{Day 11 of 30}

There are days like this one, when I said -I slept too much. I opened and closed my eyes in the morning … feeling a sensation of have missed something that I do not know. It is winter. It rained all week, a thin, continuous pouring rain. But this feeling of sluggishness may not have to do with it…

And on days like this when the direction of an internal map is missing (and yet does not mean being lost) that feeling instantly takes me by surprise.  As who inspects a foreign object for the first time by rotating it with the hands in front of your eyes, look inside, outside, from below, from behind, flipping it … and just does not understand its true utility …  I sometimes see  man’s life like that – I mean, my life-.

Then I turn the little figurine to find somewhere to put it… on the shelf maybe…. or perhaps it has some purpose unknown to me, some different use…. And with my  fingers I draw the shapes and lines;  and with my mind I intend to imagine its possible  uses or appearance … my life. Then I say I slept too much today, with a feeling I lacked something and I realize that is not mine … that I’m riding clouds between dreams and my pink-flowered sheets in a girl’s – stranger- room. I’m pretending be misplaced (as if I was placed!) and then I see that standing up in the same point in the world I could feel myself both:  lost or founded. So I’m waking up, as I am aware of this. I mean I am opening the eyes behind my opened eyes.

Cloud rider – While riding my fluffy cloud of thoughts … I think there is something I should do, something I am missing… then –suddenly – I jump out of bed naked. And everything is like a faint trail … sometimes … a feeling that fades with coffee and toast.  I stop riding the could-  How I know?

Because space
for  feeling the space.

I remember the conversation with my friends from the sailboat Muktuk. An Austrian family with two children aged 8 and 11 years who lived in Alaska on their sailboat. They said they had to go breaking the ice to move, but there is a problem: Stuck in the ice, stopped boat, and the GPS does not work … you know, because the GPS tells you which direction to go only when moving. (When stopped it marks the location but not the direction). So you need to get going, instinctively give the first step and when there is motion the GPS is able to mark the precise coordinates and indicate the direction. This first movement you may have given it in the opposite direction or falling of course … but you know the direction now and recover …  the GPS is working…. But if you stand still … it never set the direction (and you can even get stuck and frozen).

The movement itself is the direction.

Kaikoura, NZ.
Kaikoura, NZ.

What Desafío Creativo is?

Is a Dynamic  that started in Caminomundos.  The challenge is to do some creative work for 30 consecutive days, can be posts, poems, pictures, etc. Do you want to participate?

HERE: This is a creative writing experiment where I’m mixing my dairies. Sometimes I write from the present or sometimes I just post my old dairy that I wrote when I live aboard a sailboat for one year.

June 29 / Creative Challange

{Day 10 of 30}

No, is not what you imagine …  Standing in front of a group of 40 old ladies in an old house drinking tea. And in terms of Taumarunui, little town in the mountains of New Zealand … this is a Women’s Club.  Today they gather to listen the talk of a Mexican who came for some sort of coincidences … I wonder if this is only in appearance and there are more mysterious reasons behind this meeting of so many old ladies …  maybe they make secret plannings to invade the village with pastries , planting flowers in the corners, or exchanging all plastic tablecloths of the-only- coffee-shop for colored embroidery … maybe even they could be organizing an annual meeting to exchange secret recipes. Or it could even end by me turned into a white little mouse at the end of lunch like in that witches movie.

With all that… I still came. Half an hour before a lady came home to pick me up; I took a quick shower and look for something almost- decent to dress: a formal shirt, belt, pants and shoes… all black and gray. And I even dared to wonder if I would be “over dressed up”? The old ladies seem to have taken out their jewels and dresses (at least 20 years old). One day a week the Women’s Club gives them an excuse to spruce up … But,

What do a group of elder ladies from New Zealand want to know about me??

As I entered the room a delicious smell of food filled me up. They served a pumpkin cream and pastries … everyone talked about his own recipe with more or less pepper but all agreed that they would not even have to do the dishes.

Mrs. Ruth sitting next to me, the only black hair woman since all the others has whites and fluffy like clouds in this country. The “chicken” of  74 years of group dressed in a long black skirt and boots … four or five earrings in each ear and has a form of juvenile talk, “Hey darling, so you better come and sit right here”. Intense blue-gray eyes…

-Dear, do you have already a husband? She asked.
– No, I tell them. Everybody laughing.
– You better enjoy now that you are free my dear… all of them say.
– I do not know if I’m going to marry…
– So you will see if you meet the right one 😉
– Hmm … (roll eyes) … no, I do not know. I say laughing – and not knowing is perhaps worse than saying no, because if a woman says “no” is “yes” and “yes” is often “no” … but if I say “do not know” … More laughter in table.
– Dear you’ll have to speak laud in your presentation here because half are almost deaf. Are you nervous about public speaking?
-Nothing at all, I say. I think it would be easier to be nervous when you take it personal or you want to give an impression of something. At this point I do not care to give any impression more than what comes in the moment.  And of course I don’t prepare a single word beforehand.

I get up, I get to the front – the stories with scripts and orders left behind, there is a spontaneity in this…  the angles, spaces, and words are now different every time. Different tales of the same one thing. Then I flew until the table in the house of my grandmother picking the smells, spices, and the view from the window and to even her… and bring them all to the living room in this old house where elderly kiwis – a hundred thousand miles from Mexico – can meet my grandmother Rosa.

In Mexico we eat at three in the afternoon! Not like in NZ having dinner as the main course … seems funny to them … hence it follows a river of curious things … until the day of the dead I say in Mexico is a colorful day (and my mind goes for a second the idea of touching a sensitive issue as how much they think about death in this age? almost want to ask them but just forget the issue in the next minute …

club de mujeres

-How are the houses?  Does your family drive a car?
-What language is spoken?
-Is New Mexico part of Mexico?
-How are the weddings?
-How many children people have?
-What about the elderly?
-Then you come from a rich family? (Many laughs after this lol! Not rich financially at least I tell)

-How did you get here? How do you cook on a boat? Did you were afraid to go with a stranger?

I tell them a bit about the “whys” and “hows” of traveling slowly, something about sailing and taking care of homes … but what really arises here is when I say:  the real reason I can travel in this way is for the trust . Trust among strangers. Several of them look at me with eyes of proud mom, I laugh … Finally hugs and good wishes of many of them …  There are these things that I get into it … and I sleep early because tomorrow they want to take me to the exercises group…  


What Desafío Creativo is?

Is a Dynamic  that started in Caminomundos.  The challenge is to do some creative work for 30 consecutive days, can be posts, poems, pictures, etc. Do you want to participate?

HERE: This is a creative writing experiment where I’m mixing my dairies. Sometimes I write from the present or sometimes I just post my old dairy that I wrote when I live aboard a sailboat for one year.

June 24 / Creative Challange

{Day 9 of 30}

Since she arrived I’ve spending days in a  country with no name.  I was going to the library. I woke up late, I said to myself  I’ll get that book of Maori poetry today…  Checking my email -a message – “I’m in the library right now.” I think I was going anyways,  and maybe I could had found her with her backpack waiting  -without knowing – for someone that was going to meet  her -without knowing-.  Do we would have recognized each other? I think so, because secretly we already knew our faces … so that happen when you have a friend in common and descriptions have already been made in advance.

This day I had completed a month living in a lost village in the mountains. Evenings by myself.  Walks in the river. Talks with the cows telling them not to eat so fast because I do not know how to open the next package of food … and the sheep that I already know by signs and sizes.  A life of small – everyday things.

Exploring  in a different way the  New Zealand forest.  A few days ago with the “boys” of the club, those oldies my friends. But this time, I was walking in the rain with two hands on one pocket to keep them warm…  furtive getaways between the trees till be founded by the dogs … we got lost on our way back, but as K says: when she feel lost is exactly when she is not. And the smell! the smell of this tree that I lean over and the sound of droplets seep through the leaves … I could close my eyes I tell you, and  go back home just following the smells… after rain are so crisp, so enlightened, so fresh.

And those pleasures went  accompanied by tremendous meals. This time carnivorous, steaks, ground beef, lamb sausage … and no apologizes cuz I prefer vegetarian food. I am being spoiled. Someone else cooking for you.  Someone turning on the fire at night.  The fire burning without having to take care of it. Abundant firewood without going to search for it.  This has its advantages I think lying on the carpet in front of the fire in her company, a strange intimate.

And while the world is talking about players and balls here the meaning of the World Cup would be Mexico vs. Ecuador on kiwi fields. “Goal” they may shout in the stadium tribune, here the cat is the only witness of this game, he turns the head to one side and the other as trying to understand. Laugh. While Ecuador is beating England (as reported by my neighbor Lynn), and Mexico plays Brazil (according to the guys in the Bingo club) here we did not know nothing but the soaked rain forest we breath trough.

Now I knew why M and I never saw that movie together. This afternoon winter we put it on:  – Room in Rome – with a Russian and Spanish speaking in Italian. I think we have the “tú” in common at least (which surprises me a bit). We then set our flag in this space. Island where we impose the Spanish whispered as the first language. Foreign geography where the maps are not necessary, territory without  passports, neither visa paperwork to cross the border. A country with no name.

Quiet but in effervescence. When there is clarity there is no need for any logic. I think I have lived for so long without logic. I tell you there was a realization and nothing attracts me enough from here, I could not be doing something different (and has nothing to do with the country or with living in a house with sheep) … I turned to look and you’re smiling, you understand, you say it’s beautiful -that’s why I opened the door in the first time – I think.

Living this way of creating deep connections in such a short time is a gift. And although we would like to retain the silhouettes – at the time – they are gone … as will the markers of the games of this year will be a vague trace of odor and countries. We go to the bus stop. I return alone after driving speeds and curves to bring in the –witness- cat and start my own fire. The house is complete.

What Desafío Creativo is?

Is a Dynamic  that started in Caminomundos.  The challenge is to do some creative work for 30 consecutive days, can be posts, poems, pictures, etc. Do you want to participate?

HERE: This is a creative writing experiment where I’m mixing my dairies. Sometimes I write from the present or sometimes I just post my old dairy that I wrote when I live aboard a sailboat for one year.

June 14 / Creative Challange

{Day 7 of 30}

I write to W and suddenly my writing is in English in the first place (not Spanish) and as days written in bird´s sings cant be translated… This one will remind without translation.

I

The little boy, playing in bed / while his wounded mother cooks,
is throwing little words and circles / out of the window.

She smiles / (the whole world lights up)
he chatters excitedly – What can he see?

There’s a monkey at the window – behind the door!
But he is falling /into darkness.

Cutting pieces of wood… this was not so useful so I gave up and had a cold house for the night. What a surprise later when I found a box full of little pieces of wood, it was hidden somewhere between the wall and the old three, right in the shade… its funny the things we put attention on and the others that we just pass trough without notice. Like this story… I don’t know why I like it so much… then I think is always about poetry like today that I just felt like start learning Arabic… just because… or that I am suddenly in love of Al-Saddiq Al-Raddi just because… Africa – just because…

II

She never taught him how to cry only how to sing.
Happy in herself – just as she wished to be –
she taught him endless space and vastness
and she calls him: Open-hearted.

I tell W about the pointlessness of clocks in this house. Here the time doesn’t matter, but days are weighted by the light that comes in the morning trough my window… then the warmth that comes trough the window to the living room, the red reflection of the clouds that paints the window in a different color, or the absence of light that reminds me its winter so it’s time to get the fire going… and warm up the house of a stranger that is my house.

III

Behind him a mountain of metaphors
in front a river a mouthful of night
and a train of caravans calling him away.

He wets himself / with laughter
running through Eternity – through this alleyway
this pack of dogs / the conspiracies of fate!

Today I go outside, I go for a bike ride around the neighborhood of mountains following the path, I play, I take some photos… I feel I got lost in some fairy tale – the nature is amazing here. Then in my way back I stop in Ron’s house to have a tea and we go shopping -the little happiness of fresh milk and cashews-. I think while looking the squared glasses and shiny eyes of this 80 years old man: There is a fine line that is crossed when the traveler in bike taking pictures steps in Ron’s house to drink tea in the yellow-round-shape- cup that his grandson gave to him. A fine line that covers a whole other world.

IV

The solid front door remembers the hand that made it –
You are the key – and the creak of the universe — it’s your sole secret
(Long is the absence of light / that paints things awake –
Long is the presence of paint!)

You come home exhausted — from wherever you’ve been
the wind at your side — just as you wished
toyed with by traumas.

Came back home and now I have something in the oven. I found rhubarb in the garden, Fruit? Vegetable? Plant? or Flower? all at one? I make a sweet with it and I am sure I will eat the hole thing for dinner. I check my window: its around after-sunset… and just another day and maybe because Taumarunui is a foggy  town or maybe because my perceptions have changed through the window but it feels the line between days have vanished making a continuous of moments. Like the stream of the river in my backyard.

V

In the forest the lonely one knows all the voices
beckoned by the eyes of loved ones
their songs are luring her / with their tender fingers
and her own translucent solitude.
She sits in silence /close to every thing
brewing tea / stirring the porridge.

In the garden / of a strange home her home
she welcomes the pots and pans
to the sounds of morning.
Scrubbing everything in its proper place
one eye on the radio
that calls her to those distant sands
the desert.
But her colour flow like a river
so she can sing….

*Fragments of the beuuuutiful poem “A monkey at the window” by Al-Saddiq Al-Raddi (love love love).

What Desafío Creativo is?

Is a Dynamic  that started in Caminomundos.  The challenge is to do some creative work for 30 consecutive days, can be posts, poems, pictures, etc. Do you want to participate?

HERE: This is a creative writing experiment where I’m mixing my dairies. Sometimes I write from the present or sometimes I just post my old dairy that I wrote when I live aboard a sailboat for one year.

{Day 4 of 30}

Farmer or sailor?
Ocean or mountain?
Stillness or movement?

These days I’ve disappeared between hours in front of the river, walks senseless, cutting kiwis in the garden, or at the bottom of the hot tub to stop shaking… from the cold? It’s winter … naked trees, fallen leaves, fires … and smoke rising like clouds all over town. I feel my heart keeping warmth, pum pum pum.

I went to the “club” to play bingo with Mr. Graham and his wife.
– And … do you have children?
– Yes, one of 50 and another of 48.

Well, it was the social Wednesday night and there were about 50 people … gray-haired and 65 years old and above. On of those things that happened to my by chance. Also it turns out that my buddy Mr. Graham is in charge of the police district, which is pretty funny given the hmm… situation.

After listening a while their stories… I see that actually is not just me, maybe we all go through changes … of tastes, attitudes, trends, jobs, problems, and the interesting thing is that while living the one: I could swear it is The true one, the last and the most valid; or that the problem I had was the highest (when I had long ago forgotten the others).

One day I was sad and in a hole because I separated from someone … and then happily asked about your next affair!. One day I thought strongly on becoming the best researcher, and then I quit and went for thinking I should travel all the time; then the sailboats appear, then the boats finished … So why identify so strongly with the person / situation / problem being in this time? 

The other day I was riding a bike with Graham and on the way I remembered that before when I asked myself: who is Tulia? images and projections of the person I believed to be where coming at mi mind to try to make a “shape of me” or a character … But now even if still see those characters and stories, there is something that is separate from them in order to see them, and only a sense of “being there” reminds.

It’s like if before I thought my life was like going on a roller coaster ups and downs and suddenly realized that it was actually the base where all these ups and downs are. Is actually depending on my perception I can be the girl on the car experiencing all that or I can be the entire structure of the roller coaster and know that there are ups and downs but experience them from another perspective.

Discern: When thinking who am I? if come images, concepts, projections, tastes and trends of the person who is believed to be … almost sure these are related to the context in which I have lived or am living. So on my bike ride in the afternoon I had the insight that the called “knowing ourselves” is not unimaginable not in a poetic expression but literal.

Today is the day of the caretaker of sheep, working again in research … will see if later on I open a litte coffee shop back in Guanajuato or something else… Even the character of “traveler” also has fallen … but “seeker” is the trikiest one.

Pd. Please someone remind me all this next time I fall in love / have crises / or take the character very seriously … as YES it has happened to me…

SONY DSC
En el patio trasero de la casa…

What Desafío Creativo is?

Is a Dynamic  that started in Caminomundos.  The challenge is to do some creative work for 30 consecutive days, can be posts, poems, pictures, etc. Do you want to participate?

HERE: This is a creative writing experiment where I’m mixing my dairies. Sometimes I write from the present or sometimes I just post my old dairy that I wrote when I live aboard a sailboat for one year.