Ay, no hay que llorar, esta vida es un carnaval

Moi feat. Celia Cruz - La vida es un carnaval (youtube it - it will make you smile)

Todo aquel que piense que la vida es desigual,
tiene que saber que no es asi,
que la vida es una hermosura, hay que vivirla.



Todo aquel que piense que esta solo y que esta mal,
tiene que saber que no es asi,
que en la vida no hay nadie solo, siempre hay alguien.



Ay, no ha que llorar, que la vida es un carnaval,
es mas bello vivir cantando.
Oh, oh, oh, Ay, no hay que llorar,
que la vida es un carnaval
y las penas se van cantando.

Todo aquel que piense que la vida siempre es cruel,

tiene que saber que no es asi,

que tan solo hay momentos malos, y todo pasa.

Todo aquel que piense que esto nunca va a cambiar,

tiene que saber que no es asi,

que al mal tiempo buena cara, y todo pasa.

Ay, no ha que llorar,

que la vida es un carnaval,

es mas bello vivir cantando.

Oh, oh, oh, Ay, no hay que llorar,

que la vida es un carnaval

y las penas se van cantando.

She lingers – an experimental one

When she lingers, it is to pull the band-aid.
She is searching in her vacant heart,
but the void is growing, all the larger is the shade;
wishing for a feeling, at least a point to start.
She wants to escape, but her path has been laid,
body and mind are pulling apart.
Where to look for what’s lost inside,
without repeating what’s left behind?

Coloured by despair, the tears are deep.
Lost and begging for force;
mustering will, for the uphill is steep.
Roaming externals, to find the source.
The will to progress, is a treasure-hunt,
a map-less one. It must run its course.
Impatience drives, all the while it darkens and burns
walking towards the day when the light returns.

Home is where the heart is?

If home is where the heart is, I am fundamentally confused.

My heart is scattered… if that is even possible. But…How does it work out then; home is where a majority of the heart is? So how do I know who has the greater part? Or can I even know that?

The absurdity of these questions boils down to the eternal dilemma of figuring out where one belongs (which to be honest, tends to plague me with regular intervals).

There is more than one place in the world, where the sight of the natural scenery makes my eyes tear with profound emotion, and where my heart can come to rest. I have no one home with exclusivity. Then again, might there be a difference between feeling comfortable, familiar, and not a stranger, and the feeling of being at home?

Some people make you feel at home, where ever you might be; in the deepest of jungles or in the roaring city, you will still feel safe and content; as if you are where you are supposed to be. And I ask myself; is home really a place or a person?

When do I actually feel at home? Home, has for me, a sense of personal identification. Home is family. Where home is, or who home is, in one way or another, has to appeal to the essentials of my personality. I have to be able to see how I could fit into the various contexts; cultural, social, practical, and also how I could have been shaped by these very same contexts. It is not only a question of finding a ‘common denominator’; most places will offer you that option, it is about finding yourself in large parts of the contextual frameworks which constitute what you call home. It is about seeing your history and your future in their very evolution.

If this is fairly straight forward, why am I still confused then? Because; in addition to the one or two places in the world where I feel profoundly at home, there is the home that I build for myself; education, career, apartment…the list goes on. Everything that is mine is here, in London. When I go to my house, this is where I find it.

However, as much as love London, this is not home to me, in the sense that my heart tells me differently; the views do not speak to me. This is home…for now. I feel comfortable, I don’t feel a stranger, I can navigate. I’ve created myself a history here, and I might even be building a future, but truth be told; I’m not quite sure how I feel about that. I am not 'at home'.

On the other hand, I am with someone (in London) who makes me feel loved, happy and content, in whose presence the importance of the physical location tends to diminish (but not vanish). I am exactly where I’m supposed to be…

…So…if home is where the heart is; where is home for me?

Friday of longing

Someone said to me, on Fridays (at least for a jew) there is a feeling of longing. Today, I miss this: