What’s gotten into me?

 

you

You are my one in 7 billion

Said a silly line.

I know now that it all became true when

I had to travel the earth just to see you.

And when you leave all that you’ve known behind

And you fly out to the stars just to be able to see

And to feel,

And to touch,

It all turns from silly to real.

Have I never gotten the right amount of sight?

Have I never surprised myself hidden into you?

I have.

But now it makes sense.

The right amount of flight, and sight and breath

You get only when you travel the earth.

Cos’ I always thought I’m no good for anything,

other than travel, of course.

And the meaning became purpose

and the purpose became meaning

when I traveled the world

just to see you.

Silence

Tags

, , , , , , , , , , , , , ,

the_sounds_of_silence_by_skierscott

It’s so quiet

In and out of time.

The randomness of thoughts

Is hunting the big emptiness.

From gray to white the careless whispers of the wind

Flow on even paths.

No voices can harm the deadly sorrow of the forest,

No human presence has shown its face since the last yellow leaf has left the lonely tree.

Countless hours of falling to the ground

Have filled the void with hope.

It’s winter.

Penumbre

photo

Fericirea e o stare interioară. Orice formă de fericire expusă este de foarte scurtă durată. Se întâmplă de multe ori să ne găsim fericirea în locuri în care nu am căutat niciodată. Sau poate acea fericire ne-a găsit pe noi. Noi acţionăm ca răspuns la felul în care ni se permite să fim fericiţi. Uneori fericirea noastră înseamnă nefericirea altora. Uneori trăim în umbra a ceva ce credem că ne face fericiţi. Astfel că, devenim încet, încet avizi de tot felul de episoade pe care le considerăm fericite.
Tocmai când am crezut că am ieşit din umbra propriilor frici, vine un moment din ăla care ne demonstrează că nu am fost pe deplin înştiinţaţi de adevăratul mers al lucrurilor, şi că ar fi bine să ne întoarcem de unde am plecat. Dar suntem îndârjiţi, începem să ne revoltăm, şi nu vrem să ajungem iar în umbră. Vrem să ne folosim dreptul participativ şi să ne facem astfel cunoscute nevoile, dorinţele şi restul frânturilor de gânduri.
Aceste mici izbucniri sunt şi ele, la fel ca fericirea în sine, de foarte scurtă durată. Totul începe cu o zbatere de aripi şi se termină cu o subită dispariţie.
Se spune că în momentul în care fericirea ne găseşte, ascunşi fiind pe undeva, oamenii ies din penumbră, spre lumină. Îşi regăsesc echilibrul, îşi regăsesc liniştea, îşi restabilesc priorităţile. Prioritatea numărul 1 din acel moment devine dorinţa de a rămâne mereu fericit, pentru că asta e starea de bine, ăsta e normalul. Eşti fericit – deci dormi bine, mănânci bine, cânţi pe stradă, fluieri după câini, vezi cai verzi pe pereţi. E ca atunci când eşti îndrăgostit.
Dar, omul, fiinţă mică şi putredă pe interior – va găsi întotdeauna motive de nelinişti şi zbateri inutile. E exact momentul în care trecem uşor, uşor pragul penumbrelor; căci acum suntem cu adevărat, iar câteva momente mai târziu ne disipăm. Trecerea de la lumină la întuneric cere o perioadă de reajustare a văzului. Momentul în care începem să vedem cu adevărat prin întuneric e şi momentul în care realizăm unde suntem, din nou.
Clipa care ne desparte de fericire e o linie foarte fină, ca trecerea soarelui deasupra capului în miez de zi. Acum suntem în plină lumină, şi în foarte scurt timp vom trece în penumbră.

Fucked up, right?

Ca azi sunt puţine zile

Tags

, , , , , , , , , , , , , ,

Am fi putut fi 2, dar am rămas într-unul,

Separaţi de lume, alte două inimi, în două trupuri.

Braţe care să cuprindă neanturi, dar care nu mai cuprind suflete.

Azi e altfel pentru că nu mai suntem,

Ne-am ascuns de noi înşine, ne-am ferit din calea destinului

Ne-am păzit spinările precum îşi păzeşte leoaica puii.

Suntem laşi.

Iar azi e diferit pentru că nu mai ştim de unde venim

Şi încotro mergem.

Suntem pierduţi.

Cine ne va scăpa de noi înşine?

Cine ne va cuprinde cu alte braţe atunci când braţele noastre nu mai pot cuprinde nimic?

De goi suntem goi, şi mici, şi răi.

Ce a rămas în noi e frica

Frică să nu fim uitaţi, abandonaţi, iubiţi.

Şi azi e diferit pentru că nu mai are cine să ne spună “Totul va fi bine”.

Mâine ar putea fi atât de “altfel” dacă am găsi în noi braţele care să ne cuprindă.

boy-alone-darkness

singur

 

My thought exactly…

The second I saw the title of this article and the very moment one of my friends recommended it I knew I had to steal it. This article appeared on the hairpin website, a site I’ve never visited before, but after I was done reading it I realized that it pretty much summarized what I really think about some of the new fashion tendencies.

I will attached here the entire text and add a note of my own at the end.

An Open Letter to Summer Fashion Trends

Every year fashion magazines come out with lists of the newest “hot summer trends.” This year (as usual) I’m disappointed. Summer trends, you can do better. Here are a few open letters to the top offenders.

Dear Crop Tops,

You might remember me from the scathing note I sent to your sister, the shrug sweater, in 1997. To recap, it said something like: “Why do you parade around like you are a real sweater when you are so obviously just a PART of a sweater?” This was a dark time for teen girls in general: we had to wear unflattering turtlenecks and light-denim jeans and anything else the sadistic costumers on Friends could come up with. But the shrug was the worst. The shrug acted like it could keep you warm or complement any ensemble, when really it just bunched up in your armpits and neglected your core. At best, a shrug sweater made you look like you were borrowing clothes from your baby-aged cousin; at worst, it made you look like style-hating dogs had maliciously eaten the bottom part of your cardigan. My point is, the shrug got the message and resigned itself to the bargain bin at Goodwill for all of eternity. You are the same as the shrug sweater, but worse, because as far as I can tell, you don’t even pretend to serve a function. You’re so “free and loose” that I still have to wear a bra, but you cover up nothing the bra doesn’t. You’re a glorified napkin bib, and you should be ashamed of yourself.

Warmly,
Sophie

Dear Beach Hair,

I used to think you were annoying. When I was 8 and I went to the beach in the summer, it bugged me how you insisted on hanging around, even after I’d spent the morning making VERY tight braids to avoid you. I didn’t like that you made it impossible to run a comb through anything, and the idea of having to spend time with you made me want to wear a hat. Now, though, fashion magazines and the hair care section of Walgreens has me believing that you’re some kind of sexy, desirable thing. You’re apparently so sexy and desirable that if I can’t get to a beach (and who can?!), I should spray hundreds of dollars worth of product into my hair to achieve a sort of replica effect. You remind me of Dennis Johnstone from eighth grade. He was super annoying and naggy too, but then in high school his parents bought him a Lamborghini and suddenly everyone thought he was hot and dateable. But I saw right through it. You can’t just dress something up and expect it to be better. You are the Dennis Johnstone of hairstyles, and Chelsea Kincaid is going to dump you. You’ll see.

Sincerely,
Sophie

Dear Sheer Dresses,

I know you think you’re fooling everyone, but I see right through you.

Your Pal,
Sophie

Dear “Tribal” Print,

I’m writing to send my sympathy for what you must be going through. You belong to a rich cultural tradition, so varied and multifaceted that to write a catchall letter to just one of you (when there are hundreds of unique Native American tribal patterns and prints) is offensive in and of itself. But then the other day I saw a picture inSeventeen applauding someone’s festival-going get-up by telling readers that they should encourage their boyfriends to buy a “sick tribal mank,” and I decided I should reach out. I want to tell you it’s all going to be ok, but I’m not sure. Everyone from Paul Frank to Urban Outfitters to Victoria Secret seems to believe it’s fine to appropriate what isn’t theirs for profit, and apologize later if they have to. It’s pitiful how white America hasn’t come very far in the last several hundred years, huh?

Respectfully,
Sophie

Dear Denim Cutoffs,

I know we’ve been together since middle school, but I just don’t know how to quit you. I want bigger and better things for both of us. (My mom says that khaki is a “more grown up version of the same thing,” and I could imagine you with a very interesting future at Buffalo Exchange.) Every year I go into the summer with every intention of breaking it off, but then I decide to take you out on one last big adventure—a grand finale, if you will—and you just consistently blow my mind. Remember the time we got to third base on that Social Justice Club camping trip? I couldn’t have done that without you. Remember how we painted the Habitat for Humanity house on the alternative spring break, and I spilled white paint on you, and somehow it made you look even better? I get that rhinestones on the back pocket was a passing fad, and that you are never going to be workplace-appropriate—but the thing is, no one has ever made my ass look better. I love you. There. I said it.

Fondly,
Sophie

Dear Bathing Suits As Outfits,

Are you kidding me with this?

Love,
Sophie

Dear High-Waisted Shorts,

I’m obsessed with you, but I know you’re bad for me. You look like you’ve got a lot of material at first glance, but whenever I wear an untucked T-shirt over you, people ask me if I forgot to put on pants. Please leave me alone. Stop beckoning to me on days when I am going to ride my bike with my new boyfriend’s parents. It’s not that I’m a conservative dresser, or not proud of my thighs: it’s that sometimes I need some people to not see my vagina. At least not immediately.

Thanks,
Sophie”

*Sophie Lucido Johnson is a writer, artist, and comedian living in New Orleans. She is the editor-in-chief of Neutrons Protons. You can find her comics and writing here.

I’ve never been big on fashion and I always thought that my fashion statements are weird and inexpressive. But that’s it! That’s exactly what makes things fashionable, things that make you feel good, that help express your personality, that better describe you.

The recent years proved to me that I love clothes, shoes and accessories more than I thought. What changed is that I don’t see clothes as “things” anymore. They are part of a routine that I enjoy to the fullest. I don’t follow fashion shows and I don’t care about the designers’ latest collections. It’s all about combining different colors and styles, matching clothing items and just be unusual. I probably went through some very rough fashion days, and I appeared sloppy to some people, or just plain bizarre, but I felt good, that’s for sure.

In college I was wearing worn out jeans, with holes around my knees, Chuck Taylors, baseball hats and huge scarves one day, and a super elegant office suit the next day. All in one person. My fashion days were mostly reflecting my emotions, they were showing how I felt that day: daring, relaxed, sexy or just the very beautiful simple casual.

I really enjoyed Sophie’s article because I too had the same questionable choices at some point and nowadays I look around and I ask myself: “what the hell were those girls thinking when they threw those clothes on themselves??”

Let’s not forget that what people try to wear today is just a mere impersonation of a street catwalk: people try too hard to look good wearing things that they think are fashionable and cool. Whenever you try to step up from the crowd wearing something like that make sure you look in the mirror before you leave the house. The image might surprise you. Or shock you. Stay decent and clean. Not all catwalk creations are made to suit you.

Sincerely,

Oana

Those feelings that you have to surgically remove in order to be happy

warning!

warning!

No one told me that when I open my soul for some people I’ll get their foot prints “stamped” on my insights, so deep that I feel like there’s no way to undo it, no way to pretend I’ve never met them, no way to forget. At all.

Because when you’re open for love it’s like opening a coffee shop in the morning: people are attracted by the signs you put out in the window, by the offers, by your smile when they finally come in. You greet them at the door and invite them to sit. Some of them will finish their cup and leave shorty after, some will linger for a while, some will be indecisive, confused, they’ll ask questions. So you explain how things are in your shop. If they like what you provide for them they’ll stay, or even if they decide to leave – they’ll have a good reason to come back.

Just like that moment when you start an affair. You do the host and guest game for a while. You smile, you greet, you offer, you receive. Some people will stay, and share the bed until late, some will ask for more, so you’ll roll over in the sheets again, and again….then they leave. If they liked it they leave a tip on the side of the bed, a phone number, an address, a thank you note.

To the people who come and go in our lives I say this: make sure you clean your dirty feet at the door before you come in. I’m clean. And I want to keep it that way. To the ones who walked their moody boots across my floors – don’t bother to come back, unless you bring a mop and a bucket. And if they insist they better leave a good tip on the way out. Those are the ones who will never return – not even for a cup of coffee.

To be continued….

Naked and confused

Tags

, , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,

bord-du-lit

on the edge

Half naked on the edge of the bed

All dreams and hopes seem hollow,

I would like to dress in red

But all my clothes are narrow.

I’m sitting there and don’t know why

It all looks damp and gray,

And all I do is being sly

About the things I say.

Nobody knows how long it’s been

Since you’ve been gone away,

The people curse and deem they say

But some of them do pray.

They pray for me to find a way

They pray for you as well,

I only hope you’ll come today

To break this harmful shell.

Cos everything I said I’ll do

If you were here today,

Is lay beside you like a prude

And dream the dream away.

Dragostea trăită în stil Marquez

 

For Gabriel Garcia Marquez’s novel Love in the Time of Cholera, Matthew Richardson, 2005

“There is always something left to love.”  ― Gabriel Garcí­a Márquez, One Hundred Years of Solitude

Cândva, dragostea trăită ca în filme sau ca în romane era dezideratul celor mai multe dintre femei, iar pentru cei mai mulţi bărbaţi era o recompesă. Dragostea trăită până la absurd, până la ultima suflare, până la adânci bătrâneţi, dincolo de boală, sărăcie, chin, război şi alte neajunsuri era parte integrantă a unei vieţi complete, statornice.

Ceea ce vrem să trăim în viaţa de zi cu zi trăim într-un timp suspendat, într-un neant plin de întrebări, într-un spaţiu mai mult sau mai puţin virtual. Dragostea o trăim pe apucate, în fugă şi superficial, aflându-ne într-o stare de preocupare continuă. Într-o fugă faţă de ceea ce simţim, faţă de ceea ce suntem, fugind de slăbiciuni, temându-ne prea mult. La final regretând şi ce am făcut şi ce n-am făcut deopotrivă.

Îmi amintesc cu drag serile în care mă întindeam să mă culc şi nu puteam să adorm pentru că-mi imaginam fel de fel de scenarii care mai de care mai uşchii şi mai ieşite din tipare, întâlniri absurde cu oameni pe care nici nu-i cunoşteam, pe care nu i-am întâlnit nicicând, convorbiri fără perdea cu persoane faţă de care nutream pasiuni ascunse. Aş fi putut să jur că atunci când voi da peste cineva potrivit mie, care să ştie să iubescă la fel ca mine, absurd şi fără minte, atunci voi ştii ce mi-a lipsit în lungile mele căutări.

Toată dragostea pe care doar credem că o simţim pentru cineva sau ceva e rezulatul unor impusuri atât de scurte, încât mă întreb dacă ceea ce simt sau am simţit înainte a fost cu adevărat dragoste sau numai un impuls de moment. Nu pot să-mi răspund la asta pentru că mi-e şi teamă de ce aş descoperi. Aş vrea să cred ceea ce am crezut şi până acum. Că am iubit, că iubesc, şi atât.

Atunci când n-ai minte sau pur şi simplu nu vrei să te gândeşti la consecinţele acţiunilor tale, ai crede orice lucru care te-ar putea scoate din îndoială, sau orice lucru care te-ar potoli, măcar pentru un moment. Am vrut şi am sperat să iubesc ca în cărţile lui Marquez, pentru că el ştia cel mai bine ce-i trebuie omului. Chiar dacă ar părea iremediabil păcat, un chin, o povară, o totală dezamăgire, iubirea lui Marquez era de o credulitate infamă.

În serile de vară, lungi, secetoase, înăbuşitoare, în care fiecare adiere de vânt e binecuvântare, mă gândeam la felul cum iubesc oamenii, cum iubesc cei care mor îmbrâţişaţi, la 90 ani, cărunţi, în acelaşi pat în care s-au iubit şi-n tinereţi, la cei care ştiu că vor pleca dintre noi curând, şi cu toate astea aleg ca ultim popas casa iubitei, a curvei plătite sau a soţiei credincioase. E o stare de bine ne-egală cu nimic altceva. E ca atunci când ştii ca poţi muri oricând, şi chiar dacă se va întâmpla într-o clipă tot nu ţi-ar părea rău, pentru că ai trăit până la ultima suflare, până în rărunchi. Ai putea muri cu gândul la ceea ce ai făcut înainte de-a te stinge şi ai închide ochii cu zâmbetul pe buze, pentru că ştii că a meritat. Totul.

Ceea ce am pus pe hârtie până acum n-are început şi nu ştiu ce sfârşit aş putea să-i dau pentru că nu-mi vine a scrie despre lucruri care nu sunt lucruri, despre lucruri care se simt şi nu se spun.

Citindu-l pe Marquez e ca şi cum aş sta la un pahar de vorbă cu un prieten care-mi povesteşte peripeţii ori nimicuri dintre cele mai diverse, amoruri pasagere, întâlniri cu destinul, decizii necugetate, păcate capitale, greşeli iremediabile. Mai toate erorile pe care le-am făcut, continuăm să le facem, şi pe care nu le vom ocoli de acum înainte sunt ca un exerciţiu perpetuu. Şi toate par să aibă un numitor comun: dragostea pentru ceva sau cineva. Daca am rănit pe cineva e pentru că ne-am iubit pe noi prea mult, dacă am greşit cuiva este pentru că acel cineva ne-a iubit pe noi mai mult decât s-a iubit pe sine. E un cerc vicios de sentimente şi trăiri pe care le simţim prin sfera unei simţiri pe care o numim iubire, amor, dragoste, pasiune….

Atunci când iubeşti te rupi de lume, nu mai ştii pe nimeni, nu mai cunoşti oameni ori locuri; eşti în lumea ta, împreună cu cel care te rupe de lume, împreună cu cel care te face să uiţi de tot şi toate. E atât de bine încât nu gândeşti, nu respiri suficient, nu dormi bine, nu mai mănânci. Dar eşti în siguranţă în lumea ta, pentru că ştii că nu-ţi mai lipseşte nimic. Ai putea renunţa la oricine, ai pleca oricând, ai da uitării tot ce ai ştiut până acum. Ce mai vine după nu are atâta însemnătate încât să te întoarcă din drum.

Cineva spunea că “Dragostea e îndelung răbdătoare.” Şi cred că zicala e adevărată în mare măsură. Habar n-ai câte poţi îndura, cât de mult eşti dispus să aştepţi, şi cât eşti dispus să pierzi pentru ca cel pentru care ai dat totul, cel pentru care ai renunţat la toate să se simtă iubit.

La final eşti fie împăcat cu tine însuţi pentru că a meritat tot sacrificul, sau eşti zdrobit pentru că cel pentru care ai făcut toate astea tocmai ţi-a dat o lecţie de viaţă: cum că dragostea se trăieşte în absurd, şi tot la fel se şi încheie. Dar de iubit nu s-a lăsat nimeni până acum. Puţini dintre cei răniţi au ales să nu mai încerce. E ca şi cum ai mânca după ce eşti sătul. Senzaţia de foame dispare, dar numai pentru un timp.

Foamea va reapare de îndată ce faci loc pentru altceva. Analogia e tâmpă, ştiu. Dar să te ferească Dumnezeu de foamea celor căzuţi în iubire.

I don’t work out. I stress out

A lazy day spoiler alert

Diets, diets, diets, detox diets, antioxidants, green coffee pills, green tea, lots of water, shakes, low fat, gluten free, tasteless food, small bits, lots of water, lemon, grapefruit juice, plants, soups, baby foods, running, lifting, crunching, jumping, sweating. Empty stomach, headaches, dizziness – failure. Day after day, tv, radio, magazines, billboards, adds, commercials are inviting us to a life of happiness and health. Images of a life spent in between waists and hips measurements. Getting up and down scales, eating strange tasting ingredients, all these have become an ugly impersonation of a beautiful mind in a beautiful body. Thousands of books, magazines and papers written on the weight loss matter.

I’m tired of it. It makes me grouchy and it bores me. I don’t feel the need to talk about it or point fingers at people for doing this sort of things or for following this life style. It’ll be nice if media will encourage people to have a better and more decent life by watching what they’re eating in the first place and then help the same people have a better life through exercise. Or, it’ll just be nice if media will give us a break from all of it. After you “bump” into all these adds, all day, at every step, you see it displayed on every wall, you start questioning yourself and you end by convincing yourself that you have a potential serious weight problem. Most people in this situation are perfectly normal people.

Myself – I like being fit, I like to play sports, I exercise when I can, I have a relatively balanced diet, I try to stay hydrated, sleep well, rest etc, etc. By nature I have a body that helps me maintain my weight at a balanced level, a liver that can support my drinking escapades and a hard head that hurts like hell the morning after the drinking escapade….

My entire family was into sports and I guess that made it easier for me to follow that path. I played basketball for almost 7 years, some volleyball and tennis and biking occasionally. I was raised by a family with strong “health values”. After my mom got sick in the early ’90s she started reading about all sorts of alternative medications, plants, teas and other things that will keep your body healthy and your brain sane. I was brought this way, and in contact with what nature can provide in order to satisfy human’s basic needs.

What bothers me is that people tend to follow some ridiculous rules and the same people will finish this stupid “race” by embracing principles that will make other people happy and not themselves. This “looking good/feeling good” competition is more of a woman thing. In order to live a happy life without constraints, some women got the wrong impression that they will be loved more, respected more and appreciated more if they looked good, and by good I mean sexy. There’s nothing wrong with that since I do like to see good-looking people and I certainly respect those who took the time to respect themselves by exercising and taking care of themselves. But, there’s a fine line between people who are living a better life as a result of their education, and the people who are acting like they’re living the life by pretending to be these super-humans who have dedicated their lives to a body-building routine. These are the exact people I don’t care to know about. I hear them talking at every corner, they brag about their weight loss, the hard work they put into it, they compare each other’s weight, they measure each other’s abs, they post silly updates on social networks, and they take countless self-ies to show people their progress.

Well, I do appreciate a person with a medical weight issue who decided to lose weight because the weight was endangering their well-being, and I appreciate the people who keep this to themselves. I support the cause silently. I don’t need to like it on facebook, it’s absolutely unnecessary to share that for other people to see (since I’m sure they’re as sick as I am of hearing the story…) and if you need people to congratulate you for your achievement, I feel bad for you. That’s something that should come naturally to most of us – the need to be active that is.

Nowadays, working out, or any kind of exercise is seen as a breakthrough, a big success, an astonishing event. Well, it is far from that. If more people will consider the crap they eat everyday, and if they could think twice before they stuff themselves with burgers, fries, large sodas and donuts, they won’t be put in the position of having to work their butts off at the gym in the first place.

I’m not a hater, I want to see beautiful people spending more time out, running, biking, or just walking, I admire lean bodies and I respect the individuals with a good sense and self-esteem. But I will not give props to those who bore people by repeating their amazing makeover over and over and over. People who don’t go out anymore because they can’t eat a proper meal with the rest of us, they can’t drink anything, but water with lemon, they go out for a short and quick snack because they have to go back to the gym, spa, fitness or zumba, rumba, mumba.

I want normal people to stay normal, to breathe normal, to not feel these constraints. Women need their self-esteem back. The women I used to know turned into these nasty bitches who will do anything to fit in size 2 petite or 0 even though they are a decent size 6, 8 or 10, they suck in their bellies when they walk, they carry weird looking shakes in their purses, and the funniest thing and probably the saddest is that they think men will love them the way they are now. Skin and bones, with their jeans falling from their flat butts, exhausted and looking pale. I agree that most men have an image of what a beautiful women should look like, the model type, tall, slim, long lean legs, firm rear and a “rich” bra area.

But in order to achieve that most women skipped a few steps. They went from eating to apparently “forgetting” to eat or skipping meals intentionally, then around midnight they’ll get famished and devour every bite they can get their hands on, they’ll spend quite a while in the bathroom afterwards doing disgusting things, then next day, tired, and hungry they’ll start the day over with water and lemon, hitting the gym and in the end drinking more water.

To be honest I like to work out, but I like to eat in the same time. I am a huge gourmand, I have a lot of cravings, but I never cross my own boundaries. I never let food dictate my well-being. Being a person with a big appetite and a very sensitive stomach, I have to “eye-ball” and mentally measure the amount of food I’m ingesting. Excesses are always bad. I drink (if I can) 2 liters and sometimes more of water daily, with lemon ☺, because it makes it easier to drink bigger quantities and not because is en vogue. I am a morning person, but I also like to sleep in if it’s allowed. Sleeping between 6-8 hr will do the trick in helping maintain a balanced diet. Power naps are welcomed (10-15 min nap), power walks (45-1 hr vivid, mildly speed walks), stretching first thing in the morning, etc. etc.

And when I want to lose weight fast or even when I have no such intentions I go to school and study for my exams. Long ours in the library, projects, writing essays, taking more classes, tutoring….all these are stressing me out more than anything. Oh, and deadlines!! Deadlines make me lose wight. After a stressful 2 weeks of exams and projects I’m tired. Then I get depressed about not being able to finish my work in a timely matter, then I lose appetite, and when I lose appetite I lose weight. I’m not promoting this diet, but it’ll sure help if I can be a student…for….forever. ☺

I don’t have reasons to lose weight, but I sure have dozens of reason to try to stay healthy.