tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-62189132626124389492011-04-21T14:37:06.893-06:00A blog about synapses, axons, dendrites, nerve impulses that occur in my brain when I see, hear, touch, smell, taste. It's about things I remember and things I want to happen.Malinahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10425849389912919374noreply@blogger.comBlogger271100tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6218913262612438949.post-84011151587548428752008-03-10T19:01:00.001-06:002008-03-10T19:01:34.973-06:00

…you’re hot, and when you’re not, you’re not…What could be in the brains of those guys who secretly admire you? What are they thinking about when you say goodbye and turn around on your heels? Do they sigh? Do they feel some kind of emptiness in their stomach? Do they already think about tomorrow when they are going to see you again? I kind of know what a woman feels like when she knows that’s it

Malinahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10425849389912919374noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6218913262612438949.post-73253596651527599652008-03-02T13:39:00.000-06:002008-03-02T13:40:21.407-06:00

It’s been a while. And I haven’t managed to squeeze my now-well-organized-life to get at least one drop of inspiration. Everything is perfectly aligned and polished like the window of an old craft store. I cannot look outside and you cannot really see inside. Your eye would get caught by intricate handcrafted boats and terrifying bear claws, long strips of fur and colorful beads. Why does my life

Malinahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10425849389912919374noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6218913262612438949.post-55108566905227234212007-11-17T19:06:00.000-06:002007-11-22T21:02:38.077-06:00

A trip I dreamed about since I was a kid. The airway to Iqaluit (Nunavut, Ca) is paved with good white intentions...

Malinahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10425849389912919374noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6218913262612438949.post-60789527099232517342007-10-16T20:29:00.000-06:002007-10-16T20:33:02.510-06:00

When I was little, my parents, especially my grandparents, used to tell me that I behaved and spoke as if I had butterflies in my head. I was too naughty and too restless for their pace. Thirty years latter, my butterflies have gone all the way down to my stomach. And it’s so very hard to agitate them. Maybe they’ve grown older or something because I very very rarely feel them. But it’s a sweet

Malinahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10425849389912919374noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6218913262612438949.post-21063229591800677782007-09-16T20:13:00.000-06:002007-09-16T20:16:47.947-06:00

Life is just a projection... against a white wall, in the autumn sunset light...

Malinahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10425849389912919374noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6218913262612438949.post-86982209411789928172007-08-28T21:37:00.001-06:002007-08-28T21:37:40.630-06:00

Today, my happy smile has got a small sad thought hanging down my lips. There are still reminiscences of those days when I was convinced that he was there to stay. When I was feeling protected but insecure about what was to happen. When I was childishly spreading my arms to get all the hugs and all his smiles, to keep all of them for me only. And, like the kids often waking up in the middle of

Malinahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10425849389912919374noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6218913262612438949.post-2549500091749082422007-08-20T21:24:00.000-06:002007-08-20T21:34:08.083-06:00

For a couple of seconds, with my eyes wide open, I had the following dream: wearing a black dress, I was dancing (partner unknown) with an unbelievable grace. But I stopped because I remembered I have a kid at home who is waiting for me. OMG, what if this is true? What if my brain is tired of commanding me to wear boots and kaki clothes? What if it is sick of reflecting rock music in its

Malinahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10425849389912919374noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6218913262612438949.post-53262098966056260402007-08-20T10:19:00.000-06:002007-08-20T21:24:03.458-06:00

Where is the problem coming from if:- you have one of the easiest jobs that you have ever had, and- still, you consider the results of your work as being mediocre, with standarts that are way lower to those you are able to deliverIs it me or is it the lack of management vision? Or what else could it be? What is to be done before going crazy?

Malinahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10425849389912919374noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6218913262612438949.post-34037829851309638482007-08-19T22:33:00.000-06:002007-08-19T22:50:47.905-06:00

Time is a canvas on which every one of us is painting their own life. When we finish it, we take the painting and hang it on the wall of our eternity bedroom.

Malinahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10425849389912919374noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6218913262612438949.post-28949236445538981162007-07-26T13:27:00.000-06:002007-08-19T22:44:50.384-06:00

If you ask me quickly how old I am, I will as promptly respond that I am 24. Although I am pretty older. This is why I always judge the new things coming up into my life accordingly. Maybe because it is the age when my life stopped being funny and started being kind of serious. I recently met somebody I though I should date. And when he told me his age I found it cool, just a little bit older

Malinahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10425849389912919374noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6218913262612438949.post-10358064111292952892007-07-19T21:53:00.000-06:002007-07-19T21:56:45.369-06:00

...just awfully busy with my new job. Where any trace of stray thoughts is nipped in the bud. These North Americans just work, work, work till they drop! Now I am busy with a plan to pretend that I am working and to mime that I am thinking. I'll be back soon on my green grass here.

Malinahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10425849389912919374noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6218913262612438949.post-29184019300335038782007-07-11T07:38:00.000-06:002007-07-11T13:11:05.184-06:00

When somebody rings at the door or makes a phone call...

Malinahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10425849389912919374noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6218913262612438949.post-56305180078967068092007-07-01T12:40:00.001-06:002007-07-01T21:35:56.783-06:00

About one year ago my mind became a ghost whose favorite perimeter is made up by these blocks. Torn between two worlds, it keeps wandering over here, although the school’s out and there are no frail students to haunt anymore, and the old tenants have decided to move away.This area has a memory of its own. It’s like an attic where I have gathered up old dear things: kisses on sunny summer mornings

Malinahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10425849389912919374noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6218913262612438949.post-72317081898007618032007-06-24T20:43:00.000-06:002007-06-24T21:21:29.951-06:00

I find it hypocrite to remain friends with somebody who had once said “I care about you but we cannot be together (because I am afraid of my own shadow – my remark)”. Then what? Pretend we are just acquaintances, trying to suppress the feelings while still acting on those feelings? You cannot be friend and pretender in the same time. Either one or the other. So, I don’t want to be hypocrite with

Malinahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10425849389912919374noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6218913262612438949.post-14120419308969101942007-06-23T23:00:00.000-06:002007-06-24T10:29:28.864-06:00

Yesterday, I had the chance to watch from the red carpet one of the last shows performed this season by Cirque du Soleil in Montreal, Kooza. Going back home with my hands deep in my pockets, I realized that yes, we are pagliacci (clowns) in our own life. We laugh, we cry, we make jokes and we suffer. The most important thing is whether you're applauded or not when you exit your life's stage.

Malinahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10425849389912919374noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6218913262612438949.post-51364123645903447912007-06-21T11:48:00.000-06:002007-06-21T21:56:33.470-06:00

There are very few moments when I am at peace with myself. Because most of the time, I am recruited to fight some battles that are not mine and I am longing for those years when I had my own troops. Still, once in a blue moon, I get to feel good on the inside. On the inside, it is always bright. In fact, the sun goes down just for a few moments to freshen up while some bluish evening takes its

Malinahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10425849389912919374noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6218913262612438949.post-21608384003839142342007-06-19T21:45:00.000-06:002007-06-19T21:47:14.814-06:00

This post was supposed to be about people who changed my life. But there are very few to count. I owe almost everything to a single man who is no longer among us. The rest is emptiness, silence, nothingness. Life has given me a lot of things but, in exchange, it took its toll. When I was a little girl I used to ask myself “Why did I come in this world?” When I grew older the question was “What is

Malinahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10425849389912919374noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6218913262612438949.post-2519418133723711922007-06-17T20:34:00.001-06:002007-06-17T21:19:36.860-06:00

People are what they mean to us, not what they say or do... They are what they make us feel like... it's how we feel after they leave... when they are far away and they give us a call just to tell us a funny story...

Malinahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10425849389912919374noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6218913262612438949.post-58497356162426744712007-06-10T09:13:00.000-06:002007-06-10T22:09:08.700-06:00

Inspired by my friend A., who is struggling these days to see where she stands with her “petit ami”, and also encouraged (better said discouraged) by some of my own experiences, I thought about drawing a list of the non-dateable professions. People that we should not date because their “raison d’etre” contradicts our expectations. I know, I know, the myth says that women have high expectations;

Malinahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10425849389912919374noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6218913262612438949.post-43943788532086913382007-06-09T20:29:00.000-06:002007-06-10T06:12:51.420-06:00

I accidentally discovered that an Inuit goddess has my name. There is a cruel and sad legend that explains the presence of the sun and the moon. However, I wish I could meet those Inuits. And I am just a few planes and more Celsius degrees away from them.

Malinahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10425849389912919374noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6218913262612438949.post-18116742859065191062007-06-07T21:42:00.000-06:002007-06-07T21:45:09.525-06:00

When I am sad and I've lost hope that the night would turn into daylight, I string a couple of words on a piece of paper, the way you thread colored little stones that you plan to wear around your neck during a carefree tropical vacation. The effect stones me. It is like rubbing my skin with a loess rock: writing has the power to rip off each layer of dead skin, leaving me red marks but also a

Malinahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10425849389912919374noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6218913262612438949.post-62065271700135589932007-06-05T21:26:00.000-06:002007-06-05T21:35:42.418-06:00

Have you ever tasted Chianti with tears? The fruity flavor harvested in October from those quick spirited Italian vineyards meets the bitter but rounded taste of the restless human eye. And they both become mortal when touching the palate, like two songs played by the jukebox in the same time… “Ooh feeling fine, mama / Painted ladies and a bottle of wine, mama”...

Malinahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10425849389912919374noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6218913262612438949.post-30547635313938511292007-06-03T17:45:00.001-06:002007-06-04T21:23:48.148-06:00

I have always been at the beginning of something. Or in the middle of something. But never at the real end of anything. The end was always a glorious closure for something that had been painful (i.e. presentations, dissertations, degrees or bad relationships etc.). Now it is a painful end of a period that I considered good. And it’s clear: it was good only in my mind… Again, it’s all in my mind!

Malinahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10425849389912919374noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6218913262612438949.post-18553714405014725592007-06-02T19:59:00.000-06:002007-06-05T21:37:40.986-06:00

I have always dreamt of having a rock band where I would play the drums. But with my “exceptional” sense of music, I’d pity the auditorium. Another dream that I had was to go and live in Labrador, the native land of one of my imaginary childhood friends: Apolodor, the penguin from Labrador. When I was a little girl, my parents bought me a book about this penguin, who was employed by a European

Malinahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10425849389912919374noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6218913262612438949.post-90776766878566565332007-06-01T20:46:00.001-06:002007-06-01T20:46:45.751-06:00

I wonder how I can live without a summer tree, where Santa Claude (someone like a sugar daddy, with a sexy French accent) would stop his bicycle to drop me a few gifts. This summer I am going to meet my Santa Claude and make sure he brings all that I ask him to. If not, I will steal the bicycle wheels or throw a dead fish in his shorts.What do I want? Let’s see… hmmm… I don’t ask for too much…

Malinahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10425849389912919374noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6218913262612438949.post-8541111734939228792007-06-01T20:00:00.000-06:002007-06-01T20:02:12.269-06:00

I wish I could live my childhood again, along with my adult life. I wish I had a book to open each time I feel childhood sick and read the words that recall the smell of summer street dust that we used to raise with our balls. I want to read sentences that recall the taste of the mint chewing gum we used to pull out of our mouths with those dirty hands we were getting from covering the sidewalks

Malinahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10425849389912919374noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6218913262612438949.post-36031552880828480402007-06-01T19:34:00.000-06:002007-06-04T15:48:36.770-06:00

After many months of hesitation, here I am opening my own skull to see what's inside. Curious by nature, I need to see if the grey material is in place or not. Probably not. And I also dare to open it in front of the others, so that you can assist to my own surgery. Bring your white gowns, wash your hands and keep away the bonbons that might slip into the wide open of my mind.Online Counter

Malinahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10425849389912919374noreply@blogger.com2