Alone

Mi mente está en inglés pero mi país está en español, que dilema.

There are cheaper brands of instant noodles in every corner, really. They come in all shapes and colours, say, the same cylinder full of chemicals, toxicity and yum. Whoever invented the idea of fitting noodles and chemicals and plastic fruits it's plain genius, should have statues all around the corners of the world (and later be burned down in Ukraine because that's how fucked up we are) and have stickers of his (or her) face glued to every godly symbol. Who needs math when we can get rid of hunger.

Meanwhile, everyone watches the game and I don't have TV. Catalá music fits with the most common brunch+dinner (brunchinner?) and the day plays the ballad of the lonely, movements: "The Neighbours Have Food and You Don't", "Smells Like Popcorn and Meat Next Door" and, my favourite "How to Die a Thousand Times on a Humble Flat". It's me, myself and I all the way because nobody cares as much as I care for no one. I'm glad I don't believe in deities because, if God existed, he'd be a total arse for assigning so much uselessness into an ambitious body.

Still, love's a bliss but not when it's far. Namely, a boyfriend's utility is near to none when in the other side of town and good nutrition is Juliet and I'm a Romeo throwing pebbles to the closest window, getting no answer because the modern Juliet has her cellphone off because she's watching The Notebook. Success has only one definition: being able to cope with everything and nothing at once while being able to bake a pie without failure. And that's what everybody tells you but not in the best of ways: happiness and freedom has a heavy price.

Dear auntie, I'm not going back and you're no dear. If there's something worse than barely working to keep yourself alive is reluctantly working to keep someone else alive. I'm fine with not having to do forceful favours.