An Ode To Fall

Hello there. I haven’t written here in such a long time. I’ve been paying most of my attention to thedaisymag.com and I feel like I have neglected my baby, my blog. I realised that as I used to write here, I would lose the tension I would get during stressful days and I remembered that I started this blog as a coping mechanism. I started it to get things off my chest while not feeling the need to be justified or read at all.  As I sip on my coffee under a blanket on what feels like the first morning of fall, I name this a new beginning.  I always feel like the year truly starts with fall, the leaves fall and we leave our past worries, past friends and enemies, past fears and past…

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What Do You Feel Alive For?

There are some days where you just all of a sudden zone out, staring at the trees longing for the spring that will never come with goosebumps. All your worries, future plans, thoughts and feelings freeze with the inexplicable rush that takes over your body. You look around, take a deep breath and after quite a while finally feel like you were supposed to since the beginning: Alive. Most people have a thought in mind, some feeling or person that they’re alive for. Yet shouldn’t we be alive for ourselves before anyone or anything else? Are we bound to feel alive only with the presence of some other element? Isn’t it a feeling, though for some it’s deep down and forgotten, that we all must feel and share? Has this world full of technology made…

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Wherever You Go, There You Are

I’ve never been able to understand whether it’s because of me or the environment. I don’t want to brag, but I adapt quite quickly. I’ve been doing it since I was just a small child visiting lands far away with Bastian Balthazar Bux in my favourite book, or just last year having a stroll in the woods with Naoko and Murakami,seeking happiness. Even when I’m physically there, I find one or two factors that remind me of the homey feeling you get when it’s too cold outside but you’re in a blanket, sippin’ on green tea. If it’s France, I look far over my vintage sunglasses as in a black and white Goddard movie and it reminds me of Audrey in Paris When It Sizzles, and I’m home. If it’s Italy, I remember my dads long…

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People Are Strange, When You’re A Stranger

With the angelic voice of Lorde in my ears, here I lay at 23.42, covered in more than 3 blankets, asking myself a question no one ever asks: Why do we ignore strangers? Is it because we’re totally satisfied with the people in our lives, we’ve given up hope that out there somewhere in the ignored people pile there isn’t a single soul that possibly likes the same painting as we¬†do? Or is it simply because we grew up with the notion of “strangers being strangers” and people we don’t know being dangerous? Don’t ask me, I don’t know. I didn’t even think of this question until earlier today when I was trying to walk on a crowded street without getting elbowed by a passive-agressive Londoner rushing somewhere. They say the people in our dreams…

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