I do not like to consider myself a quitter, but I have to agree that I quit dance very easily. Today I woke up with the word “quitter” in mind. Maybe I reminded my contemporary dance teacher’s disapproving face the last time I saw him.

What is the behavior of someone who does not want to feel guilty? Usually he or she makes excuses. That’s what I did. Before getting up, I had two good excuses in mind: my tired legs and my honeymoon. I think I’m the kind of people with “honeymoons” that last for tens of years. What about that as an excuse?

On the subject of honeymoon, this week I was in a wedding. It had sea and blue sky. It had violins. It had a banquet hall with candelabra. All very beautiful, but I still consider myself luckier to wake up every morning next to someone I like.




As if life was not already a challenge, we also have the challenges of Facebook. This is a seven days challenge in which black and white photos of your lives are published. The rules are: “No people. No explanation. Each day, nominate a friend.”

I decided to accept the challenge and bring it here. After all, I’m always using words and this can be an opportunity to do a different thing. Today is the second day of the challenge.

Day one:


Day two:




I used to criticize people addicted to phone or computer games. Now I became one of them. I do not know if my addiction is the consequence of a natural inclination or pure stubbornness.

I think I play because I like challenges. It is useless to look for excuses and theories. Whatever the reasons are, the only conclusion is that games are very addictive. 



I know I could be a writer because I have a vivid imagination. Where people only hear words, I see tones, meanings and aims that can be far from reality. Yet, they are more than real to me. Reality, for a writer, is fiction. And fiction, sometimes, becomes reality.

I always had this problem. I cannot stick to the apparent or superficial. I give meanings to images, words and whatever. When I write, a great part of this problem is solved. I transport reality, or what I perceive to be reality, to fiction. And there’s also this: if I write based on intuition, sometimes fiction becomes reality. I don’t transport fiction to reality, as a norm.

Just to give you an example, once I thought I hated someone. I wrote a short story about shooting that person and run away. Don’t worry. It was just a toy gun. I don’t know how it happened, but I stopped hating that person. Keeping things inside that I believe to be true is hard. Talking about them is therapeutical. Just because I deal a lot better with the written words, I suppose I could be a writer. 



Life is a balance between certainties and uncertainties. Love is made of certainties and uncertainties.

I have many uncertainties. He could be younger. He could be stronger. He could be healthier. He could be richer. He could be more in love. For a long time the uncertainties dominated. I could not be happy or make him happy.

Now I live with a certainty: he is the best that has ever happened in my life. If one day this is all over, I’ll be sure I had a certainty. No regrets or words to say. I will only conclude that he, like so many people, was more attentive to uncertainties than certainties.


Tell me about love and disappointment. We all experienced both in more or less terrible ways. Are they a sequence or a consequence? Is disappointment a “normal” stage after love?

For young girls, the first disappointment happens very early in life – maybe with her father or brother. The way we live disappointment differentiates us. Not that long ago, I dinned with a friend who said that his disappointment lasts for two years. That’s not my experience. My disappointment is strong but short lived. A question of temperament? As a man, he should get over it sooner than I.

Sometimes I wonder if the way we love and survive a broken relationship is inherited, passing from father or mother to son or daughter, etc. Love and survival. And if by chance that way finds a fertile soil, does it blossom, and makes one happy, and the happiness of the other? Or if the land is barren, only generates disappointment after disappointment… Disappointment is a form of nonconformism. Because we all want to be happy.

Contemporary Dance

This week represents a new stage in my life. It is curious how such stages are marked by dance or any other simple exercise. After experimenting tango, salsa, flamenco and ballet, yesterday I started contemporary dance classes. The internet describes contemporary dance as “a style of expressive dance that combines elements of several dance genres including modern, jazz, lyrical and classical ballet. Contemporary dancers strive to connect the mind and the body through fluid dance movements”.

The first class was good. Contemporary dance has the potential to change a few wrong things about my approach to dance. I felt a strong back pain and was blaming the class, when I remembered that I had bathed dogs Thoth and Keketh before lunch, spending a lot of time and energy in a bad posture. I could have used a chair, but then I would end up soaking. Brrrr. It’s already cold out there!