A little rant and memories

Did I tell you about that time when I lost my poems forever and ever?

I don’t think I have… well that happened 😦

When I got my first computer for my 15th birthday I really got into writing there, before that I used to write on any journal I could posses as my own, as a solitary kid I loved inventing stories and “poems” about anything, it was my play-pretend as a writer; one of my many dreams growing up. So, when this old computer came into my life I was SO excited to finally save my writings somewhere my parents wouldn’t find, and the madness began. I would literally wake up at any hour of the night and turn on my old machine and write whatever babble I could imagine. It was a fun personal process that involved too much emotions and nonsense, but very enjoyable and really helped to cope with so many emotions inside of me, and the world around me that was just never enough.

So one day, while I was returning home from school, I ran to my Pc and wanted to write and play games, so excited me, I try to turn it on.

Nothing.

No response.

Ok, don’t panic.

Again.

Nothing.

One more time. Nope. Ok, what do I do!?, no one around me knew about these technical issues so I couldn’t even call someone for help, until my dad arrived late at night, my panic stayed with me all afternoon. By the weekend he had called his friend that was a “good computer repair technician” -O-k dad. The dude arrived on Saturday, took my son all weekend to “fix it”, Monday came and with it my desperation and hopelessness, I kinda knew I couldn’t trust his friend, so much of me was inside that computer. The dude came back: with nothing. Just an empty shallow box. Useless (to his verdict), since we never knew a good i.t guy we were always desperate for someone to trust (ehm… my life am I right?). So to sum things up, he deleted freaking everything and lost every file in the motherboard and everything was gone my life my words my games my thoughts my shelter from the outside world that was slowly driving me into introversion and greater solitude-

*Sigh*… What can you do when you lose a part of you?, kill. No just kidding, edit that out. You cry obviously because you’re 15 and the world revolves around you basically, you cry for weeks, you try to remember things: by the end of the year you eventually forgive and try to forget that horrendous feeling of leaving your treasures to the hands of another stranger human being. No kidding I had like 600 poems and stories all written very badly on Word, everything I could think of by that time was written there, nowhere else. And I’m not bragging when I say they were THAT many, it was my world you know? a cheesy, ridiculously pretentious, pre-teen + teen, sentimentalist little world I had created for me only. Goodbye to that experience, it helped me grow definitely, I realized most importantly that I could lose anything I love and keep selfishly-foolishly as my own, any minute in this life. Anything you ever loved, kept, found, made, produced, grew, all of that can be lost at any moment. How sad and pessimistic must that sound, but at 15 I learned that, and I had to be ok in the end, that was the point after all.

That was my short scary story for the day,

Now I keep my writings anywhere I can, I wrote them in all journals I could keep, re-wrote them once more just in case, kept them in pen-drives, created accounts to keep archives, read them sometimes, embarrassingly. And I guess I could lose them one day, but I don’t think about that negative side. I don’t wait for catastrophe in that part of my life now, I just try to enjoy the process and gain experience from it, words can be gone as well, like here, if I was worrying for someone to read me here, for the readers I wish to have, followers etc, I’d probably wouldn’t even start this project to begin with, I’d be doing it for external reasons only, or I wouldn’t. It’s the experience what matters, the process, the hands in paper (or keyboard), the mind babbling its way into thought provoking ecstasy and creating something you enjoyed building, per se.

Things eventually slip from our hands, in the end. And it’s ok. ❤

(P.S: I might publish some old 2010-2014 poems here, most of them in Spanish though, but still a good laugh content)

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