NYC

Life is made up of little moments, a smile, a hot chocolate, a hug, a kiss.

Don't expect something awesome to happen each day. However, if you pay attention to the small things that happen throughout your day, you will realize that you have an awesome life.

I'm traveling in NY. It's amazing, I feel like a I have the world in my hands. I don't know what's wrong with me that I haven't taken the time out of my day lately to write in my blog. I don't want to have it as a pressure. I feel like I have many things to write about, yet I don't start writting. Never lately. Here I am taking a shit and writting, waiting for a story to come to my mind. I'm in Staten Island, yesterday I was robbed in the middle of time square. And today, because I'm too nice I bought things that I didn't want and spend more money that I should have. On Tuesday I have an important presentation and I keep procrastinating 

Love is freedom

feel like that cold and rainy afternoon when I was 6 years old and my mom was wearing the same white t-shirt she always wore when she was painting, and she came to me and hugged me so warmly and firmly against her chest that made me feel safe, happy and free. 

Her arms felt warm around my head, her t-shirt smelled like mom, which for me was a soft mixture of milk, clean clothes, paint, and vanilla. The time stopped when I was between her arms, and I just felt loved. 

 I just felt loved... Because love is full of little gifts from one person to the other.

The one who gives love is giving away his most valuable treasure, which is his time. 

The one being loved.... well, is being loved, which feels like freedom. 

The paradox of our time - Bob Moorehead

"The paradox of our time in history is that we have taller buildings but 

shorter tempers, wider Freeways, but narrower viewpoints. We spend more, 

but have less, we buy more, but enjoy less. We have bigger houses and 

smaller families, more conveniences, but less time. We have more degrees 

but less sense, more knowledge, but less judgment, more experts, yet more 

problems, more medicine, but less wellness.

We drink too much, smoke too much, spend too recklessly, laugh too little, 

drive too fast, get too angry, stay up too late, get up too tired, read too 

little, watch TV too much, and pray too seldom. We have multiplied our 

possessions, but reduced our values. We talk too much, love too seldom, and 

hate too often.

We've learned how to make a living, but not a life. We've added years to 

life not life to years. We've been all the way to the moon and back, but 

have trouble crossing the street to meet a new neighbor. We conquered outer 

space but not inner space. We've done larger things, but not better things.

We've cleaned up the air, but polluted the soul. We've conquered the atom, 

but not our prejudice. We write more, but learn less. We plan more, but 

accomplish less. We've learned to rush, but not to wait. We build more 

computers to hold more information, to produce more copies than ever, but we 

communicate less and less.

These are the times of fast foods and slow digestion, big men and small 

character, steep profits and shallow relationships.

These are the days of two incomes but more divorce, fancier houses, but 

broken homes. These are days of quick trips, disposable diapers, throwaway 

morality, one night stands, overweight bodies, and pills that do everything 

from cheer, to quiet, to kill. It is a time when there is much in the 

showroom window and nothing in the stockroom. A time when technology can 

bring this letter to you, and a time when you can choose either to share 

this insight, or to just hit delete...

Remember, to spend some time with your loved ones, because they are not 

going to be around forever. Remember, say a kind word to someone who looks 

up to you in awe, because that little person soon will grow up and leave 

your side.

Remember, to give a warm hug to the one next to you, because that is the 

only treasure you can give with your heart and it doesn't cost a cent.

Remember, to say, "I love you" to your partner and your loved ones, but most 

of all mean it. A kiss and an embrace will mend hurt when it comes from 

deep inside of you.

Remember to hold hands and cherish the moment for someday that person might 

not be there again. Give time to love, give time to speak! And give time to 

share the precious thoughts in your mind." - Bob Moorehead

What is love

What is love? 

I really don't know, but it feels like freedom. 

Because when I'm with you, I feel like that cold and rainy afternoon when I was 6 years old and my mom was wearing the same white t-shirt she always wore when she was painting, and she came to me and hugged me so warmly and firmly against her chest that made me feel safe, happy and free. 

Her arms felt warm around my head, her t-shirt smelled like mom, which for me was a soft mixture of milk, clean clothes, paint, and vanilla. The time stopped when I was between her arms, and I just felt loved. 

 I just felt loved... Because love is full of little gifts from one person to the other.

The one who gives love is giving away his most valuable treasure, which is his time. 

The one being loved.... well, is being loved, which feels like freedom. 

 

Love is freedom, and that's how I feel when I'm with you. 

The ugly weed that flourished a beautiful flower: a son and father story

(I know, you already scrolled all the way down, and yes, it's a long story. But I promise you will get into the story as you keep reading it haha) 

I was fourteen years old and I didn't know who I was. I was letting the people I met in the street define me. 

I have had a weak relationship with both my parents lately. The past 5 months, after coming from U.S I had been constantly grounded for bad behavior at school. I was scared to hold a conversation with my dad, and I was always mad at my mom. I was insecure, and my personality was always changing depending who I was with. I wanted to be a cool guy so I joined a group of people that only had fun on a Friday night if they started a street fight. I was feeling older and immune to any consequence in the street. But at home, I couldn't even look at my dad in his eyes.

It was 2:00 pm on an afternoon of October, I was in the car with my dad. He was mad, sad, and heartbroken. I was speech lees, mad at my self, and I couldn't get rid of the image of my mom crying. 

Hours before, my dad had received a call from my school saying that I had violated an important rule of my school and that the faculty was going to have a meeting to discuss whether or not I should get kicked from school.

In the car neither my dad or I were talking, in the air we both could feel an intense silence that would cut any word that I could possibly throw out of my mouth.

I didn't know where he was taking me. I was in the front seat besides him, looking at his sad face every once in a while, and thinking that this whole scene was dream, that it was a scheme from the universe to learn a lesson, that I had never violated that rule , that I had never had been caught, that my mother never cried because her son was taking the wrong steps in life, and that my father wasn't there his sad face, and driving the car with me. 

Suddenly, tears came out of my eyes.

I whipped my tears off my face.

None of that was a dream, it was actually  happening. Some days before, I had heard that a guy I used to hung out with in the street was kicked out of his house by his parents. I was dying inside, I was thinking I could get kicked out of my house too. But outside, everything seemed normal. Through the car window, I could see the same old lady begging for money under the traffic light of the road, the same amount of people walking on the side walk, and the bright sun of Colombia shinning above us. 

I was horrified. I was fourteen years old, and the past months of my life had been full of disappointments for my parents with my behavior. 

We arrived to a hotel, we sat by the pool on a table under the shadow of a tree. 

My dad looked at me, he didn't say anything. I started crying.

He was looking at me with such a heart broken face. Though, with a tender gaze that told me without words that he loved me. 

He asked me to explain him what happened, I started telling him with my face full of tears that a "friend" talked me into violating that rule and I did it because everyone was doing it.

After some minutes of talking, and an orange juice, I stopped crying. And what I thought was another lecture about my behavior, it became the first deep conversation about life with my dad. 

And what once was a feeling of fear, it became a feeling of belonging, and love. 

I was vulnerable, he was heartbroken. I was scared of being kicked out of the house, he was scared of loosing me. 

He was sad, I was crying. 

And that day, under the shadow of the tree, on a table by the pool of a hotel, the worst brought the best. In the lowest point of my relationship with my parents, a gaze full of love, and some tears full of pain, started to build the beginning of the greatest learning experience of my life. 

My dad started to tell me about life, and the main purpose of living, which is being happy and making others happy. He told me how any addiction would steal from me the greatest things we have as humans, our ability to be free and make choices. He said that freedom was love, and love was the key of a happy life. 

That honest conversation full of understanding made me open my eyes and see the reality. For the first time in many years I looked at my dad's eyes without fear and I saw in his gaze how much he loved me.

And that afternoon of October, around 3:00 pm, my dad saved my life. 

And that day, under the shadow of that tree, it started to grow a relationship full of love, comprehension, and learning between me and my dad.

A little bit from creativity

Creativity is not about arranging a room, doing a ritual, taking a pill, or being inspired. Creativity is about trying new things knowing that you can possibly fail. Creativity is about getting up and start doing things differently without the fear of failing. Creativity is a process of getting unattached from people’s opinions, from the status-quo, and from what everyone around you is already doing. Creativity is going into a journey through the Sahara dessert riding a camel through the unpredictable dessert, at night, and without a map. Creativity is having a goal in mind but not an established way to get to that destination; a journey through the Sahara desert where you only have a star to follow in the silent night, where the path is never the same, and where you explore new ways to reach your destination. There is not such a thing as inspiration itself, the camel rider doesn't wait until he feels inspired to start travelling, instead, his willingness to get to the destination and his ability to focus in the star, his camel, and the unpredictable path are the things that allow him to get successfully where he wants to go. Inspiration is the willingness to do something combined with concentration on the task. Anyone of us can do great things, so if you think that you are not a creative person is because you are not trying either because you don't want to, or because you are afraid to people's opinions or to do things differently from what people is already doing it. Therefore, if you don't like your life as it is right now, see the resources you have in your hands, knowledge, contacts, material resources, and from there try to look for a destination better than where you are now and always watch that star. Always watch that star, start riding the camel of your resources, don't be afraid to hear from people that you might die crossing the dessert, and start taking the different path. When you start stop worrying about what is "good"or "wrong" and you start worrying on seeing the resources you have and from there start doing new things, magic happens. Allow yourself to do things differently, that will change the world around you.

Treat everyone like a rock star

Last night I went to a talent show here at the university.... What can I say? Everything was fine when I walked in, but I have to admit that I wasn't expecting that girl to be there. The first time I saw her, was probably two weeks ago when I was walking to class and she held the door for me. I said thanks, she barely smiled and didn't look at me. It was an 8:00 am class so I thought she had done what many people in this place do, roll out of bed and go directly to class. Her hair was a messy, her clothes wrinkly, and her eyes looked like she hadn't sleep for a week. I kept seeing her everyday from the first day I saw her, she never looked at me, but I always looked at her. She always wore the same blue sweater even though outside was hot, she always had a messy hair, and she always looked down while she was walking. I never wanted to say anything to her, but she had something weird that kept me wanting to look at her.

I wasn't expecting her to be there,at the talent show with her same blue sweater, her messy hair, a big smile, and a pink ukulele. 

I don't know why I remember her since the time I saw her, probably I mentally judged the way she went to that 8:00 am class. Probably I didn't like her blue sweater, or the fact that she always wore it when it was hot outside. Or Probably I always wandered why she always looked down whenever I looked at her.

I wasn't expecting her to be there last night. I wasn't expecting her to get up chair, take her blue sweater off, grab her pink ukulele, wear a smile on her face, walk to the stage, and start singing a beautiful song.... I was in shock for the rest of the night. When she finished her song and walked down the stage, I went up to her, I gave her a hi-five, and told her that she had made my day with that song. She smiled, said thanks, and put her blue sweater back on.

Everyone of us is different, everyone of us is unique. Talk to everyone and find out why he or she is an awesome person. Treat everyone like a rock star because you never know when a strange girl that you saw walking to your 8:00 am class may end up singing a song that you will never forget.

Hidden in between the lines of a Sunday: a love story??

I usually leave a white piece of paper on top of my desk to remind me that I have to write on my blog, so whenever an idea comes to my mind, I write it on the paper, and that is how to end up writing the story of the day. Sometimes I have crazy words that does not relate between them, however,  I gather them all, and a great story is born. As well, sometimes I have beautiful words written on that white piece of paper that relate between them, I gather them all, and a horrible story that makes no sense is born. Those are the days that I don't publish any stories. Any ways, today was 6:00 pm and the white piece of paper sitting on my desk was still white. Through out the day I didn't have time to remember any stories that changed my life at some point or actually go out and live any story that could change my life in some way.

Because throughout the day, I was so busy staring at the white screen of my computer that I didn't have time to think on words to write on the white piece of paper sitting on my desk.
Staring at the white piece of paper, at 6:10 pm, made me realized that Sundays have become white days even though out there the sky is blue and there are many colors outside.

So there I was, at Sunday evening, tired from doing homework the whole day, sitting on the floor, listening to Pablo Milanes, and unsuccessfully trying to think on an story to write in the blog.

I started randomly writting and I realized that Sundays are white days.

Sundays are white days in Wingate, that nothing interesting happens.

Here, Sundays are white from all the faces suffering hangover from the alcohol the night before. Sundays are white from staring to a white paper doing the math homework. Sundays are white from hearing the pointless gossips that happened in Saturday night, from watching the same pictures in your Facebook wall over and over, and because nothing ever happens here on a Sunday. Today is Sunday; Today is white. White from the white paper that was supposed to have the story that changed my Sunday, but still white because there is no story; because on Sunday nothing happens. 

Right at that moment, my mom texts me. Right at that moment,my friend comes to the room and tells me a story. Then, I realized that even though the white paper waiting for today's story still white, hidden in between the lines of the day, there are always small stories that changes somebody's life while we were staring at a white screen doing the homework for Monday at 8 am. Hidden in between the lines of today, there was a sad mom waiting for her son to text her because he lives in another country and that is the only way they can communicate with each other. Hidden in between the lines of today, there was a young guy crying because he realized too late that he loved the girl that just left him. Hidden in between the lines of today, there was another guy waiting for a girl to make up her mind and come back to him so he can start loving her again. Hidden in between the lines of today, there was a sweet girl that accidentally broke someone's heart in an attempt to listen to her own heart. Hidden in between the lines of the day, there was a girl that waited for a guy several weeks but he never came to her.

Hidden in between the lines of the day, there were broken hearts, broken promises, and sad stories that bring to the white paper waiting for today's story sparkles of gray color. 

Hearing those stories, made me think that the white paper sitting on my table waiting for a good story, was staring to turn gray.

However, the day cannot be defined as that last thing you heard before writting the blog. What happened today is much bigger than one story. While we are staring at the white screen of our PC's there are many other stories going on that are hidden in between the lines of our day. We don't realize, but hidden in between the lines of a white day, a boring day, as well, there was a husband holding his wife's hand because now their sons left home and they have time to be young again, there was a happy mother that waited one week to Skype with her daughter, there was a grand father sitting with his grandson telling him a story of when he was young, there was girl that realized that she doesn't have to be with someone to feel loved, there was someone feeling inspired, there was someone falling in love, there was a baby being born, and there was someone unsuccessfully trying to write a blog because he can't stop thinking on her smile. 

Hidden in between the lines of a white day, there is as well, stories of  hope, dreams, and love. That made me think that the white paper sitting in my table waiting for a good story, was turning into many different colors. Because hidden in between the lines of that paper, there are stories that paint the white paper not only gray from the sad stories, but also blue from hope, green from dreams, and red from love. Because where there is one sad stories, we can find five more that brings hope to our lives; five more stories that brings colors to a white piece of paper sitting on a table waiting for a story.

Grandpa, grab my hand and let's change the world...

I sat in the couch close to my grandpa in the living room of my house, it was around 9 am of a sunny day in Colombia.

Grand pa! Tell me a story of when you were young please

- ok son, come closer and I will tell you a funny story...

That day, was a warm morning full of laughter and good stories. 

I was ten years old, and when I was growing I couldn't see my grandparents very often, so whenever I could see them, I used to grab my grandpa's hand, drag him to the couch and ask him for a story.

Grand pa! Can you tell me the story of when you set on fire that nun's dress??

- oh son, I'm not proud of that story, and I have told you that story already three times.

- please grandpa!! One more time, I wanna hear it again.

-ok son, come closer, I will tell you that story...

Those stories, certainly changed my life.

I could spend hours laughing at his stories. All I wanted to be whenever I grew up, was to be as adventurous as he was.

I always planned on going camping with him. Though, ten years after I have never had a camping trip with my grandpa. However, he have me something more important than a camping trip, he gave me his stories, he gave me his adventurous spirit.

My grandpa is a book full of stories, some of them are true, some of them I don't believe. However, all of his stories are full of adventures. Adventures that changed my life since I was a kid.

When I was 14, I had the crazy idea on my mind that I wanted to change the world. Know, I understand that we shouldn't worry about changing the whole world, we should only worry about changing our lives and inspire people. Thus, everyone will have a better world.

Last night I had a talk with my coach, he showed me the video of the 2014 commencement of graduation day in Texas university.  From that video, I understood that we shouldn't worry about being everyone's hero, instead, we just need to be that swimming coach that changed my life with his inspiring speeches, or that lady in the mail room that Is always happy, or that English teacher that believes in you, or that grandpa that sits besides you and tells you adventurous stories that inspire you.

By giving hope in a speech, by sharing our happiness, by beleiving in others, and by bringing some closer to you and share a story, we all can make this world a better place.

Swimming and dating: a story of attachement

Attachment, attachememt, attachment... This is a story about attachememt. Attachememt to a girl's attention, attachememt to the first place in a swimming race. Attachememt, fucking attachememt.

As humans, we think that we own everything that "we have." We don't own anything, not a person, not an object, not a result.  So why should we feel that our happiness depends on something that is not ours? We should just enjoy the people, and the things that are with us while we have them.

This is a story about attachement, attachement to a girl's attention, attachememt to a result in a swim race.

Two years ago, the day before an important swim meet, I went to my best friend's house to join this important meditation session. I didn't really know anything about meditation back then, I only knew that the man guiding the meditation seemed a really wise guy, and he could tell me the answer to a questions that had been through my mind the whole time that I had been practicing for that swim meet, how could I be first?

So I went in there, sit on my butt for two hours listening to a one-sentence-Indian song, with my eyes closed and thinking how to approach that wise man so he could answer my question. 

After the meditation was over, and everyone gather for the after party that included tea and vegetarian food, I finally had my chance to ask the wise guy for advice. 

I went up to him and told him, "hey, I really enjoyed your meditation (I actually didn't enjoy it) I have a swim meet tomorrow, I have trained a lot for it. Do you have any advice for me?!"

He stood in silence about five seconds and then he told me, "the warrior is more successful, when he fights for a hand full of soil" after that other people came offering tea so I couldn't talk to him anymore. Like the wise men in the movies, he dissapeared after saying a non-sense sentence. 

I couldn't be more disappointed, I stayed two hours sitting in the floor, listening to Indian music, with all my body itching, in silence, and once I approached "the wise guy" he tells me one sentence that made no sense!!

Well, after some time, a beautiful girl helped me understand the sentence that the wise man told me before dissapearing into a crowd of vegetarians.

the key of enjoying something and succeeding at it, like the case of a swim race or dating a girl, is to be completely unattached from the result. Because being unattached, allow us to be spontaneous and act with our essence. 

If we are free from the fear of loosing either race or the girl, we let ourselves be who we really are infront of the pool about to step on the block before the race, or infront of the girl before her smile, or perhaps a hug or a small kiss.

Then, we take the initiative. We step on the block, we have a chance to win the race. Then, we take the initiative, we say something, we have a change to make her smile. And once we dive into the pool, and into the conversation with the girl, we just let it happen. Body, mind, and soul connect. Each stroke in the swimming pool comes within our heart, each word in the conversation with the girl is totally spontaneous. Thoughts, words, and actions connect. 

We keep swimming, we keep talking with the girl. And here it comes the first turn of the 50 yard freestyle final, and here it comes her first smile. It is a gift. There is no judging from our minds, nothing is wrong or bad.  

We are not thinking on the result, we are not thinking either in the past or the future. We are in the present moment; is the only thing that matters. 

We start swimming faster, enjoying reaching our limits. We start feeling comfortable, looking gently at her eyes, and with a smile asking her about her passions. We just want to make her feel safe and comfortable, is the only thing that matters. We just want to give our best effor in the pool, is the only thing that matters.

And when we make that last stroke and reach the time pad first than any other in the 50 yard freestyle final, and when you look at her eyes, and she looks at you with a smile, magic happens. 

Then you, without thinking about it, became the champion of the 50 free yard final. Then you, without thinking about it, made her smile.

Because the warrior is more successful, when he fights for a hand full of soil. Because the warrior is more successful when he is unattached from the result and he acts with his heart. 

A yellow house, with a red roof, between two big blue mountains

 I usually use this blog to write random things that come to my mind when I start writting, which most of the time is an exercise to remind myself of things that make life easier and better but I constantly forget.

Today, I'm laying by the lake of my campus wrapped up in my blanket because is so cold that I can barely use my thumbs to type in my phone. Everything is so beautiful around me, is the perfect combination of colors. The Sky is blue and there is not a single cloud hanging up there, the grass is starting to turn yellow but is still green, and the trees by my side are red, purple and organe. 

It is such a beautifull place to be on a Sunday after a tough week of eating the same breakfast every day, swimming every afternoon, doing homework, and then trying to have a social life at night. 

However, I can right now think in so many places I would rather be, like my favorite place in the world. 

I wish someone in India or in silllicon valley would invent a teletransportation machine soon, so on Sundays I would use it to go to where my heart tries to take me every seven days. 

My favorite place in the world doesn't have half of the colors that surround me at this moment, or is at peaceful as the uyuni dessert, or as magnificent as the Taj Mahal, it is just a yellow house, with a red roof, in the middle of two big blue mountains. 

I have been in many magic places in different parts of the world. I have been in a magic island in the south of brasil and under the seven colors of the Caribbean Sea. I have seen a sunset in the northern dessert of India, I have seen the full moon flying over Germany, and I have seen billions of starts laying on the white ground of the Uyuni dessert in Bolivia. However, non of those places made me feel how the yellow house, with a red roof, between two big blue mountains makes me feel.
That place has the right balance between mornings, sunsets, smell of coffee, my grandma's hug, and my grandpa's story.
After traveling to some beautiful places I realized that the best place in world, is where your heart is, where you have someone that loves you and someone you love.
After traveling to some beautiful places I realized that the best in the world is that yellow house, with the red roof, in between those two big blue mountains.