Las pasiones nunca se olvidan.

De esas que te arrancan el alma y te la dejan hecha trozos un poco después. De esas que nunca las sentis hasta que la experimentas y todo es uno.

De esas que cuando la gente pasa, se para, las miras y las disfruta. La gente sabe reconocer si algo es pasión, o mejor dicho si se esta haciendo apasionadamente, amarrado desde el alma, así como abriendo el telón de sopetón, empezando sin que necesiten que nadie te de un hint de ir y hacerlo. O vivirlo.

Tu pasión no se acomoda al lugar que esta. Lo desarma todo y una vez terminado, uno se da cuenta que si la pasión no desborda, no es pasión, es solo un simple deseo.

La pasión sale del corazón como agua viva. Como cataratas del alma. Con razón cuando no nos entra el alma de alegría, no largamos a llorar con un llanto que no nos entra en el planeta entero.

La pasión nos lleva a llorar. La pasión se siente.

Si venis a compartirme tu pasión. Vivimela en la cara, como baldazo de agua fría, como mostrandome que no hay otra forma de vivir. Que a fin y al cabo, no sienta tu pasión pero quizas encienda la mía y me haga ver que no existe el amar poco.

Si amas la pasión todo se prende fuego y no importa.

No importa nada. Si es menos que eso, tu vida se esta desarmando en mediocridad y creeme, que en un circulo de esos, terminaras llamando pasión a una simple llamita que creiste ver en ese cuartito de vida en el que estás.



All my life I’ve fought to rest.

Like a sign of relief. That was how I felt the very moment I ended up my first year course.

It’s been a year of fears, cryings, complaints. Loss. Finding the right in the wrong. The faith in the skepticism of answered questions.

A year where I felt myself more identified with riddle lyrics and indie bands than actually, people – and yes by indie I mean the kind of music that’s mostly un-mainstream. I have found myself laying walking this whole year holding the very same hand of the Saviour, in spite of not actually being aware of him being there; in fact, truth be told, I have also felt myself walking naked everywhere I went.

Exposed in the subway. Exposed in my school. Exposed in my own struggles. I have come to the point to the point where if I had search well and the testimonies I’ve felt identified are real, I may have struggled with argarophobia. Maybe not. (diagnosing me myself is not my thing tbh)

The fact is not what I had it. It’ts because WHY?

Why am I so scared? Why are we so scared?

Am I scare of asking questions? I find out that I don’t even I do.

Am I scare of the future? What people says? What people think of me? Not being of good enough? Not living rad enough?

Living too rad? Not making my dreams come true? Afraid of failing God?

That last one makes me laugh. Because definitely will.

What is it for me so hard to rest?

Why can I just shut up for a bit and enjoy being held and rocked in the very hands of God? Because I’ve been there and trust there’s no place on earth where you feel that heart in relief, but I still fall into this anxious thing.

I have found mercy on people’s eyes. I have found rejection on people’s glance.

I used to be so care-free and your-opinion-is-so-irrelevant-like that now that I find myself in some kind of shell where I’m mostly scared of everything, I think that maybe that girl won’t be back yet. Sometimes I do. Sometimes I don’t. Sometimes I feel like kicking doors and the brave goes on, sometimes I’m scared of everything and I hate every human being. What a creepy, terrifying, horrifying being the human being can be, indeed.

Maybe it’s time slowly, as a newly born, learn to live loved and therefore I know I’ll walk in peace.

(yep, I couldn’t help post some TAN’s stuff.)

Some things may be fun to write about, talk about or even sing about.

I always see bunch of bloggers, hosts, siblings in Christ, even pastors talking about so many things, but at some point in life, words fall short to heal the pain or the grieve we are actually feeling. Struggles have a bittersweet taste once you see it after overcoming it.

But what about those times when not even the Psalms, the poems, the books, the never ending nights weeping heal? there’s such power in reading, being positive, but man, what about those times even when you declare the best, nothing makes sense.

It’s like yelling those words in the middle of a soul civil war in a devastated and bunkrupt landscape. It just echoes in the silence; and that’s it. It’s amazing pushing each other’s up, someimes I rather someone standing in completely silence, right there when it’s needed, but also a person who confronts me when I get too lost on self-pity.

When even though you keep talking to a person whose life, you know, is in God’s hands and you know that it’s up to Him to do what He’s willing to do. It’s really cool as a script but in real life hanging on what might happen, hurts. Or, when coming and going on the every day routine seems like a dizzy carrousel that doesn’t get anywhere, when it’s just staring now and there to people’s gaze on the subway, bus or train, and then fall sleep to repeat, the human race assigned to us.

Once, the storm is gone all the words of hope seems to wake up to the fact, that they are true. But in the while is all about doubt, grieve. A permanent pain the middle of your chest that makes everything harder.

When the gospel sounds a pack of cheesy consolations for the one who live is a full spring day. When it seems that God is just pointing us ready to judge. Even though we know and we had experienced His love, we feel otherwise.

I think that beyond answers, we want relief of the questions, those hurting arrows as a continous punches in our heart.

Today, this day, I can finally say I have peace, abounding in my heart, and I’m obliged not only to pass this to people about Christ faithfulness whenever we are, but also let people know they are free to grieve. We are free to protest and talk to God about our complaints.

There’s still unanswered questions, but there’s peace, and whatever comes, however we feel He’s faithful, being drawn yourself to Him in all the times is the best thing that could ever happen to us, wether we feel it or not.


I’m so ashamed.

My blog has became so moth-eaten and dust-covered that I’m obliged to say I’m terribly sorry.

Or maybe not.

There’s some times in life when you have to stop apologize for being yourself. I’m not talking about that time you made a mistake and “oh well, I beg you pardon” but those time when at some point you never get enough of apoligizing for who you are as a person. Your thoughts, your reactions and way of seeing things.

One thing I’ve found out that most of us, humans, we live in a cloud made of farts. Some may say tat they’re not but oh well, your fart may smell different, with a dishtinguable sound from mine but truth be told: they are all fart clouds. We fall short in recognizing it. It’s ok.

Too many things have crossed my mind lately.

2014 has been the most struggling year in my life so far.

There have been a lot of fears. A lot of forloness. Feeling like throwing everything right outside the window.

Psychologists have been visited. Talks have been talked.

And the thing is dude, is alright what I’m going through for God’s sake. Who can be all positive all the time?

And therefore, what would be the sense of the gospel then?!

In one hand, we have this thing that it seems we have to have it it all together because YOU know everything will be alright and you can’t and you want to kill people. But on the other hand, it’s necessary to keep in mind that humanity is flawed, therefore there will be hurting as long as people exists.

So, after being almost 14 years struggling and staining my bed with tears

hell yeah, it’s alright, it’s ok mourning for my battle with scoliosis, man. I had to leave a lot of dreams thanks to this beautiful struggle.  I clearly deserve it

Lat but not least, for today no video, but I will definitely recommend picking the guitar and leaning on it as you play it and bosom the chords quiver.