A strange place to be

I am in love
but with no one


I am unsure what this means. I have somehow amalgamated each three-line text, look in the street and flutter of the heart into a being that, right now, does not exist. Sometimes he's tall with a reddish beard (keep the beard, dye the hair), but most often he's only two days unshaven and is dating one of my platonic girlfriends. Sometimes he's dressed like a slob. Last night he spoke French and tutored chemistry students in a post-ironic coffee shop.

Should I be grateful that I wake up in love or heartbroken that I fall asleep alone?

Sometimes, it really sucks having a blog.

Sometimes, there are feelings inside of me that even verbal discussion cannot rectify. Written language is far more distilled, more real. I'm sure someone somewhere would tell me I'm wrong. But either way, I can't even write out these emotions; the risk of peo- no, specific people taking my words out of context is too great.

I am BLOGGEDLY OPRESSED, PAINFULLY LOVESICK, and DESPERATELY TIRED OF MY PATH.

xoxo,

The "HAPPIEST" Activist

Longwinded Mantra

Line by Baz Luhrmann, design by me.

Oito Dias de Português

Portugal is hard to describe in words. Or, rather, it would be unfair to explain it in words exclusively. When I returned from Paris last year--feels like last week--I was so heartbroken I could literally cry on cue. Luckily, my feelings this time are of immense fulfillment and hope for future visits. I am, without a doubt, returning to Portugal before I go anywhere else in Europe. (I say that now, of course.) It is a perfect place. A place of both serenity and energy, of love and sadness and longing. The Portuguese have a name for this infectious emotional ebb: saudade. It is why they sing Fado, why they can sit and watch a sunset every night of their lives, and why they never leave.

The Alfama district, dating back to the fifteenth century.

At Cascais, outside Lisbon. There were dancers in the square, and of course we joined in at one point.
Sunset for the eurovacationers in Cascais.

Even the dogs feel saudade. (Alfama)

This picture is relevant for some reason. I promise.

In Portugal, this is called, "a wedgie." Except, their wedgies can occur in crystalline Atlantic waters in the rocky coast of the Algarve.

Maria's boyfriend and I having an intense staring match.Plaia Dona Ana at low tide.

My favorite girl, Carolina, at Costa de Caparica.

In Lagos. Local red wine, three courses and a thick tuna steak in a tomato broth. One of the best meals I've ever eaten.
Sunset in the Algarve.
The Pradas and Bo's leg at sunset at Cos(h)ta de Caparica.
All night long (all night)!

"Bo, hurry the hell up" face. (Lisbon)

In the female tween Myspace vernacular, this is "< 3"

The view at Sintra's nothing to write home about, really.
Posing at the Torré de Belém.
"Quick, let's sit on these tables!" Sin, sin. (That's Portuguese, not holy-speak.)

To conclude. Lisbon by night, the fire that burns inside of me and will never extinguish.

Love

Love is the weirdest thing. I've been in a few relationships, and have felt "in love," but I don't think I truly understood what It was until this past summer. The few weeks following my return from Europe all I could think about, write about, talk about, was love. Love is everything: love is motivation, love is pain, love is happiness, love is physical satiation.

Time has passed, though, and I've surrendered Love and am allowing It to do what It wants.

I've been dating someone for about six weeks now, and there isn't any spark. There's comfort, and we get along well. I see it as a shared journey in search of Love, which we will not find in each other but are sharpening our senses and preparing our minds for when It does come.

Today, Valleywag posted a series of accidentally-published Facebook messages obtained during a recent security goof on the website. No matter how "public" our culture seems to be--reality shows, webcams, blogs like the one you're reading--the truth is rarely told. These messages touched me, even through their grammatical errors, enough that I cried. I've included a few below.

Below: I feel like I've been through this exact scenario, but was never honest enough with myself to express it.


Below: They're the lyrics from Blink182's "Down," and end with a wrenching addendum in Spanish.
Below: Fairly certain this is from a young boy in England. Don't we all want to be told this?
Below: This one made me cry. Not a single period in the entire letter, which makes me wonder if the lack of grammar adds to the emotional effect. This is clearly a man in love.
How many of us experience this kind of love? Maybe I'm naive to even consider this Love, but I know I want to have this. And, likely, not everyone finds It in their lifetime.