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[esuemmanuel]

“Tan enfermos de realidad que nada dejan a la imaginación.”

— So sick with reality that nothing is left to the imagination.

[esuemmanuel]

“Todo lo que tengo le pertenece a la Madre Tierra. Nada es mío, ni siquiera el cuerpo que me viste y que Ella utiliza como herramienta para hacerse presente en todo lo que realizo; ésta es la verdad de la humanidad.”

—

Somos de Ella, de Madre Tierra.

Everything I have belongs to Mother Earth. Nothing is mine, not even the body that clothes me, and that she uses as a tool to make herself present in everything I do; this is the truth of humanity.

[esuemmanuel]

“He pensado mucho, demasiado… desde que tú. He ahí la razón de toda desventura, pues al amar no se necesita a la mente trabajando. Lo que hay que usar es el corazón y su falta evidente de cordura, pues nada dura si pensamos que deber ser como nos dicta la mente para tocar la fibra demente del amor.”

— I have thought too much, too much… since you. Therein lies the cause of all unhappiness, for in loving one does not need the mind at work. What is needed is the heart and its obvious lack of reason, for nothing lasts if we think we must be as the mind dictates in order to touch the insane fiber of love.

[esuemmanuel]

“Hay amores que se quedan en la orilla de una playa sin nombre. Amores que no saben por dónde seguir. Amores que no se entienden, que se callan las cosas, que se guardan secretos para no herir. Amores de primavera que se vuelven de hojas secas antes de alcanzar el otoño de su vida. Amores que se ahogan de arena. Amores que no hacen nada por sentir.”

— There are loves that remain on the shore of a nameless beach. Loves that do not know which way to go. Loves that do not understand each other, that keep things quiet, that keep secrets so as not to hurt. Spring loves that become dry leaves before reaching the fall of their lives. Loves that drown in the sand. Loves that do not feel anything.

[esuemmanuel]

“Hay días en los que sólo piensas en escribir, en dejar pasar el tiempo y la vida, en abandonarte a la nada del pensamiento que se funde con la sensación que te lleva como el viento lo hace con la hoja seca.”

— There are days when you think only of writing, of letting time and life pass by, of surrendering to the nothingness of thought, which merges with the sensation that carries you away like the wind with a dry leaf.

[esuemmanuel]

“La inexpresividad del que no tiene nada que sentir.”

— The inexpressiveness of the one who has nothing to feel.

[esuemmanuel]

“Qué triste es que se cree una historia acerca de tu persona que nada tiene que ver con la realidad de las cosas y, peor aún, que haya gente que se la crea.”

—

De historias, chismes y otras tonterías.

How sad it is that people believe a story about you that has nothing to do with reality, and even worse, that there are people who believe it.

[esuemmanuel]

“A veces pareciera un pecado encerrarse en una habitación llena de nada y emprender en una hoja blanca el vuelo a ese otro mundo lleno de palabras que se transforman en universos colmados de posibilidades. A veces pareciera que es un castigo amar estar enclaustrado, con la soledad y el silencio de amigos, mientras la vida allá afuera continúa como esa manecilla del reloj que no deja de marcar la pauta de un tiempo imaginario. A veces pareciera que se debe ser de una manera para encajar en el mundo, para encontrarle un sentido a la propia existencia, para entender que se ha venido a ser alguien o algo. ¿Qué clase de realidad es esa? ¡Yo me bajo!”

— Sometimes it seems to be a sin to lock oneself in a room full of nothingness and to escape on a white sheet of paper to that other world full of words that become universes full of possibilities. Sometimes it seems that it is a punishment to love being cloistered, with the loneliness and silence of friends, while life out there continues like the hand of the clock that never stops marking the pattern of an imaginary time. Sometimes it seems that you have to be a certain way to fit into the world, to find a meaning to your own existence, to understand that you have come to be someone or something. What kind of reality is that? I’m getting out!

[esuemmanuel]

I think when we talk about love and attachment, we're really referring to the emotions we've invested together, rather than the person themselves. A healthy attachment isn't inherently wrong, but the problem lies in attaching yourself to the idealized image you have of them. In the name of love and attachment, you inadvertently strip away the person's natural right to evolve, change, and grow. You want them to stay the same for your sake, and you fear any sort of change. In essence, your love becomes a prison.

It’s important to allow the person we care for most to simply be. Detachment in any relationship is freedom—freedom from the cage you've built around both the person and the blossoming love. It means allowing the other person to follow their own path while loving them fully. It means giving them the space to explore new dreams and preferences. And sometimes, it means letting go when necessary. People are vulnerable to change and life's twists, but love isn't—if we learn to separate it from the chains we've created.

-Sabina Yesmin

[esuemmanuel]

Me alegra que escribas, que pintes, que cantes.. porque, porque personas como nosotros; (con huesos de sueño y piel de suspiros) necesitamos del arte, es nuestra vida misma.

[esuemmanuel]

El que escribe y su locura.

Calma, corazón, calma. Ya hemos llegado. Nos espera el destino, la incertidumbre y la nostalgia. Pero, calma… mientras te protejan mis manos, nada te dañará, ni siquiera la palabra. Estamos solos en este mundo, nadie nos acompaña. Y, sin embargo, las hojas; ellas nos hablan, bailan frente a nosotros, seduciendo a nuestras sombras, enamorando a nuestras miserias, provocando a nuestras heridas y…

[esuemmanuel]

To read and write you have to have an open mind, without it, forget about being free.

Para leer y para escribir se tiene que tener la mente abierta, sin ésta, olvidémonos de ser libres.

[esuemmanuel]

I will never understand the cowardice, much less the closed-mindedness towards one's own glory that freedom of thought grants.

Nunca entenderé la cobardía y mucho menos la cerrazón hacia la propia gloria que otorga la libertad de pensamiento.

[esuemmanuel]

There are people who are so used to the comfort of the prison they have built for themselves that when they are tempted by freedom, they tend to dare to go out a little, just to deprive themselves of the wonderful discomfort of leaving their comfort zone, and so they return to their prison and avoid going out again. For these people there is no happiness, they do not believe in it. In their minds, there is only comfort as a synonym for pleasure or peace (nothing could be further from reality). In reality, they are cowardly people who are afraid to live, but most of all, they are afraid to experience life and all that it entails. Honestly, I don't like people who are emotionally cowardly; those who are incapable of giving themselves the opportunity to question what is inside them or to analyze themselves through art. In the case of writing, no matter how the word is used, a coward will never be able to get out of himself if he does not dare to break his taboos, his irrational ideas and his denying emotions. It is precisely because of the freedom that writing demands that it is an art, because it is a tool that helps to express the human psyche. So why lock yourself in the prison of denial, of fear and of the poison that destroys the intention to express your inner voice? Why lock yourself up in absolute silence?

Hay personas que están tan acostumbradas a la comodidad de la prisión que se han construido que, cuando se ven tentadas por la libertad, tienden a atreverse a salir un poco, sólo para privarse de la maravillosa incomodidad de salir de su zona de comfort, y así vuelven a su prisión y evitan volver a salir. Para estas personas, la felicidad no existe, no creen en ella. En sus mentes sólo existe la comodidad como sinónimo de placer o paz (nada más lejos de la realidad). En realidad, son personas cobardes que tienen miedo a vivir, pero sobre todo, tienen miedo a experimentar la vida y todo lo que conlleva. Sinceramente, no me gustan las personas que son cobardes emocionalmente hablando; aquellas que son incapaces de darse la oportunidad de cuestionarse lo que llevan dentro o de analizarse a través del arte. En el caso de la escritura, no importa cómo se utilice la palabra, un cobarde nunca podrá salir de sí mismo si no se atreve a romper sus tabúes, sus ideas irracionales y sus emociones negadoras. Es precisamente por la libertad que exige la escritura que es un arte, ya que es una herramienta que ayuda a la expresión de la psique humana. Entonces, ¿por qué encerrarse en la prisión de la negación, del miedo y del veneno que destruye la intención de expresar la voz se lleva dentro? ¿Por qué encerrarse en el silencio absoluto?

[esuemmanuel]

If we were given eyes, it was to see, just as we were given a soul to feel and a sensitivity to point out what hurts us, because what hurts is not right… and must be made known!

Si se nos dieron ojos ha sido para ver, así como se nos dio alma para sentir y sensibilidad para señalar lo que nos duele, porque lo que duele no está bien… ¡y se tiene que hacer saber!

[esuemmanuel]

Let us let ourselves flow into the pages. Perhaps in this way we will find a little peace.

Dejémosnos fluir en las hojas. Quizás así encontremos un poco de paz.

[esuemmanuel]

Screams that translate into words; lines of ink, unburdened by unhinged passion, the same one that is inevitable to contain with the mouth closed.

Gritos que se traducen en palabras; líneas de tinta, desahogada por la pasión trastornada, la misma que es inevitable contener con la boca cerrada.