Yes, I Get Excited For Books

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Call it whatever you want to call it, but I love the feeling of getting a new book in the mail, especially a book that I’ve been waiting to read for a long time.

Allegiant, the third book on the Divergent series by Veronica Roth, was released today.

It’s the first time in my life I read a book the day it was released and let me tell you, the feeling is pretty sweet.

I have a Kindle and it’s useful when I travel, but nothing beats the wonderfulness of holding a brand new book in your hands and knowing that the rest of the world is also reading it for the first time with you, today.

If you are into the whole young adult fiction genre and enjoyed the Hunger Games series, you definitely should start reading the Divergent series. You can thank me later.

My Battle With Coffee

Photo & Editing by Cristina Nogueras ©

Photo & Editing by Cristina Nogueras ©

Hi, my name is Cristina and I’m fighting coffee addiction. I’ve seen loved ones suffer from caffeine deprivations and go through immense trouble to get a hold of coffee in the mornings. I’ve seen the sleepy eyes, the vacant stares and the tamed spirit that can only come from the absence of coffee.

I’ve never liked coffee. I think the first thing I ever ordered from Starbucks was a white chocolate frappuccino, just because it did not taste like coffee. How did I survive college? Diet coke perhaps? That’s still a mystery to me.

Now, in the real working world, I find myself fighting against the urge to get a cup of coffee every day. My reasoning?

  • It’s expensive to get the coffee I like (Not that I’m drinking gold, it just adds up)

  • I do not want to be addicted to coffee and then be unable to function without it

I think I’m losing this battle. I’m so much more productive and motivated when I drink coffee, I hate it. Why can’t I just wake up all sunshine and glitter every morning ready to hit the ground running? No, I have to depend on this warm and aromatic substance to fuel my system and power my brain. Then they have to come and make it pumpkin spice lattes and all these other alterations that make it actually wonderful to drink and so much more harder to resist it.

Is this it? Is this how I know I am now a real grown-up?

The 2013 Museum of Art & History

The other day, when I was at the museum with my dad, I kept thinking how did people have the time to do so many beautiful things? Thinking of all the tapestries, hand made stuff and what-not. I thought, that’s right, they did not have internet. I think of all the wonderful things I could create if I was not busy liking pictures on Instagram and indulging in Netflix.

What will our generations have to show? Thinking about a museum for our generation, it will either be online or in a physical space full of touchscreens. Don’t get me wrong, it has the potential to be pretty cool. I already have a few ideas for whoever wants to design it, give me a call. But seriously, how can we top what has been left before us?

I wonder if past generations thought that their creations were not museum worthy. I wonder if it’s only time that makes them amazing.

“Oh hey, here’s this tapestry I just made*”.

Nobody cares.

“Oh hey, here’s this tapestry my great, great, great, great grandmother made back in 2013”.

“Oh wow, that’s truly fascinating”.

Boom.

 

 

* For the record, I don’t make tapestries.

Also, I do believe that we have a lot to show, don’t get me wrong. It’s just we have different things to show and I can’t help but wonder about it.

Peace, Love & Diet Coke.

“¡Papi, lo logramos!” / “Dad, we made it!”

These words were the first words my dad heard when he woke up from surgery on a day like today, eight years ago.

It is impossible to reduce to one post all of the events leading up to that day and everything else that followed, but one thing I can say is that I couldn’t feel more grateful today. It’s easy to take things for granted; life is one of those things. We think we are indestructible and that no one can knock us down, then life happens and our body starts to fail.

Organ donation had never been something that I really thought about. When I got my driver’s license I was afraid of registering as an organ donor because I thought that if I had an accident it would affect my treatment (MYTH). Then my dad was told that in order to save his life he would need a new liver and everything changed. I think about this every single time people say they need a new liver because they drank so much over the weekend.

Truth is, my dad owes his life to a stranger in Florida who passed away and donated his liver. Whether it was that person’s choice or his family’s, we don’t know. Still, life is life and I’m grateful.

Life is weird and it changes its course as it pleases, without making announcements or informing threats. I’ve been grateful to have my dad with me for eight “extra” years and I can only hope that the number keeps increasing.

Needless to say, I’m now a registered organ donor.

Think about it.

To learn more about organ donation, click here.

Currently, more than 120,000 men, women and children are awaiting organ transplants in the United States. 

Scraps of Paper

Little by little I want to share randoms thoughts in old notebooks, napkins or scraps of paper. Those old thoughts you just needed to write down in the moment that did not make much sense at the time, but now shine back at you in retrospect.

So here it goes.

“There is just that much you can control, there is just that much that you can hold back. Life can’t be amazing unless you give it a chance. Your fears can tie you back in ways you can’t really understand. At the end of the day it’s what you feel that’s real, the walls you’ve built and the timelines you’ve set are all fake; mere guidelines in a quest of finding happiness. Yes, you might get hurt and yes you will be sad again; but why let that stop you? Release can liberate you in more ways than one.” – Cristina Nogueras © Jaunary 9, 2013.

Treasures

We all have scars, we all have pasts,

Stories that have been told,

Faces that have been forgotten,

Kisses that have been lost,

And smiles that still haunt us.

We all have footsteps spread around,

Footsteps that have been erased,

Marks that have been preserved.

We all have things we’ve left behind,

Memories that still ache,

Screams we still wish to release,

Tears we have shed in days far gone.

We all have holes that have made us whole,

Scars that have made us human,

Aches that have made us feel,

And tears that have taught us to love.

Because a love so pure can only come like that,

Polished and refined by wounds we still carry.

Because some things we forget,

Some things we carry forever,

Some things we just let go,

And some things become treasures forever.

Written by Cristina Nogueras © September 4, 2013.

From the Caribbean Coast to the Jersey Shore

Summer days down the beach in Manasquan, NJ

Summer days down the beach in Manasquan, NJ

So this summer, I joined a frat. Not really, but yeah.

I remember my family’s reaction when I told them I had decided to join a summer beach house down the Jersey Shore (Manasquan, to be precise).

“Isn’t that a crazy TV show?”

Well, yes.

It’s hard to grasp the whole Jersey Shore culture when you are not from the area. Having grown up in Puerto Rico, you have access to beautiful beaches all year round and it’s hard to understand why you would need to take a 2 hour train ride every Friday to go share a house with about 16 other people.

I was dragged into this craziness thanks to my boyfriend who had done the summer house the previous summer and I am so thankful that he insisted that I joined because this summer goes down as one of the best summers in my books (it would be a tie with that summer I went to a camp in Switzerland and then studied in Boston).

Sure, it was an exhausting summer, full of traveling and activities, but man was it nice to wake up and walk less than a minute to the beach and lay there under the sun. Living in the city, you tend to forget the simple pleasures of nature, like the ability to see the stars at night (I saw about three shooting stars this summer!).

As I sit now pondering about the summer while I look out the window and see fall almost at my doorstep, it strikes me again how fast time flies. It’s time for pumpkins, boots and scarves. It’s a bittersweet feeling, but it’s ok, because I can handle bittersweet.

Here’s to summer nights and clear skies

to kiddie pools and inflatable buddies

to summer tans and summer burns

to summer cocktails and fried food

to laying on the sand and dancing on the roof

to burger grilling and breakfast rolls

to wizard sticks and mario kart

Here’s to sunshine and laughs

Summer 2013, thanks for the memories.

My little art creation in the sand

My little art creation in the sand

Getting flowers at the office is every girl’s dream, right?

These short lines came to me today when my dear coworker received a bouquet of flowers in the office from a guy who is trying to win her back. It made me think of all the men out there that think flowers fix everything and I wanted to share some knowledge with them.

 

Flowers should not say “I’m sorry”.

Flowers should say “I appreciate you, you make me smile and I want to therefore make you smile today”.

Flowers shouldn’t be band-aids.

Flowers should make you smile, not cause your heart to twist and sink.

 

Dear men, don’t let flowers be the last resort. 

At least they're pretty, right?

At least they’re pretty, right?

What are nineteen years?

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You don’t remember a lot when you are little, but for some reason your mind captures random bits of pieces to preserve almost intact. It’s not usually remarkable images, but simple daily smiles.

Nineteen years ago, I remember being taken to my “Titi Gladys” house for some unexpected play time. I don’t remember the worried look in my parents’ eyes or the tears hidden in everyone’s faces, because when you are four years old you don’t notice the bad things that much.

My mother’s brother, my dearest uncle, passed away 19 years ago in a car accident. Hard to say how much a four-year-old girl can remember, it makes me even a little angry that memories rely so much on age. I wish I had more memories with him, but I’m left with bits and pieces of an unfinished puzzle, a little girl too young to mourn.

Then just like that, I see myself quietly opening his bedroom door and jumping playfully to wake him up.

Rest in peace tío, I love you.

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