Pasado ya pasó.

I don't cry for joy nor grief, i cry to make people understand that it's not my fault. I use it as a weapon of a mass destruction.

I've done loads of nothing lately. I've got lost in my mind, tried to start my coffee rehab and get rid of the past. It's amazingly hard to forget something you carry around every day, all the time and everywhere. So i burned all the photos, the words and bridges. Chao, pasado.

But what then when i'll be part of the past? If everyone burns their past, they will burn photos of me, and letters and the bridges that brings them to me. Maybe i wasn't special after all. Maybe i just thought something that wasn't real, and got disappointed.

At least i left my mark to Chilean AFS: apparently i'm the first openly gay AFS-student in Chile, so beat that.