I wanna run away

β–Ά Run boy run – Woodkid

Words might help when communicating, but music is on a whole new level.

Starting it all over again. Creating a new, better life. Having a new image, a lovely but leady personality, building up and definitely keeping silent my past. Going for adventures, on holidays to places nobody ever talks about, getting to know forgotten places and people. Drinking, eating, dancing. Running, until my bones hurt, until I stretch up my muscles. Working hard to get enough money to let me do everything I listed above. Kissing who I want to kiss, punching the face of who deserves so, staying away from drugs. Going for a car ride all night long and telling the people I’ve brought with me everything that comes up to my mind at that moment. Not rushing things up, taking a breath from my routine. Driving, staying out all night long, buying airplanes tickets. Sharing a pair of hearphones, discovering new music. Playing random instruments in the street. Taking a nap, looking at the cieling, or staying on a roof, just watching the dark sky around me, star gazing. Spending the night at the beach and watching its sunset and sunrise in order to photograph them and look at the pictures everytime I feel low. Giving birth to memories. Speaking French, Spanish, Russian. Learning by who feels the need to teach, with no arrogance nor conceit, just for the sake of telling stories. Telling stories, hearing and commenting them. Writing and writing, until my hands and my fingers implore me to stop, even when my brain and my mind are tired. Laughing until my face paralyses and I need to massage my cheeks. Laughing until I cry. Crying and not being judged for it. Crying with who needs to and comfort them and being comforted. Being hugged until I fall asleep in my hugger’s arms and sleeping of a fairly and ristorative sleep, everyday having a beauty rest. Dressing up nice, always being elegant and classy, going to the theatre and to the cinema. Being independent and literally not having to look after anyone. Being truly happy. 

I’m trapped in a life I don’t belong to.

I’ve discovered Twitter after years of snobbing it and it’s awesome

β–Ά Carmen – Stromae

Words might help when communicating, but music is on a whole new level.

More than the lyrics, which anyway I consider effective and smart and catchy, I suggest watching the video of the song I’ve written above. It truly does show what I would really hate to become because of my new discovering.
You’ll forgive this “Buzzfeed-y” title because it really sends out what my mind is on at the moment. Yes, I’ll admit it. I’ve been such a hater of the world of Twitter, constantly attaching fictional signs that had “Instagram > Twitter” (which I still agree on) written on and simply disliking how few letters you can type in a post. I mean, two perfectly constructed sentences and you’ve already finished your room. 

But now, since my best friend unintentionally brainwashed me just after downloading Twitter himself… man, I couldn’t help it. And now, boom baby, it’s been two days since I got it and I’ve already organised every posts I’m going to publish daily until Christmas 2018. 

Maybe it’s the bird, maybe it’s the blueish colour, I don’t know. But I’ve never been happier of discovering a Social. Neither Snapchat itself (which now I consider the devil of apps and the hell of photography) made me so satisfied. Birds are better than dog filters. 

I’ll stay loyal to the one and only love of my life, Instagram, but, if you readers are on the fence, “Should I get it or not?”, listen to me: JUST DO IT! And then, feel free to follow me on there. Having a character limit makes me feel under pressure and therefore I’m even funnier.

Plus, I’d like to add that I’ve not been paid by all the social medias I’ve quoted (is that even possible?) nor by Nike. Potential product placements everywhere.


@layalke 🐍

Life weariness

I do apologise in advance for the complete mess my mind gave birth to. It’s more of an experiment, a sort of brainstorming, whose text won’t be revised neither corrected nor read in the meanwhile. I know it’s hard to be appreciated, but I feel like it needs to be a thing, it needs to exist, as incomplete and chaotic as it is.

I’ve come to the conclusion that it’s way easier to get sad than to try and be happy. The latter sentence is the whole point of this post, I’ve decided to write it first in order to catch anyone’s attention. Likes and views aren’t as many as what you all made me used to in those three initial months. You’ve just seen me throwing a little rent in a subtle way, just to slightly complain about how my blog is going. Oh, yes, I forgot to tell you: it’s 11:53 pm of any Thursday and, since I’m running out of ideas, I’ll just brainstorm any sentences which come up to my mind. I’m not even starting new lines because I’d love you to read what I’m writing just as I’m doing it, confusedly but remotely logic. Enough of my yammering and back to the beginning: I really envy truly happy people. I do. Because… how? But, most importantly: why? The angry part of my personality is the first one to answer (“Because they’ve never had to go through any rough moments during the course of their life.) Well, you’re probably right and I’d be tended to utterly agree with you. I mean, every truly happy person (or who called themeselves so) I’ve ever met has always lived an amazing life and still does. When they tell me about what they consider “problems”, I’d like to punch them in the face and make them live just 1/4 of what I’ve been forced to face. That’s the same logic of those parents (mine included) that tell their children: “Oh baby love, think about African or Asian kids… they’re starving and would die to eat what you’re throwing a tantrum for”. I’ve always hated those whimsical kids and I’m shamed I was one of them for a brief period of my life. Anyway: I was going to contradict myself and say something like: “Yeah, my anger says so but actually I believe happy people are brave enough not to be put down”, but I’m not going to say it because that’s not what I think. It’s not that I hate happy people, I would never hate something I aim to. I just won’t understand them. Why me and not you? Why do you have the chance to live the perfect life and I was taken away that possibility? That automatically leads to another important issue: if you think that your past doesn’t and shouldn’t define yourself, quit reading NOW. It’s o b v i o u s that your life, God, destiny, call it as you want, has never made you think about suicide. Because, trust me, when you’re close to doing such an obnoxious and lame act, you’ve really had enough. And, of course, since the day you where saved (by another person or by yourself), you’ll never be the same and that will always affect your way of thinking, of speaking, of apologising, of arguing, of living. By saying that, I wasn’t trying to get your pity or become the new “suicide girl“. I was just trying to tell a story. The story of an unhappy person who is tremendously jealous of the happy.   Could I be any more selfish and self-centered? I highly doubt so.

@layalke 🐍

And then there were none

β–Ά Hunt you down – The Hit House

Words might help when communicating, but music is on a whole new level.

The title of the theatre piece I played in yesterday, inspired by “10 little niggers” by Agatha Christie. Yeah guys, I’m a theatre kid and proud to be. I always encourage everyone to take drama classes because they can change your perspective of a life, if you work with the right people. And, by right, I mean amusing and expert people, able to have fun with and, still, able to let you learn something.

My drama mates are my second family and I couldn’t imagine living a day without knowing them. Our relationship is not clingy at all, but we lived so many moments together and made so many unforgettable memories that you realise you simply need it. Therefore, I’m already looking forward to starting to take classes again. This whole summer will be a little less amazing because our course is suspended.

Anyway, it doesn’t mean we’re not going to keep in touch: we’re still hanging out. I freaking love them.

Now, let’s talk about the performance itself. Of course there is always something that is going to be wrong: someone could skip their line, or hit another actor by mistake, or also hit and make something fall, break and make a noise… the most important thing is to keep going and act as you would in real life, always by conforming to the period you’re living in.

Yes guys, living, because acting is not pretending to be Mr. Nobody, is being Mr. Nobody. In fact, when everytime I’m on a stage, I’m not Alessia anymore and I don’t feel like I am. I just belong to my character and its mind. I think as it would. I act as it would. That’s also why I’m not a big fan of learning a script by heart: you need to think the words you say in order to feel them and make them true.

For example, yesterday I portayed Mrs. Brent, an old, religious, old-fashioned and old maid and, even though Alessia is young, modern and an atheist, there was Mrs. Emily Brent on that stage. In more than one occasion I made the sign of cross, something I wouldn’t do even if I was being tortured, but it just felt natural and correct.

Kids, theatre is basically everything you need in order to open yourself and be extroverted. It teaches you the proper diction, how to use your vocal range and your voice, how to make others notice you, how to solve a situation you weren’t prepared for, how to face inexpected moments you may go through. It teaches you to laugh, to cry, to express anger and joy. It teaches you to live and to die. And you learn to listen to others, to hear them err and rejoice because they manage to do what they aim to. 

It’s a world you enter that will never disappoint you.

I’m proud of what I’ve reached but, most importantly, I’m proud and passionate of what is going to happen and I have the good fortune to share it with awesome people.

Two of my mates and I were given this same flower by one of our teachers.

@layalke 🐍

Everybody wants to be a poet

β–Ά Everybody wants to be a cat – The Aristocats

Words might help when communicating, but music is on a whole new level.

Poems save my soul and writing them lift the weight of it I have to carry everyday. They’re my touchstone, my benchmark, my compass. Having written almost 20 poems in less than 16 years of life probably doesn’t make me a poet, I’m too young and inexperienced. Maybe one day I will, but who knows… this competition is ruthless. Everybody wants to be a poet and thinks they actually are. So, that begs the question: what makes you a poet and, above all, what makes you better than another one?
I guess it depends on the readers. What can make someone feel something, isn’t sure to be making another person feel the same. People are so changeable and fickle, different.

Well, of course, you can base your criteria to judge who’s the best in this area by analyzing the form, the external appearance of their poems: but, big news for the ones who loves to write prose and their idea of poem isn’t stuck in the 14th century with Chaucer, poets stopped caring about how a poem is formally written since last century. You can literally say “The sun is shining and the sky is blue” and, if you give it a title and decide that’s a poem, it is. Isn’t that terrific? 

Well, not really. At least, not in my opinion. I take the view that poems are made for those who are truly willing to understand them, not for those who need to learn them because their English teacher told them to. The world of poetry is a world apart and, call me selective, for the chosen few only. You don’t need Jesus from the Heavens to be told that you’re one of them, you just need to attend to it the majority of your time. It needs to be your passion, what makes you truly feel, what you live for and of, basically. I don’t think I’m being too exaggerated because that’s what I do on a regular basis.

Poetry is silent, something which involves your mind, your soul, your heart, and only eventually your fingers (to hold your pen). Poetry doesn’t need advertising. Poetry is innate, but needs to be understood and supported by whom believes in its power.

In conclusion… okay, write a few verses and fill your Instagram bio with terms such as poet , living for poetry, etcera… But don’t expect to be taken seriously.

@layalke 🐍

From the Gospel according to me

β–Ά Take me to church – Hozier

Words might help when commuicating, but music is on a whole new level.

Prepare yourselves for a random vent I wrote a few days ago. I woul’ve liked to go on in a deeper way and be less “calm”, but, you know… the Internet. Also, you will pardon me but my least classy and elegant part came to light whilst writing (you’ll find a couple of swear words). This is a topic which really is close to my heart, 100% close. The closest something has ever been.

Do I think religions shouldn’t exist? Yes. Do I think God exists? No. Do I believe religions are nothing but a giant media created in order to control the mass? Of course I do. Am I willing to respect anyone’s religion, as long as they respect me and my choice of not having one? Yes, I am.

That’s the big difference between sensible and hateful people. If you’re intelligent enough to be following basic human rights (such as equality, liberty, personal security…), you’re doing your job quite well. You don’t disrespect others’ culture and of course you can demand others not to disrespect yours.

But, in the very moment you tell an atheist: “I’ll pray for you”, or, for instance, an atheist says: “I think every muslim should die”… well, shame on you (and on your family & on your cow). By doing so, you’re just contribuiting to increase the big circle of hate we’re in, and that’s really not what humanity needs right now. We’re already messed up, we don’t need anyone’s bullshit to make us angrier.

I’d love to share what I think here: religions can have both positive and negative sides, and you decide if you’re a believer or not only by choosing which side you’re mostly affected by. For example, those negative sides I saw have frightened my so much I can’t see the world of religions otherwise: that’s why you should read the Bible and the Qur’an. Some of their passages are horrific, mainly because those books were written by several men thousands of years ago, when their view of life was still uncivilized and not as developed as ours. Their thoughts about women, children and homosexuals… hell no. I, being a teenager girl part of the LGBT community, cannot stand anyone who still believes those are the doctrines we should follow nowadays. The idea that I’m deserving hell because of my sins is a lie meant to make me a slave of those in power.

About the positive sides: of course, if you’re a believer, you need religion to bear the unpleasant events that may occur in your life. Perhaps, believing that in a few decades you’ll be living peacefully and in a stress-free way, with the people you’ve lost, might help you going through bad periods and I totally get that: in a way, being a devotee could help me as well. But, again, that’s another profound difference: I make myself the strength I need to survive. I’m strong enough not to need anyone else who promises me some sort of awesome and amazing life afterwards. I need certainty, I want to live this (and, supposedly, only) life the best I can. I guess that’s both a responsible and wise point of view. I want to live the best life I can to make sure that the people who come after me will have their chance to be shown a world a little less shitty than what I was introduced to.

In conclusion: I hate what religions entail in the real world (terrorism and wars, prejudices and bias… don’t try to tell me that religions aren’t involved), I highly dislike those worshippers who call themselves so just for a matter of traditions / obligation but still, just because I want to be a decent human being, I respect those who respect me, wherever they come from and whatever their religions and culture are. “Live and let live”, everyone be ready to tatoo this on their mind. Peace&Love folks!

@layalke 🐍

The singing butler

“It’s so simple, my dear friend! Read her eyes and look into her soul: she wants you to belong to her and she wants to belong to you!”

Those words got stuck in John’s head, and they had been doing so since their speaker, Mr V, pronounced them. And now, as he proceeded to dance with her and had to search for her face because she kept her eyes down, John realised he did agree with Mr V. Mr V was completely right and he understood that when it was too late. 

“Please Annie… Look at me.” He begged in vain.

Graceful and elegant, she continued to dance on the top of her bare feet, careful not to step onto the incredibly clear puddle next to her. 

“Mrs Annie… You may desire an umbrella to hold!” Her old servant said.

“Why should have I? It isn’t raining.” She whispered. Or maybe she screamed. John couldn’t really tell: when you’re in love, everything sounds like a harmless and soft whispering.

“Annie, I implore you… Look at me. One last time.” John’s voice was just like a broken record player. 

Her breasts against his, her velvet glove on his shoulders, her face turned around, her hair wrapped up, her bare back and her shapely backside. She was the most genuine and charming creature John’s eyes had ever had the pleasure to see.

“My friend… I’m willing to lend you my umbrella! Just, for the Queen’s sake, stop it! You’re going to get ill, believe me.”

“Sir, what are you talking about?”. John was quite perplexed: before Annie’s governant, now Mr V… What did it all mean?

Mr V said something that John couldn’t hear because Annie dragged him away. Finally, but still keeping her face distant, she told him: “Now they won’t disturb us”.

They were far enough to be kissing and not be seen, so John seized that moment and decided to stop their dance and lend towards the woman’s lips. He had been telling himself: “Okay, now I’m stopping… now I am…” when he realised he couldn’t, he just wasn’t able to. His mind didn’t control anymore his legs, they were moving by themselves and this paralysed John’s features. 

“Do not try to stop, you won’t”. Annie said effortlessly.

The last thing John’s eyes saw were her, the woman he had always loved and cared for. He couldn’t move; Annie was his mastermind, John was her puppet. At the end, he really did belong to her.

@layalke 🐍