Author: Olavia Kite

Summer vacation is over. I’m taking eight classes this fall; I hope I can cope with all of them. If not, I’ll just drop one. I hope I don’t have to, though, even if French seems like a huge monster staring at me with its green snake eyes.

Anyway, our Colombian cold, cloudy, windy, rainy, absolutely non-summery summer is over. Summer, given its lack of obligations, is a good time for young people (like myself) to gather around and party. Partying is supposed to be an extremely fun activity. Party-goers forget all of their daily worries for a couple of hours, meet new people, dance, talk, and drink.

There’s even a lot of food during some of these gatherings. Parties are also useful to meet one’s dream partner… at least one’s temporary dream partner. You know how it goes: you chat with somebody, and that somebody turns out to be quite compatible. Many relationships begin as casual encounters during parties.

Oh yeah, it’s supposed to be one hell of an activity.

Except that I don’t enjoy it.

I wonder why my Personality chip didn’t bring a Party Compatibility Set, or better put, a Big Meeting With Lots of Strangers Your Own Age Performing Activities Which Are Perfectly Normal and Enjoyable for Your Age Compatibility Set. I don’t remember having incredible lots of fun at my friends’ parties. I don’t remember loving school dances, even though I was lucky enough to find a dance partner at some point of the event. Of course they never asked me for my phone number, so I never saw them again.

Another thing: I can’t meet new people. I am socially incapable of meeting people. Especially at large gatherings. Get me into a large gathering and see if I make a new friend. My Score: 0. I really have no idea how I spoke to Minori at Jaime’s birthday party. I mean, I actually came close to him and asked him if he had come alone! When else has that happened in Olavia Kite’s life? NEVER! NEVER EVER! I guess love makes you pretty courageous (even though I had no idea then on what would happen during the rest of my life in Dubuque).

So… Oh yeah, alcohol. One great component of the average party. If you’ve got alcohol, you’ve got the party started, dude. Nice. I don’t drink. No, it’s not forbidden in my house. No, I don’t belong to a religion which prohibits it. I simply dislike it. And I don’t understand why you should get drunk to have fun. Of course, there is a big gap between the sober and the intoxicated. If you’re sober, you’re simply out of it all. So… I’m always out of it all.

And thus, Olavia Kite ends up doing stuff which involves little or no social interaction with people her age.

What if I were, indeed, a freak? Should you care?

I was supposedly going to bed, but then I found this… Check it out.

And I wonder… do they taste different from normal watermelons?

What would be a reason to buy one of these instead of a round one? Would it be that it’s easier to stack in the fridge?

It’s a completely different dimension, I tell you. I hope I don’t go nuts if I go there, overwhelmed by so much tomorrow today. 

I was shown a fragment of a song in Spanish. It was supposed to be the most beautiful thing ever, something touching which should have moved my poor longing heart. However, I did not feel a thing. There was something about distance, too; not a single reaction from my soul. Why don’t I like Spanish as much as I like other languages? I was taught to speak this language since I was born. However, I can’t think of any elements that make it beautiful when I hear it, the way I do with English (it’s always flowing, like wind and water), French (it’s like whispering aloud), Japanese (there is always a sense of tenderness in it), or even Chinese, which I don’t speak yet (it feels like singing all the time).

Spanish is, to me, a neutral yet malleable language. One to play with, like a toy, like building blocks. Acrónimos proves it. There is a lot I think I can do with Spanish, but nothing makes it sound special to me. Maybe funny, maybe clever, but not beautiful. Perhaps that’s why I don’t really appreciate that which is originally written in Spanish. If it’s correctly written, if it follows every rule, it’s fine with me.

Okay, I’m lying. Spanish is a language with an extremely broad vocabulary. The amount of funny expressions one can find in my native language is immense. I used to write a lot of stories in Spanish, looking for the right words just as a kid would look for the right piece of Lego to complete his monster truck. A person who speaks Spanish correctly is such a treasure for me… a delight to hear… but I feel no music in it. And all the lyrics from all those songs which melt people’s hearts… I feel them so hollow… so cliché…

I need some sleep now. I’ll keep thinking about this issue, for I don’t hate all music in Spanish. Just… most of it.