You're P.P

  Few years ago, when someone asked you for contacts, they would ask for your phone number and to get friendly faster they would ask for your Facebook name. It was such an embarrassing duration when your friend's FB name was "Toto Mimi Cool." By time – or to be more accurate: when 25^th of January 2011 hit – everybody started to write status to document their opinions, not to share how they feel anymore; so they cared to write their real names….. Copyrights, you know! Afterwards everybody got tired of FB, and Twitter was declared as "the social media restricted to cool folks." That was how far you were exposed to the world, yet faceless.

  As more events occurred, Twitter started to be a live broadcast in simple sentences while FB was where you set your conclusions and visions. In a blink of an eye, social media became a state of free journalism – and by "free" I mean no financial cost. Twitter: you choose a cool fictional name and put up your FB link in the description which has your real name, just to seem professionally awesome. Now, we may say the majority of the society have FB accounts, and some have your name and your last name. That point when you realize there are many people out there. Too many people, that there is a probability that someone shares your full name, but with different features and of course different life events. Subsequently, you're not asked for your FB name anymore. You're asked if you upload your picture like norms, or you upload your favorite actress', cartoon character's picture like……. insecure kids. That was how far you were exposed to the world, hesitant about publishing your face.

  Uploading your picture used to need your parents consent. Don't dare to deny it, please. Especially if you are a girl. When you asked to put up your school yearbook picture in which you looked young and plainly innocent with your uniform (no sexism at all), they would give you the worst ideas for long-lasting nightmares. "They will crop your beautiful face and put it on a naked body!" That was how far you were exposed with fear deep inside.

  We -girls- will never get it why you should shame a girl if a picture of her is apparently photo-shopped and made by someone who wants to condemn God's desire to create her as a girl. Reminder: A girl is human who "needs" to use technology as much as you "want;" so you have no right to limit her internet usage.

  Aside the assumptions, we don't have those questions anymore. Or I may subside "we" and talk on personal perspective: Girls don't fear using their actual pictures anymore. Brave? Cool. But where's courage in posting a picture of me in hot shorts and cropped tee? I have friends who would understand freedom? Awesome. The thing is, girls pose as if they were models. They all wanna be one! But if you afford them the job, they will call it off immediately. So why do they do it? To gain confidence? Why would she post it public? She set it private? Still it is shown, you know! It's not because you can't zoom in, it is called "private." I believe in personal preferences and I judge no one. My point here is, when did girls become so comfortable with limitless exposure? I am just asking when and why. I am not disrespecting them. I am searching for answers.

  Basically, the picture thing isn't about girls only. Guys too! They favor their shirtless pictures or that sweaty shot at the gym. I don't know if this work out for them to be admired by a girl because of his picture. A picture! Some say "to win those abs you work freakishly hard, don't mock that!" I am not mocking and it doesn't make any difference with me anyway. The point is guys now care about their appearances and if they look cool in that filter or not, like their profile picture shouldn't be their priority, right?
That's when we hit the core: We're entirely exposed and some of us break the barriers, because they just feel happy to say where they are, what they are eating and with whom they are enjoying the day and they MUST prove it with a picture.

  Away from genders, when did this flip happen? When did everybody feel so comfortable to post MANY pictures of them? Why did we fear that before? Everything has consequences, where are the consequences of oh-I-love-how-I-look-let's-post-it-and-let-haters-hate? What is the importance in that to be a priority or phenomenon or I may call it epidemic? It's good to see your colleagues fresh and pretty, but what about this hurting them in the future? What about the spectrum of exposure? Shouldn't it be in consideration?

Why? What? She? He? Fear? Hack? Technology? Judgment? Society? So….. who's first, the chicken or the egg?

  The fact is: whether you're a girl or a guy, you're not on social media because you are who you're. It is not because you are grateful to have a life which offers extra time to post about it. You're not a private property! You don't own yourself. You can't stop announcing your thoughts now – you might explode if you didn't. We're manipulated through it all. We were driven to addict typing than talking. To confess without waiting for an agent to question us. Your brain is a public property. So the words are not yours? The name is owned by million others? So what about the face? You can't switch it with another's. You thought P.P is for "profile picture"? Well, I think it stands for "public property." Yes, you can stop it and sign out, but that whole world you live in is based on using social media which isn't entirely ugly; sometimes your source of inspiration or support you need is found there, but that's not promised for a long duration. Such a beautiful trap, isn't it? Let's face it! You are a public property. We are a public property. Our features, thoughts, friends, clothes, moves, where we go and what we study; we all are network's property. We're P.P. You're P.P.

I Am Not Coming Home

  I can't tell if I am fed up with this or bored. I can't tell if this is stability or numbness to chaotic mess. I can't tell if this is a turning point or one of those scenes which ends with "oh, just kidding!" The only thing I can tell and ensure: I am not coming home. At least not tonight.

  Is it a farewell or a teenage version of rebellion? Don't know either. I will never know anything. Maybe why I am leaving the place is about how random I am. Maybe cause I am fond of new waves showering my interests. You take advantage of this and manipulate me. You invite me in and tell me "I will teach you something new." I get in and I find myself surrounded by dark walls with no windows nor even the door I got through, is there. You always trick me! I don't know how I get rescued every time, and I don't know how I can realize this now.

  I am not coming home for what you want me to be. You're claiming that you're helping me out, but you're actually keeping me out of sight. You told me I've got the gift. I've got the talent. I have got it all. Funny you never spoke about how I can water those gifts of mine, so we both can harvest their fruits.

  I am not coming home ever again. I know I will obligatorily return one day. Until this day comes, I will keep my distance away from you. I'll do my best; so when I return, I will be satisfied and ready for your confrontation. So when I return, I will give you all the reasons why I didn't stay when I actually had the choice to leave.

   I will work and love what I am doing. I will see what you told me about the outside world, so when I return, I'll narrate to you how I got over all the obstacles. I will search and feed myself with every spectacular fact about this world for my hungry soul - to quit asking for more, to reach modesty and humbleness. I will tell you I got it all in hand and taught everyone else what good deeds are. I will come back home obligatorily, but naked. You will laugh at me saying "you should have laid here till your day comes when you'd be officially my resident," then I would surprise you with to whom I gave my all. That I gave all I could win to another who is in need. That I collected all the honors which would make your dark walls decorated with cheerful neon lights instead.

  Remember when you said stay here and enjoy my friends' mourns by your door? Remember when you told me to stay in here and you would give me bitter coldness, cause warmth is charges of jealousy radiating nothing more? Well, I will come back and tell you I was the source of warmth, not because of jealousy, but because I was source of joy and hope. I will tell you I went to my friends and told them never mourn over a friend; let's pick him up and oblige him to join our journey towards success. Towards something worth narrating when the air would be carrying our ashes.

  I am telling you. I am not coming home. Even the name on you, isn't mine. It belongs to a dear one to me though. But to pay respect to that person I love – whose place is ruled by you - I tell you: when my soul is stolen by fate and a full stop is written in my biography, it's the only day I will come back and sleep endlessly. Mr. Grave, God gave me a life whose end will be at your place. Now I've a spirit. A breath. A beating heart. So, you're not my place. I can't deny how grateful I am for giving shelter to my sadness. It grew mature, but eventually it taught me something I can't export. It's a part of me and it's not dead. But from time to time I have to show my sadness that it has friends out there. The same state, different story, but the same rush of feelings. Mr. Grave, I will come. It's obligatory for every living organism to be your guest. I just pray when I arrive, I arrive in a modest fashion. Naked as I was brought to this life, bragging "everything I owned in life, I gave it away to another. My legacy would be words and inspiration." You will ask me "where are the things life has given you?" I will tell you proudly that I am an honest pal who gives things to its original owner. We'll laugh and hug till you will be forced to let me go to meet the greatest trials of all. But for now, I am not coming home. Please, let your lawyers, depression and hopelessness, leave me alone. I am not coming home.

Fairy

  At a certain time in her life, all her dreams were crowding at the bus station of her fate. Which could take a seat first, was a matter of panic. She knew the bus would come anyway, and not all dreams would ride along. She had one in specific though. She had the dream of "super identity" as the priority, the most important on mind, but unfortunately, that dream in specific was the laziest of them all. It seemed standing careless and laughing at the rest of the dreams. It said proudly "I would throw myself on this road once I see the bus coming, so I won't be stained by the disgrace of such competition."

  She never understood why a part of her, a dream of her own creation, could be so mean. She wanted it so bad on this bus. She wished she had a fairy to whom she would whisper her wishes and would come true. It happened. Yes, the fairy appeared.

   For the poor girl, the lady was a fairy at first, but afterwards she realized she was having a deal with the devil. The fairy told her "this one and only dream of yours, I can make it ride along. All the way. Under one condition: you give me all the rest of your dreams."
"But these are all I have got," she said breathlessly.
"Then, as a fortuneteller, I have to tell you what you want can never be yours except you give up all you have."
"This is quite my theory. But…"
"The bus is getting closer," giggled the fairy.
"Deal!"

  Her soul was celebrating while her mental state was in confusion. She was sure of what she had done. She was sure it was good for her identity, but would never be good for her peace of mind. She knew it was a bloody sacrifice, but she thought it was a good giveaway so she would have eternal respect in return.

  The bus ride wasn't good. By every station, she saw the fairy giving generously, to the passersby, the girl's wasted dreams. To people who could never value these. People who already in no need to have dreams, cause how real their practical life was, got them blind. It was heartbreaking.

  The eternal-respected-identity dream sat beside the shocked girl, smoking cigarettes of ugh-s. She could feel the hatred radiating out of it. She cried to it begging for mercy. She reminded it that she had created it in the first place. She screamed that she sacrificed all what she loved for it. The dream wouldn't believe how perfect actress she was to play the role of a prey.

  The dream broke its silent sarcastic gestures, saying: "What would you do if I stepped out of this bus right now? Shattered in pieces out of this window. What would you do? You would regret whatever you're saying now. You would weep over 'I should have been grateful' scene. You may stop regretting and look ahead till you get that certificate to win "fake respect," and I shall disappear forever! Till another kid relive your dream and I'd join the ride again and again. Scarcely do I find people with different aim. Usually, people want me, because I am a beautiful dream. But I am always a piece of paper. To all of you! No one tries – even tries to find the spirituality, beauty and uniqueness in me. Everybody does like you do, blames me for their own choices while I tried hard to make you hate me. I didn't want to feel hurt or let my owner feel the same pain."

  The girl wished she had never seen the fairy. She imagined if she had one of the other dreams with her, all her scars would have been glittery stickers. Quickly she realized that there had to be a missing puzzle. She would have scored the highest grades, but she wouldn't have the same loyal company. She would have had a man, but she would have had neither identity nor friends. She would have had herself, but she would have lost all who counted on her.

  Fairies and their participation in the game of fate, isn't mean. In fact they facilitate the process. They are actually letting go of their sweet reputation, to lessen the burden of blames towards yourself and drive you to throw those blames on them. Beautiful creatures, aren't they?

   Whatever dream you choose, there's another one you're throwing for someone else to adopt. Your life wouldn't have been better if the company was different. It would have its own downs with equal severity, but this version is the only one you can handle. So be grateful. 

Traffic Jam

  If life had a traffic light, its colors would be arranged respectively as yellow, green and red. Ready, go and die. The trip began with you when you were a baby, when you conquered the back seat. What you were doing unconsciously, was observing the world through the window. You didn't care if dad had an argument with another driver, cause they were about to crash into each other. You didn't know that mom was annoyed because the car was running out of air, like what did air even mean back then? Sometimes, you didn't know what the final destination was, but you stopped nagging, because pictures were running so fast outside that window, and the colors stole you and trapped you in its hypnosis, that you didn't care anymore for where you were going.

  When school kidnapped you afterwards, the bus ride became an enjoyable time for imagination, or more precisely expectations. It was filled up with what-ifs actually. What if I went back home and found grandma was there to surprise me with her sweets and cakes? What if my teacher praised my work and everyone wanted to be my friend? What if the friend I want to have, is wishing the same too? What if I am the cleverest? What if… what if… what if?!

  All that time, you didn't feel the jam. You enjoyed it. That's really what our youth has always been about. We enjoyed the ride. When we stepped into our oh-it-is-getting-serious phase, the now-or-never period, the I-want-secured-future obsession; that was the only time we stopped enjoying the ride and we became the driver.

  You think being the driver means everything is under your control, but what's the traffic light for? There will always be a traffic light, stopping you to let another pass, you would scream "why? I want to reach that opportunity before another does! Did he work as hard as I did? Why would he reach it before I do, although I had a shortcut? Why did you make me see someone stealing my dream right in front of me? Isn't this cruel?!" Then it turns yellow, and you never notice, cause you're still cursing the "bad luck" you own. Then it's green, everybody is putting all their weight on the horns, to make it as loud as possible for you to snap out of the drama and go on; cause they also want to reach another certain place in that world. They are no enemies, but they are like you. They have a dream which isn't stolen. Maybe not yet. Some get so furious that they push your car forcibly, and angry you, will get out of the car, scream and shout "why there is no mercy? Why everybody is pushing me to the edge of the earth? I didn't need this additional trauma, man!"

  And here you go, you miss another green light, and it's red once again. A stop station. Again. The scene of running cars crosses your vision, and all regrets rush through your heart. You think it over and determine to get ready once it's yellow and go at full speed when it's green. Here you go! You're doing it! There when you have reached your target, you knew that the person you hated witnessing him crossing roads before you do, didn't win the opportunity. It was designed just for you. Cheerfully and gratefully, you get back to the road, and instead weeping over who stepped before you did, you guide another to a shortcut, where you started the road. You help and inspire hundreds. Some will remember you for your tricks, some will forget you, but they will teach a future generation your tricks. The process is continuous and the copyrights aren't necessary to keep.

  Your name isn't important to be remembered. The roads won't always be overcrowded: some sleep when others are awake and vice versa. At the moment, it's red, ordering you to stop while you're rich in temporary enthusiasm and energy. Accept it. It's fate. Have it as a break. What's wrong with it if you just adjusted the plans? It's not the end of the road. One of these red lights would be your end though. Embedding a full stop to your wishes and dreams, which is not bad. Another will start from your ending point, not because he's better, luckier and his life is easier, but because it's a life cycle represented in complete circle, not interrupted one. But for now, remember that red lights will flash in your face a lot. It means you have to stop, right here, right now. Meanwhile you can look over the neighboring strangers and help. It's better to help than to let your inner darkness bring heavy blocking clouds to the globe. It goes red, yellow, green in your day. It goes yellow, green and deadly red in life overall.

Just Dance

You stand there, and I gaze
Obsession with your beauty is my case

Every feature attracts me closer,
Every word makes me go softer

Sambista in my heart is playing
You, in my sight, is what I am heavenly gaining

To the beat, I step forward and then I take it back
This is the dance, baby and you are what I lack

I am not hesitant; I am not driving you crazy
You'll always be my beautiful daisy

I am just leaving gaps for your steps to fill
And step hard on my dignity against my will

But you twist there, shifting your body far from mine
Oh, this wind, I envy, wraps your waist where sparkles shine

I am not hesitant; I insist, I am just waiting for you
Stop performing the solo dance and watch what I do

Help me finish my master piece; it has no audience at all
I created for my love, embedded in your soul

Samba is playing and it isn't for loners
Be kind to me and be a heart donor

I'll stay here till our songs age,
And loving you makes me a sage

On my knees, begging for a chance,
Asking you again and again to just dance