17th Birthday

The big 17!! Haha actually, honestly, nothing changes.

Wanna hear some 17 facts?

1. A 17 year old girl has, on average, 17 square meters of skin.
2. 17 is the coming of age for wizards in Harry Potter.
3. 17 is the symbol of the man participating to both worlds, celestial and terrestrial. It "represents the junction between the material world and the spiritual world."
4. 17 symbolizes the soul.

So one year closer to the big 18!! (Which is supposedly WAY more exciting.. we'll see.)

SOO.. I got really poetic the other day.. just wrote this for fun. Update on me (:

Alina Lauren


Nobody really understands who I am. Who am I? I walk every day trying to find my place, create my future. Do I know who I am?

I love music. I love dance. They are the two forms I can use to express how I feel. How I can express me. Otherwise I’m nothing. Music gives me an emotion. Dance allows me to interpret that emotion to an audience. They walk hand in hand, or dance hand in hand, depending on how you look at it. I can feel everyone’s pain or passion; I just have to tune in to the right station.

I’m perfectly abstract: never completely understood or completely tangible. I’m always a wisp of an idea that slips from one’s fingers just when they think they’ve grasped it.

My favorite color is white. Not because it is colorless. Not because it’s easy to understand and incorporate into a gray scale picture with a simple thought not fully understood. It is the presence of all colors. White light passes through a prism to reveal its deep quality that otherwise is hard to reveal. That’s why rainbows are so beautiful. They can’t be fully comprehended. They’re never tangible either. Completely celestial.

I like simple things. But I love adding flair. A perfectly simple fragile silver necklace with a colored gem adorned at the end of every inch. I don’t like things completely bedazzled or overdone. No heavy pearls that weigh down my light spirit.

Dirt. It’s dirty alright. But I feel grounded. Why not stain my skin with brown moist flecks for the length of an afternoon? I’m bare foot with no limitations. There are unexplored forests, just yearning to be explored. The song of the trees waiting to be translated to the voice of man, and hoping I can give them that voice. The silence of the breeze, the warmth of the sun, the caress of the raindrops, the fierceness of the lightning; it all intrigues me, calls to me, speaks to me.

Imagination flows from my pores. Nothing changes the facts that angels haunt my dreams, lovers call my name, friends await my help, and beasts wait to be slain. Yet, in the end, there is no true and real adventure. My mind wanders into an oblivion of hopes and impossibles.

I ignore love. What is love if I can manage to ignore its being? Love follows and interferes, remains spontaneous and hopeful, catching a breeze and drifting by my side. Love is unending if it is true. Love never mistakes who it traps, or rather, gives freedom to. I haven’t felt a freedom with one quite yet so that one must not have come.

So who am I? Do I know who I am?