Kurt is HBIC

<3

Gleek out!

Por fin vuelve Glee! Lo necesito mucho, todos los capítulos consiguen ponerme una sonrisa en la cara. Echaba de menos a Kurt.

What affect has Harry Potter made on your life and how much does it mean to you?

Harry Potter made my life magical when I was about 8. Nothing has ever been the same. I have fantastic memories involving Harry Potter, like that time the local paper interviewed me and Lola the day HBP was out or we went to the cinema (CoS) and we were so excited that I thought the woman in front of us would kill us so we started to sing “no estamos locos, que sabemos lo que queremos, ver harry potter y la cámara de los secretos!” or the day the GoF movie was out that everytime me and Lola saw each other at school we were like “5 HOURS!!!!!!!!”, or that time when we went fully dressed with our robes and with hats and lighting scars and everyone was like “WTF” but an English lady was like “oh, Harry Potter!” and I was like “YEAHHHHH!” or when watching Ootp at the cinema, after Sirius dying, I wasn’t crying so all my friends started staring at me and this annoying little girl we were with was like: WHO DIED, WHAT HAPPENED? And I started bawling my eyes out and didn’t even see the end of the movie, or when the GoF movie finished, that Kara hugged me crying and made me lose an earring ooooor reading an awfully translated version of the Ootp at the school canteen and discovering that Sirius dies and starting to scream and shout and wanting to kill Bellatrix, or doing thee Harry Potter Club at school, or dressing up as Draco Malfoy, Hermione Granger, Ron Weasley and Harry Potter when we were… 10? 11? and everyone was like “BOOO MALFOY, DIE!” at school (I was Draco, lol), or going to Platform 9 3/4 for the first time in my life, and going there 2 more times and dying inside of excitement every single time I go or I see Kings Cross, or reading DH in four days & having several panic attacks while doing it and getting sun burned at the beach or reading the HBP in English to my friends at school and having one of my old teachers saying “VERY GOOD ENGLISH”, or being the Marauders forever and ever…

Harry Potter is my life, I honestly mean it. There’s no way I can explain my love for it in words. It feels like Harry’s always been a part of me, just like if we’d been born at the same time and I know he and the rest of the characters will always be here with me.

Bueno, hoy es mi último día en esta isla...

Ya sé que ni me voy para siempre ni es una tragedia tan grande, pero en fin.

Siempre había querido salir de aquí, se me hacía pequeño, siempre las mismas calles, la misma gente y ahora no quiero irme por nada del mundo. Quizá la raíz de mi problema es que no quiero crecer nunca. No quiero llegar a ese punto en la vida en el que la gente nunca parece feliz, nunca canta ni habla a un volumen demasiado alto para ser considerado civilizado. (Que frustrante es que en el camino hacia casa se me ocurrieran cosas para escribir y ahora nada de nada…).

Sigo teniendo mucho miedo y nervios, me siento como en 2008 (al dejar Es Liceu) y creo que segundo de Bachillerato ha acabado demasiado pronto.

Summer '10

Starkid, Darren Criss, Harry Potter, Alcúdia, Palma, cinema, Kara, sleep-overs, books, beach, Nestea.

Thanks

This. I’m crying. I can’t believe it at all. I love you so much, guys. I love you so much I think my heart will explode.It's all about you.

“The abbreviated exam week meant that Wednesday was the last day of school for us. And all day long, it was hard not to walk around, thinking about the lastness of it all: The last time I stand in a circle outside the band room in the shade of this oak tree that has protected generations of band geeks. The las time I eat pizza in the cafeteria with Ben. The last time I sit in this school scrawling an essay with a cramped hand into a blue book. The last time I glance up at the clock. The last time I see Chuck Parson prowling the halls, his smile half a sneer. God. I was becoming nostalgic for Chuck Parson. Something sick was happening inside of me.It must have been like this for Margo, too. With all the planning she’d done, she must have known she was leaving, and even she couldn’t have been totally inmune to the feeling. She’d had good days here. And on the last day, the bad days become so difficult to recall, because one way or another, she had made a life here, just as I had. The town was paper, but the memories were not. All the things I’d done here, all the love and pity and compassion and violence and spite, kept welling up inside me. These whitewashed cinder-block walls. My white walls. Margo’s white walls. We’d been captive in them for so long, stuck in their belly like Jonah.Throughout the day, I found myself thinking that maybe this feeling was why she’d planned everything so intricately and precisely: even if you want to leave, it is so hard. It took preparation, and maybe sitting in that minimall scrawling her plans was both intellectual and emotional practice - Margo’s way of imagining herself into her fate. Ben and Radar both had a marathon band practice to make sure they would rock “Pomp and Circumstance” at graduation. Lacey offered me a ride, but I decided to clean out my locker, because I didn’t really want to come back here and again have to feel like my lungs were drowning in this perverse nostalgia.My locker was an unadulterated crap hole - half trash can, half book storage. Her locker had been neatly stacked with textbooks when Lacey opened it, I remembered, as if she intended to come to school the next day. I pulled a garbage can over to the bank of lockers and opened mine up. I began by pulling off a picture of Radar and Ben and me goofing off. I put it inside my backpack and then started the disgusting process of picking through a year’s worth of accumulated filth - gum wrapped in scraps of notebook paper, pens out of ink, greasy napkins - and scraping it all into the garbage. All alone, I kept thinking, I will never do this again, I will never be here again, and this will never be my locker again, Radar and I will never write notes in calculus again, I will never see Margo across the hall again. This was the first time in my life that so many things would never happen again.And finally it was too much. I could not take myself down from the feeling, and the feeling became unbearable. I reached in deep to the recesses of my locker. I pushed everything - photographs and notes and books - into the trash can. I left the locker open and walked away. As I walked past the band room, I could hear through the walls the muffled sounds of “Pomp and Circumstance”. I kept walking. It was hot outside, but not as hot as usual. I t was bearable. There are sidewalks most of the way home, I thought. So I kept walking.And as paralyzing and upsetting as all the never agains were, the final leaving felt perfect. Pure. The most distilled possible form of liberation. Everything that mattered except one lousy picture was in the trash, but it felt so great. I started jogging, wanting to put even more distance between myself and school. It is so hard to leave - until you leave. And then it is the easiest goddammned thing in the world. […]I leave, and the leaving is so exhilarating I know I can never go back. But then what? Do I just keep leaving places, and leaving them, tramping a perpetual journey?” — John Green, Paper Towns.