(no subject)
I'm going to sound stupid and sappy here, so beware. I love being home in LA.
When I was younger, Brazil was my home. I never imagined leaving my home and my family for anything. I was discovered when I was fourteen. Not too long after, I moved to the US. I lived in New York all alone and was so lonely. I felt like I shouldn't be doing this, that I should go home. There were so many times that I wanted to give it up and go back to my family.
I started making friends with people soon enough. I had to be patient though. I remember crying at night because I was so "depressed." I still felt like the ugly duckling. I was a kid thrown into this fast-paced world that I didn't understand. I couldn't even speak English--not that I speak it perfectly now or anything.
It was the best of times, it was the worst of times. I never understood what that meant, but now I think I do. Back then it was the "worst of times," or that's what I thought. We always think it's the worst of times. But, going back to Dickens' words, it was also the best of times. I learned to be independent. I grew up without my parents coddling me every step of the way. And in order to succeed at anything, we need to learn how to do it alone.
I appreciate home more than anything. Hotels are nice, don't get me wrong. But there's something to be said about sleeping in your own bed. Normal people kill for the chance to go on vacation and stay in a luxury suite. When you have the money to, all you want is to be in your own bed, in your own house.
My home's LA now, as most of you probably know. I spend most of my time there. This is my first time home since a few days after the New Year. It...hurts to not be at home. Even when you go back to your old home, you feel that nostalgia but it's not the same. Maybe it's me.
It hurt me to not even be in the country when Leo won his Golden Globe. I heard about it when Monica pulled me over to the side to tell me. I had to call him so I could say congratulations. Today was the first time I was able to see him for practically a month. I love being with him every chance I get, although he'll probably complain that I ignored him all day. Which is untrue.
I want to write more about my nightmare. I had a friend back in Brazil that was really into interpreting dreams. I don't want to even try to interpret mine, but I do want to just get it out of my system. It started off with me getting driven home by someone I didn't recognize. I was sitting in the backseat, looking around. I got dropped off in front of the house and everything looks fine. Once I turn the doorknob, there's an explosion. It's weird though, because the explosion didn't affect me. I just keep moving, moving and searching. I go out the back door and just stare at the house for what seems like hours. It burns down as I watch it. Out of nowhere, I rush back in screaming Leo's name. I run to the bedroom and once I open the door, I woke up. Does that make any sense at all?
All right, I'm not going to write anymore, because I know I'll start gushing about Mr. DiCaprio. Plus, I realized that I went off on about ten different tangents. Sorry.
Oh, one last thing: I hate rumors!
When I was younger, Brazil was my home. I never imagined leaving my home and my family for anything. I was discovered when I was fourteen. Not too long after, I moved to the US. I lived in New York all alone and was so lonely. I felt like I shouldn't be doing this, that I should go home. There were so many times that I wanted to give it up and go back to my family.
I started making friends with people soon enough. I had to be patient though. I remember crying at night because I was so "depressed." I still felt like the ugly duckling. I was a kid thrown into this fast-paced world that I didn't understand. I couldn't even speak English--not that I speak it perfectly now or anything.
It was the best of times, it was the worst of times. I never understood what that meant, but now I think I do. Back then it was the "worst of times," or that's what I thought. We always think it's the worst of times. But, going back to Dickens' words, it was also the best of times. I learned to be independent. I grew up without my parents coddling me every step of the way. And in order to succeed at anything, we need to learn how to do it alone.
I appreciate home more than anything. Hotels are nice, don't get me wrong. But there's something to be said about sleeping in your own bed. Normal people kill for the chance to go on vacation and stay in a luxury suite. When you have the money to, all you want is to be in your own bed, in your own house.
My home's LA now, as most of you probably know. I spend most of my time there. This is my first time home since a few days after the New Year. It...hurts to not be at home. Even when you go back to your old home, you feel that nostalgia but it's not the same. Maybe it's me.
It hurt me to not even be in the country when Leo won his Golden Globe. I heard about it when Monica pulled me over to the side to tell me. I had to call him so I could say congratulations. Today was the first time I was able to see him for practically a month. I love being with him every chance I get, although he'll probably complain that I ignored him all day. Which is untrue.
I want to write more about my nightmare. I had a friend back in Brazil that was really into interpreting dreams. I don't want to even try to interpret mine, but I do want to just get it out of my system. It started off with me getting driven home by someone I didn't recognize. I was sitting in the backseat, looking around. I got dropped off in front of the house and everything looks fine. Once I turn the doorknob, there's an explosion. It's weird though, because the explosion didn't affect me. I just keep moving, moving and searching. I go out the back door and just stare at the house for what seems like hours. It burns down as I watch it. Out of nowhere, I rush back in screaming Leo's name. I run to the bedroom and once I open the door, I woke up. Does that make any sense at all?
All right, I'm not going to write anymore, because I know I'll start gushing about Mr. DiCaprio. Plus, I realized that I went off on about ten different tangents. Sorry.
Oh, one last thing: I hate rumors!