Raquel Sofia

Soy Raquel Sofía. Escribo canciones y las canto también. Mi vida es un desorden de aventuras, personajes únicos, amores y malas decisiones.
#SaturdayNight

#SaturdayNight

TOO CONNECTED 
   Twitter. Facebook. Instagram. Tumblr. Linked In. Google+. Youtube. We are too connected. In this 4G world it is impossible to disappear. It is impossible to make someone disappear. 
     I spend my days on social media. I like having a free platform to express myself, share my music and get the latest news. I like to see what my sister in San Francisco is up to and how my friends on tour in Colombia are doing. It’s all “likes”, “hashtags” and happiness until the moment I don’t want to be seen, or even worse, the moment I don’t want to see someone else. I feel that without realizing it, we have given away our freedom and we will never get it back. #ohshit  
     If only things were as simple as just ranting in 140 characters or less on twitter and and feeling artsy on instagram, it would be a different story. But social media, with all its perks, has also complicated our lives. I don’t know a single person who hasn’t gotten in trouble due to social media. One sketchy message, one tagged photo with a suspicious character and boom, you’re done. Facebook, twitter and instagram have become centers of international espionage for insecure women, looking for any excuse to pick a fight. Some of these spies are actually impressive- they memorize passwords and even cross check the different platforms. I swear the CIA is missing out by not hiring them! 
     Our lives are exposed to the whole world without any filter and we are forced to explain ourselves or think twice about what we do. If I curse on Facebook, my grandmother will see it. If I talk about sex on tumblr, my mom will read it. If I ditch a friend to go out with another friend, the first friend will see a picture and get upset. Ok, these are silly, shallow problems, but they are still annoying. What’s that stupid hashtag? Ah, yes: #firstworldproblems 
     There are moments in life when you need to protect your heart, because it hurts, because it’s broken. I’ve heard rumors that there used to be a world where you could never talk to someone again, never have to see them again, forget it them forever. Today that is almost impossible. This new world keeps the past alive and is full of zombie versions of our ex-boyfriends that come back to eat our brains. I would have to flee to Saudi Arabia or North Korea to hide, but even with censored internet, I’m sure my ex would find a way to infiltrate my life. No need to search for pictures, they come up all by themselves to laugh at us. The pain of seeing the person you loved, or still love, in someone else’s arms can kill you. And one picture leads to another and then another, and you’re no longer yourself, you don’t know who you are, until half and hour and forty-six pictures later, you wake up from your trance covered in your own tears, hoping you get swallowed by quicksand to end the pain. Like I said, we are too connected. 
     Sometimes I close my eyes, I get on an imaginary plane and disappear. No one sees me, no one knows where I am, no one is looking for me. I realize that for a person who wants to be a famous singer, this fantasy is just that, a fantasy, and that’s ok. At the end of the day I’m happy to share my life one blog post at a time. I have found that there are times for everything: instagram pictures and mental pictures. I have learned to turn off my phone when everything I see makes me want to cry and to ignore the things that hurt me. I have learned to disconnect to reconnect. That has saved my life.

TOO CONNECTED 

   Twitter. Facebook. Instagram. Tumblr. Linked In. Google+. Youtube. We are too connected. In this 4G world it is impossible to disappear. It is impossible to make someone disappear. 

     I spend my days on social media. I like having a free platform to express myself, share my music and get the latest news. I like to see what my sister in San Francisco is up to and how my friends on tour in Colombia are doing. It’s all “likes”, “hashtags” and happiness until the moment I don’t want to be seen, or even worse, the moment I don’t want to see someone else. I feel that without realizing it, we have given away our freedom and we will never get it back. #ohshit  

     If only things were as simple as just ranting in 140 characters or less on twitter and and feeling artsy on instagram, it would be a different story. But social media, with all its perks, has also complicated our lives. I don’t know a single person who hasn’t gotten in trouble due to social media. One sketchy message, one tagged photo with a suspicious character and boom, you’re done. Facebook, twitter and instagram have become centers of international espionage for insecure women, looking for any excuse to pick a fight. Some of these spies are actually impressive- they memorize passwords and even cross check the different platforms. I swear the CIA is missing out by not hiring them! 

     Our lives are exposed to the whole world without any filter and we are forced to explain ourselves or think twice about what we do. If I curse on Facebook, my grandmother will see it. If I talk about sex on tumblr, my mom will read it. If I ditch a friend to go out with another friend, the first friend will see a picture and get upset. Ok, these are silly, shallow problems, but they are still annoying. What’s that stupid hashtag? Ah, yes: #firstworldproblems 

     There are moments in life when you need to protect your heart, because it hurts, because it’s broken. I’ve heard rumors that there used to be a world where you could never talk to someone again, never have to see them again, forget it them forever. Today that is almost impossible. This new world keeps the past alive and is full of zombie versions of our ex-boyfriends that come back to eat our brains. I would have to flee to Saudi Arabia or North Korea to hide, but even with censored internet, I’m sure my ex would find a way to infiltrate my life. No need to search for pictures, they come up all by themselves to laugh at us. The pain of seeing the person you loved, or still love, in someone else’s arms can kill you. And one picture leads to another and then another, and you’re no longer yourself, you don’t know who you are, until half and hour and forty-six pictures later, you wake up from your trance covered in your own tears, hoping you get swallowed by quicksand to end the pain. Like I said, we are too connected. 

     Sometimes I close my eyes, I get on an imaginary plane and disappear. No one sees me, no one knows where I am, no one is looking for me. I realize that for a person who wants to be a famous singer, this fantasy is just that, a fantasy, and that’s ok. At the end of the day I’m happy to share my life one blog post at a time. I have found that there are times for everything: instagram pictures and mental pictures. I have learned to turn off my phone when everything I see makes me want to cry and to ignore the things that hurt me. I have learned to disconnect to reconnect. That has saved my life.

DEMASIADO CONECTADOS
     Twitter. Facebook. Instagram. Tumblr. Linked In. Google+. Youtube. Estamos demasiado conectados. En este mundo 4G es imposible desaparecernos. Es imposible que alguien desaparezca.  
     Yo me paso el día en las redes sociales. Me gusta tener una plataforma gratuita para expresarme, compartir mi música y mantenerme enterada. Me gusta ver qué hace mi hermana en San Francisco y cómo van mis amigos en su gira por Colombia. Todo es “likes”, “hashtags” y felicidad hasta que llega el momento en que no quiero que me vean o hasta peor, que no quiero ver a alguien. Siento que sin darnos cuenta, hemos regalado nuestra libertad y que no volveremos a recuperarla nunca. #ohshit
     Si la cosa fuese tan inocente como poner quejas de 140 letras en twitter y creernos artistas en instagram, sería otra historia. Pero las redes, con todas sus ventajas, también nos han complicado la vida. No conozco a una persona que no se haya metido en problemas por culpa las redes sociales. Un mensaje mal puesto, una foto “tagueada” con un personaje sospechoso y boom, caíste. El Facebook, el twitter y el instagram se han convertido en centros de espionaje internacionales para mujeres inseguras, buscando cualquier excusa para montar una cantaleta. Algunas de estas espías son impresionantes- se memorizan passwords ajenos y hacen “cross check” con las diferentes plataformas. ¡Les juro que la CIA está perdiendo al no contratarlas! 
    Nuestras vidas están expuestas al mundo entero sin filtro alguno y nos vemos obligados a dar explicaciones o a pensar dos veces lo que hacemos. Si digo una grosería en Facebook lo ve mi abuela. Si hablo de sexo en tumblr lo lee mi mamá. Si pitcheo a una amiga para salir con otra, la primera amiga ve una foto y se molesta. Pues sí, son problemas tontos y superficiales, pero no dejan de ser fastidiosos. ¿Cómo es que dice ese hashtag imbécil? #firstworldproblems
    Hay momentos en la vida en los que tratamos protegernos el corazón, porque nos duele, porque está roto. He escuchado rumores de que antes existía un mundo en el que podías nunca volver a hablar con alguien, nunca volver a verlo, olvidarlo para siempre. Hoy esto es casi imposible. Este mundo nuevo mantiene vivo el pasado y tiene zombies de nuestros ex-novios que regresan a comernos los cesos. Tendría que huír a Arabia Saudita o a Korea del Norte para esconderme, pero hasta con el internet censurado, seguro mi ex encuentra la manera de infiltrarse en mi vida. No hay que buscar las fotos para verlas, ellas aparecen solas a reírse de nosotros. Ese dolor de ver a la persona que amaste, o que todavía amas, en otros brazos es matador. Y de una foto vas a otra, y de esa a otra más, y ya no eres tú, ya no sabes quién eres, hasta que media hora y cuarenta y seis fotos más tarde, te despiertas del transe bañada en tus propias lágrimas con ganas de que te hundirte en arena movediza para dejar de sufrir. Vuelvo y digo, estamos demasiado conectados.    

     A veces cierro los ojos, me monto en un avión imaginario y me desaparezco. Nadie me ve, nadie sabe dónde estoy, nadie me está buscando. Reconozco que para una persona que quiere ser una artista famosa, esta fantasía será sólo eso, una fantasía, y está bien. Al final del día yo soy feliz compartiendo mi vida un blog post a la vez. He descubierto que hay momentos para todo: para fotos en instagram y fotos mentales. He aprendido a apagar el celular cuando todo lo que veo me provoca llorar y a ignorar las cosas que me duelen. He aprendido a desconectarme para volver a conectar. Eso me ha salvado la vida. 

DEMASIADO CONECTADOS

     Twitter. Facebook. Instagram. Tumblr. Linked In. Google+. Youtube. Estamos demasiado conectados. En este mundo 4G es imposible desaparecernos. Es imposible que alguien desaparezca.  

     Yo me paso el día en las redes sociales. Me gusta tener una plataforma gratuita para expresarme, compartir mi música y mantenerme enterada. Me gusta ver qué hace mi hermana en San Francisco y cómo van mis amigos en su gira por Colombia. Todo es “likes”, “hashtags” y felicidad hasta que llega el momento en que no quiero que me vean o hasta peor, que no quiero ver a alguien. Siento que sin darnos cuenta, hemos regalado nuestra libertad y que no volveremos a recuperarla nunca. #ohshit

     Si la cosa fuese tan inocente como poner quejas de 140 letras en twitter y creernos artistas en instagram, sería otra historia. Pero las redes, con todas sus ventajas, también nos han complicado la vida. No conozco a una persona que no se haya metido en problemas por culpa las redes sociales. Un mensaje mal puesto, una foto “tagueada” con un personaje sospechoso y boom, caíste. El Facebook, el twitter y el instagram se han convertido en centros de espionaje internacionales para mujeres inseguras, buscando cualquier excusa para montar una cantaleta. Algunas de estas espías son impresionantes- se memorizan passwords ajenos y hacen “cross check” con las diferentes plataformas. ¡Les juro que la CIA está perdiendo al no contratarlas! 

    Nuestras vidas están expuestas al mundo entero sin filtro alguno y nos vemos obligados a dar explicaciones o a pensar dos veces lo que hacemos. Si digo una grosería en Facebook lo ve mi abuela. Si hablo de sexo en tumblr lo lee mi mamá. Si pitcheo a una amiga para salir con otra, la primera amiga ve una foto y se molesta. Pues sí, son problemas tontos y superficiales, pero no dejan de ser fastidiosos. ¿Cómo es que dice ese hashtag imbécil? #firstworldproblems

    Hay momentos en la vida en los que tratamos protegernos el corazón, porque nos duele, porque está roto. He escuchado rumores de que antes existía un mundo en el que podías nunca volver a hablar con alguien, nunca volver a verlo, olvidarlo para siempre. Hoy esto es casi imposible. Este mundo nuevo mantiene vivo el pasado y tiene zombies de nuestros ex-novios que regresan a comernos los cesos. Tendría que huír a Arabia Saudita o a Korea del Norte para esconderme, pero hasta con el internet censurado, seguro mi ex encuentra la manera de infiltrarse en mi vida. No hay que buscar las fotos para verlas, ellas aparecen solas a reírse de nosotros. Ese dolor de ver a la persona que amaste, o que todavía amas, en otros brazos es matador. Y de una foto vas a otra, y de esa a otra más, y ya no eres tú, ya no sabes quién eres, hasta que media hora y cuarenta y seis fotos más tarde, te despiertas del transe bañada en tus propias lágrimas con ganas de que te hundirte en arena movediza para dejar de sufrir. Vuelvo y digo, estamos demasiado conectados.    

     A veces cierro los ojos, me monto en un avión imaginario y me desaparezco. Nadie me ve, nadie sabe dónde estoy, nadie me está buscando. Reconozco que para una persona que quiere ser una artista famosa, esta fantasía será sólo eso, una fantasía, y está bien. Al final del día yo soy feliz compartiendo mi vida un blog post a la vez. He descubierto que hay momentos para todo: para fotos en instagram y fotos mentales. He aprendido a apagar el celular cuando todo lo que veo me provoca llorar y a ignorar las cosas que me duelen. He aprendido a desconectarme para volver a conectar. Eso me ha salvado la vida. 

Transdimensional Space Goat

Transdimensional Space Goat

Emborráchame de amor

Emborráchame de amor

I’ll help you keep your head on straight. 

I’ll help you keep your head on straight. 

What if you fly?

What if you fly?

Will Raise Hell

Will Raise Hell

I’ll play your favorite song, darlin’.
We can rock it all night long, darlin’. 

-Bob Marley-

I’ll play your favorite song, darlin’.

We can rock it all night long, darlin’. 

-Bob Marley-

FCUK LOVE
      I’m tired of love. I’ve had enough. I’ve dedicated all my songs, my blogs, my minutes and my brain cells to love and for what? What has love done for me? Sure, it has given many happy moments, laughter in bed at three in the morning, plenty of sex and lots of good company. It has taught me several things, I suppose: to eat pizza with pineapple on top, the most efficient way to fill the ice mold, how to fake orgasms and the importance of keeping a full tank of gas… But when I think about it, I’m not sure that these things justify the amount of energy I’ve spent on love. The way I see it, love is a wheat field. I work hard on it, I sweat and get callouses on my hands, but my efforts are futile and at the end of the day, the harvest isn’t even enough for a loaf of bread.
      So FCUCK LOVE. Screw it. There are thousands of other things I can do with my time. I can learn to knit and make a good Spanish Omelette (I’ve had two failed attempts so far). I can memorize the lyrics to “Come Together” once and for all and take a minute to vacuum my apartment. Speaking of my apartment, all the lightbulbs are out except for two and this might be the perfect opportunity to change them. I can read about philosophy and substitute my constant concern of “Why doesn’t he like me?" with something more profound: "Why are we here?" 
       I’ve made up my mind. I’m going on strike, full picket line with posters and a speakerphone: “DOWN WITH LOVE!” I’m going to conquer Miami by myself. No more waiting for a guy to take me out to Hakkasan. I’m just fine with a table for one at the Latin Café. I’m not writing any more songs with a broken heart. Instead, I’m going to learn how to play Jobim’s hits on guitar and how to sing the “Habanera”. I will do more yoga positions and less Kamasutra ones and I’m going to chase work, not boyfriends. As a last resort, if I get too bored without love, I can always read the Bible, but I’m hoping it wont come to that. 

    This is my resignation from my position as “a single, but very hopeful, girl”. You won’t see me waiting for some idiot to call me or wondering if the bartender is my future husband. Someday, love will come for me, but at that point it will have to get in line behind everything else.

FCUK LOVE

      I’m tired of love. I’ve had enough. I’ve dedicated all my songs, my blogs, my minutes and my brain cells to love and for what? What has love done for me? Sure, it has given many happy moments, laughter in bed at three in the morning, plenty of sex and lots of good company. It has taught me several things, I suppose: to eat pizza with pineapple on top, the most efficient way to fill the ice mold, how to fake orgasms and the importance of keeping a full tank of gas… But when I think about it, I’m not sure that these things justify the amount of energy I’ve spent on love. The way I see it, love is a wheat field. I work hard on it, I sweat and get callouses on my hands, but my efforts are futile and at the end of the day, the harvest isn’t even enough for a loaf of bread.

      So FCUCK LOVE. Screw it. There are thousands of other things I can do with my time. I can learn to knit and make a good Spanish Omelette (I’ve had two failed attempts so far). I can memorize the lyrics to “Come Together” once and for all and take a minute to vacuum my apartment. Speaking of my apartment, all the lightbulbs are out except for two and this might be the perfect opportunity to change them. I can read about philosophy and substitute my constant concern of “Why doesn’t he like me?" with something more profound: "Why are we here?

       I’ve made up my mind. I’m going on strike, full picket line with posters and a speakerphone: “DOWN WITH LOVE!” I’m going to conquer Miami by myself. No more waiting for a guy to take me out to Hakkasan. I’m just fine with a table for one at the Latin Café. I’m not writing any more songs with a broken heart. Instead, I’m going to learn how to play Jobim’s hits on guitar and how to sing the “Habanera”. I will do more yoga positions and less Kamasutra ones and I’m going to chase work, not boyfriends. As a last resort, if I get too bored without love, I can always read the Bible, but I’m hoping it wont come to that. 

    This is my resignation from my position as “a single, but very hopeful, girl”. You won’t see me waiting for some idiot to call me or wondering if the bartender is my future husband. Someday, love will come for me, but at that point it will have to get in line behind everything else.