Aids Condition_symptoms

Who Wants to Be a Millionaire? First

millionaire and I want to be able to devote the rest of my life to travel, do a thousand things and not work. Dream of having an account in Switzerland with fifteen billion at my mercy, and never think about money in those green pieces of paper that corrupt minds, they buy time and lifetimes. I'm tired of working for others, and yet never have money and depend on what you say pocket. Not anymore. I want to be a millionaire, and in my life have purchased a Baloto .

If I had the luck to have this life, but with social privileges, being layer 6 and live very well, I think the same, with more enthusiasm would have liked to be; silver flame silver and therefore, more chance of winning. Have money to spare and maybe I would move to a first world country like France or something.

humble

know of employees who earn no more than $ 250 a month, pay rent, schools, transport, food, clothing and stored at 4 people, and still spend $ 6000 (or U.S. 3) a week betting on luck to hit 6 numbers from 1 to 46, and receive once and for all about milloncitos to leave poor. I also know many wealthy happy not having the luck to be rich (in a country where the majority of the population is poor) also yearn for the coveted award. He concluded that everyone dreams or at least thought to be a millionaire one day and not just by the famous TV show, and Colombia is proof of that.

And we all like to have easy money well, caidita the sky. A few years ago, a nasty-looking man with a low profile and horrific black hair, gave the Colombians a false hope. Caught on a thing called pyramid and illusions that sold out of poverty as hijuemadre. His name was David Murcia, and in doing so, he managed to be a millionaire after he started as a messenger. Was becoming easier to aspire to be rich or at least accommodated. It worked for a while until the State became aware of money just like many other Colombians were able to collect and to dream, and sent David Murcia behind bars. Lesson learned: No easy money, or else we'd all be millionaires overnight.

is now well known that there were people out there who did not learn the lesson he left us Don Murcia and pyramids, and found another way to make money even easier, take advantage of the bitter experiences of life product internal conflict. Currently, the kidnapping, the eternal scourge that plagues the Colombian peace was also an effective way of doing business, yes sir. It is becoming fashionable to earn some money with this, as if being kidnapped had been worthwhile.

One such victim was the former presidential candidate in 2002 (which for purposes of this post, we will call Madame Betancourt ), kidnapped while campaigning for the FARC for 6 years, and that shocked the world. Madame was the authentic image of our political situation and major human rights violations to which the hostages were subjected. In 2008, after thousands of social marches and demonstrations, was freed by a military operation which she described as "perfect." The international community breathed a quiet, Madame Betancourt was a political piece for the guerrillas, and that day ceased. The revelry may be free, and the return to civilian life, was the trigger to engineer a good alibi. Those 6 years and could not stay and 730 days later, decided to sue the state alleging irregularities on the day of his kidnapping.

Madame Betancourt, knew how to do. He went to France to continue his life oligarch. He performed with such caution that even beyond the ovation with awards of peace, as if her hands had fallen to a peaceful action, naive French. Even once the rumor spread, that would be a candidate for a Nobel peace, and if not, at least he deserves. Is it worth? What did Madame Betancourt after his abduction by the other hostages? Nothing. Less than two weeks ago returned to Colombia in commemoration of the anniversary of their freedom and more than 15 other Mexican nationals. His visit was strange double face: on the one hand continue to carry the living image of the drama of kidnapping and second, to deliver the document that would require the State fifteen billion pesos by many years cloistered in the jungle in the custody the FARC.

grieves

Colombia, Colombia Colombia is shocked and especially grain: It is not fair from simple legal powers which will usufruct, Madame Betancourt want cheap malfeasance playing not only with money from more than 40 million people (mostly poor) to pay their compensation, but uses his bitter experience as a media puppet, rather than serve as a tool to help extinguish the kidnapping and the release of those still there. The worst thing is that behind her and there is another row of former abductees, in the same way. Sad.

Today, Madame Betancourt public places in doubt his claim, but the controversy continues. The Madame appears to sink into a mire of contradictions that puzzled the media and Colombians. In a few months on the shelves of bookstores teem his published testimony, and a few millionaires little check will go to the hungry coffers of the Betancourt family, they will surely sell like hotcakes. It seems that 6 years in the forest did nothing to strengthen the commitment to cooperation for a country that seeks to exterminate his absurd internal conflict and on the contrary, the former hostages figures are becoming hypocrites who attack so brutal against sense of the nation, the army and especially we, the ordinary citizens.

Madame Betancourt was also probably one of those rich guys who asked a favor to his bodyguard to buy him the Baloto and not picked up anything. But now, found an easy way to win, and best, he had to go buy it, because it would have to give us.

is definitely the world of the living, and I thought that the only way of becoming a millionaire, was betting on the six little numbers. Poor naive. ***

Updated: July 15/2010: Madame Betancourt
withdrew its demand, but Colombia has 4 new millionaires former abductees: Gloria Polanco, Orlando Beltran, Jorge Eduardo Gechem and Consuelo Gonzalez de Perdomo. Congratulations! The state is about to become insolvent.

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nobi * First Love?

i M childhood was a lonely time as was a teenager. Why is it that when I grew up, met the love later. I do not keep still very fond memories of those early relationships and first kisses, in which the heart races when the boy is approaching, and the hands begin to sweat in streams, while achieving a strange emotional apex and the spell of hormones - characteristic of that time, begin to make from theirs. After living for a few brief moments in the clouds, then land with a broken heart, and, in my case with a complex of ugly duckling in tow.

why is it that when it comes to first loves, I prefer to give me back 20 years and remember that time when I tasted the sweetness of love with a boy who never kissed me, and I said we were boyfriends, not me monstrete did feel, and the best: never broke my heart. The first love was for me, the guy that the garden was carrying the nickname nobi without their approval, but that made me feel special, and I know how nice it would be sharing small moments of childhood, knowing that one liked the guy, but really did not. An experience that you only live once, and then, just experienced by the nearly 12 years when my parents castrated opportunities to enroll in a convent school for girls only, and where I received my bachelor's degree and a plate to honor seniority. Come to think if it was much stamina.

That guy who called early nobi , named Diego. As I was studying Transition. Was 5, chickenpox, green eyes and a shaved head. Diego had a brother, Óscar, un año mayor y era hijo del Señor Gómez y la señora Lucy, conocidos de la profesora-directora del jardín y que nos hacían la ruta a Angélica, (mi prima) a mí y a otros dos niños, en su Renault 9 color rojo cereza y eran dueños de un restaurante en el Park Way de Bogotá, que todavía sobrevive tal cual como en los inicios de los años 90.

Recuerdo que Diego y Óscar, los hermanitos Gómez estaban "enamorados " de nosotras y el sentimiento era mutuo. Desde el principio (según mis vagos recuerdos) él decía que yo era su nobia e intentaba hold my hand timidly on the road, we played together at recess and gave me their elevens. No one else was in that room of about 25 children, who cared for my pitiful existence as Diego did, not even my dear cousin.

Angela and me, my mom taught us to read from before entering the study and therefore, more cells were the class, and Diego capaba no award and was also the smartest. A strange spell, or simple coincidence sympathy and less than nothing and still remember well, I already felt my nobi and say that I liked, but only knew Angelica.

One girl wanted to get off to kindergarten Dieguito is Llambes Helena. She was brown and curly black hair, who always wore wool socks in pastel colors. Have you ever caught his hand in and I saw the stairs after a break, there I first learned what was a heartbreak. However, Diego and Helen, were not able to consummate anything, because Diego was still holding my hand in the car and looking at me in class as we put a color daubs at separate tables in the lounge, and she was in another course with another teacher and doing other things. One of two things: either Dieguito do and I knew it was more very pendeja or indeed if I preferred to me.

not need to say anything to Helena to know that Diego was mine, the first dispute tacit tender for a boy was won. I discovered it was me who he wanted, and that Helena was a slut because in the end, she just approached us to tell Angelica that he liked his sneakers new LA Gear. The clever boy I do not know how scared the little girl, while with a friend and associate of his named Gonzalo, cared for us at recess, we played caught and cops and robbers with other children and gave us their elevens. While Oscar, his brother, came with his parents to pick us up in the afternoon, and Angelica was thrilled to see her blond hair cut in half, and large school uniform in front of the garden, removing Gonzalo off. I did not suffer for that, as the company enjoyed Dieguito since morning.

The day of my birthday and then my in-laws gave me a pink and white purse with a pocket in which he had printed a doll of the same color. The card said my name with a "From: Diego, Lucy and Mr. Gomez ." Here I thought it was me who held Dieguito an important place, because even in Angelica's birthday, gave the gentlemen present. That privilege was mine alone. Theirs was a more turbid and fruitless. Mine was further .

the day of final adjournment, was organized by a number of my course, a song performed by all. After a torrential downpour, it was time to make the final presentation. Two microphones give enough volume for the dozens of parents appreciate our children's voices in sync with the same melody. So, Cristina, Professor, chose children who would go to the microphone in front of the stage. In one of them put Gonzalo, a boy named Cristian cansonsísimo and another who can not remember who the hell he was. In the other, Angélica would be right, me in the center and me Diego! Yes, I Diego, which, obviously, never kissed me and broke my heart. The boy son of the lords of the path of the red Renault 9, owners of a restaurant on Park Way still there, I had chicken pox and a bulging green eyes and for some strange reason I felt like my nobi .

Terrified by the great news, we hit the stage, in full uniform and sing the song. He looks at me, look at me closely, more closely and then we play the Cyclops, we looked increasingly close and eyes get larger, they approach each other, overlap and the cyclops look, breathing confusion . (As would Cortazar Rayuela ) Suddenly, I feel how her tiny hand seeks mine and shamelessly grab, no matter what we were facing a stage with our parents and kids behind us looking at each course. While singing, continue with that look of Cyclops, still holding hands, holding strong because it was perhaps the last time, and with a strange feeling guilty chocolocas butterflies in my stomach walking around everywhere. Hormones had not ruffled, and the word love could be in our minds. A passing and gloomy today, is the memory of the first nobi , the naive love of kindergarten, a warm and innocent feeling I experienced when just beginning to make use of reason.

Since that day I went to see Diego, but that met these strange emotions unrepeatable teenage grabbed me, and maybe I made it clear that beyond my traumas later, this was perhaps my first experience sentimental, which if I keep a nice memory. A sublime feeling that all awaken nostalgia.

* Nobi (a): first boy or girl children with whom we had some kind of emotional bond that was like a courtship, but without the same "rights" real. Hence the bad spelling. (Word also cruelly stolen from a friend of mine)

Drivers License Renewal 43214

These days have not been easy, my dear readers. Have been inundated with several constant ups and downs feelings, existential questions, labor, philosophical, literary, theological, etc, I have not been allowed to put even a point here. My mind has been completely cloudy, cloudy, dull and sterile for reasons that even today, 44 days after the last entry, I try to understand. I've drowned in thoughts absurd, crazy ideas, lots of questions, another number of errors and a pair of hits. I have spent these days blank recess without writing comment on blogs and partly moved away from that cyberspace in which agonize; unconsciously turned out by a stop on the road and a desperate attempt to organize my ideas.

I have a spirit that is in constant change, I have come to know what is the bipolarity in no time and I've played the top of desperation. I thought this year would be fruitful, I would clarify the ideas about the mind question what I do with my life? I thought to see psychologists, psychoanalysts, or even wizards and / or shamans to see if I can find answers to my existential, but I get nothing. My mind is not just a big question mark, spotting, confused and incomprehensible, and my life is reduced to simple decisions should take and I think I'm on time, or maybe later.

I have not gone away, I have not read them, I look around now and then to their sites and read them silently. My few words come to the point that not even leave a comment. I can be 25 and in the world have an endless amount of people with things much more difficult to think about, but I think mine is more than enough. Each of his who lives and nobody can solve my tantrums, so I have to go it alone.

bad thing about this crisis is that the reader becomes involved in this, not because of guilt, but because it is rude leave the blog there left no signs of activity, as if its author had eaten the earth. Someone on the other side of the screen to get here, expect to find something, could imagine that here was written and is now a vacant lot and abandoned. I would say that it is not. Would not abandon this blog, I think it has brought great things, but bear with me, little by little try to regain my routines, like so many times I've promised. I have the wrong number, about 20 entries I have tried to write to put here: stories, reflections, letters, comments, problems, solutions etc. and nothing is complete because I have the great dilemma nonconformity: anything I like or anything I think.

reiterate that there is either no signs of life, some I have read since I started, and not just leave them like this, but not before the author was going through an existential crisis of such great magnitude, where it all goes back to a not know. (Sorry if bored) but I think it's time to make a kind of catharsis in order to feel better and continue giving life to this blog.

Recently someone told me to keep an active blog is harder than you think, may be entirely comforting in a virtual space to express more of the feelings behind the screen who write these lines and all that, yet there are times when the head of the blogger is clouded, and other priorities begin to emerge, which are not always academic or work, simply existential, as in my case. There you realize, that if it is difficult to keep it alive.

So accompanied by a cup of coffee, I come to show signs of smoke, with the conviction that by all means try to keep you stuck here. I feel like I'm giving a talk on self-improvement to an audience (not more than three seats fill, of course) but I needed to. Not everything in life is so cool and funny as it should be, but we must move forward.

I'll keep charging my batteries, to mitigate my eternal karma, to clear my mind, so that I end once the cloud that I'm mental. Understand me, if I am not well mentally, and I'm on the verge of falling over the edge of existence, it is impossible to put something coherent in this blog or is it I'm capando asylum?

Thank you for your eternal patience,

Nightwriter.

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