Me is...

"Who are you? said the Caterpillar. [...] Alice replied, rather shyly, I.. I hardly know, sir, just at present... at least I know who I was when I got up this morning, but I think I must have been changed several times since then." (Carroll, Lewis. Alice in Wonderland. Fragment)

I sometimes think I am a sinous square that builds (or destroys?) a shapeless pattern because of my passions, which are faced against each other, what leads us to my definetely and forever undecided mind, that hasn't found any thunderous favorite. I have a deep fasination with the human aspect of the being, but I also find "artificial" a very roaring concept. My worship for nature is as strong as my fear for it, for example, I love mountains but I have fobia for heights. I am matted but I am also quiet. I would have a neoclasic painting hanging on one's room wall and a shell just to show a lot of empty  Coke bottles on another room's wall. (Here ends the noisy, heavy, and paradox-like part of me)

But there's one thing I do know: I have a splintered heart with enough space to keep a sweet reminiscence of every country in the world, but even then and after all, my greatest melancholy will keep me loving my mildewed Mexico more than everything. I have a booming hunger of learning, about what? About everything: I am ambition itself, but that doesn't mean I'm not coward because I kind of am, though. There have been acrid incidents that have got stocked inside my mind's graveyard (or like some people like to call it: memory) but each of them, even rotten, covered with fungus, and encripted, is a taste bud of my heart's mouth.