I need to spend lots of time alone in order to heal. Since my grandma died I’ve had people around all the time, and for me that is overwhelming. I am constantly angry, of course due to the loss, but also because I’m with people 24/7. That is close to hell for a loner like me.
Castro de Viladonga, Galicia
In Galicia these old Castros are now being discovered on a regular basis and have significant archeological value, not least because they reinforce the claimed connection of Galicia with the other former Celtic nations
Castro culture is the archaeological term for the archaeological culture of the northwestern regions of the Iberian Peninsula (present-day northern Portugal, Galicia, Asturias, and nortwest León in Spain) from the end of the Bronze Age (c. 9th century BC) until it was subsumed in local Roman culture. One of the most notable characteristics of this culture are its walled oppida and hill forts, known locally as castros.
Sometimes, when I’m lost, I look at my tattoos to make sense of my life, to find the way.
My anchor marks the ending of my journey, my goal, my destination. I know where I want to go, where my bliss is, and once I get there, I will try to stay for as long as possible.
My wheel reminds me that I’m handling my own ship. It’s entirely my responsibility to, again, get to my destination and restore the course of my ship when needed.
Carpe diem: memento mori tells me, every time I read it, that this life isn’t forever. That the time to live is now.
My Forward tattoo, placed on my foot, commands me to keep walking, keep writing, keep living. I got it done when I finally understood that I had lived my life to that point always looking back. It was time to move forward, to start living.
There are more tattoos to come in the near future, all of them very meaningful to me. Each one of them tells a story of self-improvement, of overcoming deadly monsters, and they are always there to guide me in times of need.
I don’t know if it’s normal to feel this… apathetic after the passing of a very loved one. This is the first time in my life that someone I know dies, and I’m totally lost right now. I did cry during 7 or 8 days, but that was it. I mean, she was the one who raised me, like a mother, not a random neighbor or a distant relative.
I don’t want to talk about her, but if I did I wouldn’t cry. I have one of her t-shirts on, and it smells like her. Still, I can’t feel much as of right now. I watch her pictures… and still nothing. I don’t know if this means that I’ll have a breakdown soon. I don’t know how much time until my own self comes to the surface again, because I don’t recall a single moment of apathy in my whole life. It has always been either sorrow, joy, anxiety, happiness… never lack of emotion. It feels like it’s not me.