Dancing On My Own

In our 20s we want love, spacious dance floors, and answers. We’ll spend countless weekends stumbling in painful footwear, only to carry our boots in our hands and walk barefoot into our cabs. We politely excuse ourselves from conversations and think of the boys who keep their hands warm in your jean pockets. We don’t want to be selfish for using the word want so much, but yet here we are.


We untangle our headphones, put on our favourite walking tune, and for just one moment we’re our own cinematic spectacle. Maybe it’s the beauty of seeing our world as its own film. Most importantly we hope the dramatic moments we create in our crowded minds will result in an acapella part of a song forcing the audience to pay close attention to what’s about to happen in front of them,
they lock eyes from across the street
she smiles even though she shouldn’t
he hears the dialtone when she looks away
the instrumental continues
she walks away from a situation that felt like a dead bolted door but was really swinging back and forth the entire time.

We’re not the only ones who know anymore. It’s so hard to be private in an environment that thrives on public spectacles. There’s so many outlets, you’re looking at one right now, to which people reveal that they only put out there what they wish others to see. In reality they’re right. But hold that pose.

I like timing. I like when the universe hands you something so gently and you have the voice of a toddler when you say, “No! I don’t want it” but it’s so aggressive. It comes at full force.
What do we want?
Mutual respect, and a little affection (ageless concept)
How do we get it?
It’s not for everybody!

But what if time was trying to teach us something? How many times do we really have to reconsider everything we text, post, snap, or paint so vividly for other person to realize that we’re pretty much walking the plank all whilst trying to get them to smile at us that way just one more time. However, we were taught that if we don’t fight right away, we’ll fight too late. Or at least, that’s what I learned. So I hopped into as many cabs as possible, and played the same Robyn song continuously to justify my actions, that I’m 20 and I have to say yes to everything that makes me feel electric.

But Thursday night, as I refused to move off of a recycled bean bag chair for a solid 7 hours, I kept looking at this post trying to understand what it really means to dance on your own. But the best part was, is that we never really are, and when it’s just you and 10 other people singing to the top of your lungs up the stairs, down the hallway, make a right into the karaoke bar, you begin to see that.

So I kept the song, but changed the rhythm, and found a Kings of Leon cover. I braved the cold, hopped up the stairs of the streetcar, and thought about how the 24 hour flu, was the end result of the fight. My body danced too much, and I had zero rhythm left in me.

There’s comfort to be found in the middle of the dance floor, and we misunderstood the DJ. He didn’t say, “We let things run their course, you ran your course!” But that’s what we heard. The lovers are fighting outside of the bar,
she pushes him, he kisses her.
You call a cab, take off your boots, and drop them on the floor of your doorway along with your house keys, and this song echoes as you creep each foot so delicately on your bedroom floor.

“I just needed something pretty to look at”



There’s no Such Thing as Bad Timing

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Your outer layer of skin replaces itself every 35 days. And the entire human body, right down to the very last atom is replaced every 5-7 years. Thanks Google. They don’t say anything really about the mind, or a person’s memory. My party trick is creeping people out with how well I can remember significant details, even if it’s been 2 years.

In the last 24 hours I’ve come to realize that it in fact is a small world after all, and that it takes 10 minutes to put you back in the place you’ve situated yourself for the last two years.

We want to be heard out, we have a voice, at least we had a voice, but stay silent until they’re done getting to and from their assumptions. I only realized the importance of a voice when I introduced “Bad Timing” to an auditorium filled with those ready to listen at 18. My voice has changed over the last couple of years, and it’s a little less shakier. There’s been new poetry, and posts, and an entirely different subject. But don’t close the curtain just yet, I’m not done speaking.

Reason no longer backs up our arguments, it’s just a “because” and a “doesn’t matter.” And suddenly you’ve been situated under a label, and they’re unaware that they’re minimizing people by assuming they’re out to destroy what they’ve found. I get it, protect your magic.

Jealousy, and hatred, are so toxic to such a pure heart. Rebelling against your army of sister’s allows you to make this a man’s world. The older we get, the less innocent our actions start to become. Nobody believes you can be 20 years old and still have the heart of a child, no longer worrying about whether or not your actions can be seen as verifiable, and justify what you’ve done, or in this case didn’t do.

Because of the immediate notion of the fact that there’s no such thing as a plutonic boy/girl friendship,  they’ll take away your best friend of 12 years because you walked into the wrong intersection at the right time on a Friday night. Do you hear that? It’s God’s laughter, that was all his plan. So take it up with him.

It’s already a rough time for women, an artist that prides herself on making people happy with her music is having her right to create taken away from her because the truth is locked into an 11 year contract, and doesn’t sell records. Sending all my love to Kesha, and anybody else going through the same kind of victimization.

Kindness costs nothing. Maybe if we lived in a world where people didn’t see it as a weakness, the world wouldn’t be ashamed of being a little softer. Stop being intimidated by education, how well we know a person, and how well we know ourselves.


Two Year Anniversary

I’m so happy you’re still here. Teaching me to laugh at my own humour, mask the real topics with animated images, and most importantly find peace. There’s many like you out there, some devoted to different causes, and some that offer a hand to those looking for something specific. I wasn’t looking for anything specific. I was just looking for something to offer to the world, something to continue what I started in 2013.

When I wrote a play at 17, I told myself that rather than hiding Demi Lovato’s Unbroken album and wishing I wrote “Give Your Heart A Break” why wouldn’t I just take matters into my own hands and really tell stories, my stories, to hundreds of people that watched it. I don’t look for merit, I don’t look for a good job. I put on a play once a week and let you know what’s been haunting/troubling/inspiring me this week.

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February 2014

The last 4 four posts leading up to March 23rd last year illustrated such a breakthrough in terms of character. February 2014, I sat on a stool in my favourite coffee shop and Googled “How to start a blog?” On February 2015, I sat in the Journalism lounge at school and questioned how it’s already been a year. February 2016, and there is no longer a fear that comes with freedom of speech.

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February 2015

There’s still a lot I don’t understand. There’s still some questions that show up in bold letters right in front of me when I’m not looking for them, or simply avoiding them. You think to yourself, how did I not see that coming when you were unconsciously expecting it the entire time. But I was not expecting this. I did not expect to find comfort in such a public place, where I can still hold onto such privacy.

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February 2016

February 2015 feels like yesterday, sometimes it feels as if it’s February 2015 again but, there are many moments to which I wished I would have said something different or refrained, let go of the grip a little bit.  But what a fool you can become so quickly to someone who plays the right chords.

The best thing that came out of 2014, and 2015 was a voice. A certain type of creativity that stemmed from curiosity. People often belittled my curiosity, and determination. I’m still very certain that everything I did, said, or professed was necessary. I won’t go back on that.  And if that’s supposed to inspire a certain type of resentment towards muse(s) then it’s not really the purest form of art.

I wrote something last week, and this was my favourite line; Darling you are alive, and maybe after awhile we get tired of sitting in the same position for such a long time but what a privilege it is to adjust so well to a throne of almosts & sometimes. By alive, I mean existing in the same time and era. Maybe we shouldn’t rely on leaving envelopes in nostalgic cafe’s. Maybe we should just deliver the damn envelopes ourselves.

Something I wish I knew last February.

I will never stop learning, I will never stop writing , and I will never stop pressing the keys and saying the things I hope to one day remember to say in moments of silence. I will never forget to always remind you the importance of rebellion. And I will be eternally grateful that even if it was momentarily my blog was opened on your computer screen, and that countries I can’t even pronounce have found me. That you’ve found me. That you’re reading this. That you’re responsible for getting me to sit in front of my computer at the end of the week and tell you what I’ve learned, or what I need to learn more about.

Shall we go for another two years? It’s a date.


The Philosophy of

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We desire to understand the beautifully curious. According to my Philosophy professor, plutonic love is a thirst for knowledge. A knowledge of the self. A knowledge of the other. How lucky we are to acquire both, and yet refuse to seek optimism when our hair was barely touching the brim of our shoulders, and we’re still thinking about the good fight. *Tightens ponytail*

How did we get here, who decided this exhausting fate? Now please, do not take that as an insulting comment, It’s a foreign routine, almost like following someone else’s feet whilst salsa dancing in a dingy bar.

You watch them grow, you were 18 years old on a January evening…writing a post about the year of man/year of you. You have that piece above your desk, and there’s an article beside it, not yours. Reminding you of growth. Genuinely wondering if you left that person better than you found them, something Pausnias would agree with. That person being yourself too by the way.

It’s all coming up roses, you say. It’s Winter, they respond. So we shake hands with the art of timing, and before we know it, Oh God, this is going to be troublesome okay. Here we go.

I think… Eventually, I think it’ll be remembered definitely. — Alex Turner talking about the album ‘Whatever People Say I am…’ in January of 2006

“You’re too good.” I thought to myself in this Philosophy class, taking notes as my Professor had me captivated. You never thought you’d pick up on this in a classroom, how initially individuals walk into your life as this wondrous being, but you ignore the beams of light radiating off their skin because you’ve always been so curious to discover the complexity within a mind busier than downtown intersections at 4:00pm.

And a year ago, we’re thinking to ourselves as we write over and over again how good we are for them, but what’s good for you? I’m not asking about the time. (But same place, same time?) That’s all I’m asking. Aren’t we better, once we’re better taken care of? Or is it just ironically frightening to leave yourself in better hands?

Then she spoke of Gods, but not the one I speak to regularly. Dionysus – a Rock God. Search him up if you’re still here. Aristophanes reminds us, especially when we’re quite vulnerable of course that there’s this being bumping around out there, into walls and other individuals. What may look insane and unfathomable to others, is electric to one. Really trying to give you something to believe in, for those who gave up on religion when they weren’t getting answers. This is when Another Love by Tom Odell starts playing, and I realize that this wasn’t something to be solved, more like the internal monologue that kept getting interrupted throughout my week.

“We’re not going through this again”

“But did you feel that magic, what a ride.”


Lost by Gianfranc Pipitone

My one promise for 2016 is to not look back. No matter how scary things are. Keep. Looking. Forward

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Photography: Gianfranc Pipitone


Do you ever feel lost in your own life?

Like most people who struggle, I’ve been through a lot, and sometimes going through stuff is the best path to success (or at least I’m told).
I always like to say that there are two approaches to life, you can be active and control things and live your life how you want to, or you can play the oblivious card and just let things happen. You can live life or let life live you.
Luck vs work I guess is how you can look at the two?
While I love the idea of being oblivious to the bigger picture and still strike gold — a happy accident. I hate waiting for things. So I work extremely hard to make things happen.
And it feels good. Sometimes.
Sometimes, the desire to succeed causes my own collapse. I reach my breaking point because I’ve overworked myself. And because I’ve invested so much time and effort into myself that when I get a chance to step back, I feel overwhelmed at how little I’ve actually accomplished, I always wish I was further along. I always wish I was more successful, more creative, more free spirited, more developed, refined, actualized…
When I crash, I crash hard. Then I start to doubt about whether all my effort is actually worth it and whether I’m going to end up achieving something. Anything.
Maybe some people are just not built for success? Not everyone can be successful. For every person that has achieved what they desire, there are a ton of people who just can’t seem to make it.
Maybe that oblivious luck is what really brings about success and the hard work in the active person is just a coincidence and oblivious luck is the real key?
When my mind wanders down that path, I feel the need to turn around from my challenges and give up. I realize I’m letting myself fall off the rails and that is when true failure is imminent. Realistically, if you get lucky or not, that gold-mine is struck because you are in the right spot at the right time, and that is no act of luck. It’s an act of actively pursing something — whether the pursuit is 100% or 10%.
Yeah, if you haven’t realized by now, I’m giving myself a pep-talk. Normally, I’m the one giving advice to help people dig themselves out of their graves but I need someone like myself in my life, so here I am, digging myself out.
I guess even the act of attempting to dig myself out, is the pursuit that I was just talking about… Maybe the game isn’t over yet. Maybe the key to success is just a matter of realizing the game is still on.
I guess the point I’m trying to tell myself is to not give up.
Whatever I do.
Whatever you do.
Don’t give up.
If you walk away from the goal, you will never reach it.
But if you keep facing that goal, no matter how drastic it seems, you will in one way or another, figure something out and you will some day reach it.
Turn around,
pick up that damned sword,
and keep fighting.
About the writer: I am a guy who wears many hats, literally and metaphorically. I own a lot of hats, but I am also a competitive fencer and archer. I coach both sports. I am an aspiring filmmaker, a film student, self taught photographer, wannabe artist, amateur musician, half-assed writer, I run a blog/arts collective and spend my free time stressing out about myself while I inject myself with caffeine just to keep up. With everything going on at once, I find it hard to see things gaining traction. It’s tough. I could be so much less, I could have a solidified future but I‘ve chosen the scariest path throuh life. And while I love the challenge and wouldn’t see things any other way, sometimes I fear I’ve buried myself too deep. This post is truly an attempt to free myself from my own personal vicious cycle of self destructive thoughts. Like many people I want to accomplish things, for myself. And like many people, I have no clue what the heck I’m doing. I wish I didn’t have to sit here at 1am questioning why I’m so miserable and why I can’t just be better.
I guess the first step is asking the tough questions, then trudging through the muck.

Gianfranc Pipitone

Copyright © 2015 Daniella Beca MyCompositionNotebook

Out of the Woods

This song is about the fragility and kind of breakable nature of some relationships. This was a relationship where it was kind of living day-to-day, wondering where it was going, if it was gonna go anywhere, if it was gonna end the next day. It was a relationship where you never feel like you’re standing on solid ground.
And that kind of a feeling brings on excitement, but also extreme anxiety, and kind of a frantic feeling of wondering. Endless questions. And this song sounds exactly like that frantic feeling of anxiety and questioning, but it stresses that, even if a relationship is breakable and fragile and full of anxiety, it doesn’t mean that it isn’t worthwhile, exciting, beautiful and all the things that we look for.
– Taylor Swift on “Out of the Woods”


It’s no longer a societal norm to refuse the idea of people bearing their emotions like it’s open heart surgery. There are those whom feel 10x over because it’s unlike anything else, and those that feel for so many hearts, that at times you question how a person dives that many times into open waters. 

You must think that I look for that great love story, so that it becomes my art. So I can have content. But I used to think it was all fiction, until someone told me it’s not. Because everything that I was creating was almost like rock-climbing with no harness on, and you’re both anxious and excited to get the top knowing that you could slip at any moment.

But if you look closely in empty streets, and pay attention to two souls unaware of what the universe has prepared for them.  To think that the universe sometimes fights more than the individuals/lovers themselves. That people want to be held to the point where there are claw marks left on them, and once they fade you can no longer tell where a person let go.

Maybe we look for love in temporary narrators. How does the romantic writer avoid the glorification of a happy ending? Simple she asks how long a person plans on staying. But last night, I fast-forwarded to 60 years later, in a house made up of different textiles, and prints scattered around with no frames.

She’s 82, always waking on air, and teaching me the importance of independance without saying a word about it. She says she has a sensitive heart, and that it gets scared easily. 20 years old, and I came to the conclusion that a person’s true self is ageless. That maybe I run to the keyboard too fast and then question if I said the right thing. But now I have these lines, and documents, that show me where I was in that moment, and where I went from there. And I didn’t have the same heart I did when I was 12, or 16. 

Because at 82, I’ll look over to someone, knowing that it all happened so I could be here. Maybe we’re too young to think about a house in 60 years, with wooden floors, and the creaky doors we choose to exit when we wish to venture off into the real world, and it’s a crime to not be spontaneous, but spontaneity isn’t measured by how many “spontaneous” cab rides we take at 3am. Spontaneity is half of what I’ve written, half of what you’ve read throughout these last two years, being the unexpected. Spontaneity is someone letting go of the harness, and choosing to get back up and climb again. 

And it’s rained for the last two weeks, heavily here in Portugal. The wind is petrifying, and keeps me up at night to which those 3am thoughts creep up from under the bed. Much scarier than that certain “boogeyman” and I learned that January isn’t like the last one, and it rained for the last 12 months too, but there were many calms. Like Jackson Pollock and his paintbrush, I choose to let my art follow my heart. 

Until I touch down in Toronto (safely)

Another One Bites The Dust

“Wait, wait before I go to bed I’m going to read you my blog post”

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Last year on December 31st I fell asleep in a Nail Salon, after having lunch with my friends whom glorified my newfound eye bags as a first resolution already being met. I was emotive, and selfless, not because it was trendy or something to be glorified because it was seen somewhere on a Tumblr post, but because it was necessary. To sleep with my phone on loud, and some nights to not even sleep at all.

But this year didn’t end with me looking out the window of my loft style office, dressed in my collared Zara dress, power stance-ing. It’s not supposed to make sense at 20. I envy the under 20 whom have their lives together, apartments in New York and loft style office buildings. They’ve won the lottery, I’m still buying scratch tickets. But it didn’t go to waste. I somehow managed to make it to the Top 5 of a list, and they didn’t even make me run nor do anything athletic for that matter. I made it to a magazine cover, and I finally finished my first novel.

“I have to behave well, or else I’m going to end up in your blog,” a man belted from behind his beer glass, I don’t know if it was the Beyonce/Jay Z collab happening in the background or the fact that I too was behind a beer glass, but I was almost enthralled by the fact that I had that power. PS, you ended up here.

But it’s within small moments of happiness that I found my way this year, it’s the people that I’ve surrounded myself with that have ensured me how wonderful 2016 is going to be. It was healing open wounds using only salt water with your best friend and finding a home within a small town.

Finding a voice in moments where I could barely even speak because my lungs were so dry. Allowing friends to walk out of your life in order to truly take care of those you have around you, and make sure that you deserve better. Finally allowing yourself to openly say, that it is okay that you were not loved the way you hoped would happen, but it is not okay that an individual took that love and kept it near when the afternoon’s were quiet, and there was a needle waiting to touch the vinyl. Then again, it takes two to tango. Cha Cha Cha

It’s opening up your heart again, that’s where the mystery lies in a new year. Someone the other day told me that there’s a difference in liking someone, and being attracted to someone, and that he hasn’t liked someone in a very long time because he’s just been solely invested in momentary attraction. But you know deep down, that the layer of realism doing the talking for them, is covering the mouth of the hopeless romantic wanting to shout, “why can’t people just be honest while they’re alive.” It’s what happens when you sit through an entire Lily Collins marathon, and Moonrise Kingdom in one sitting on a religious basis. It’s okay, we know something they don’t.

So here we are, no longer biting our nails, growing out our hair and watching it get caught in zippers. Swapping stories with your friends in McDonalds parking lots, and sitting on their apartment floors at 2am eating pasta, listening to them profess the importance of investing in someone with a pure heart. Here’s to the fact that we’re almost 80 posts deep, and this blog isn’t just for me anymore, it’s for those wanting to write, and those holding my hand when I’m uncomfortable in crowded places. It’s to the people that found safety in my words, and came to me with such honesty when they did. It’s for the friends whom have quoted me, listened to me go on and on about the same thing, and let me repeat myself. It’s for the family members whom leave such lovely comments, and allow me to make this a lifestyle choice, and for the protagonist inspiring these words over the last two years, for your patience, and curiosity. Thank you.

Until 2016,