Bluritup

  George aveva un dono raro, quasi scomparso: sapeva vivere nel presente. Non nei ricordi, né in attesa di qualcosa. Viveva l’oggi. Senza fretta, ma davvero. E, cosa sorprendente, era felice. Felice del mattino. Del fatto che il trapano funzionasse. Che nella serra fosse maturato il primo pomodorino. Che la vita, anche nel trambusto, fosse comunque generosa — se sai guardare con attenzione. Aveva una famiglia. Normalissima. Il figlio, per esempio, sognava l’ultimo modello di iPhone. Non perché il suo fosse rotto, ma perché: «Papà, dai, è preistorico! Nessuno gira più con una roba del genere!» Voleva diventare un famoso youtuber e non riusciva a vivere senza YouTube. La figlia, invece, attraversava l’epoca dell’adolescenza. Tutto le sembrava stupido, il mondo ingiusto. Diceva spesso: «Voi non capite», e George non discuteva. Sapeva bene: non era rabbia. Era solo quel difficile percorso verso sé stessa. E sua moglie... Sua moglie era come la Svizzera: bella, solida, ma il tem...

  After saying goodbye to Theo and Heh Minh Lay, a promising young architect named Ray set off on a long journey to the Kuril Islands, where a wealthy client awaited her on one of the remote islands. To her own surprise, Ray handled the trip quite well—no turbulence, no difficult passengers, not even a hint of travel fatigue. She arrived fresh, rested, and even a little inspired. At the airport, she was met by one of the client’s trusted aides, who quietly and efficiently drove her to the prearranged meeting location. Mr. Gimmler—the client himself—was a collector of antiquities, slightly eccentric, but with eyes that still burned with a restless kind of fire. He welcomed Ray warmly. After the usual pleasantries and a cup of sea buckthorn tea, they moved on to discuss the project. And it was, by all accounts, an unusual one. The client envisioned a residence-cum-refuge—a space that would be both modern and sustainable, yet feel as if it had grown out of the rock itself. A hou...

  My first day on the senior developers’ floor turned out to be an unexpected trial. When the elevator doors opened, it felt like I’d stepped into a vampires’ lair. Dim light, a cramped room, the glow of monitors, and the steady rustle of keyboards — like bat wings fluttering nearby. The air smelled of coffee, cut through by the chill of the air conditioning. I found myself wondering: “When they step into the sun, does their skin hiss and smoke?” And in that silence, one figure stood out. His confidence was palpable even from a distance. Meticulousness and composure blended seamlessly in him. He carried himself as if every situation was already under his control. It seemed almost impossible to throw him off balance: every word he spoke was measured, thoughtful, and never more than necessary. At first, it was even a little irritating. His rigid precision — no wasted words, no sudden outbursts — made it seem as though he lived by an inner rulebook he never broke. And yet, beneath...

 Este interesante dibujo cautiva la atención tanto por la fuerza de su paleta cromática como por su evocador título: Volviendo de África. En un único plano se representa la figura de un hombre que parece portar una máscara coronada por lo que recuerdan a llamas. Sus labios carnosos y la forma de la nariz nos remiten a la cuna de la Humanidad: África. La fusión de cuatro potentes colores —negro, marrón, naranja y rojo— junto con el blanco del lienzo crea una composición que embruja con su ritmo, transportándonos a una tierra de piel tostada por el sol, de cebras ocultas entre las altas hierbas y de celebraciones ancestrales que nos hacen retroceder miles de años, cuando los seres humanos éramos parte indisoluble de la naturaleza. Natalia.

  After the farewell evening, Theo and his old school friend Sam finished packing and set off for a week-long hike in the mountains. Theo was fiddling with his seat belt, while Sam drove with easy confidence, taking them further and further toward the peaks. “Relax,” Sam drawled. “That’s what makes it an adventure. Don’t worry — we’ve got a map, the GPS works just fine, so we can always find our way back.” “Man, I wish I had your optimism…” Theo sighed and turned to look out the window. For a while, they drove in silence. “Sam…” “Mmm?” Sam murmured, eyes still fixed on the road. “Have you ever wondered… what happens next?” “What do you mean?” “Well… I just realized that everything changes, whether we want it to or not.” He paused for a moment. “I’m not the kid I was ten years ago. Ray, Min Lai and me … we’ve all grown up, everyone’s got their own stuff now, and I’m afraid we’ll slowly drift apart. “No more swimming in the ocean until our lips turned blue, no more ...

  Time—it’s slippery, impossible to hold onto. Theo and his friend Ray had been inseparable since they could walk, and it was hard to picture one without the other. Both had lost their parents in a plane crash that shook the whole world, and an old family friend had taken them in. He was barely out of his own teens—just twenty-one. Theo and Ray wrestled with their grief in the only way they could: by clinging to each other. Those three days alone felt like a decade. When Heh Minh Lay came back, the change in them hit him like a blow. They had just turned five, but the lightness in their faces was gone. Their eyes held something heavy now; their skin was pale, their smiles erased. He stepped forward and pulled them into his arms. "I’m sorry. I never should’ve left you to face this alone. I may be late, but from now on, I swear—you’ll never feel alone again." Something in his voice—warmth, shelter, promise—finally broke the wall inside them. They both began to sob. They travele...