An unsuccessful car salesman, an unfoolable police woman and a needless crime gone wrong are the bases of the master piece that is “Fargo (1996)”. The film starts with a rather epic car drive in what looks like the middle of nowhere all white snows and plains giving us the feeling that Jerry Lundegaard (man driving) is some sort of hero and possible protagonist. As the film goes on we find out that Jerry is the “intellectual” author of his wife’s kidnapping, not that there is anything intellectual about Jerry or the plan, as the film develops. Everything seems to be going wrong until Marge Gunderson (Margie) appears and contrasts everything Jerry stands for, while 7 months pregnant she manages to decipher the turn of events in a single scene and also show the audience how nice and loving is her marriage.

We can clearly see three storylines in the film, there’s Margie’s side: good police-work, loving wife and helpful husband, friends who love her, you get the idea of her being the moral center of the story specially with her last lines of “I just don’t get it” referring to why do people commit crimes. Then there’s the actual hitmen who represent all the dark humorous violence that encompasses the film which I believe don’t have any actual relevance to the main story so much as to portray the perverse and most dark side of the American culture: money, sex and booze is the only thing this characters seem to care for. Of course there is also the -debatable, main story: Jerry’s side which shows his amazing ability to screw all his plans and ridiculous attempts at finding money all along having his obviously broken marriage, son and father in law, clueless.

The beauty of the film falls on the characters, the story itself is all so confusing and seems to be so out of focus that we don’t even know why Jerry needs the money in the first place. Small roles seem bigger than they are because they are so unique, the wife appears in only two or three scenes and attains a whole personality or the prostitutes with their Canadian-American-Scandinavian accents and their “yah”, even the whole scene with Yanagita (a doubtlessly big question mark for anyone who’s seen the film). The Coen brothers took a seemingly plain boring places, jobs and families and made the whole audience question the reality of it all.

Playing with a “true story” as we’re told at the very beginning reality was elevated into a human comedy, is it true? Could this possibly happen? Should I go to midwestern USA and start looking for the money?

Crime, marriage, good, evil, success, failure. This themes along strong cheerful folksiness make the unravelling of the not-so-mysterious crimes of the quiet Fargo a film worth watching.

Anyone investigating or even trying to understand the world of stardom, needs to establish the definition of a star and a celebrity first. What really is a celebrity? What makes someone a star? Is there a difference?

A celebrity is simply a person with fame and public attention in the media, these people are usually in the entertainment business or in sports. Now, a star is a far more complicated matter.

Lots of people have come up with "star theories" to explain the characteristics of a star. However, according Richard Dyer a star is a constructed person by institutions for financial gain. Stars are manufactured to represent "real people" experiencing "real emotions", this is done by advertising, using social media, choosing particular roles in films/series/videos, among others. In his theory, stars are created with two main targets: audience and institutions and cultural hegemony.

The question now becomes: are all celebrities stars? More specifically, are reality stars real stars?

First off, a reality star is an individual who has achieved public recognition primarily through his or her appearance on a reality show. The term is typically referred to a person who wasn't a public figure prior to his or her show. Most of them initially gain fame as part of a reality show, such as Keeping Up With The Kardashians, Dancing With The Stars, Survivor or America's Got Talent and then attempt to use their new-found fame as a platform to further a career in entertainment.

An example of a reality "star" is Kylie Jenner. She is part of the show Keeping Up With The Kardashians (her sisters), in 2012 collaborated with the clothing brand PacSun along with her sister and created their own line "Kendall & Kylie". She has been listed on the Time's Magazine "25 most influential teens" two years in a row. She is one of the top followed celebrities on Instagram and has now a number one app on the iTunes store and her own cosmetics line.

Having that in mind we could use a sort of check list with Dyer's Theory which also includes the "star paradox" which states that: "the star must be both ordinary and extraordinary". This means that the star must be ordinary so people can relate to them (this is the cultural hegemony characteristic) and extraordinary so people idolize them, want to be them (enhancing the profits of the institutions). Kylie Jenner as a reality personality has become a star.

She has a constructed image as we can see because she was born in a family that already had a "household name" and was shaped by the image she has to portray. And like in many other reality shows the images we see on air are edited and designed in order to entertain and even though they aren't rehearsed some unwanted actions can be cut.

As we can see from the facts that she has created trends, and people all around the world want to be like her. She -and her sisters, supports the cultural hegemony by providing differences in a world where being blonde, tall, slim, and with certain characteristics the Kardashian-Jenner sisters created the curvy, thick lipped, and colorful hair trend.

In conclusion Kylie Jenner (along her sisters) are real stars as they produced a brand identity and constructed their public lives around it and they are gaining profit from it. They also represent now shared cultural values and attitudes and promote certain ideologies through their social media and show.

Perhaps not all reality personalities are real stars, but definitely some like the Kardashians and the Jenners are.

Is it a part of life? Or, maybe, just the start of a new one? Will we ever know? Where do we go? Is it worth living and doing things while we can? Us humans think it is, but is it really?

Truth is: it happens. People die every day, hour, second. Some of us are scared of what it might be like, some are just are waiting for it to happen.

It is not much about my siblings that bothers me. In fact, it is mostly about my parents. Why? You may wonder, well, at least by hating me my brother is showing some sort of care -in his ridiculously annoying and negative way, but caring at the very least.

Now, my parents, oh boy are they a whole different story. They are so uncaring.

Let me explain, it all started when I was born. My mother was strongly over-protective over me (I hope you notice the repetition on "over", it's a very important point). Which brings me to the fact that she wanted me to be perfect and that obviously meant: nothing like my dad. However my dad had different thoughts on this as he expected me to be a little rebel mommy's girl who would be very rude and full of attitude -which I'm not. Just so you get a little backstory: my mom is from a very small and poor town whereas my dad is from the capital, you know the typical city boy who was in the army at a certain time and has a lot of money and girls, so he deliberately thought that I would turn out to be, well... An ignorant.

Despite my parents expectations I proved myself to my mom and showed her what she thought she already knew and disappointed my dad by you know, being a great student, straight A's, learned a different language, learned to play not one, but three instruments, really nice and quiet little brain with feet. That was, and still is my biggest mistake. Ever.

If you haven't considered it yet all of those things I did and worked so hard on to be the perfect example of a good daughter, came to bite me in the ass. And it came in the form of a rabid dog, like those bulldozers that when they clock their jaws they can't let go, even if they want to.

Apparently when I did all of those things, I implicitly meant that I would keep surprising people over and over again -which I sort of, kind of did and at the same time didn't.

The bar was set right there in the top and I was struggling to meet my own scores. So I did what any teenager would have done in high school in my situation, I stopped caring... Or well, more like I tried not caring, and in case you were wondering, no I didn't turn to drugs or alcohol, or boys (not girls either), not even nicotine. I failed miserably at "not caring" but I had made a decision and I had to continue my mission to be in a less pressurized position.

My grades lowered and my attitude got... Stronger? I'm not even sure how to say that but the point is, I wasn't being little Miss Goody Two Shoes anymore -or so I thought. Sadly my dear reader, my parents blamed it on adolescence and puberty and hormonal changes and they thought I was going through my "rebellious stage". They still had the bars on top for my college/university/job/career/LIFE stage. Uncaring mission not accomplished by me was, however, accomplished by them.

Things started to get serious, school was now about college applications, university applications, getting car licenses, moving away. Everything came back to me and I had a epiphany, if you will.

I realized that I had made a tremendous job at keeping my grades up in primary and elementary, even in secondary school but my high school scores where distinctly... Disgusting. That realization made me consider the idea that this wasn't or shouldn't be about my parents or about me trying to make someone happy, because that someone wasn't me.

At this point I didn't even had a single idea of what I wanted to be because to be completely honest, I wasn't (and I'm still not) aware of who I am. I don't know who I want to be, I certainly know who I don't want to be, but I don't have enough time now to try out all the things I haven't in order to find my true self.

So I'm in a quest, I'm looking for myself and well I'm finding stuff. I'm learning so much about me and that brings me a lot of joy and contentment. And, that right there is my problem. I'm finding contentment, not happiness. I have realized that I care so deeply about and for everyone else in my life and that absolutely no one cares that way about me and that bugs me.

First thought, obviously was: I need friends. And I found new friends (not that I didn't already have ones) and this friends were found by the real me. The me that I knew better -although not fully yet- and who I logically trusted more in decision making deals.

Second thought, I need a boyfriend or perhaps a girlfriend. Being so focused during my past life in being a good daughter and sister and basically a family member, I forgot to be a good girl, teenager and well a woman. I had never, and still haven't (no I'm not a unicorn and I'm certainly not a saint) tried anything with a boy, no kisses, no hand holding, no nicknaming, not even proper hugs. In this century it is a common thing now to be openly into people of your own genre so I started investigating because perhaps I hadn't had a boyfriend because I wasn't actually into boys. But I will be telling you more on that later on.

None of those things were the answers to my search for more than contentment because I have found that my problem is not that I don't have someone to care about. My problem is that I care in a certain way about everyone -and yes, I mean everyone, I feel appreciation towards living things- and no one has shown that much caring towards me.

The fact that my parents don't give an actual fuck about what's going on in my life really goes straight to my theoretical heart. The thing is I am not in any phony businesses but the fact that they don't ask me the same way the do my siblings hurts in ways that I cannot, ironically, describe.

I have been trying really hard not to think of that because (and next you'll find the excuses I've been making for them) they probably don't ask because they trust me and they know what I'm capable of. SIKE. But hey, I get extra bonus points for trying -if only those could be in the form of chocolate I would be happier, fact.

The thing is that the only other thing that's happening in my life turns out to be one of the most important, I'm talking about university. Choosing who people are gonna judge you on for the rest of your life.

Besides the fact that I'm still not very sure what I'm actually gonna pick as a career, I do know the when, where, how. The problem is that I know that for regular people (or at least that's how I think it should be) getting higher education is a family matter, where we are supposed to discuss the costs and the available prospects and so on. The point is that I have already looked at universities, I have emailed people about personal statements, I have been taking online courses to build my PS, I have done my research and I pretty much know a lot about a lot of universities and courses. However my mom and dad have done everything close to 0. And with that I mean, the haven't done a thing.

My dad doesn't care as long as I pick a righteous career -i. e. Medicine, Law, Journalism, etc. and I get a scholarship. If those things are ticked in the list then I have my dad's full approval and support. My mom on the other side she says she's ok with me doing whatever it is I like even if that is becoming a hairstylist with no degree at all. The only thing she cares about is if I stay in the same country -preferably in the same city so she doesn't have to pay two rents- and if I get bursary or a scholarship.

Basically all of my intents on getting the bars down of the high scale went straight down the drain. My research is worth poop and my grades don't matter anymore, money is what's moving us around. To say my dreams have been terribly crushed would be an understatement because they have been ripped apart, crumbled like pieces of paper and thrown at a basket and falling miserably to the floor as nothing ever goes my way. Not even my crushed dreams.

The bars are still up high and I have recently learned that they and I quote my sister "don't care if I don't go to uni 'cause you know, their hope's on you" which again makes me suffer in silence.

I'm utterly lost. I understand nothing. First they don't care enough to actually help me find appropriate information about higher education and the best options and what could happen and what could never do. But then they apparently have their "hopes on me". What the hell does that even mean. Do they care? Do they not? Actually, I know, if they cared at all they wouldn't add on to the pressure of school and big life decisions only on me by also putting something else in my shoulders: HOPE. I mean, am I supposed to be magically successful now?

I sincerely need help.

Kindest and warmest regards,

Ex-MissLittleGoodyTwoShoes.

Hit. They don't get me. Hit. I hate it. Hit. I hate me. Hit. Hit. Hit. My hands hurt from the position they've been for the last couple hours, my knuckles are bleeding through the bandage. I know I have to stop, but I also know that when I do I won't be able to get out. It's consuming me. My father used to say that my anger was my fuel; if that's true then I'm about to burst in flames.

I'm close, I can feel it. I'm so close to giving in, but I'm a fighter. I take out the bandages and head to the dressing rooms, thank God for 24/7 gyms. It's way past midnight, but I don't have anywhere else to go, so I take my time.

Water. It's incredible the way it floats away with the dirt, too bad it can't float away with my messed up cells. Hot. It's burning me, but it's nothing compared to the burning inside me.

They all think I'm crazy, helpless, or clueless. They're wrong. They don't understand. I don't want to talk about my problems, or deal with them; I want them to go away. I don't want to hear how others cope with it or how the ones that can survive lived to tell their story. I didn't decide to be biologically and genetically messed up. The darkness is luring me in. It's as if there is no more light and my head is under water, on the verge of calling it quits and letting my situation suffocate me. Instead, I kick my legs, pushing myself upwards to keep myself from drowning, drag myself across the angry river and pull myself up and out onto the bank, bruised and cut, coughing up the water in my lungs -but I'm still alive. Each struggle is classified by its own stage, when I pull myself out of it, I'm exhausted, drained, scattered in metaphorical bruises and cuts that sure will scar but overall is not important. It's trivial. Unimportant. Because I'm still alive.

An overwhelming sense of pride engulfs me and floods through me like adrenaline, because I remember how it begun and how scared I was; but I have fought and I will keep fighting until I'm no longer here.

It started off inoffensively, first Were the pains, the the headaches and exhaustion. Then I passed out in the middle of the corridor, the school nurse said it was probably because of my lack of breakfast that morning. Until my parents decided to take me to the real doctors. After so many tests and nurses poking me around I found myself waiting for Dr. Stevens to bring my results, little did I know what he was about to say. 'I need your parents to be here today Andy, the news I'm about to give you... Well, I need your parents to be here'. At that moment I knew something wrong was happening to me. That was the day I learned what multiple metastases meant. I'm now on stage 4 of ovarian cancer, and it's spreading through all my body. I'm one of the 'unlucky ones' this is one of those rare-close-to-impossible cases because of my age.

I curse this disease, it's eating me, poisoning my organs and making my insides rot away. It's killing me from inside out. But I'm a fighter, and no disease, psychologist or doctor is gonna tell me how I'm gonna die.

Fue el vaivén de sus caderas lo que llamó mi atención. Me acerqué. Después de todo, era una noche para olvidar y derrochar. Cuando te ofrecí el primer trago, no pensé que esa decisión cambiaría mi vida. Mis amigos me decían que siempre fui un ganador por jamás irme solo a casa. Pero esa noche lo hice y aún así me sentía triunfante. Esa noche no conseguí tu número, pues dijiste que solo si el destino lo deseaba nos volveríamos a ver. Tengo que aceptarlo, te busqué, no fue casualidad encontrarnos en aquél café del centro. Poco a poco mis días se pasaban pensando en ti, no robabas mis pensamientos: tomaste tus maletas y te mudaste a mi cabeza. Eramos perfectos. Bueno, en realidad tú eras perfecta y me hacías sentir como el hombre mas sortudo del planeta. Nos conocimos. Me enamoré de tu mirada que estaba llena de sueños y esperanzas; de tu sonrisas que destellaban alegría y optimismo; de tu voz que me calmaba y hacía que el resto del mundo desapareciera; de tus piernas que te llevaban con elegancia y determinación; de tu actitud decidida, despreocupada y proactiva; de nuestras peleas sin sentido, en las que aprendí que siempre tendrás la razón, aunque no la tengas; de las noches que convertimos en días porque la luz del Sol no era suficiente; y de tantas cosas más. Pedí tu mano en matrimonio, pensaste que íbamos muy rápido. Terminaste aceptándome y nos mudamos juntos en la pequeña casa que quedaba por encima del valle, que ahora pertenece a unos extranjeros. Cuando se trataba de ti, los lunes eran sábados, las madrugadas eran días. Recuerdo la primera vez que besé tus labios carmesí, la primera vez que te toque con pasión, la primera vez que nos dijimos que nos amábamos... Estábamos llenos de primeras veces. Pero también recuerdo aquella mañana que despertaste con ese maldito dolor de cabeza, dijiste que todo estaba bien, pero algo me daba mala espina, continuó así por una semana, hasta que decidimos llevarte al hospital. No sabía que estaba pasando, no quisiste decirme sino hasta tus últimos días, decías que no querías que te recordara así. Quizás tenías razón porque desde aquél 12 de mayo, no hay nada que deseara mas que olvidar ese ceño fruncido en tu rostro antes de tomar tu último aliento. Quisiera solo poder recordar tus días de luz, en lugar de tener esas imágenes de tu cara empalidecida, con círculos rodeando tus ojos -signos de falta de sueño-, de como habías perdido tanto peso que se notaban tus costillas, de la falta de cabello en tu cabeza, de las agujas conectadas a tus muñecas. En realidad quisiera que hubieses estado ahí para consolarme, para acompañarme en nuestra desgracia. Ahora vivo de recuerdos y a veces, solo a veces, desearía jamás haber salido a ningún club en aquél verano del 96.

Tu sonrisa me atrajo, tus miradas me enloquecieron, tus palabras me enamoraron, pero tus acciones me confundieron. Después me di cuenta que: las palabras se las lleva el viento, las sonrisas se practican, y las miradas pueden significar cualquier cosa. Nunca me mentiste, el problema fui yo; que no quería escuchar la verdad de la realidad. Tú buscabas algo divertido y pasajero, y yo creía que también quería algo así. Pero en medio del albedrío, el sentimiento fugaz de un beso me delató... Quise atarte cuando estaba claro que eras como un águila: fuerte, independiente, galante, libre. Y tu última presa, fui yo.

My head hurts. I feel something covering my eyes, everything is black; I can't see. My hands are tied and so are my feet, I can't move. Suddenly I hear heavy breathing next to me, and I come to the realization that I'm not alone. Everything comes to me in a fraction of a second... The party, the dark alley, the weird men asking us questions. It happened so fast. My sister. I hope she's the one next to me 'Em are you awake?' She asks 'Where are we?' I say. Silence. The grumbling of her stomach interrupts my thoughts 'Can you move?' I ask her. She has no time to answer because we hear some footsteps approaching us, and I take a second to think of my surroundings, we're definitely in the middle of the woods. I can now hear some birds and the sound of leaves crunching under the person that's coming. I'm cold though, so we must be away from home, I can smell rain... But it's not nice or cozy, it has an eerie feeling to it. Some one grabs me, I scream.

'Emilianne dear! Are you ok? Didn't mean to scare you sweetie, but you were sweating and there are tears in your eyes!'. Another nightmare. This has been happening since the day I woke up alone in the middle of an empty street. I have a new family now. Like she never existed. Oh! But I remember, all too well; she was real and I vowed to myself I would never forget her. I deserve the nightmares though, it should have been me, not her. I should have died, or stayed and take whatever it is that happened to her. They wouldn't take it though, they wanted the blonde one.

I remember the sound of her laugh, the way she shined and brought light to my days and those memories are the pathetic reminders of the darkness that lures me away from time to time. They took her, and with that they took everything that could ever fulfill me. It's like I'm an empty shell now, they cracked me and stole my pearl.

People say that it'll be alright, they tell me to 'get over it'. They don't know what they're talking about. So I lie, I tell them they're right and express how much I 'appreciate' they're support.

It's easier that way, because, no one really cares. No one knows. I don't worry about my punishment too much. I know they're coming. I can hear them whispering in my head at night, right before the nightmares start.

Water. That's all I feel, I was fine and suddenly, I'm drowning. I can't breathe, I'm suffocating, can't control anything. Beep, beep, beep. I wake up. It was just a dream. This recurring nightmare has been happening since that day... They said I was going to be okay. They lied. I like to pretend though, it's easier that way; they don't understand.