1/31/2014
A Story A Day. Story 27 of 365: Sun.
She felt that something was amiss long before everyone else. The colors were less bright, the shadows started shallowing everything, little by little. No one believed her. Until the day the sun stopped shining.
1/30/2014
A Story A Day. Story 26 of 365: Blue.
Aimée bought a house in the mountains. It wasn't too big, more a cabin that a real house, but it was hers and it made her happy. No one had understood it when she had taken her life savings and spent them all on that house. It was isolated, far away from her friends and family. But it was peaceful, and that was what she needed.
One specially sunny spring day, she got outside with a bucket of dark blue paint. She filled her lungs with the mountain air and looked at the lake at the bottom of the valley. It was shining with the first rays of the sun, alive. Everything around her was green, dark, light, any tonality. Everything, but the sky and the lake. In no time the flowers would bloom, and thousands of different colors would appear. But right now there was blue and green, well and brown, but that was secondary. She took the brush and started painting the windows and the doors in that dark blue. She didn't really know why she was doing it, but she had to. When she was done she walked away and looked at it. The light brown of the house contrasted sharply with the fresh dark blue paint.
Her days passed slowly, but peacefully. She painted, she worked the wood, and most of all she disconnected from everything and everyone. Her house was open to everyone who passed by, she served tea to the occasional hikers, interchanged stories, laughed a bit, they were her only connection to the outside world.
She was laying on her hammock, reading a book, when he appeared. He was carrying a large backpack and asked her for directions to a refugee. She insisted on him staying for tea and they started talking. It turned out that most of his backpack as filled with notebooks. He was a writer. They talked for hours, and it ended up being too late for him to leave, so he stayed for the night. And he never left.
One specially sunny spring day, she got outside with a bucket of dark blue paint. She filled her lungs with the mountain air and looked at the lake at the bottom of the valley. It was shining with the first rays of the sun, alive. Everything around her was green, dark, light, any tonality. Everything, but the sky and the lake. In no time the flowers would bloom, and thousands of different colors would appear. But right now there was blue and green, well and brown, but that was secondary. She took the brush and started painting the windows and the doors in that dark blue. She didn't really know why she was doing it, but she had to. When she was done she walked away and looked at it. The light brown of the house contrasted sharply with the fresh dark blue paint.
Her days passed slowly, but peacefully. She painted, she worked the wood, and most of all she disconnected from everything and everyone. Her house was open to everyone who passed by, she served tea to the occasional hikers, interchanged stories, laughed a bit, they were her only connection to the outside world.
She was laying on her hammock, reading a book, when he appeared. He was carrying a large backpack and asked her for directions to a refugee. She insisted on him staying for tea and they started talking. It turned out that most of his backpack as filled with notebooks. He was a writer. They talked for hours, and it ended up being too late for him to leave, so he stayed for the night. And he never left.
1/29/2014
A Story A Day. Story 25 of 365: Trapped.
"My name is Ivanna Jackson. I'm seventeen. I am a high school student, I never was bright, but I did well enough. I want to go to college and study something, but I don't know what. I have never had any talent. But my looks. They've taken me a long way, my looks. I have been trapped in this room for days. I don't know how many, it doesn't have a window. There is a cupboard with some food, at first I gorged at it, but then I realized that maybe it would be all the food I'd ever get. I don't remember how I got here, one moment I was talking to some guys at a bar, the following I woke up on the bed. At first I tried to pry the door open in any way I could think of, but it is clearly blocked from the outside. After that I screamed my lungs off. Nothing worked. Now, I quietly wait for someone to come."
"The worst part is the waiting. Not knowing what is going to happen to me, not knowing why am I in here."
"Today I heard some noise outside, footsteps, murmurs. I was ready for the door to be opened, but it didn't happen. The people left as they had arrived. Maybe I should have screamed, but I'm not sure my voice works anymore. Anyway, what would they have done to me?"
"There's little food left. I've been eating as little as I can, and trying not to waste my energies. I spend the days lying on the bed, but my bones are starting to stick out alarmingly."
"I finally ran out of food. I don't even know how long I have been in here, months, probably, the cupboard was well stocked. I wonder how my parents are doing, if they have already given up on seeing me again."
"The smell is terrible. I'm dying, I know. That stench is my body dying, getting corrupted. I wish I could see my family once again, embrace them."
"I'm still alive, I don't know how. I drift between sleep and crisp awakeness, without even realizing. Everything seems so bright, so pure."
"That's it. My time is done. I'm going to die soon, I don't know if it's going to take hours or days, but I can't handle it anymore. If anyone ever sees this, tell my parents I love them. That I wish I had been a better daughter."
They had stumbled into that room in the abandoned storehouse by sheer serendipity. It had ignited their curiosity because it was the only closed room in the whole building. Lee opened it, after hitting it several times. The door flew open and a cloud of dust received them. No one expected to find what they found inside. The remains of someone where lying on a bed, it was clear that whoever it had been, had been dead for some time as some bones where clearly visible under strips of what looked like worn leather. They stumbled outside the room to call the police, not without noticing that the walls were covered in writing. Charlotte braved up and decided to take a look at them, it was written in what looked like dark brown ink, she started reading and realized that there were some fingerprints next to it. Then she realized that it was written in blood.
"The worst part is the waiting. Not knowing what is going to happen to me, not knowing why am I in here."
"Today I heard some noise outside, footsteps, murmurs. I was ready for the door to be opened, but it didn't happen. The people left as they had arrived. Maybe I should have screamed, but I'm not sure my voice works anymore. Anyway, what would they have done to me?"
"There's little food left. I've been eating as little as I can, and trying not to waste my energies. I spend the days lying on the bed, but my bones are starting to stick out alarmingly."
"I finally ran out of food. I don't even know how long I have been in here, months, probably, the cupboard was well stocked. I wonder how my parents are doing, if they have already given up on seeing me again."
"The smell is terrible. I'm dying, I know. That stench is my body dying, getting corrupted. I wish I could see my family once again, embrace them."
"I'm still alive, I don't know how. I drift between sleep and crisp awakeness, without even realizing. Everything seems so bright, so pure."
"That's it. My time is done. I'm going to die soon, I don't know if it's going to take hours or days, but I can't handle it anymore. If anyone ever sees this, tell my parents I love them. That I wish I had been a better daughter."
They had stumbled into that room in the abandoned storehouse by sheer serendipity. It had ignited their curiosity because it was the only closed room in the whole building. Lee opened it, after hitting it several times. The door flew open and a cloud of dust received them. No one expected to find what they found inside. The remains of someone where lying on a bed, it was clear that whoever it had been, had been dead for some time as some bones where clearly visible under strips of what looked like worn leather. They stumbled outside the room to call the police, not without noticing that the walls were covered in writing. Charlotte braved up and decided to take a look at them, it was written in what looked like dark brown ink, she started reading and realized that there were some fingerprints next to it. Then she realized that it was written in blood.
1/28/2014
A Story A Day. Story 24 of 365: Salt.
Her love was impossible. She knew it, yet she couldn't stop staring at her as it were her only salvation. Everyone told her to forget it, that it didn't lead anywhere, that the best she could do was move away from her. Somewhere she would never see her again. Yet, she resisted. How would she live if she were never to see her again? Never to hear her voice? Never admire her beauty when she was calm, her wilderness when she was angry? How could she live without her?
She would sit on the same spot, for hours, as long as she could have a glimpse of her. Smell her perfume carried by the wind. Nothing mattered, whatever happened around her, she blocked it. Her friends tried to make her realize that it was consuming her, but instead of paying heed to them, she just stopped talking to them.
She was a shadow sitting on the shore. Day and night she was there, not eating, not sleeping, not talking. Her hair was covered with sea salt, her skin cracked. Only her eyes seemed alive, locked at a single point in the horizon. No one dared to talk to her or touch her. People started avoiding her part of the beach altogether. She was left alone. But she didn't have her love.
One morning, during the sunrise, a realization hit her. She knew how she would be able to stay with her love. Forever. She stood up and walked to the sea, feeling the tender arms of a lover in the waves. She walked on and on, until she couldn't walk anymore. Then, she let herself drown, reaching for the water with her lips, kissing her lover for the first time. She felt the water filling her lungs, and she was finally happy. They were together, her and the sea. Forever.
1/27/2014
A Story A Day. Story 23 of 365: Gold.
Arthur had been rich all his life. His parents were rich, his grandparents had been rich. Anything he wanted he only needed to ask and he would have it. He was a spoiled little kid, who grew up to be an insupportable young adult. When the time came to go to university, he could access to one of the top ones thanks to the exquisite education he had received.
College was Arthur's first contact with the real world. Not everyone in his class was as privileged as he was, some of them were actually borderline poor who had worked their way into college. He couldn't understand that some of his classmates couldn't afford the things he could, that some of them barely had enough to eat, so they weren't able to go to Cannes. He didn't understand poverty, nor made any effort to do so. Until he met Sarah.
Sarah wasn't specially beautiful, but she had the brightest smile. Arthur had never seen anything half as precious. Her hair was dark blond, when the sun struck it, it looked like spun gold. He decided it had to be his. He thought that a girl like that would love all he had to offer, who wouldn't love to be rescued from a mediocre life, and have all the riches of the world at reach?
He was delusional, clearly. He tried to seduce Sarah by showering her with presents, but her mind didn't work like that. For the first time, Arthur, wanted something he couldn't have, and would never have.
College was Arthur's first contact with the real world. Not everyone in his class was as privileged as he was, some of them were actually borderline poor who had worked their way into college. He couldn't understand that some of his classmates couldn't afford the things he could, that some of them barely had enough to eat, so they weren't able to go to Cannes. He didn't understand poverty, nor made any effort to do so. Until he met Sarah.
Sarah wasn't specially beautiful, but she had the brightest smile. Arthur had never seen anything half as precious. Her hair was dark blond, when the sun struck it, it looked like spun gold. He decided it had to be his. He thought that a girl like that would love all he had to offer, who wouldn't love to be rescued from a mediocre life, and have all the riches of the world at reach?
He was delusional, clearly. He tried to seduce Sarah by showering her with presents, but her mind didn't work like that. For the first time, Arthur, wanted something he couldn't have, and would never have.
A week back home or the new me
It's been officially a week since I've landed back home. More than a week since I last was in Mexico. And it's been so fast, and less painful than I would have thought.
Most importantly, I am a completely new person. I know I'm kinda tiring for keep saying so, but it is true.
I walk more slowly now, I care less about what people think. I feel liberated. I have understood that life is easy, that we are the ones who keep making it difficult. I have understood that relationships have many forms. And I've realized that it is difficult to make people who haven't lived anything of what I've lived how life changing it has been.
I basically understand life in another way now, in a way that is much better for me. In a way that allows me to care more about other people and care less about things that have not happened.
I still can't believe that people who have been for such a short time in my life, people whom I haven't seen in a week or even more, have had such an impact in my life. I'll owe them the rest of my life.
Most importantly, I am a completely new person. I know I'm kinda tiring for keep saying so, but it is true.
I walk more slowly now, I care less about what people think. I feel liberated. I have understood that life is easy, that we are the ones who keep making it difficult. I have understood that relationships have many forms. And I've realized that it is difficult to make people who haven't lived anything of what I've lived how life changing it has been.
I basically understand life in another way now, in a way that is much better for me. In a way that allows me to care more about other people and care less about things that have not happened.
I still can't believe that people who have been for such a short time in my life, people whom I haven't seen in a week or even more, have had such an impact in my life. I'll owe them the rest of my life.
1/26/2014
A Story A Day. Story 22 of 365: Family.
They were dead. All dead. One moment she had seen them, the following moment the dreaded call. An accident. And she was left alone. The only reason she wasn't inside the car was because she had to study. They tried to convince her, telling her she needed some fresh air. Yet, she told them that she needed to stay, that she would go with them the next tine. After her exams. But there would be no next time. She was sixteen and alone in the world, her parents, her brothers, her grandparents, they were all dead.
It was so easy to forget about it, she would go on her usual life, arrive home, expecting to find one of her brothers, or her mother. And there was only silence. Silence filling all the corners of her house. She was happy she was to keep the house, though. It was full of happy memories, sometimes they hurt, because they reminded her of the good times she had spent with her family, but it was also a way to pay them tribute. It was lonely, for sure, but she had always been very independent.
At night, however, she would find herself craving company, wishing her mother was there to calm her to sleep, to tell her everything would be okay. But she was alone, and there was no one there to keep her company. She had no family anymore.
It was so easy to forget about it, she would go on her usual life, arrive home, expecting to find one of her brothers, or her mother. And there was only silence. Silence filling all the corners of her house. She was happy she was to keep the house, though. It was full of happy memories, sometimes they hurt, because they reminded her of the good times she had spent with her family, but it was also a way to pay them tribute. It was lonely, for sure, but she had always been very independent.
At night, however, she would find herself craving company, wishing her mother was there to calm her to sleep, to tell her everything would be okay. But she was alone, and there was no one there to keep her company. She had no family anymore.
1/25/2014
A Story A Day. Story 21 of 365: Friendship.
Amy was nervous, she didn't know anyone and she was really bad at talking to people. How was she supposed to behave? She sat on a chair, fidgeting, darting looks at the others, both hoping and fearing that one would approach her. She knew it was everyone's first day, but she couldn't understand that all of them where as nervous as she was.
Will saw her sitting on her own and recognized the anxiety signs. He was a bit uneasy too, but he decided to approach that small girl who seemed about to faint. He asked her if he could sit next to her and she nervously replied him to take the seat. Will softly started asking her questions and in no time she was laughing and joking with him.
When Amy was going back home, a thought struck her. She had made a friend. And it hadn't been traumatic or stressful. Maybe, she was ready to get outside her shell.
Explaining my adventures or I have really changed and it's awesome.
Yesterday I met with my friends from university (hey, girls! Love ya! (they told me they read the blog, so I'm just acknowledging them)) for dinner. Before, that, however, I decided to walk around Barcelona, to feel it again. Wandering through the streets of the old city, getting lost and not knowing where I was half of the times, it was nice, it was soothing and for some reason it really made me want to cry. But I didn't, because there's something inside me blocking the tears. Yet, it was a good way to come into terms with Barcelona again. Because I'm like this I decided to walk all the way to the place where I had to met my friends, which was like 5km from work to there, but since I wandered around I, most probably, ended up walking more than 8.
Meeting my friends was awesome, we don't see each other that often, but when we do is as if we had just seen each other the previous day. They are really really nice (and I don't say it because they'll be probably reading it, but because they are). We talked about my writing, both the blog and the novel, which means that I have some new beta readers right now, and it made me feel as a writer for real. We also talked about all my experiences in Mexico, which, surprisingly didn't make me too nostalgic. And they got to see first-hand the "turtle-luck" (as I call it), we went to a restaurant that acts on a first arrived-first served basis, so you have to wait until it's your turn, when we arrived they told us that we'd need to wait until 11pm (it was only 9.30pm) and as we were leaving a waiter came to us and told us that there were some people who hadn't shown up and we could have their table. The meal was delicious.
After having dinner and having had a drink we left, so I went to take the bus back home. This was when I realized that I've changed. There were two guys who were talking in English at the bus stop and I couldn't decide where they were from, so when one of them got on the same bus I did I just went up to him and asked. And they we talked about lots of stuff during the bus trip, I would have never ever done that before, I know it, and it felt good, talking with someone you don't know. Also, knowing that I've changed and I'm, somehow, more open minded. Thanks, people from Mexico, you've done me good.
And, to finish the night, when I was about to go home, I decided to switch on my mobile phone (it had died because I spent the afternoon taking pictures around), and some friends where telling me to go with them and have a drink. And I went. It was so spontaneous that I didn't even had time to consider whether my old me would have done it, but probably not. Long story short, I arrived home at 5am, when I was supposed to only go and have dinner. And I'm happy I did it.
Meeting my friends was awesome, we don't see each other that often, but when we do is as if we had just seen each other the previous day. They are really really nice (and I don't say it because they'll be probably reading it, but because they are). We talked about my writing, both the blog and the novel, which means that I have some new beta readers right now, and it made me feel as a writer for real. We also talked about all my experiences in Mexico, which, surprisingly didn't make me too nostalgic. And they got to see first-hand the "turtle-luck" (as I call it), we went to a restaurant that acts on a first arrived-first served basis, so you have to wait until it's your turn, when we arrived they told us that we'd need to wait until 11pm (it was only 9.30pm) and as we were leaving a waiter came to us and told us that there were some people who hadn't shown up and we could have their table. The meal was delicious.
After having dinner and having had a drink we left, so I went to take the bus back home. This was when I realized that I've changed. There were two guys who were talking in English at the bus stop and I couldn't decide where they were from, so when one of them got on the same bus I did I just went up to him and asked. And they we talked about lots of stuff during the bus trip, I would have never ever done that before, I know it, and it felt good, talking with someone you don't know. Also, knowing that I've changed and I'm, somehow, more open minded. Thanks, people from Mexico, you've done me good.
And, to finish the night, when I was about to go home, I decided to switch on my mobile phone (it had died because I spent the afternoon taking pictures around), and some friends where telling me to go with them and have a drink. And I went. It was so spontaneous that I didn't even had time to consider whether my old me would have done it, but probably not. Long story short, I arrived home at 5am, when I was supposed to only go and have dinner. And I'm happy I did it.
1/24/2014
A Story A Day. Story 20 of 365: Lies.
-I'm on my way.- Tara shouted as soon as she picked up the phone.
-Hurry up!- a voice answered anxiously.
Tara hung up without even replying. The traffic was crazy and she had been stuck on the same street for twenty minutes, there was no way she would be there on time. The cars didn't seem to move, and she was getting frustrated. As soon as she was able to turn, she took a perpendicular street and looked for a place to park, for sure it would be faster if she went walking than driving, even if she was still a bit far from it. She didn't know the neighborhood too well, so it took her quite long to find somewhere to leave her car. Wondering whether she would be able to find it back, she hurried to the meeting place. The city was packed with people going around, getting inside the shops for the sales, or to bars for coffee. She was the only one who was on a hurry. Her phone rang again, but she decided to ignore it, she was already winded up, she didn't need yet another reason to lose breath. She was at the door of the bar when it rang once more. She picked it up.
-Where are you?- the same voice from before asked.
-Behind you.
A man with graying hair turned around. They had the same eyes. She smiled, he didn't, but he invited her to sit down. Tara sat on the chair and placed her hands casually over the table, showing off a small gold ring on her left hand. He ignored it, not taking his eyes off hers.
-So, what did you want to tell me?- she waved her left hand dismissively.
-Tara,...
-You haven't even congratulated me for the engagement, father.
-About that,...- he started, looking embarrassed.-You can't marry Rob.
-Father, you never liked Rob, I get it, but it's my life.
-No, it's not. Rob is your half-brother.
-WHAT? How could you? Does mum know about it?
-It wasn't me.
Realization creeped into Tara when she realized that her whole life had been built over lies. She left the bar in tears, not even saying goodbye, not knowing what else to do. Not knowing if anything in life was true anymore.
-Hurry up!- a voice answered anxiously.
Tara hung up without even replying. The traffic was crazy and she had been stuck on the same street for twenty minutes, there was no way she would be there on time. The cars didn't seem to move, and she was getting frustrated. As soon as she was able to turn, she took a perpendicular street and looked for a place to park, for sure it would be faster if she went walking than driving, even if she was still a bit far from it. She didn't know the neighborhood too well, so it took her quite long to find somewhere to leave her car. Wondering whether she would be able to find it back, she hurried to the meeting place. The city was packed with people going around, getting inside the shops for the sales, or to bars for coffee. She was the only one who was on a hurry. Her phone rang again, but she decided to ignore it, she was already winded up, she didn't need yet another reason to lose breath. She was at the door of the bar when it rang once more. She picked it up.
-Where are you?- the same voice from before asked.
-Behind you.
A man with graying hair turned around. They had the same eyes. She smiled, he didn't, but he invited her to sit down. Tara sat on the chair and placed her hands casually over the table, showing off a small gold ring on her left hand. He ignored it, not taking his eyes off hers.
-So, what did you want to tell me?- she waved her left hand dismissively.
-Tara,...
-You haven't even congratulated me for the engagement, father.
-About that,...- he started, looking embarrassed.-You can't marry Rob.
-Father, you never liked Rob, I get it, but it's my life.
-No, it's not. Rob is your half-brother.
-WHAT? How could you? Does mum know about it?
-It wasn't me.
Realization creeped into Tara when she realized that her whole life had been built over lies. She left the bar in tears, not even saying goodbye, not knowing what else to do. Not knowing if anything in life was true anymore.
1/23/2014
A Story A Day. Story 19 of 365: Lightning.
She hadn't been in love for so long that she was hit with it as if by a lightning.
Daria was pretty, in fact, she was more than pretty, she was stunningly beautiful, and she always had any man she desired. But she hadn't loved them. Some were useful, some were handsome, some were rich, some she only used to satiate her thirst. None left anything in her heart. And now, she was in love. She found herself thinking about Josh all the time. Not knowing what to do.
Josh was thick build, not really tall, and certainly not handsome. He was just a photographer at a fashion magazine, but he never took profit of his profession to get something out of the girls. He was too shy for it. Anyway, the girls never noticed him. Until now. This new girl, Daria, had started asking him things with her broken English and a sad smile. He wondered what did she exactly want, while looking at her ice blue eyes. Did she just blush?
When his honey colored eyes meet hers she couldn't help but blush. He was looking at her, and there was strangeness in his eyes. She was sure that she looked silly to him, that he would be thinking that she was just making him lose time. And then she blurted out an invitation for a drink. He looked startled but accepted.
He was completely lost, why would she invite him for a drink? He thought about refusing, first, but then he thought that it wouldn't harm anyone and accepted. Surprisingly, she took him to a discreet, but affordable bar, the kind of bar you go with your friends and where you don't expect to find a model. They both ordered a beer and sat on a quiet corner. She was surprisingly nice, and not shallow at all.
Daria surprised even herself, laughing with all her heart to his anecdotes. Maybe he was really the one, she wouldn't mind it. She ordered something to eat, she was lucky enough to be able to eat anything she wanted thanks to her fast metabolism. They shared the meal and had some more beers. She was sure it was love, but how to tell him?
Her eyes were twinkling, Josh regretted not having a camera right now to capture the moment, her real beauty with none of the lighting or the make up she usually had. She was enjoying herself, but she was also thinking about something else, sometimes he caught her looking reflexive. They got out of the bar to head home. He stopped a taxi for her and just when they were biding farewell, she kissed him. It was soft, warm and tender, her lips tasted of raspberry. She broke the kiss and got inside the taxi, leaving him on the sidewalk wondering what to make about it.
Josh was distant the following day, he was not actively avoiding her, but he didn't give her any kind of sign. She grew anxious during the day, looking for the best way to approach him, frustrated that he seemed to be surrounded of people all the time. She finally caught him during a break. His gaze was warm, but firm. She didn't need words to know. He didn't love her. And just like that she got her first heartbreak.
Daria was pretty, in fact, she was more than pretty, she was stunningly beautiful, and she always had any man she desired. But she hadn't loved them. Some were useful, some were handsome, some were rich, some she only used to satiate her thirst. None left anything in her heart. And now, she was in love. She found herself thinking about Josh all the time. Not knowing what to do.
Josh was thick build, not really tall, and certainly not handsome. He was just a photographer at a fashion magazine, but he never took profit of his profession to get something out of the girls. He was too shy for it. Anyway, the girls never noticed him. Until now. This new girl, Daria, had started asking him things with her broken English and a sad smile. He wondered what did she exactly want, while looking at her ice blue eyes. Did she just blush?
When his honey colored eyes meet hers she couldn't help but blush. He was looking at her, and there was strangeness in his eyes. She was sure that she looked silly to him, that he would be thinking that she was just making him lose time. And then she blurted out an invitation for a drink. He looked startled but accepted.
He was completely lost, why would she invite him for a drink? He thought about refusing, first, but then he thought that it wouldn't harm anyone and accepted. Surprisingly, she took him to a discreet, but affordable bar, the kind of bar you go with your friends and where you don't expect to find a model. They both ordered a beer and sat on a quiet corner. She was surprisingly nice, and not shallow at all.
Daria surprised even herself, laughing with all her heart to his anecdotes. Maybe he was really the one, she wouldn't mind it. She ordered something to eat, she was lucky enough to be able to eat anything she wanted thanks to her fast metabolism. They shared the meal and had some more beers. She was sure it was love, but how to tell him?
Her eyes were twinkling, Josh regretted not having a camera right now to capture the moment, her real beauty with none of the lighting or the make up she usually had. She was enjoying herself, but she was also thinking about something else, sometimes he caught her looking reflexive. They got out of the bar to head home. He stopped a taxi for her and just when they were biding farewell, she kissed him. It was soft, warm and tender, her lips tasted of raspberry. She broke the kiss and got inside the taxi, leaving him on the sidewalk wondering what to make about it.
Josh was distant the following day, he was not actively avoiding her, but he didn't give her any kind of sign. She grew anxious during the day, looking for the best way to approach him, frustrated that he seemed to be surrounded of people all the time. She finally caught him during a break. His gaze was warm, but firm. She didn't need words to know. He didn't love her. And just like that she got her first heartbreak.
1/22/2014
It's weird: first day back at work or why I walked under the rain without an umbrella.
Today was my first real day back home since October. It means that today I woke up early, drove to the station, took a train and headed to work.
It was weird. First it was cold, like cold, cold, 2.5ºC (I know it might not sound much, but after spending so much time in Mexico,...). Then I got to drive my car for the first time in months, I had missed that car, it's one of the best things I have. The thing that was more weird about it all, was that it seemed as if I had done it just yesterday, as if these three months abroad, hadn't happened at all. But they happened, I know. The people was nice, greeting me, asking me for stuff, I still have to tell them tons, but it's difficult to explain it all.
This afternoon I went to buy tea. I basically went because I had decided I needed tea yesterday and I'm stubborn as fuck. It was raining. And I wasn't carrying an umbrella, because that's the kind of thing I do, go around not carrying an umbrella. Because umbrellas are awful. They are. Thing is I walked under the rain, getting completely drenched. Because I like to feel the raindrops dripping on my hair, because it makes me feel closer to reality, and because everyone else goes around carrying one. And I'm not everyone. So, I went to buy tea to my old city. After Mexico, and under the rain, it all seemed so nice and shiny, almost unnatural (not that buildings are natural), there was really few people on the streets, the sidewalks were wide and even, everything was like usual, but everything felt new. Uncanny, even.
Here I am, in a place that I know it's my own but seems artificial. Missing stuff that I had dreaded before. And most of all missing the warmth of the people. Don't get me wrong, people in here care a lot about me, some more than they dare to admit, but they have a really different way to show it, as if they were afraid that someone could actually see their feelings. I knew I would miss the people from Mexico, I just didn't think it would be so soon.
It was weird. First it was cold, like cold, cold, 2.5ºC (I know it might not sound much, but after spending so much time in Mexico,...). Then I got to drive my car for the first time in months, I had missed that car, it's one of the best things I have. The thing that was more weird about it all, was that it seemed as if I had done it just yesterday, as if these three months abroad, hadn't happened at all. But they happened, I know. The people was nice, greeting me, asking me for stuff, I still have to tell them tons, but it's difficult to explain it all.
This afternoon I went to buy tea. I basically went because I had decided I needed tea yesterday and I'm stubborn as fuck. It was raining. And I wasn't carrying an umbrella, because that's the kind of thing I do, go around not carrying an umbrella. Because umbrellas are awful. They are. Thing is I walked under the rain, getting completely drenched. Because I like to feel the raindrops dripping on my hair, because it makes me feel closer to reality, and because everyone else goes around carrying one. And I'm not everyone. So, I went to buy tea to my old city. After Mexico, and under the rain, it all seemed so nice and shiny, almost unnatural (not that buildings are natural), there was really few people on the streets, the sidewalks were wide and even, everything was like usual, but everything felt new. Uncanny, even.
Here I am, in a place that I know it's my own but seems artificial. Missing stuff that I had dreaded before. And most of all missing the warmth of the people. Don't get me wrong, people in here care a lot about me, some more than they dare to admit, but they have a really different way to show it, as if they were afraid that someone could actually see their feelings. I knew I would miss the people from Mexico, I just didn't think it would be so soon.
A Story A Day. Story 18 of 365: Beatings.
She was curled up in a ball. Feeling the sticks beat her frail body. Feeling her skin burst open, the blood flowing from the wounds. Feeling her bones break. Unable to protect herself, hiding her head between her arms, her face between her knees. She wasn't strong enough to scream. And, anyway, no one would come help her. She was different, and, now that all her family had died, she was left alone, unprotected and hopeless. A particularly strong blow shattered her arm, she cried out in pain.
A soft stroke took her from her memories to the real world. "James", she remembered, "my lovely husband". It all had been long ago. The beatings, the insults, the humilition. Yet, it was clear as if had just been now. She ran away and met James, a tall dark man who never talked much, but always had the right words. James saved her and caressed her back to sanity. She owed him more than he ever knew. He almost made her forget the beatings.
1/21/2014
A Story A Day. Story 17 of 365: Hunger.
They hadn't eaten in days. Since the morning they had left the woods cabin. They had been supposed to arrive to the mountain pass that same day, but they got lost, and, now, it seemed to them that they had been walking in circles for what seemed forever.
Sally's stomach was rumbling, she knew she wasn't the only one, but she had never felt hunger in her life. She had been used to have a plate in front of her at every meal time. She started to wonder if all those fruits they had seen had been actually poisonous. Mike said they were, but what could Mike possibly know? She should have insisted, have Mike try them, maybe. But all the others had agreed with him.
Charlie was eyeing Sally, worried. How much longer would she hold it together? He talked to Mike, insisting on finding something to eat before sunset. Mike, stubbornly, wanted to press on, maybe they would find something further into the woods. Charlie discussed with him "There is no way there is something inside this fucking woods" he said "We have seen this rock at least a thousand times now!". Mike looked at him coldly "Do you think you can do any better?". Charlie shut up, took Sally by the hand and left on another direction.
When Sally and Charlie finally got out of the woods they couldn't believe it, they were weak, after so many days of starving, Charlie was half-carrying, half-dragging Sally along when the forest guards found them on the road. But they were alive. They were taken into the hospital so they could regain some of the weight they lost. Charlie explained everything to the forest guards and the police, and begged them to go find Mike. After days of searching, however, the search was interrupted. No one ever knew whether Mike had died in the woods.
Sally's stomach was rumbling, she knew she wasn't the only one, but she had never felt hunger in her life. She had been used to have a plate in front of her at every meal time. She started to wonder if all those fruits they had seen had been actually poisonous. Mike said they were, but what could Mike possibly know? She should have insisted, have Mike try them, maybe. But all the others had agreed with him.
Charlie was eyeing Sally, worried. How much longer would she hold it together? He talked to Mike, insisting on finding something to eat before sunset. Mike, stubbornly, wanted to press on, maybe they would find something further into the woods. Charlie discussed with him "There is no way there is something inside this fucking woods" he said "We have seen this rock at least a thousand times now!". Mike looked at him coldly "Do you think you can do any better?". Charlie shut up, took Sally by the hand and left on another direction.
When Sally and Charlie finally got out of the woods they couldn't believe it, they were weak, after so many days of starving, Charlie was half-carrying, half-dragging Sally along when the forest guards found them on the road. But they were alive. They were taken into the hospital so they could regain some of the weight they lost. Charlie explained everything to the forest guards and the police, and begged them to go find Mike. After days of searching, however, the search was interrupted. No one ever knew whether Mike had died in the woods.
1/20/2014
Back home or how I didn't cry on the plane when I thought I would
After 3 months I'm back in Barcelona, back home. I've spent too many hours on the plane these last two days. Planes are useful things, I won't deny it, but they are boring as fuck, and really uncomfortable if you're looking forward to get some sleep on them.
As you might be aware of, yesterday I did this crazy thing in which I changed my whole schedule to European time to avoid jet lag. I'm not sure it worked, but it's 6:25pm and I'm already sleepy as fuck. However, if it didn't work it wasn't my fault, I was supposed to get to sleep as soon as I got on the plane, yet I started talking to the people next to me on the plane (hey, I'm the kind of people who talks to people they don't know, now). Also, they had to serve dinner, so I ended up going to sleep LATE. And I didn't sleep much because, as I said, those seats are uncomfortable as fuck.
Not sleeping and everything let me lots of time to think (it also means that my thoughts were completely messed up). Before getting on the plane I thought I would cry a lot just before leaving, but I didn't, I guess it was because I know I'll see all this people again, so it was just a farewell. The other thing I realized is that it all has passed so fast, and it kinda feels as if someone else had lived all what I have lived these past months, it's crazy, I know, but I guess this feeling IS because of the lack of sleep.
A Story A Day. Story 16 of 365: Scared.
He was so scared, he was paralyzed. He could hardly breathe, and better so because even the sound of his breathing scared him. His muscles started tightening up, his heart was racing. He heard footsteps outside his door. He wished he could hide somewhere, but he couldn't move a finger. The door opened, slowly, and there he was sitting on his bed, not even able to scream. He saw a shadow lifting a knife, and then nothing.
-So, what was the cause of death?- asked a journalist to the police officer some hours later.
-He was scared to death.
-So, what was the cause of death?- asked a journalist to the police officer some hours later.
-He was scared to death.
1/19/2014
"Live" blogging: I've switched to the European Schedule and I'm going crazy.
So, I'm going back to Barcelona, and there is a 7-hour-time difference. And because I'm not well in the head I decided to switch to the European schedule a day ahead. Here's the tale of how it goes:
Saturday January the 18th:
7:00pm: I should be sleeping, I'm watching TV.
7:20pm: Ok, time to sleep.
7:30pm: Let me check my phone.
7:40pm: Let me check my phone once more.
7:50pm: Only once more!
7:50-8:00pm: Sleep time lost to WhatsApp and Twitter.
8:00pm: Go to sleep.
Sunday January the 19th:
Around 3:00am: I wonder what time it must be, I slept so well.
3:00am: Alarm starts ringing.
3:10am: I finally get out of bed. I eat some cake.
3:20am: I start cursing myself for deciding to do this.
3:30am: I get in the shower.
3:35am: I start pondering my life decisions. Also, I think we all should live all the time inside warm-water showers.
3:38am: I might as well fall asleep inside the shower.
3:42am: I start wondering how the hell am I going to keep A Story A Day on schedule now that I'm going back home. I should have changed the time zone for the blog too.
3:48am: I finally reach a solution for my problem.
3:50am: I get out of the shower and I regret it! We should all live inside the shower, people.
3:55am: I wonder if I should write "I get dressed". You don't want to know all of it, after all. Then I think that maybe some of you are pervs and think I'm going to go around naked most of the day. If the doctor ever asks you when it all started to go downhill, this is the moment.
Saturday January the 18th:
7:00pm: I should be sleeping, I'm watching TV.
7:20pm: Ok, time to sleep.
7:30pm: Let me check my phone.
7:40pm: Let me check my phone once more.
7:50pm: Only once more!
7:50-8:00pm: Sleep time lost to WhatsApp and Twitter.
8:00pm: Go to sleep.
Sunday January the 19th:
Around 3:00am: I wonder what time it must be, I slept so well.
3:00am: Alarm starts ringing.
3:10am: I finally get out of bed. I eat some cake.
3:20am: I start cursing myself for deciding to do this.
3:30am: I get in the shower.
3:35am: I start pondering my life decisions. Also, I think we all should live all the time inside warm-water showers.
3:38am: I might as well fall asleep inside the shower.
3:42am: I start wondering how the hell am I going to keep A Story A Day on schedule now that I'm going back home. I should have changed the time zone for the blog too.
3:48am: I finally reach a solution for my problem.
3:50am: I get out of the shower and I regret it! We should all live inside the shower, people.
3:55am: I wonder if I should write "I get dressed". You don't want to know all of it, after all. Then I think that maybe some of you are pervs and think I'm going to go around naked most of the day. If the doctor ever asks you when it all started to go downhill, this is the moment.
4:00am: Breakfast alarm goes off. I wonder if I really needed to set up a breakfast alarm. I didn't people, what else is there to do?
4:05am: I'm cooking breakfast hoping I don't burn the house down. Or break anything. Or both.
4:07am: Glad my flatmates aren't home. I don't think they could endure the craziness.
4:10am: Breakfast time. I wonder how many km I will need to run, swim and cycle to burn all this.
4:40am: I've eaten all the breakfast. I could easily go to sleep. I guess I'll keep watching TV.
5:35am: I'm regretting waking up so early. The only thing I can think of is nap time. When will the sun rise so I can get some light?
7:00am: Should I start cooking lunch? Why is the sun not out, yet?
7:18am: I'm starting to get a headache. Is it because I'm messing up with my circadian rhythm?
7:43am: I'm starting to cook lunch, for some reason it doesn't feel as weird as it sounds. I kinda have the feeling that this stopped being funny a long time ago. If it ever was.
7:47am: just remembered I also need to write A Story A Day before leaving and schedule it to get posted on time.
7:49am: I feel hungover. Great, I have jet lag without even switching places yet.
7:56am: Lunch is ready. But the alarm was set by 8:00am. I need to keep the schedule, people.
7:58am: This is what I'm going to have for lunch.
8:00am: Time for lunch!
8:26am: Lunch time done, now I can just think about taking a nap.
8:37am: Nap time (yaaaaaaay, I've never been this excited about taking a nap).
9:20am: Why the hell did I leave the ringer of my phone on?
9:58am: I finally wake up from my nap, it felt SO good.
10:19am: Oh, my! I swear that, if I don't have jet lag tomorrow, I'm patenting this shit.
10:35am: I decide to take another shower. It's a long flight, I don't want to stink from the start.
10:40am: I realize that... oh, fuck! I've written a novel while being in here. A novel that I need to edit, and that I would edit on the plane if it were a fucking westbound flight.
10:42am: I still can't believe that three months have passed so fast.
10:55am: I get out of the shower. At least now it's not as cold as it was at 3 fucking am in the morning.
11:00am: I should stop writing swear words. Probably.
11:15am: Holy fuck! I just realized that in about 21 hours I'll be landing in Barcelona.
11:18am: I hate it when I have to keep putting stuff inside the suitcases.
11:22am: I feel as if it were mid-afternoon. I guess I'm doing it right. (I'm SO patenting this shit).
11:39am: I just realized I'm stupid and I forgot my credit card at the ATM yesterday. Like 24 hours ago. Well, I think I forgot it there. It's more than probable.
12:00pm: going through the last stuff left. Why am I such a scavenger?
12:02pm: I'm just so unfocused. I was packing 10 minutes ago, then I started washing the dishes, then I went back to packing. I don't know if all the dishes are clean.
12:06pm: That's it, this is the end. I'm starting to talk to myself out loud. I hit the bottom (well the first one at least).
12:12pm: Just packed my carry-on luggage. It's only books. Because I have clothes at home, and because this way I'll look more erudite (or something).
12:17pm: I'm clearly freaking out. Me, the person who always says "It's not cold", is taking winter clothes just in case she is cold on the plane, or back in Barcelona, or whenever.
12:24pm: I'm hungry again.
12:35pm: Just had another break as a friend came to bring a farewell present.
12:54pm: I closed the luggage just to realize that I forgot to pack some stuff.
13:00pm: Time to prepare dinner.
13:11pm: So, I had really fast dinner and now I'm sleepy again. Still around 5 hours until I get on the plane.
13:13pm: Just added a spoonful of Nutella to some warm milk, just because.
13:15pm: I have to admit I'm getting a bit nervous about all this leaving thing.
14:00pm: Luggage is finally closed, and it's time to pack the laptop too. Fuck, I'm nervous.
That's it, it's time to say goodbye.
A Story A Day. Story 15 of 365: Tears.
Once upon a time, there was a little boy who couldn't stop crying. No one knew why he cried, even himself seemed to have forgotten. The only thing that was clear was the he would cry in the morning and in the night, he would cry while being asleep. Tears were constantly running down his face. His parents had tried everything, but nothing would calm him down. Their house was always flooded, and they had already resigned to it.
The little boy cried so much that a small river was born from his house, it was the first river of the world, salty as his tears. The more the boy cried, the wider the river grew, splitting the small town in two. In no time people needed a boat to cross the river, after that they had to move their houses further apart. And the boy kept crying.
As he grew up his tears became also larger, a small sea had started forming in a valley were the river went down to die. The sea soon became an ocean and new animals started to inhabit it. And no one knew why the boy cried.
The people from the town tried to stop him from crying by all means, but nothing could ever calm him down. One day, a girl form another place appeared in the town, curious to see the boy that had formed the rivers, the seas and the oceans. She went to his place and asked to talk to him. With her feet wet she presented herself in front of him.
-Why are you crying?-she asked.
-Because I'll never have the moon.
The little boy cried so much that a small river was born from his house, it was the first river of the world, salty as his tears. The more the boy cried, the wider the river grew, splitting the small town in two. In no time people needed a boat to cross the river, after that they had to move their houses further apart. And the boy kept crying.
As he grew up his tears became also larger, a small sea had started forming in a valley were the river went down to die. The sea soon became an ocean and new animals started to inhabit it. And no one knew why the boy cried.
The people from the town tried to stop him from crying by all means, but nothing could ever calm him down. One day, a girl form another place appeared in the town, curious to see the boy that had formed the rivers, the seas and the oceans. She went to his place and asked to talk to him. With her feet wet she presented herself in front of him.
-Why are you crying?-she asked.
-Because I'll never have the moon.
1/18/2014
A Story A Day. Story 14 of 365: Bridges.
Elsa was a wanderer, always going from one place to another, be it for work, for love or for leisure. However, or maybe because of it, she had a problem: she hated so much to say goodbye that she would simply disappear from one place without saying anything. That had gotten her into infinite trouble as people would take it as a slight, thinking that she was just inconsiderate and rude. At some point she realized that the only thing she was doing was burning bridges, and that at that rate she would die alone.
The psychologist office was in a Victorian house, it was a peaceful spot, surrounded by a garden with large trees. Elsa walked up the path between the flowers and the bushes, and rang the doorbell. She heard some footsteps through the door and it opened swiftly. A young blond woman with metal-rimmed glasses welcomed her.
-Hello, I'm Allison, you must be Elsa.
-Yes, I'm Elsa.- she replied shacking her hand.
-Come in.- Allison said holding the door.
The house was nicely furbished and it smelled of cinnamon cookies. Elsa expected Allison to head her to her office, and she was surprised when they entered the kitchen. It wasn't a common kitchen either. Instead of having a table and chairs there was a huge sofa, a coffee table and some cushions spread over the floor in front of a window. Allison invited Elsa to get herself comfortable as she took a plate of cookies from the oven.
-Will you have tea, coffee, chocolate?- she asked.
-Mmmm, chocolate would be perfect.- Elsa replied.- You're not a conventional psychologist are you?
-I'm not.- Allison replied laughing.- I want people to feel comfortable, and I think an office is just to aseptic for people to open up about their problems. So far, the people seems to like it.
Allison took a tea tray and put two cups and the cookie plate on it. She left everything on the coffee table and sat on one of the cushions in front of Elsa.
-So, Elsa, tell me something about yourself. A short biography, you could say.- Allison looked at her sweetly through her glasses. Her eyes were a clear blue.
-Well, I was born twenty-seven years ago, in a small town in the coast. I am the oldest of two sisters, and my parents were always really protective around us. In high school I flirted with guys and with drugs, it was my rebellious phase. For some reason, I decided that I needed to focus in order to get to the university, which I did, majoring in French. That allowed me to move to Paris for a year, and to Québec for six months. After this I've been going here and there working for small amounts of time as a translator. Right now, I'm a freelance text translator and I get most of my work online so I can live wherever I want.
-You've had an interesting life.- said Allison nibbling a cookie.- So, why did you come to see me?
Elsa paused to think for a moment looking through the window.
-I do this thing,... I leave without saying goodbye. Not like in social meeting or stuff, when I'm actually leaving the city. And people doesn't take it too well, so most of the times they face me about it when I come back, and it's not nice. But I just can't say goodbye.
-Why do you think that is?
-It hurts too much to say goodbye. It feels as if someone was tearing my heart apart.
-So you are afraid of the pain?
Elsa was startled, she had never considered that. She sipped some of her warm chocolate.
-Yes, I guess I am.
The psychologist office was in a Victorian house, it was a peaceful spot, surrounded by a garden with large trees. Elsa walked up the path between the flowers and the bushes, and rang the doorbell. She heard some footsteps through the door and it opened swiftly. A young blond woman with metal-rimmed glasses welcomed her.
-Hello, I'm Allison, you must be Elsa.
-Yes, I'm Elsa.- she replied shacking her hand.
-Come in.- Allison said holding the door.
The house was nicely furbished and it smelled of cinnamon cookies. Elsa expected Allison to head her to her office, and she was surprised when they entered the kitchen. It wasn't a common kitchen either. Instead of having a table and chairs there was a huge sofa, a coffee table and some cushions spread over the floor in front of a window. Allison invited Elsa to get herself comfortable as she took a plate of cookies from the oven.
-Will you have tea, coffee, chocolate?- she asked.
-Mmmm, chocolate would be perfect.- Elsa replied.- You're not a conventional psychologist are you?
-I'm not.- Allison replied laughing.- I want people to feel comfortable, and I think an office is just to aseptic for people to open up about their problems. So far, the people seems to like it.
Allison took a tea tray and put two cups and the cookie plate on it. She left everything on the coffee table and sat on one of the cushions in front of Elsa.
-So, Elsa, tell me something about yourself. A short biography, you could say.- Allison looked at her sweetly through her glasses. Her eyes were a clear blue.
-Well, I was born twenty-seven years ago, in a small town in the coast. I am the oldest of two sisters, and my parents were always really protective around us. In high school I flirted with guys and with drugs, it was my rebellious phase. For some reason, I decided that I needed to focus in order to get to the university, which I did, majoring in French. That allowed me to move to Paris for a year, and to Québec for six months. After this I've been going here and there working for small amounts of time as a translator. Right now, I'm a freelance text translator and I get most of my work online so I can live wherever I want.
-You've had an interesting life.- said Allison nibbling a cookie.- So, why did you come to see me?
Elsa paused to think for a moment looking through the window.
-I do this thing,... I leave without saying goodbye. Not like in social meeting or stuff, when I'm actually leaving the city. And people doesn't take it too well, so most of the times they face me about it when I come back, and it's not nice. But I just can't say goodbye.
-Why do you think that is?
-It hurts too much to say goodbye. It feels as if someone was tearing my heart apart.
-So you are afraid of the pain?
Elsa was startled, she had never considered that. She sipped some of her warm chocolate.
-Yes, I guess I am.
Three months past, only a few hours to go or why I seem to be saying goodbye all the time.
I've officially been on the other side of the pond for three months. I know, three months is not much and I agree about it right now. Today is not only the three month anniversary of my arrival, today also marks the 48-hour countdown to my departure. So it's time, once again to see what I've made out of this experience.
This is the longest I've ever been away from home, away from my family and friends. Because of the kind of life I'm planning to live I'll have to spent longer periods without them, and I've realized that I should be able to endure it.
When I first arrived here I said that this experience would be good for me. And it has been, it has been so good that I don't want to leave. The experience has changed me, not too much, but it has changed me in the places that needed changes. I could say I've been refurbished. And I was expecting it.
It has also helped me take things differently, specially with work stuff. I've been working a lot, I have, but I also learned to take things in a more laid-back way.
And finally, I've met awesome people. Who, I know, will remain my friends through time and space.
So, even if I still have to shed a tear, I can say that this has been one of the most enriching experiences of my *short* life.
This is the longest I've ever been away from home, away from my family and friends. Because of the kind of life I'm planning to live I'll have to spent longer periods without them, and I've realized that I should be able to endure it.
When I first arrived here I said that this experience would be good for me. And it has been, it has been so good that I don't want to leave. The experience has changed me, not too much, but it has changed me in the places that needed changes. I could say I've been refurbished. And I was expecting it.
It has also helped me take things differently, specially with work stuff. I've been working a lot, I have, but I also learned to take things in a more laid-back way.
And finally, I've met awesome people. Who, I know, will remain my friends through time and space.
So, even if I still have to shed a tear, I can say that this has been one of the most enriching experiences of my *short* life.
1/17/2014
My heart will stay in Mexico (Open Letter)
Dear Mexican friends,
First of all, I would like to thank you for having the privilege of calling you friends. It isn't that usual to know someone for so little time and have it make such an impact in your life. So, thank you for letting me in.
Thank you for making me feel at home, from the first moment. Better than at home, sometimes.
Thank you for sharing awesome experiences as if it was nothing. For taking me to places, for making me try new things, for making me appreciate simple stuff.
Thank you for ignoring my usual icy character, for taking down the walls I've built over the ages.
Thank you for helping me understand that things aren't black or white, that you can enjoy each and every little moment in life.
Thank you for helping me overcome some of my fears, for helping me get rid of some of my prejudices.
Thank you for making me comfortable with physical contact, for allowing me to hug people for real.
Thank you for making me a better person, for changing me.
Thank you for being my friends.
I'll miss you, be sure about that. I love you, guys.
First of all, I would like to thank you for having the privilege of calling you friends. It isn't that usual to know someone for so little time and have it make such an impact in your life. So, thank you for letting me in.
Thank you for making me feel at home, from the first moment. Better than at home, sometimes.
Thank you for sharing awesome experiences as if it was nothing. For taking me to places, for making me try new things, for making me appreciate simple stuff.
Thank you for ignoring my usual icy character, for taking down the walls I've built over the ages.
Thank you for helping me understand that things aren't black or white, that you can enjoy each and every little moment in life.
Thank you for helping me overcome some of my fears, for helping me get rid of some of my prejudices.
Thank you for making me comfortable with physical contact, for allowing me to hug people for real.
Thank you for making me a better person, for changing me.
Thank you for being my friends.
I'll miss you, be sure about that. I love you, guys.
Apreciados amigos Mexicanos,
Antes que nada, querÃa darles las gracias por tener el privilegio de llamarles amigos. No es usual conocer a alguien por tan poco tiempo y que tengan un impacto tan grande en tu vida. Asà que, gracias por dejarme entrar.
Gracias por hacerme sentir como en casa, desde el primer momento. Mejor que en casa, a veces.
Gracias por compartir experiencias maravillosas conmigo como si no fuera nada. Por llevarme a a sitios, por hacerme probar cosas nuevas, por hacerme valorar las cosas simples.
Gracias por ignorar mi carácter de reina de las nieves, por echar por tierra los muros que fui construyendo con los años.
Gracias por ayudarme a entender que las cosas no son blancas o negras, que puedes disfrutar cada uno de los momentos de la vida.
Gracias por ayudarme a superar algunos de mis miedos, por ayudarme a dejar atrás algunos de mis prejuicios.
Gracias por hacerme sentir cómoda con el contacto fÃsico, por permitirme abrazar de verdad a la gente.
Gracias por convertirme en una persona mejor, por cambiarme.
Gracias por ser mis amigos.
Les echaré de menos, estén seguros de eso. Les quiero un chingo, chicos.
A Story A Day. Story 13 of 365: Closed.
The policemen found her naked and covered in blood, curled up against a wall, crying and pounding her head against it. It took them long to get her outside of the murder scene, as she would react wildly to anyone approaching her. In fact, they had to wait for her to fall asleep to take her to the hospital. She was the only survivor of the slaughter there had been inside that house. No one else had seen anything, the neighbors called the police as soon as they had heard her screaming. Everyone else had been death for hours, by then.
She was rushed to the hospital, still covered in blood. When the doctors first saw her, they were afraid there was little they could do if all that blood was hers. She was, surprisingly, unscratched, as they saw as soon as they cleaned her up. She was in deep shock, however, and she wouldn't speak a word. In the meantime, the police kept looking for clues at the house. The bodies were completely butchered, but there was no murder weapon, no signs of anyone breaking into the house. She was both the only witness and the only suspect.
The days passed and she wouldn't show any sign of improvement. They couldn't interrogate her, as she would close more and more every time they tried. She was deemed unable to declare, and was sent intern into a psychiatric institution, were she remained for the rest of her life, carrying the burden of being considered guilty of that atrocious murder.
Her mind was a chaos, remembering that last night of sanity once and again. Seeing how the people she loved died, to the infinity. Yet, in a small corner of her mind, the microscopic part that could still think rationally, there was a voice that repeated "I'm innocent", but that voice was trapped and no one would ever hear it.
1/16/2014
A Story A Day. Story 12 of 365: Sea.
Lena parked her car in front of the hotel late at night. She got lost on her way there, it was a hidden small hotel close to the higher cliffs of the country, so it took her most of the day to arrive. She was happy to be there. "Well, not happy" she thought "I am relieved". She opened the trunk of her car and took out a small bag, it looked like she wasn't expecting to stay for too long. With her bag on her shoulder she headed to the reception. A white-haired old man was looking at her kindly.
-Can I help you, lovely lady?- he asked with the rough voice of someone who has been smoking all its life.
-I'd like to have a room, please.- Lena replied smiling.
-Sure, how long are you planning to stay?
-I don't know yet, Mister...?
-Oh! Don't call me Mister anything, just call me Tim.- he smiled showing some gaps between his teeth.- Well, you can stay here as long as you need to. Come, follow me, I'll show you your room.
Tim guided her through some old wooden stairs covered with a red carpet to the first floor. The corridor was dimly lit and there were doors at both sides of it. Tim stopped and opened a door at his left, he got inside and turned on the lights. The room faced the sea, it was not big, but it looked comfortable. The bed was covered in thick tartan blankets, and the curtains were a deep crimson. There was a fireplace opposite to the bed, with an old armchair next to it. Tim looked at her.
-Here you are, I hope you find the room of your liking. We are not a luxury hotel, we just do our best to keep the customers comfortable and warm. Speaking of which, do you want me to light a fire?
-No, thank you. I'll go straight to sleep, and I've found I sleep better if it's cold.
-As you wish. My wife will be serving breakfast throughout the morning, don't worry there is no schedule, you can eat at any time you want. Good night.- He said while getting out of the room.
-Good night.- Lena replied with a smile.
She undressed and put on her pajamas, although she wasn't sure she would be able to get some sleep. However, as soon as she got inside the bed she fell asleep. It was a dreamless sleep and the first rays of the sun woke her up, as she had forgotten to draw the curtains. She got outside the bed and into the bathroom. There was a really large old bathtub, which she immediately proceeded to fill up with warm water and foamy soap. Laying inside the bathtub after a good night of sleep felt like heaven, she hadn't been so relaxed in ages. She stayed inside the bathtub until the water started cooling off and she realized that she hadn't eaten anything since midday the day before. She got dressed and went downstairs to find Tim at the same place as the day before.
-Did you sleep well, young lady?
-You can call me Lena, Tim.- she smiled, she really liked that old man.- And yes, I did, I hadn't slept so well for a long time.
-I'm glad to hear that. If you want to have breakfast, my wife, Hilda, is in the kitchen right now. She does some excellent pancakes.
-Oh! Yes, I'm starving. Thank you.
Tim headed to the kitchen and she followed suit. It was a large kitchen, with what looked like a dozen different cabinets, and a old wooden table where twelve people could sit comfortably. Hilda was busy at the stoves, she was a little lady who tied her graying hair in a low bun. She hadn't seemed to notice that there was someone else in the kitchen with her as she was humming absentmindedly.
-Hilda, my dear. This is Lena, she's staying in room 5.- Tim said out loud.
Hilda turned around, she smiled both with her mouth and with her little eyes that were hiding behind a set of small round glasses. She wiped her hands on her apron and stepped forward to greet Lena. Her hands were warm.
-Come dear, I'll make you breakfast. What do you want?- she said while making Lena sit on a chair.
-Tim said something about pancakes?
-Sure!- and then she turned around to Tim.- I'll take it from here, we, women, need to talk.
Tim looked at both of them, confused. But he finally bowed his head and left the room. Hilda went back to the stove, telling Lena the story of the hotel in the meantime. After a while she headed back to the table carrying a plate of pancakes at each hand.
-You don't mind if I eat with you, do you?- she said while she left the plates on the table and went back to take a kettle and a pair of cups.
-No, not at all.
-Fine. Chocolate or maple syrup?
-Chocolate would be nice, please.
Hilda sat on a chair and poured some tea for both of them. Then she served Lena the pancakes being quite generous with the chocolate syrup.
-Tell me, dear. Why are you here?
-What do you mean?- Lena said, surprised at such a direct question.
-People don't come here without a reason. Some come here to clear up their minds, some come to write, some don't know why they came at first, but they find the reason in the end. Everyone who stays in here has a story. I want to know yours.
-It's long.- Lena warned her.
-I have all the time of the world.- Hilda replied.
-Ok.- Lena sighed.- For a long time I've had this friend. He was my best friend, I knew I could rely on him, and I could talk to him about everything. He was in love with me, I know because he told me. He told me that he loved me and he knew I didn't love him, but that he would stay being my friend. I felt bad for him, for not being able to love him, but at the same time I was glad he was willing to stay friends with me. I dated some men, but it never worked out, there was always something that made the relationship die, and he was always by my side through the break-ups. One day he met this awesome girl, they were made for each other, and they fell in love. I was very happy for him. He deserved love after all he had been through. And he married that girl. Two days ago. The same day I realized he was the man of my life. The same day I realized that he was lucky I never dated him. Because I want him to be happy and he would have never been with me.- tears were streaming down her face to the pancakes below at that point.
Hilda stood up and opened a few drawers murmuring at herself. She came back with a pack of tissues and handed one to Lena.
-So, you realized too late that he was the one.
-That's not the worse. I realized that he was the only man I would be able to love, but I also realized I would have hurt him deeply if we had ever dated. There is something broken inside me that makes everything around me rot.
-Don't be too harsh on yourself, darling.- Hilda said reaching her hand.
-It's true.
-Come child.- she said moving to her side and hugging her.- Everything is going to be okay.
She hugged Lena until she stopped crying. They finished their breakfast, and Hilda changed the topic to something a bit more cheerful, telling Lena some beautiful places to see around the hotel, with the hope that nature would help her settle down. Lena insisted on cleaning up after finishing her breakfast, but Hilda would have none of it and made her go outside. Lena walked along a path in the forest that finished next to the cliff. There were some huge rocks that had been used as benches through the centuries, as the wear would show. They were smooth and strangely warm. She sat on one and stared blankly at the sea.
Then, she started remembering all the moments she had lived with him. How he had been by her side all the time, not asking for anything else, and she started crying again. She could see his eyes in the color of the sea, she could feel his breath in the sea breeze. It felt as if someone had torn off a piece of her heart, and what was left was still beating oblivious of the gap. Ignoring the fact that it was bleeding to death. Knowing that she would never have him, that she should never have him, hurt more than anything in life. Knowing that if she ever had him it would ruin his life, hurt even more. She had two choices, she could be alone all her life or she could... A running dog interrupted her thoughts. It went straight to her and started licking her hands. A boy went running behind it.
-Sorry, he ran away.- the boy apologized.
-Don't worry, he behaved.- Lena smiled sadly.
The boy leashed the dog and walked away. Before getting lost in the woods he turned around and waved goodbye smiling. He had her friend's smile. Lena could feel her heart breaking into a thousand pieces, even if she thought it was not possible to break anymore. And, then, she jumped off the cliff.
-Can I help you, lovely lady?- he asked with the rough voice of someone who has been smoking all its life.
-I'd like to have a room, please.- Lena replied smiling.
-Sure, how long are you planning to stay?
-I don't know yet, Mister...?
-Oh! Don't call me Mister anything, just call me Tim.- he smiled showing some gaps between his teeth.- Well, you can stay here as long as you need to. Come, follow me, I'll show you your room.
Tim guided her through some old wooden stairs covered with a red carpet to the first floor. The corridor was dimly lit and there were doors at both sides of it. Tim stopped and opened a door at his left, he got inside and turned on the lights. The room faced the sea, it was not big, but it looked comfortable. The bed was covered in thick tartan blankets, and the curtains were a deep crimson. There was a fireplace opposite to the bed, with an old armchair next to it. Tim looked at her.
-Here you are, I hope you find the room of your liking. We are not a luxury hotel, we just do our best to keep the customers comfortable and warm. Speaking of which, do you want me to light a fire?
-No, thank you. I'll go straight to sleep, and I've found I sleep better if it's cold.
-As you wish. My wife will be serving breakfast throughout the morning, don't worry there is no schedule, you can eat at any time you want. Good night.- He said while getting out of the room.
-Good night.- Lena replied with a smile.
She undressed and put on her pajamas, although she wasn't sure she would be able to get some sleep. However, as soon as she got inside the bed she fell asleep. It was a dreamless sleep and the first rays of the sun woke her up, as she had forgotten to draw the curtains. She got outside the bed and into the bathroom. There was a really large old bathtub, which she immediately proceeded to fill up with warm water and foamy soap. Laying inside the bathtub after a good night of sleep felt like heaven, she hadn't been so relaxed in ages. She stayed inside the bathtub until the water started cooling off and she realized that she hadn't eaten anything since midday the day before. She got dressed and went downstairs to find Tim at the same place as the day before.
-Did you sleep well, young lady?
-You can call me Lena, Tim.- she smiled, she really liked that old man.- And yes, I did, I hadn't slept so well for a long time.
-I'm glad to hear that. If you want to have breakfast, my wife, Hilda, is in the kitchen right now. She does some excellent pancakes.
-Oh! Yes, I'm starving. Thank you.
Tim headed to the kitchen and she followed suit. It was a large kitchen, with what looked like a dozen different cabinets, and a old wooden table where twelve people could sit comfortably. Hilda was busy at the stoves, she was a little lady who tied her graying hair in a low bun. She hadn't seemed to notice that there was someone else in the kitchen with her as she was humming absentmindedly.
-Hilda, my dear. This is Lena, she's staying in room 5.- Tim said out loud.
Hilda turned around, she smiled both with her mouth and with her little eyes that were hiding behind a set of small round glasses. She wiped her hands on her apron and stepped forward to greet Lena. Her hands were warm.
-Come dear, I'll make you breakfast. What do you want?- she said while making Lena sit on a chair.
-Tim said something about pancakes?
-Sure!- and then she turned around to Tim.- I'll take it from here, we, women, need to talk.
Tim looked at both of them, confused. But he finally bowed his head and left the room. Hilda went back to the stove, telling Lena the story of the hotel in the meantime. After a while she headed back to the table carrying a plate of pancakes at each hand.
-You don't mind if I eat with you, do you?- she said while she left the plates on the table and went back to take a kettle and a pair of cups.
-No, not at all.
-Fine. Chocolate or maple syrup?
-Chocolate would be nice, please.
Hilda sat on a chair and poured some tea for both of them. Then she served Lena the pancakes being quite generous with the chocolate syrup.
-Tell me, dear. Why are you here?
-What do you mean?- Lena said, surprised at such a direct question.
-People don't come here without a reason. Some come here to clear up their minds, some come to write, some don't know why they came at first, but they find the reason in the end. Everyone who stays in here has a story. I want to know yours.
-It's long.- Lena warned her.
-I have all the time of the world.- Hilda replied.
-Ok.- Lena sighed.- For a long time I've had this friend. He was my best friend, I knew I could rely on him, and I could talk to him about everything. He was in love with me, I know because he told me. He told me that he loved me and he knew I didn't love him, but that he would stay being my friend. I felt bad for him, for not being able to love him, but at the same time I was glad he was willing to stay friends with me. I dated some men, but it never worked out, there was always something that made the relationship die, and he was always by my side through the break-ups. One day he met this awesome girl, they were made for each other, and they fell in love. I was very happy for him. He deserved love after all he had been through. And he married that girl. Two days ago. The same day I realized he was the man of my life. The same day I realized that he was lucky I never dated him. Because I want him to be happy and he would have never been with me.- tears were streaming down her face to the pancakes below at that point.
Hilda stood up and opened a few drawers murmuring at herself. She came back with a pack of tissues and handed one to Lena.
-So, you realized too late that he was the one.
-That's not the worse. I realized that he was the only man I would be able to love, but I also realized I would have hurt him deeply if we had ever dated. There is something broken inside me that makes everything around me rot.
-Don't be too harsh on yourself, darling.- Hilda said reaching her hand.
-It's true.
-Come child.- she said moving to her side and hugging her.- Everything is going to be okay.
She hugged Lena until she stopped crying. They finished their breakfast, and Hilda changed the topic to something a bit more cheerful, telling Lena some beautiful places to see around the hotel, with the hope that nature would help her settle down. Lena insisted on cleaning up after finishing her breakfast, but Hilda would have none of it and made her go outside. Lena walked along a path in the forest that finished next to the cliff. There were some huge rocks that had been used as benches through the centuries, as the wear would show. They were smooth and strangely warm. She sat on one and stared blankly at the sea.
Then, she started remembering all the moments she had lived with him. How he had been by her side all the time, not asking for anything else, and she started crying again. She could see his eyes in the color of the sea, she could feel his breath in the sea breeze. It felt as if someone had torn off a piece of her heart, and what was left was still beating oblivious of the gap. Ignoring the fact that it was bleeding to death. Knowing that she would never have him, that she should never have him, hurt more than anything in life. Knowing that if she ever had him it would ruin his life, hurt even more. She had two choices, she could be alone all her life or she could... A running dog interrupted her thoughts. It went straight to her and started licking her hands. A boy went running behind it.
-Sorry, he ran away.- the boy apologized.
-Don't worry, he behaved.- Lena smiled sadly.
The boy leashed the dog and walked away. Before getting lost in the woods he turned around and waved goodbye smiling. He had her friend's smile. Lena could feel her heart breaking into a thousand pieces, even if she thought it was not possible to break anymore. And, then, she jumped off the cliff.
1/15/2014
Sharing stuff at the lab or why it is important to have people to rely on
Today I brought some Spanish omelette to the lab. It took me three hours to cook, but it was worth it. I brought it because it's my last week in the lab, and I had promised them I would cook some from almost the very beginning, so I had to do it. It's nice, sharing food with the people you work with, it gives a completely different perspective about your relationship. We talked a lot about how people at work interact with each other, and that got me thinking.
(All of you, when I write "that got me thinking" it means that the next paragraphs are not going to make sense at all, I warned you.)
So, I do have a good relationship with my labmates from Barcelona, I really do, but it is not *excellent* and sometimes it is not completely sincere. With them it took me much longer to have the kind of relationship that I have with my labmates in Mexico. I don't know if it is because I came here with a different set of mind, or because people in here are more open minded in general, but I know I'm willing to change it. We should be able to talk about everything, to solve our problems. And we should, definitely share our food, stop everything for a while and just talk about silly things. We should show each other how important we are.
(All of you, when I write "that got me thinking" it means that the next paragraphs are not going to make sense at all, I warned you.)
So, I do have a good relationship with my labmates from Barcelona, I really do, but it is not *excellent* and sometimes it is not completely sincere. With them it took me much longer to have the kind of relationship that I have with my labmates in Mexico. I don't know if it is because I came here with a different set of mind, or because people in here are more open minded in general, but I know I'm willing to change it. We should be able to talk about everything, to solve our problems. And we should, definitely share our food, stop everything for a while and just talk about silly things. We should show each other how important we are.
A Story A Day. Story 11 of 365: Age.
They had been lovers for years. Always hiding, always in secret. He was younger. She remembered thinking that he was too young to love her, yet he did. She always thought that there would come a day when he decided he needed someone his age, when he wanted to have a family, to have the kids she wouldn't be able to give him. But he stayed.
He saw her grow old, while he was still in the prime of his life. But he had loved since the day he had first seen her, thinking that their love was impossible, knowing that their love would be frowned upon. He remembered talking with his friends about that girl he had a crush on, not daring to admit that she was 20 years his elder.
They had kept their relationship secret for too long. Never being able to live together, never daring to go together to social meetings. No one ever suspected that they were in love, they made it look like they were just nice neighbors. But then her health started to decay.
She was dying before her time, sure she was old, but not that old. He saw how her body crumbled before his eyes, and decided to spent all the time she had left by her side. At first, people were surprised, but they accepted their relationship fast enough, realizing that love does not have an age.
By the end he would not part from her side, holding her hand, comforting her. Their friends, both his and hers, would bring him everything he needed so he could stay by her side. And she died happy, knowing that they were accepted, only regretting that they had not made their love public before.
He saw her grow old, while he was still in the prime of his life. But he had loved since the day he had first seen her, thinking that their love was impossible, knowing that their love would be frowned upon. He remembered talking with his friends about that girl he had a crush on, not daring to admit that she was 20 years his elder.
They had kept their relationship secret for too long. Never being able to live together, never daring to go together to social meetings. No one ever suspected that they were in love, they made it look like they were just nice neighbors. But then her health started to decay.
She was dying before her time, sure she was old, but not that old. He saw how her body crumbled before his eyes, and decided to spent all the time she had left by her side. At first, people were surprised, but they accepted their relationship fast enough, realizing that love does not have an age.
By the end he would not part from her side, holding her hand, comforting her. Their friends, both his and hers, would bring him everything he needed so he could stay by her side. And she died happy, knowing that they were accepted, only regretting that they had not made their love public before.
1/14/2014
A Story A Day. Story 10 of 365: Empty.
The door opened creaking, she had to push it a bit to unstop it. The thick smell of long-closed spaces hit her in the face, it was clear that it had been closed for a long time. Even through the darkness she could see the shadows of her long lost home. Memories started flooding her mind. She could see herself walking down those stairs as a kid, she could see her mother waving her goodbye before the door, she could also see her father arriving home from work, hanging the coat by the door.
She continued for the kitchen, feeling the dust on the furniture. She headed to a window and let the sunshine in. It lit everything up, but in a way it just made it sadder. Everything was as her mother had last left it. There were some dishes on the drying rack, the toaster was still out for the breakfast. A cloth lay lazily next to the sink, as if waiting to be picked up at any minute. But there was no one to pick it up, and there would never be again.
She closed her eyes and remembered the last time she had been in that house, more than fifteen years ago. She remembered the screams, the crying and the "never come back again" her father had said. It was the thing that hurt the most. They had never talked again, her parents had never visited her not even when she had her first child, they had acted as if they had never ever had a daughter. And now they were dead and they would never talk again. She was feeling sad, despite of everything, they were still her parents, and she still loved them. She had reached for them, she had, she had written letters, although she never knew if they had read them. And they had died without a possible reconciliation. All of sudden. And no one had told her until the lawyers found out that she was their only child, and by then they had been buried for more than three months.
She cried inside that empty house that had once been her home, and wondered if their last thought had been for her. If they had remembered their estranged daughter, and the stupid reason that made them lose her. Still, there was no use in wondering, as all that was left was that big, empty house.
She continued for the kitchen, feeling the dust on the furniture. She headed to a window and let the sunshine in. It lit everything up, but in a way it just made it sadder. Everything was as her mother had last left it. There were some dishes on the drying rack, the toaster was still out for the breakfast. A cloth lay lazily next to the sink, as if waiting to be picked up at any minute. But there was no one to pick it up, and there would never be again.
She closed her eyes and remembered the last time she had been in that house, more than fifteen years ago. She remembered the screams, the crying and the "never come back again" her father had said. It was the thing that hurt the most. They had never talked again, her parents had never visited her not even when she had her first child, they had acted as if they had never ever had a daughter. And now they were dead and they would never talk again. She was feeling sad, despite of everything, they were still her parents, and she still loved them. She had reached for them, she had, she had written letters, although she never knew if they had read them. And they had died without a possible reconciliation. All of sudden. And no one had told her until the lawyers found out that she was their only child, and by then they had been buried for more than three months.
She cried inside that empty house that had once been her home, and wondered if their last thought had been for her. If they had remembered their estranged daughter, and the stupid reason that made them lose her. Still, there was no use in wondering, as all that was left was that big, empty house.
Starting to say goodbye or how awkward I tend to be.
In a week I'll be back home. This means lots of things: I need to start packing (or thinking about doing so), I need to check I have everything that I should have and I need to start saying goodbye.
The thing is that I completely suck at saying goodbye, like it is the thing I do the worst. The main reason for this is that I'm horribly awkward when I need to show my feelings. I never know how to tell people how I really feel. At least, now I can just hug them tightly as if they were a floating device, as if that would allow to take them with me or I would be able to stay in here. Truth is that I'm much better at expressing things on writing than out loud, so maybe I should write to each of them, telling them how I feel, telling them that I'll miss them more than I dare to admit, telling them to come visit me. And thanking them for helping me change, become a different person, maybe a better person. Thank them for being part of my life, and telling them that they will forever be part of it.
I'll miss you guys, I will.
The thing is that I completely suck at saying goodbye, like it is the thing I do the worst. The main reason for this is that I'm horribly awkward when I need to show my feelings. I never know how to tell people how I really feel. At least, now I can just hug them tightly as if they were a floating device, as if that would allow to take them with me or I would be able to stay in here. Truth is that I'm much better at expressing things on writing than out loud, so maybe I should write to each of them, telling them how I feel, telling them that I'll miss them more than I dare to admit, telling them to come visit me. And thanking them for helping me change, become a different person, maybe a better person. Thank them for being part of my life, and telling them that they will forever be part of it.
I'll miss you guys, I will.
1/13/2014
A Story A Day. Story 9 of 365: Cold.
She was always cold. It was not only that she had the feeling of being cold, she was actually cold at the touch. Her skin always seemed to be below freezing point. Because of it no one would ever touch her, not even her mother. Slowly, her heart started getting cold too, to the point it froze and she lost the capacity to love anyone.
1/12/2014
A Story A Day. Story 8 of 365: Home.
Ann had travelled around the world. She had been almost everywhere, first, as a kid following her father around, and then, when she was an adult, on a quest to have a place to call home.
She was forty, tall and blond, thin and looking younger than her real age. She was always tanned, of spending so much time outdoors. She spoke seven languages at a native level and five more conversationally. She had never needed to work, and she didn't spend much on anything that wasn't traveling anyway. She didn't have a family either, she had never married. Maybe, because as with her home, she couldn't settle for only one man. She had lived in all the European capital, and she had had lovers in all of them, the same could be said for most of the other countries in the world. But, as the cities, her lovers always lacked something, something that could only be found in another place, in other arms.
She had gotten used to it, of leaving things behind, of always looking for the inexistent. It was not like she was burning bridges behind her, she was sure to have a place to go back to in each an every city, because she knew that sooner or later she would miss something that was unique from the place.
One day she realized that her only real home where the airports, that it was a place where she felt comfortable, since they bore the promise to take her to other places. And that's what made her realize that she would never ever stop traveling. Since it was the only way to be home.
She was forty, tall and blond, thin and looking younger than her real age. She was always tanned, of spending so much time outdoors. She spoke seven languages at a native level and five more conversationally. She had never needed to work, and she didn't spend much on anything that wasn't traveling anyway. She didn't have a family either, she had never married. Maybe, because as with her home, she couldn't settle for only one man. She had lived in all the European capital, and she had had lovers in all of them, the same could be said for most of the other countries in the world. But, as the cities, her lovers always lacked something, something that could only be found in another place, in other arms.
She had gotten used to it, of leaving things behind, of always looking for the inexistent. It was not like she was burning bridges behind her, she was sure to have a place to go back to in each an every city, because she knew that sooner or later she would miss something that was unique from the place.
One day she realized that her only real home where the airports, that it was a place where she felt comfortable, since they bore the promise to take her to other places. And that's what made her realize that she would never ever stop traveling. Since it was the only way to be home.
1/11/2014
A Story A Day. Story 7 of 365: Silence.
All her life she had been surrounded by sounds. The cars on the street, people talking, music, it was something she had gotten used to. And when it all disappeared, surprisingly, she didn't miss it. Going around the world without hearing anything was some kind of a blessing for her. Of course, she would like to listen to music again, or have a conversation, but she had lived that already and she was ready to embrace a soundless life.
It was funny how it all started. One day she woke up and she couldn't hear anything, only silence. At first, she had gone to several doctors, but none could find anything wrong in her. In the end she decided that, somehow, the part of her brain that received sounds had been unplugged, and, that, in the same way, maybe it could get working again. She decided to change her life, she left the city and moved to a country house by a lake. She had a peaceful life there, much better than when she was able to hear. She finally found time to paint, one of her passions, and, as there was nothing to distract her, her paintings would reflect her true soul. She started selling them, first to some people from a nearby town, then to other cities, and became quite known among the critics. She never left her home, though, shielded on her deafness to avoid the external world.
One day, however, she woke up and she heard the birds singing. The world crumbled for her. Her silence was her weapon, she needed it. She started considering what would happen to her career. And then she took a decision. She would pretend that she kept being unable to hear, maybe she didn't need a complete silence, but a metaphoric one. Maybe if she just maintained the illusion it would be enough.
It wasn't, hearing what other people said about her, and about her paintings, while they thought she couldn't hear them was too much to bear. She had earned enough money to live comfortably all her life, so she ended up quitting painting for good.
It was funny how it all started. One day she woke up and she couldn't hear anything, only silence. At first, she had gone to several doctors, but none could find anything wrong in her. In the end she decided that, somehow, the part of her brain that received sounds had been unplugged, and, that, in the same way, maybe it could get working again. She decided to change her life, she left the city and moved to a country house by a lake. She had a peaceful life there, much better than when she was able to hear. She finally found time to paint, one of her passions, and, as there was nothing to distract her, her paintings would reflect her true soul. She started selling them, first to some people from a nearby town, then to other cities, and became quite known among the critics. She never left her home, though, shielded on her deafness to avoid the external world.
One day, however, she woke up and she heard the birds singing. The world crumbled for her. Her silence was her weapon, she needed it. She started considering what would happen to her career. And then she took a decision. She would pretend that she kept being unable to hear, maybe she didn't need a complete silence, but a metaphoric one. Maybe if she just maintained the illusion it would be enough.
It wasn't, hearing what other people said about her, and about her paintings, while they thought she couldn't hear them was too much to bear. She had earned enough money to live comfortably all her life, so she ended up quitting painting for good.
1/10/2014
A Story A Day. Story 6 of 365: Death.
Mary lay on the bed, she knew she was dying. She had been dying since the day she was born, as we all are. People tends to ignore it, but every day of their life is one day less to live. However, Mary was dying for real. She could feel the icy hands of the death creep up her legs, heading to her heart, slowly, to make it stop. She had stopped fighting long ago, as soon as they had told her she had cancer. The doctors would tell her that there was hope, that the treatment would save her. She knew best, she was dying and she was going to die, no doctor could stop it. She was going to die because she had decided to. Mary was tired of life, it had never given her anything, only pain and despair, she thought it was fair for her to die and leave everything behind.
Mary lay on the bed, dying. She was alone. She had never had a family or any friends. But it was okay to her, she had death and that was all that she needed. She could feel how death was getting closer. It was already up her stomach. She expected it as if it was a lover, her only lover.
Mary lay on the bed, dead. Death had just kissed her lips, tenderly, icily, and took her away from her pain. She could see everything now. The nurses running to check on her, although she had told them thousands of times that there was nothing she wanted more than dying. How they covered her with a white sheet and took her out of the room. She didn't follow her body, she never had any interest on it while she was alive, she didn't see why she should have it now that she was dead.
Mary floated on the air, a spirit. Death had left her in that hospital room, with no indication of what should she do. There was no light, no darkness. There was no change except that she didn't feel pain anymore. What was she supposed to do next?
Mary remained in that room, forever. Her will to die had turned her into a spirit that would never move on. Into something that was condemned to experience every day into eternity. Never being able to rest.
Mary lay on the bed, dying. She was alone. She had never had a family or any friends. But it was okay to her, she had death and that was all that she needed. She could feel how death was getting closer. It was already up her stomach. She expected it as if it was a lover, her only lover.
Mary lay on the bed, dead. Death had just kissed her lips, tenderly, icily, and took her away from her pain. She could see everything now. The nurses running to check on her, although she had told them thousands of times that there was nothing she wanted more than dying. How they covered her with a white sheet and took her out of the room. She didn't follow her body, she never had any interest on it while she was alive, she didn't see why she should have it now that she was dead.
Mary floated on the air, a spirit. Death had left her in that hospital room, with no indication of what should she do. There was no light, no darkness. There was no change except that she didn't feel pain anymore. What was she supposed to do next?
Mary remained in that room, forever. Her will to die had turned her into a spirit that would never move on. Into something that was condemned to experience every day into eternity. Never being able to rest.
Second thoughts or why I suck at taking decisions
Today has been one of those days when I think too much. Probably it was because I woke up before three fucking thirty in the morning and couldn't go back to sleep. Maybe not, maybe it's just the pressure of having to go back home in 10 days. The thing is that, today, I was thinking if I had made a mistake by starting my PhD while being still so young. I mean, maybe I should have taken a couple of years off, enjoy life, travel, love, and then commit to science.
I've never been great at taking decisions, in fact I've been wrong thousands of times, but I've learnt to embrace my errors, because they made me who I am. Yet, I can't help but wonder how would my life be if I had taken another decision? I know it sounds as if I were not happy with the life I have right now. I am happy, I swear. I don't think I could be happy doing something else (that taking into account that I'm a scientist who writes), but there is always the question: what would have happened if?
I've never been great at taking decisions, in fact I've been wrong thousands of times, but I've learnt to embrace my errors, because they made me who I am. Yet, I can't help but wonder how would my life be if I had taken another decision? I know it sounds as if I were not happy with the life I have right now. I am happy, I swear. I don't think I could be happy doing something else (that taking into account that I'm a scientist who writes), but there is always the question: what would have happened if?
1/09/2014
A Story A Day. Story 5 of 365: Airports.
Another airport. Another plane. And more miles between him and his love. She didn't love him, he knew that. Not in the same way he loved her. He had known for a long time by her silences, by her "buts". Yet, he remained oblivious to it, his eyes tight shut. Until the day he finally had the courage to confess. From that day on he had been escaping. Running away from her, from his life. From airport to airport, going to unknown cities, escaping from her. As if distance could make him feel different in any way. As if distance were the solution to all his problems.
She had called him, worried, to make him think it through, to make him realize that it wasn't the end of the world. He hadn't listened the first time, or the second, the third time he didn't even pick up the phone. After some more failed attempts she gave up. It hurt not having him close, after all he was her friend, but it was his decision and sooner or later he would realize he couldn't hide forever.
The years passed, and with them he started forgetting why he was running away. And from where he was running away. He just had this constant feeling that something or someone was chasing him, that if he stopped, if he didn't get on the following plane, something was going to happen. And just like that, escaping from blurred shadows, he got back to his hometown. He didn't even remember it was his hometown, for him it was just one more city that happened to be on his way. He didn't recognize anything or anyone, until he saw her, walking down the street, holding hands with another man.
She was surprised when she got a call from the hospital, they asked her her name and requested her to go to identify a patient. That call left her worried, who could it be? She headed to the hospital and presented herself to the front desk. In there they directed her to the psychiatric guard. Everything was getting weirder, and she kept wondering who would it be the patient she had to identify. When they took her to the room she felt her heart stop. He was lying on the bed, his stare lost on the wall.
-Do you know him?- the nurse asked.
-Yes, I do.
He turned his head around at the sound of her voice, and looked at her without seeing her.
-What happened to him?- she asked.
-We wish we knew, we really wish we did.
She had called him, worried, to make him think it through, to make him realize that it wasn't the end of the world. He hadn't listened the first time, or the second, the third time he didn't even pick up the phone. After some more failed attempts she gave up. It hurt not having him close, after all he was her friend, but it was his decision and sooner or later he would realize he couldn't hide forever.
The years passed, and with them he started forgetting why he was running away. And from where he was running away. He just had this constant feeling that something or someone was chasing him, that if he stopped, if he didn't get on the following plane, something was going to happen. And just like that, escaping from blurred shadows, he got back to his hometown. He didn't even remember it was his hometown, for him it was just one more city that happened to be on his way. He didn't recognize anything or anyone, until he saw her, walking down the street, holding hands with another man.
She was surprised when she got a call from the hospital, they asked her her name and requested her to go to identify a patient. That call left her worried, who could it be? She headed to the hospital and presented herself to the front desk. In there they directed her to the psychiatric guard. Everything was getting weirder, and she kept wondering who would it be the patient she had to identify. When they took her to the room she felt her heart stop. He was lying on the bed, his stare lost on the wall.
-Do you know him?- the nurse asked.
-Yes, I do.
He turned his head around at the sound of her voice, and looked at her without seeing her.
-What happened to him?- she asked.
-We wish we knew, we really wish we did.
1/08/2014
A Story A Day. Story 4 of 365: Obsession.
She would sat on the last row of the class and look longingly at him. That was all she did, look and sigh. She was too coward to do anything else, so daydreaming was all that she had. She held the hope that maybe one day he would notice her, fall desperately in love with her and confess that she was the love of his life. She really believed it would happen. As if life were a fucking Hollywood movie, she had seen too many of those too. She would sit down at the same place every day, oblivious about what the professor was saying, just hoping that one day he would look at her. She became obsessed and completely disconnected from the real world, as her only reality was him. She lost her friends, she lost everything, because she was too busy living in her dream land. And in the end, without ever having him, she lost him too.
The damned countdown or my heart is already saying goodbye
This morning I was feeling quite melancholic, apparently a part of me is already saying goodbye to the city, to the country and to the people. That's the responsible part in me, the one that makes plans and usually controls everything. Then, there is this other part that doesn't want to leave, that wants to stay here and enjoy life. And this part is the one that controls my feelings right now, and this part is the one that is going to tear me apart as soon as I get on the fucking plane to go back home.
It's funny how, some time ago, there was nothing I wanted more than to go back home, there were days that the feeling was excruciating. I would count down the days. And now, there is nothing I could want more than to double up the days I have left here. To be able to spend my days away from the lab, taking profit of my new way of seeing life. Because I've changed, I know it, and I hope this change will be able to stay in the stressed out environment back home. But I could improve much more, and that's why I need to stay longer. To be a better person. To be a better me.
It's funny how, some time ago, there was nothing I wanted more than to go back home, there were days that the feeling was excruciating. I would count down the days. And now, there is nothing I could want more than to double up the days I have left here. To be able to spend my days away from the lab, taking profit of my new way of seeing life. Because I've changed, I know it, and I hope this change will be able to stay in the stressed out environment back home. But I could improve much more, and that's why I need to stay longer. To be a better person. To be a better me.
1/07/2014
A Story A Day. Story 3 of 365: Clock.
He would wake up every day at the same time during the night. Exactly twenty minutes after three. Some days he would go back to sleep without any problem, some others he would lie on the bed wide eyed staring at the ceiling. Of late, the later were more and more common. He had gone to several different doctors trying to find a solution, trying to find some answers. Some gave him pills, that made him sleep even worse, others recommended him to take up yoga, to relax. But he didn't have any kind of problem relaxing, it was just that something inside his brain had decided that it was time to wake up, and that was it. It was as if he had an internal clock, as if he were a machine programmed to start running at a specific time. It didn't matter what time did he go to sleep, he would always wake up at the same exact time. After a few months he even got used to it and started taking profit of those spare hours to read and paint. And suddenly, one day, he didn't wake up at the usual time. In fact he didn't wake up at all. His internal clock stopped and he was stuck in his sleep.
P.S.: I have to admit that this story is inspired by my own problem of waking up in the middle of the night for no reason whatsoever.
P.S.: I have to admit that this story is inspired by my own problem of waking up in the middle of the night for no reason whatsoever.
The day before the "Three-Wise-Men-Day" or I don't know what to call that festivity
Yesterday was the day before the "Three-Wise-Men-Day". I know it doesn't make any sense, but let me explain. The thing is that in the catholic countries (or something) kids get presents on the 6th of January too, like the baby Jesus (or something). And usually the day before today (fuck, if I keep making sense like this I better stop writing altogether) people does some stuff to celebrate. So this is the tale of what I did yesterday to celebrate this holiday.
The first part of my day wasn't at all Christmasy, well, actually it kind of was, because I went shopping for souvenirs for my family. I'm leaving Mexico in two weeks and (I still don't understand why) I need to take stuff for my "loved ones" so they can remember that I was in Mexico. Stop and think a bit about it, the one who should remember about Mexico in the future is ME not them, I'm the one who has crossed the fucking Atlantic Ocean. I'm also the one who is not quite sure whether she wants to go back home or not. Well, whatever, I went to Coyoacan and bought some stuff, and I also bought a book for myself, because I like books and because a friend had recommended it to me (do I really need to justify my need to buy books? If you think so GTFO). There were still Christmas decorations on the streets, despite the fact that it was close to twenty-five degrees Celsius (I've officially given up on feeling the cold until I go back to Barcelona, although if we take into account that I'm still wearing sandals DESPITE the fact that in the morning the temperature is around 6 degrees...). This is starting to be really convoluted,... thing is: I went, I bought and I left because there was too many people and people makes me nervous, also because I had done what I had to do and since I had not planned to walk around the neighborhood I didn't do it (and now you all realize my level of craziness and stop reading this blog forever).
In the afternoon I went to the house of a man I didn't know to met with some friends (if someone paid me for every time I went to a place where I almost didn't know anyone while being in here, I'd be rich) to eat a traditional "cake" for the "Three-Wise-Men-Day" day (emmm...), we have something similar in Barcelona too. However, in here, there are baby Jesus figurines inside the cake and everyone has to cut its part and if they get a figurine they have to pay for tamales another day. Taking into account that there were at least eight of those suckers inside each cake, the odds were quite high that everyone would end up having one. But because I saw a turtle on New Year's Eve I didn't get any.
Oh, my... I think this is the worst entry ever. Don't judge me too hard, it's because of the lack of sleep (I assume). Also, the story today is probably going to be awesome, because seriously... have you read all this shit? (I'm going to stop now, I'm so going to stop.)
The first part of my day wasn't at all Christmasy, well, actually it kind of was, because I went shopping for souvenirs for my family. I'm leaving Mexico in two weeks and (I still don't understand why) I need to take stuff for my "loved ones" so they can remember that I was in Mexico. Stop and think a bit about it, the one who should remember about Mexico in the future is ME not them, I'm the one who has crossed the fucking Atlantic Ocean. I'm also the one who is not quite sure whether she wants to go back home or not. Well, whatever, I went to Coyoacan and bought some stuff, and I also bought a book for myself, because I like books and because a friend had recommended it to me (do I really need to justify my need to buy books? If you think so GTFO). There were still Christmas decorations on the streets, despite the fact that it was close to twenty-five degrees Celsius (I've officially given up on feeling the cold until I go back to Barcelona, although if we take into account that I'm still wearing sandals DESPITE the fact that in the morning the temperature is around 6 degrees...). This is starting to be really convoluted,... thing is: I went, I bought and I left because there was too many people and people makes me nervous, also because I had done what I had to do and since I had not planned to walk around the neighborhood I didn't do it (and now you all realize my level of craziness and stop reading this blog forever).
In the afternoon I went to the house of a man I didn't know to met with some friends (if someone paid me for every time I went to a place where I almost didn't know anyone while being in here, I'd be rich) to eat a traditional "cake" for the "Three-Wise-Men-Day" day (emmm...), we have something similar in Barcelona too. However, in here, there are baby Jesus figurines inside the cake and everyone has to cut its part and if they get a figurine they have to pay for tamales another day. Taking into account that there were at least eight of those suckers inside each cake, the odds were quite high that everyone would end up having one. But because I saw a turtle on New Year's Eve I didn't get any.
Oh, my... I think this is the worst entry ever. Don't judge me too hard, it's because of the lack of sleep (I assume). Also, the story today is probably going to be awesome, because seriously... have you read all this shit? (I'm going to stop now, I'm so going to stop.)
1/06/2014
A Story A Day. Story 2 of 365: Chasing lights.
Luke was running around chasing the lights. He was excited, his mother could see that, she looked at him with both pride and concern. How much longer would he be able to run? The doctors had just diagnosed him with a rare neurodegenerative disease that was going to leave him bed-ridden for life. A life that would be short too. She knew she had to be strong for him. Luke didn't fully understand what his illness meant, but he had understood that his mother had something heavy upon her shoulders. Yet, he maintained his smile, even when it was clear that he was loosing control of his own body. In the end, the only thing that remained for them was to have hope. But hope was like chasing lights, you could not grasp it, you could only chase it forever.
1/05/2014
A Story A Day. Story 1 of 365: Something.
I'm proud (not sure I should be using proud in here) to present my newest project: A Story A Day. I will, basically, write a short story (at least one sentence) every day (I had to work hard to not include fucking in the middle of that (oh... I did write fucking (ok, stop))). Rules are: I will write every day even if I can't post it on the day I am supposed to, but all the stories will end up in here. My faithful readers (read: no one), will be able to suggest stories, but I'll do as I please (as I always do). So have fun and let the Hunger Games begin (uh, oh,... wrong place).
She was walking down the street, slowly, when she heard something behind her. It was late and it was dark, and there was no one else around. She told herself that she was being paranoid, that there was nothing, that she had passed thousands of times through that street. She also forced herself to remember that crime didn't exist anymore, that kidnappings, rapes, and robberies were things of the past, things that would happen during her grandparents' times. Still, what was that? She turned around carefully and saw nothing. After forcing herself to calm down she continued her way, briskly. Then again, that noise. Maybe it was just an stray cat or a dog, or something. What if it was something? Chills ran down her spine and she speeded her pace a bit more. Crime might be over, but there were still lots of scary things running free at night. She passed by a lamp post and saw a fast-moving shadow. That was when she started running. For once she was glad about her inability to walk on high heels, flat shoes made running much easier. She could already see the restaurant she was headed to, there was some people waiting outside. She slowed down and finished her way at a normal speed. She entered the restaurant and looked for her boyfriend. And, then, a high-pitched scream on the street.
New Year's resolutions or a list of a bunch of things I'll try to do (someday)
I know it's kind of stupid to resolve to do something just because it is a new year, but this year I resolved to have some New Year's resolutions so here they are.
1. Have New Year's resolutions. (That one was easy, I can feel I'm taking off already.)
2. Be more patient. (I can't promise anything, my patience tends to be limited.)
3. Take things more calmly. (Instead of stressing out at every little thing that happens to me.)
4. Stop overthinking. (For example, when it comes to men, SPECIALLY when it comes to men.)
5. Let things flow. (Related to 2, 3 and 4 above.)
6. Get out of my comfort zone more often. (Like doing things that make me interact with people I don't know. Also, get rid of this shyness.)
7. Meet more people. (Related to 6, and also related to everything I've been doing here in Mexico.)
8. Train more. (Some days ago I said I want to train for a triathlon, and I will.)
9. Write more often. (As often as once a day, even if it is only a paragraph, or a short story, or a whole chapter of a new book.)
10. Go to more concerts. (One of the pleasures of life: live music. Also, the first concert I'm going to go is Frank Turner's so everyone wins.)
11. Sing more often. (Not only at open mics, but at home when I'm alone.)
12. Read more. (I used to read a lot, but right now I'm usually too tired to do it.)
13. Be less messy. (That's not happening, I don't even know why I wrote it in here.)
So that is it.
You know what? I had a second thought about the writing more, since I want to write every day... I should as well post whatever I have written in here for the whole year (and because I'll be starting some days later this is going to go all the way to 2015). I'm going to call it "A Story A Day", most of them are probably not going to be that good, but it will be good for me.
1. Have New Year's resolutions. (That one was easy, I can feel I'm taking off already.)
2. Be more patient. (I can't promise anything, my patience tends to be limited.)
3. Take things more calmly. (Instead of stressing out at every little thing that happens to me.)
4. Stop overthinking. (For example, when it comes to men, SPECIALLY when it comes to men.)
5. Let things flow. (Related to 2, 3 and 4 above.)
6. Get out of my comfort zone more often. (Like doing things that make me interact with people I don't know. Also, get rid of this shyness.)
7. Meet more people. (Related to 6, and also related to everything I've been doing here in Mexico.)
8. Train more. (Some days ago I said I want to train for a triathlon, and I will.)
9. Write more often. (As often as once a day, even if it is only a paragraph, or a short story, or a whole chapter of a new book.)
10. Go to more concerts. (One of the pleasures of life: live music. Also, the first concert I'm going to go is Frank Turner's so everyone wins.)
11. Sing more often. (Not only at open mics, but at home when I'm alone.)
12. Read more. (I used to read a lot, but right now I'm usually too tired to do it.)
13. Be less messy. (That's not happening, I don't even know why I wrote it in here.)
So that is it.
You know what? I had a second thought about the writing more, since I want to write every day... I should as well post whatever I have written in here for the whole year (and because I'll be starting some days later this is going to go all the way to 2015). I'm going to call it "A Story A Day", most of them are probably not going to be that good, but it will be good for me.
1/04/2014
Reasons to stay in Mexico or New Year's at the beach
If you follow this blog, you'll already know that I spent New Year's at the beach. Not only New Year's but six full days.
I went with some friends (it is funny how I can call them friends when I met some of them on the same day the trip started) to a place where you could camp next to the beach. It was an almost untouched beach, because there are no big hotels next to it. Also, it is not really accessible, there is a road that goes there, but it takes forever to reach the place. This means that you can see nature as it is. I saw pelicans, crabs, fishes and what is best a whale and a sea turtle that was laying eggs. Also, the Ocean (the Pacific one) was out there, wide and wild, showing the sheer power of the elements. And finally, and maybe one of the most spectacular things I've seen, the starry sky. Oh! And the phosphorescent algae!
It was a really good experience, I ate lots of things that I hadn't eaten before. Like oysters, really large oysters. And I saw once more how people in here has a different rhythm of life, as well as a easiness to make new friends. And I think that this is helping me to become more open.
Best part of it all was to see the turtle exactly at midnight on the 31st, it is supposed to be a lucky sign. So I'll think of this new year as the "Year of the Turtle".
I went with some friends (it is funny how I can call them friends when I met some of them on the same day the trip started) to a place where you could camp next to the beach. It was an almost untouched beach, because there are no big hotels next to it. Also, it is not really accessible, there is a road that goes there, but it takes forever to reach the place. This means that you can see nature as it is. I saw pelicans, crabs, fishes and what is best a whale and a sea turtle that was laying eggs. Also, the Ocean (the Pacific one) was out there, wide and wild, showing the sheer power of the elements. And finally, and maybe one of the most spectacular things I've seen, the starry sky. Oh! And the phosphorescent algae!
It was a really good experience, I ate lots of things that I hadn't eaten before. Like oysters, really large oysters. And I saw once more how people in here has a different rhythm of life, as well as a easiness to make new friends. And I think that this is helping me to become more open.
Best part of it all was to see the turtle exactly at midnight on the 31st, it is supposed to be a lucky sign. So I'll think of this new year as the "Year of the Turtle".
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