One day I'm drifting through various places around the globe, wondering if it's the time of my life, the next moment I'm squashed under loads of emails, tasks and reminders, getting to understand a real meaning of 9 till 5 — it's 7 till 7.
Is really the grass always greener on the other side?
I do need a second for myself.
— How's your day today? — I'm asking through a messenger service.
— A bit better than yesterday... — She replies.
— Want a joke?
— Sure.
I'm quickly opening a new browser window, typing in an address and searching for a decent one — I've been doing it since forever.
Skimming through pages, looking for something lovely. They all seem a little odd but I guess it's only me. Finally, there's one that doesn't sound too clumsy. Copy, paste, enter.
She answers with a smiley.
I'm smiling, too. She has just made my day.
29 April 2008
27 April 2008
A gentle reminder
Mid-nineties. Have just come of age and started dating the most beautiful girl around. The most spectacular one. And have fallen in love. Deeply. As first shy kisses are exchanged, I'm leaving for a while.
Staying with a bunch of promising brains in a rural hostel, completely desolated, away from anything that would remind us of civilization. There is only snow and deep forests around.
Though I terribly suffer, being parted with her, I do enjoy it there, every minute of it, hanging out, reading Catch XXII, talking to friends I've been seeing for years but am likely to lose for good soon, enjoying sleepless nights and exhausted mornings but most of all — thinking of her, thinking of her, thinking of her — being completely absorbed in bottomless desire.
I bought a postcard when I was leaving the town, Escher's Balcony — to let her know that she was there with me.
It's after midnight, I'm freezing on a lifeless terrace and wondering what to put down to make sure she would understand. Nothing too serious, nothing too luscious. Must be spot on. Poetic. Maybe foolish. At the time, I didn't know I had to stay hungry, stay foolish. I simply was.
After all those years, I cannot recall what was it I wrote; I guess it could have been either something slightly romantic or slightly reserved — and there must have been far more between the lines. Though we were only about to learn about each other, I was eager to learn and happy to teach.
I remember thinking that this was it, that — while I knew so little about the girl — this was the definite love. Well, maybe it turned out it wasn't down the track but for the time-being it surely was.
So what's the moral of the story?
The balcony — it represents the moment when I was incredibly conscious about my life, I knew exactly what was going on and I knew that life was mine to handle. For that matter, a balcony, any balcony where I get time to reflect becomes an epitome of a gentle reminder: this is my life, my life to handle and I should rule the roost.
Staying with a bunch of promising brains in a rural hostel, completely desolated, away from anything that would remind us of civilization. There is only snow and deep forests around.
Though I terribly suffer, being parted with her, I do enjoy it there, every minute of it, hanging out, reading Catch XXII, talking to friends I've been seeing for years but am likely to lose for good soon, enjoying sleepless nights and exhausted mornings but most of all — thinking of her, thinking of her, thinking of her — being completely absorbed in bottomless desire.
I bought a postcard when I was leaving the town, Escher's Balcony — to let her know that she was there with me.
It's after midnight, I'm freezing on a lifeless terrace and wondering what to put down to make sure she would understand. Nothing too serious, nothing too luscious. Must be spot on. Poetic. Maybe foolish. At the time, I didn't know I had to stay hungry, stay foolish. I simply was.
After all those years, I cannot recall what was it I wrote; I guess it could have been either something slightly romantic or slightly reserved — and there must have been far more between the lines. Though we were only about to learn about each other, I was eager to learn and happy to teach.
I remember thinking that this was it, that — while I knew so little about the girl — this was the definite love. Well, maybe it turned out it wasn't down the track but for the time-being it surely was.
So what's the moral of the story?
The balcony — it represents the moment when I was incredibly conscious about my life, I knew exactly what was going on and I knew that life was mine to handle. For that matter, a balcony, any balcony where I get time to reflect becomes an epitome of a gentle reminder: this is my life, my life to handle and I should rule the roost.
16 April 2008
Over the clouds
Exactly as planned, I took off for a weekend. Landed in a provincial town where they still enjoy life as it comes. Far enough from everyday stress that proved to be too wearying last week. Spent a Friday night in a jazz club, had a few. Young musicians with balls, could not stop playing and jammed until late. A responsive audience, the night had its vibe.
Went to a second-hand bookstore on Saturday, a must-do anytime I'm around.
Just chilled on Sunday. Chilled. Sat in a pizza place with her, sipped a beer, then swapped it for a handful of cakes and a bench next to a fountain. The sun was shining and I felt fine.
— What you're up to? — asked she.
— I'm flying tonight.
— Bummer.
— I know.
Come what may. It's gonna be alright.
Went to a second-hand bookstore on Saturday, a must-do anytime I'm around.
Just chilled on Sunday. Chilled. Sat in a pizza place with her, sipped a beer, then swapped it for a handful of cakes and a bench next to a fountain. The sun was shining and I felt fine.
— What you're up to? — asked she.
— I'm flying tonight.
— Bummer.
— I know.
Come what may. It's gonna be alright.
09 April 2008
Seeking warmth
Listening to Paco de Lucía, semi-randomly chosen for me by iTunes. Haven't heard a single note of his guitar since maybe 1999. As I'm snoozing, all those once forgotten feelings are coming back with a vengeance.
I'm tired. Tired of a cold weather, a weakening loneliness in faceless crowds, tired of a useless mobile phone, empty walls and a numbing silence, but most of all, tired of a black hole in my mind that seems everlasting, bottomless and growing, a black hole that spreads fear and sorrow through my thoughts.
I am dying here.
I need to communicate. Keenly. I need to talk to people, I desperately need to laugh and have fun. And I need somebody who I can trust — after all, I am just a very ordinary human being.
I must fly away for a weekend to hold on to that little sanity that remains.
I'm tired. Tired of a cold weather, a weakening loneliness in faceless crowds, tired of a useless mobile phone, empty walls and a numbing silence, but most of all, tired of a black hole in my mind that seems everlasting, bottomless and growing, a black hole that spreads fear and sorrow through my thoughts.
I am dying here.
I need to communicate. Keenly. I need to talk to people, I desperately need to laugh and have fun. And I need somebody who I can trust — after all, I am just a very ordinary human being.
I must fly away for a weekend to hold on to that little sanity that remains.
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