December 25, 2014

My Christmas miracle.

At this time last year I was counting the minutes for you to be here. You'd said you'd spend the 25th here and you did. I picked you up with my car and on my way to pick you up I was as happy as ever. When you got in the car I started shaking like a leaf in the wind and I had to concentrate really bad not to let it show. I guess, deep within I did know I loved you, I was just too naive and too convinced that you would never like me back. That is probably why I  needed so long to accept that I was in love with you.

I am not sure this time why I am writing this. I guess this is the only way I can reach you, or at least I imagine I can do so. So yes, this is me reaching out to you again. I just want to tell you I'd really like to have peace. I accept fully I won't ever be part of your life, I'd just like for us to get along and not hate on each other the way we've been doing until now  I want to be able to say hello and get a smile back, and above all, I want you to know for sure, that if you ever need me, I will be here waiting for you and that I still am the friend you once found in me.

I decided from today on, I am gonna have nothing but good feelings for you. Yes, I don't forget that really bad things between us happened and I have my fair share of guilt on it, but I am sure they happened because none of us could have done it any better. I know you did not mean to hurt me, you were just trying to do what you thought was best for you, and it is sad to say so, but I am sorry to see that they ended up taking a bigger toll on you than on me. And yes, many mistakes were made, but I want this to be my Christmas miracle: to leave all ill thoughts behind, stop questioning your character and be able to look at the future cherishing your memory, treasuring the good things and leaving all the pain behind.

I wish you could do the same for me.

December 20, 2014

Even Now





How long should I wait before I let you go?
How long should I decide?
Whose side should I take
When both of us were wrong?
When we both share the blame

Oh but I love you even still even now
Even though we fell apart
Even still even now
But I hope we'll meet again

Whose eyes will you look in
When love is in your heart?
Whose hand will hold your ring?
Whose voice will serenade
To help your baby sleep?
To make it all okay

Oh but I love you
Even still even now
Even though we fell apart
Even still even now
And I hope we'll meet again
Even still even now
Even though we fell apart
Even still even now
And I hope you'll be okay


(William Fitzsimmons -Even Now)

December 9, 2014

A walk and a smoke

I'm gonna go for a walk, I'm gonna go and walk by the river even though it is so cold. I need something to remind me that I am and the icy wind touching my skin always manages to show me that I am more than just something that only exists in my head. There's also this body that walks along carrying the storm inside.
I know, three days ago I still knew there was a reason for living and that that reason for living was life itself. But something broke inside me and I am unable to tell how to patch myself up. I feel lost and alone as I have never before. I am desperate, and sure, what a bad thing to admit: don't even dare saying it, always smile and be nice, don't you dare getting angry, nobody likes fat angry girls, you have to be sweet and skinny and cute so you can even have the right to breath the same air normal and pretty people do.
I don't want to be alone anymore, I need love, I need someone to accept me and take me for what I am. I've spent so long being told I wasn't good enough that I started believing it and now, for the first time in a long time, I feel I am worth loving just because I am myself. For the first time in a while I can see there's good in me. And yet, I seem to be the only one who sees that.
On the other hand I miss him so bad. Yes, I have been trying to move forward and it actually works, I don't spend hours crying anymore and even though it still hurts, I can finally accept this schoolyard paradigm where he refuses to acknowledge my presence, I can finally accept I am dead for him. I stopped wondering what is it that I did so bad to deserve such cold treatment. I don't hope secretly anymore that he someday decides to talk to me.  But it was this time last year that I was so happy with him. I still remember the Christmas day, when we were sitting in the kitchen and he said "I can imagine that you'd be the best mom" I smiled and closed my eyes for a second and felt that sudden rush of love in my heart. Right now, I want him to hug me and press my cheek again his chest so I can hear his heartbeat as I used to do. Get drunk on his perfume on those five seconds a hug would last. I miss him sitting on the right side of my sofa, strumming my guitar with his pale and lean fingers. I miss myself laughing at his silly jokes and I miss hoping for that kiss that would never come.
Maybe, I am not as available as I think I am, maybe I am just keeping myself from something new. The truth is, I am really scared of being so hurt, of someone questioning my essence again. I need someone kind and..ah who cares, I can't even think with this sadness, wait, where was I?

Right, I am gonna go for a walk. For a walk and a smoke.

(Press play)

December 7, 2014

Part two- I can't make you love me.



So in one of life's many spins, I found you right in front on me wanting to order a beer and in an utmost exception I managed to talk to you. You were nice, as nice and pleasant as I had imagined you would be. That turned out to be the problem. Because I fancy you, I behaved like an idiot and I still manage to do so every time you talk to me. I have to defend myself at this point and say: I am a lot more interesting when you are not around. It's just that when I see you my mind is just numb and I cannot communicate to save my life.
It might come across as lack of interest but it is just the opposite. I am so attracted to you, all I can do is escape to that little place in my mind were you and I make music together, laugh and have profound conversations. I see you roll you cigarette while holding the tiny filter between your lips  and I tell you stories that make you laugh. In my head you carry this little notebook where you write down all the ideas that come to your mind and could later become part of you art. So there I am, gone imagining all those things, so concerned with that mental happiness, that all that comes out of my mouth is a piece of crap.
I know I don't know you, but I so want to get to do so. That one night we got to talk, or better said, you got to talk,  because I was marvelously incapable of keeping up with you, I was really caught by some of your thoughts and opinions and by the kindness underneath them all. I really liked your take on beauty and above all the way you explained it to me. You seemed to be such a good person, some of those that are now really hard to find. I can imagine there a loads of pleasant surprises about you, they just are never gonna be there for me to discover them, you are way out of my league.
After that first night, I thought I'd see more of you, but we never seem to walk each other's way. And I know, I don't even exist in your universe, I mean, you were pretty clear that night showing that you had no interest in me but in my friend. I could not be further away from your life and I imagine I'm not even the vaguest thought. Right now, as I write this lines, I try to think of someone that would be so blurry for me as I am for you, and even though I try, I cannot come up with a name, that is how far away from my thoughts those people I don't care about are, and that must be me for you.

I'll guess I'll have to contempt myself with the beauty of listening to you once and again. Keeping the appropriate distance from the artist.

November 10, 2014

Starstruck- Part one


I heard you sing for the first time exactly nine saturdays ago. I first heard the two guitars and then two voices, but only one of them made me feel alive. I was going somewhere else but your voice kept on calling me with its rich, mature, chocolate/tobacco texture and its dark red color. I walked towards you as if I wasn't my own will's master anymore. You sang those gorgeous lyrics, and even though they weren't yours, I don't think I will be able to forget them in a long time.

And then I saw you. You looked exactly like your voice sounds, sweet, handsome, honest, trustworthy. I saw your blue eyes behind those thick framed glasses and for a moment I felt that all the pain I had been carrying around for so long was gone. Instantly, you healed my broken heart with your powelful voice. Right then and there, I thought I needed to keep that voice with me somehow, so I got ahold of my phone and recorded you singing. I didn't want to be sad later, since I knew for sure I was gonna miss your voice and I didn't know if I would ever be able to hear it again.

When the song was over, I couldn't help but applauding your performance, I had just loved the way your face turned red because you strained yourself to fill all that space with your voice. I also loved how one could see the tension on your neck because of all the things you felt when you sang, you really seemed to mean the story the music was telling, or so I decided to let my mind imagine. So I clapped, and you looked at me, smiled and said thank you, probably for the hundredth time that day.

I know, you didn't see me the way I saw you. I was just another person of the very many you saw stand around and enjoyed your talent that day. I won't ever bear meaning to you...and you, you rescued me with your music from that black hole I had been living in for the last half year. You reminded me that someday, someone kind -like your voice- is gonna come along and is gonna mend my heart the way you did on September 13th. I guess you have chosen the exact right path for yourself. There are many artists hoping to touch people's lives with their music and you kind of fixed mine.Thank you.



February 9, 2014

Random stranger

This eerie individual sits across me on the train. He must be on his forties. I can't help but noticing how strange he seems to be. He sports a fluorescent orange safety vest and camouflage pants. He also has the most peculiar tattoo on his right hand: it doesn't read or depict anything and it was made long ago with cheap ink which with time has turned greenish. It must be a reminiscence from jail, I decide. I try to concentrate on my book, but his very clumsy ways disgust me. He tries to drink from his one liter coke bottle and spills it all over his chest even though he is clearly not drunk. I'm shocked by his filthy, massive, rough fingers that brush past my leg when trying to reach for the trash can where he touches the trash with his bare hands. I feel shivers down my spine and tremble a little the millisecond his index finger touches my thigh. I think I am going to throw up but I close my eyes and try to keep my cool. He can't stop staring at me, he must find me peculiar too, just like anyone else does, I think. One of his cold steel-blue eyes pops, it looks like those of that well known cartoon figure but in this case it is not funny at all. The journey is long and his whole presence is terribly unsettling... I wonder why he makes me uneasy, so uneasy that I need to write these lines in order not to lose it. I look through the window and try to enjoy the beautiful landscape covered with snow or to go on with my book, that is open on page 43 since the man sat across from me on the train. But a not yet identifiable sensation has crawled under my skin, I might get home to shower and wash off this weirdest feeling ever.
I'm freezing,  I stand up to get my coat to use it as a blanket. I take a look around and I realize we are the only two passengers sitting in the whole coach.
My eyes get blurry, I need to sit down. Still 25 minutes to go.

October 28, 2013

Imagen

Yo quiero invitarte a vivir mi vida. Quiero llevarte a ti, a tu guitarra, a tu voz áspera y a tus manos que atrapan el mundo en un puño, a caminar a mi lado. Nos vamos, extiendo mi mano para coger la tuya y nos vamos. Nos reímos de las mismas cosas cuando nos amamos. Y hablamos en serio y ya no tanto y salvamos al mundo cuando nos besamos. Yo te leo, tu me lees en voz alta los libros de la historia mientras disfrutamos de la música que nos separa y nos convoca.

July 25, 2013

Change ahead

A long time ago I stopped thinking about myself as the kind of person who believes in love, or in anything for that matter. Even though I have a tattoo on my left arm that reads "believe" I only got it done as a reminder not to believe in anything but myself.

The fact is that life has given me more than enough reasons to stop believing in God, humanity and specially in love. I grew up in a household were love was the greatest absent, I never saw my parents treat each other with what I now understand as love. I never felt loved neither as a daughter, nor as a sister. Love was just something completely unknown to our home. 

My first experiences of fraternal love were at school and later as a teenager in church. I learnt to love my friends and to cultivate friendship. That is something -my friends say so- I am very good at. I enjoy investing time in my friends, building with acts and words indestructible bridges that can endure the longest distances and the hardest times. I find great joy in being able to be there for those I am lucky to have in my life as companions and count myself among those who can always count on their friends being there for them.

Romantic love, on the other hand, is something I had learnt from books, movies and specially telenovelas: an ideal way of loving that wasn't easy to find in real life. Backed with that very little knowledge and experience I started falling in and out of "love" with any prince charming I'd find along my way to adulthood. Looking back, I understand I used to be more keen on the idea of being in love than on the people I was with.

Later in life I found a person who would have me just as damaged as I was and I was determined not to let him go. I accepted willingly all the pain, the humiliation and the sadness that that relationship brought upon my life. I came to think that was the way love was suposed to feel like. I was convinced that it had to hurt in order to be actual love. Somehow, after having struggled for years, I found the strength to put an end to that profundly misconceived relationship and the day I managed to do so, I completely gave up on romanticism, I stopped longing for love to come my way, prepared to live a life on my own. I began building a wall so high, so that no one would ever be able to hurt me again and started contenting myself with ephemeral pleassure...every attempt to go further would hit that rock hard wall and stay on the surface, away from any deep, meaningful feelings.

And then last weekend opened my eyes. Last weekend I got to witness, to understand and what's most important: to feel what love should feel like. Last weekend broke all false concepts I have had for years about love in a couple, about familial love and even about God's love. I finally grasped that key point: there's a tremendous difference between having an object of desire and loving someone.

Finding an object of desire is phenomenon we can always see on the big screen. Someone finds that perfect being who embodies everything they always wanted. If we had a wishlist, this person would fulfill every single requirement we ever dreamt of: the perfect hight, the right eyes' color and a weak spot for the same music we like. This person would agree with us all the time and share every single opinion we can come up with. Our object of desire would make us look good in front of everyone, it'd be a status symbol, a thing.

On the contrary loving someone is something that does not occur that often: loving someone is, as I saw and experienced today, wanting to be with someone inspite of any possible flaws, and maybe even because of them. Love is about having the need to support that person we want to share life with, about craving to make that special person's life the best it can be. If we love someone we are able and to revise our thoughts and beliefs and are willing to construct a new paradigme where both people can have different ways of seeing life but are able to respect that each of them has their own mind. Loving someone is not something that just happens, it is a concious choice, an ongoing process of creating and mantaining a bond.

So today, after much time of sceptiscm, I feel I can again find my way back to love, my times of seeing people as an object are over now.Today, for the first time in years, I feel hopeful, I am at ease. I am ready to wait for someone who wants to give love a chance with me.

June 8, 2013

Birds

Sometimes things are just meant to happen.

I think this story started some weeks ago, when I heard that Anouk's song "Birds". I had managed for years already to keep my terrible fear of birds under control but from the moment I heard that, by the way, very beautiful song, a chain of events started, that hopefully reached its end today.

It all began with this feeling of unsettlement, when I listened to those lyrics "birds falling down the rooftops, out of the sky like raindrops. No air, no pride" and just like in years past I started walking in a state of alert avoiding anything that could be an indicator of a bird, specifically a dead bird close to me. I hadn't seen a dead bird in years and there was no exact reason for me to be scared, but there I was, scared of something that hadn't even happened. Until it happened: I was leaving work two weeks ago and when I was about to cross the street to get to my car, there it was this tiny yellow and green dead canary next to my foot. It actually wasn't even  a horrifying  scene, the bird was just lying there as if it had fallen asleep or death had caught it by surprise and its heart had suddenly stopped beating. But nevertheless it scared me. It scared me greatly, so much that the second I realized the dead bird was there I couldn't help but running away while repeating to myself "no, no, no!" as if I was completely out of my mind.

On the following days such encounters started happening more often. Dead birds were just everywhere. Sometimes I managed to avoid the sight of them by spotting some feathers spread around the floor, but sometimes I just run into them, mostly into pigeons busted against the pavement, some fresher than others, some really bloody, sometimes they had just turned into a grey protuberance on the sidewalk, in other cases one could even distinguish what used to be the beak and the claws lying around between the messy feathers and flesh scattered around the floor. Every single time I felt the fear crawling through my skin.

And then I watched Game of Thrones. I know for sure the show is nothing but fiction, but the scene of Orell's eagle attacking Jon Snow scared the hell out of me and kept me on edge for a long while. Before going to sleep I really needed to get that out of my head so I thought talking about it would help me calm down. I was wrong: the person I talked about it, decided that my fear of birds was something very amusing and even sent me a link so I could watch an Alfred Hitchcock's "The Birds" scene and kept on poking fun at me a few times later, probably not intending any harm, but reminding me that birds were around and could attack me anytime. As if I hadn't enough coping with my own fears.

And then today happened. I was driving home when two cars in front of me I saw a black thing moving on the pavement. I thought it was a plastic bag at first, but then, after a millisecond I saw it. It was the saddest scene I have seen in a very long time. There it was this blackbird trying to soar after having been run over by a car. I could distinguish his eyes and his bright yellow beak as he was flapping his wings trying to ascend to no avail because half of his tiny body was smashed against the pavement. I drove past and had to stop the car. The sight of the bird was just too overwhelming to keep on driving. I felt my heart shrink and how tears clouded my eyes and were about to stream down my face almost inexplicably. A deep sorrow took over my chest and then I uttered this loud cry, it felt as if I had lost someone. I let the tears flow, I felt profoundly sorry for the bird, but I think I was feeling more sorry for myself. I cried for us both.

Since then I've been thinking and drawing conclusions. I realized I am not scared of bird themselves. I still find pigeons disgusting, but birds in general don't disgust me because of their appearance or what they could do to me. They won't do anything to me. I know that. I am scared of birds for what they represent to me. Since I was little I have this idea of birds dying so easily. I remember reading this book when I was about 5 years old in which  a little girl's bird died in its cage overnight because of the cold. That left an indelible mark on my mind about how fragile the life of a bird can be. Another association about birds is that they die a messy death. I still remember my 6 year old sister smashing this baby sparrow with her bare tiny hand right before my eyes. We had found that little bird on the street and had taken care of it until it learnt to fly. One day my sister had it on the palm of her hand when it tried to fly away, she wanted to keep her on her hand. Just by closing her fingers around him she crushed the bird, which was dead in a second and all his blood dripping down on my sister's forearm.

So birds are nothing but a symbol in my head. They represent an unworthy death. I wish I could explain why that worries me, but I just can't. On the other hand they symbolize the fragility of life to me, how close we are to death, the unawareness of it until it find us. I think that is what moved me the most today. Seeing that bird trying to fly away, absolutely ignorant of its eminent death, probably in a lot of pain but not being able to understand what was happening, completely oblivious to the arrival of the end.


June 6, 2013

Harvest

You sowed the nicest smile on my face.

Come and harvest the fruits of your labor.