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.

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.

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.

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.

Harvest

You sowed the nicest smile on my face.

Come and harvest the fruits of your labor.

happy ending

...I take a step back as you approach me. I get ready to turn around and run away when you grab me by my left wrist and stop me from doing so. Time stops. I can hear my heart raising. It's like a scene from those Matrix movies. The strength of your hand makes me turn around as our eyes meet and we both know that is the moment of truth.

You finally took that leap of faith and went for it.

Life could not be any better.

Empty (right here)

I needed to walk alone through the streets as usual...just like a stray dog. As always, I just needed to find something, someone, anything that could make me feel alive. Something that reminded me that I actually exist outside my head. A sound, a smell, a scene, anything that could help me get through another day of complete numbness.

I left my apartment at sundown, walked five steps, pressed the traffic light's button, waited for it to turn green and crossed the main street. I made my way to the nearest park through those alleys with the very ugly shops close to the central station. I could already smell the grass, hear the water flowing, the quacking of the ducks. I took a left after the funeral home and there it was the park. I took my shoes off and walked on the wet grass towards the water, pulled my skirt up and sat down on the edge of the little channel so my feet could touch the cold water.

I put my right hand in my handbag and searched for a lighter and my cigarettes. I closed my eyes and lit the first cigarette of the day taking a deep breath to enjoy the sweet taste of the tobacco. I kept my eyes shut and imagined the smoke filling my lungs with its warmth, exhaled making rings with the smoke which I afterwards pinched with my fingers as if I could actually touch them.

I started humming a song as I noticed there was no one else around but the ducks hiding between the bushes. Suddenly this voice in the distance started humming along to my song. I stopped singing and the voice kept on humming as it was getting closer. It turned out to be a man in his late twenties I've seen a couple times at university and had never failed to notice. When he passed by the spot I was sitting at, he stopped. I was really scared for a second, but then he just made a nice, witty comment about the song we both were humming and asked if he could have a sit next to me.

I reached into my bag for a new cigarette and offered him one. It was very easy to start a conversation with him, even though I don't have much practice starting conversation with strangers. We were laughing in no time. It was also in no time that we made our way to my apartment and were sharing a glass of wine and then my bed. His kisses were the sweetest, most meaningless kisses I've ever had. I got what I wanted, just whatever managed to make me feel alive. And it felt like the numbness was gone for some hours, until I asked him, as nicely as I could, to leave because I don't enjoy strangers sleeping in my bed.

He, I still don't know his name, kissed me good-bye as if he meant it and left. After some hours of reminding me that I do exist, he left me as empty as I was before I went for that walk.

Statistically Speaking

Generally speaking, fairy tales end up with a monster, a dragon, a beast or a frog turning into a Prince

Real life is regrettably just the opposite of that:

Statistically speaking, 95% of the Princes turn up to be an asshole.

And following the rule, so did mine.

Impostor

My life consists of mainly happy days. That is not something that just happened, it is a decision I made not long ago.I'm aware this is only perk of the provileges I have.  I consciously make sure, that I pick the right thing to do, so the happines is maximized. Every time I make a choice I try to think of the consequences it will have over my life and over the life of others, the people who  surround me and I care about, but even over those whose lives are not really entangled with mine. Now that I think about it, it is not even a hard thing to do, because I have practice and I am sorrounded of amazing people.
Almost every day.

There are days like today. When I feel like a bad actress playing a role in a B movie. Days when it is very hard to like myself, the way others do. Days when I don't even get why others would even talk to me. Days when I am, like every other day, all smiles on the outside, but fighting the tears that want to come out.

When a day like today arrives, it mainly happens because of this very self deprecating image of myself. Maybe because I am fat. I am lucky to be what most would call a "people person". But I don't look the part...and, like every single human I want to be liked and not only because of the person I am deep inside, but also because of my complete self and not in spite of it...

Not that what's inside was that awesome, anyways...
I'm scared. I don't seem to be, but I am.

Maybe I should just dissapear completely.