Beyond summer days

It was a summer day, one of those when flies flutter around the legs and sweat marks appear on the t-shirts of everyone who is doing something else than blinking.

Elisa was sucking an ice cream while playing with ants under the apple tree. Adults were sleeping in the cool rooms from the stone house, and grandparents were trying to watch the soap opera but were also dozing off.

The girl with bulging eyes and muddy dress told the insects that she was hoping to receive a new bike as birthday present. She wanted to go to the fields and ride through the longest hill to demonstrate to her friends that the best brakes were always the sport shoes.

The wheat fields that surrounded the familiar property had been witnesses of the general course of loves and traditions. The walls were surviving hardly despite the kids and parents mischiefs. 

Elisa looked at the sky imagine how the clouds were changing into monster silhouettes and magical beings that remained alive in her innocent gaze.

The little one with brown skin tanned by the mountain air was waiting impatiently the time to swim in the river and say hello to the cows from the neighbour´s farm.

The beds seemed to overgrow by that season and, even so, there was always free space for one more chair at lunch time. The laughts mixed with the toasts in the long conversations after eating which could be listened from the street by the opened doors.

Elisa perfumed her skin with jasmine smell and showed everyone her bruises ensuring that she won against the floor, the pine tree and the mastiff which wanted to eat her lollipop.

The infant lady with tangled hair played with her hands as if were corverting into a camera and she could saved all those moments to be sure that, even being far, she could always return to them, take force and change the reel to create new ones.

The girl of the legend

He lost track. It could have been walking for fifteen, twenty, or thirty days. It was blowing an icy wind and his feet were tripping more often. He held a sachet in the left hand and a map in the right. The instructions were clear and he had known since childhood, when everyone but himself knew his destiny.

The journey was being longer than they told him and the time was getting over. The dried blood was decorating his clothes, almost destroyed on his way and getting him trapped by the branches. His face was the description of long nights without sleeping from the threat of the screams which were getting closer too quickly.

He sighed and looked up. It was there. His knees shook and his legs went to the floor. He cried excited searching for the girl of the legend between the trees. There was just a clearing of withered grass. He checked again: mountains on the left, sunrise straight ahead, and the village with the purple church on the right. He himself was on the cross. However...

The man jumped standing up. The screams were arriving and he could almost smell their breath odor. He climbed the highest tree and blended himself into the autumn leaves. That wasn´t enough for those creatures, but he stopped breathing believing blindly in the legend: he must find her.

They arrived at the clearing. Right away, they looked to the tree he was in, but kept trotting to the village, leaving a trace of their slime on the way.

He couldn´t understand but didn´t have time to think about it. When he pressed the sachet in his left hand, it started to get warm. The rule was clear: only she was allowed to look inside. He looked. Nothing happened. While tearing his eyes away from it, an energizing emotion was covering his veins.

Went down and left the map under some stones. The route disappeared and the paper changed into dry leaves merging with the others. He hadn´t seen anything like that even in the place he came from.

Started walking again. Wasn´t sure where was going. Sometimes he stopped and looked at the landscape. Sometimes he took several steps backward. Sometimes he could listen to the screams and felt scared.

It was at nightfall when he found the house. He knew it was there. The sachet shinning with silver light for a few seconds. He didn´t need the confirmation.

A young woodcutter was living there and invited him kindly to get inside to take shelter from the cold night.

Some years later, he met the girl of the legend, her first daughter. Not everything was written.

His magical world

He told her mother that he was going to search for fairies in the forest. Manuel was an intelligent child, from the top of his class, he enjoyed play tennis but was better at basketball. He was always ready to help at home. The problem was his dreamy imagination.

As soon as he finished the homework, he was going to dip in the mud. Sometimes he came back furious because the trolls had attacked the elves village and he couldn´t repel the assault. He got frustrated more than any other day and stayed late in the night with his lantern under the sheets preparing a new ambush.

One day he returned worried because had seen a deer. His mom laughed and continued with the salad. The boy was used to them and loved their mating calls. He didn´t say a word over dinner and went to sleep directly, no lanterns or tales.

The day after, he faked to be sick. He faked and didn´t do hard work to hide the lie. He faked and her mother didn´t do hard work to check it. She knew him. She trusted him.

Manuel looked at the trees from the window and ground the tooth.

Three days passed. The winter was stalking the mountains and the fog was becoming common on the valley. That Saturday morning, the boy got up with huge bags under his eyes and said goodbye to her mother with more affection than ever.

He told his mother that he was going to search for fairies. And never returned.

Wherever we lost you

It is like a knife that sinks slowly into the skin, that tear each muscle without exerting force. You talk about the sea but you have never gone out of the jungle. Sometimes you hear the roaring of the waves, and it´s a painful scream that you can not imagine calm. Like you now.

Why is your face bleeding if the bullet hasn´t approached you? Why do your fingers scratch if you do not have nails? Why do your words thrust into my eardrums if you haven´t started to speak?

If I could just understand... It hasn´t been much time and you have just changed a little. What is that on your glance? If you have never used make-up, how could it be possible that you haven´t worn a mask before? I don´t recognize you. I don´t know who has stolen the light from your eyes, but it does deserve all the agony that has pinned in there.

You just let the ice be with you on the night. How do you do to make your pain a lava river where no one wants to get closer but we are all caught? How can it be that you pull us to an abyss as darker as it seems there hasn´t ever been life? Does no one care that they have killed the girl you were?

If I can not get closer to you, let me told you that I still have the power of happiness on your lips store in the best place where memories live. I can lend it to you.

Removed

I found her diary a long time after she left. It wasn´t my purpose, I was cleaning and it fell down. I returned it to the shelf and continued cleaning. By the end of the day, I didn´t remember the notebook anymore.

It was three days later, coinciding with the anniversary. I didn´t realize until lunch and it was just because they repeated twice in the news. I mean, I haven´t forgotten her... it´s different.

On the front cover, she had drawn a doll with a party dress inside of a sporty car. Her initials were repeated on the bottom creating a road, and on the top as colorful balloons. I didn't dare to open it. Not yet. The blind was raised and people were hanging out in the sun.

I went to the supermarket, to yoga, and I even had time to prepare a new dish with the leftovers from Sunday. We had dinner, I call the boy, and we watched the debate on tv, like any other day, but I kept thinking about the diary.

I read it once when she only had a few pages written. She gave it to me. I wasn´t interested and didn´t insist. We were in the living room and she was writing. I asked her about what she was doing. She just wanted me to read it. To be honest, I didn´t find the meaning of telling your life to a piece of paper that would end up in the trash, but, you know?, my girl was entertained and she liked it, so, what could I say?, she wasn´t doing anything wrong.

I was already lying down, but it was almost three in the morning and I was still turning in bed. I woke up to look for a yogurt. It sometimes worked. And I passed by her room. I walked inside like a machine, my hands were looking for something that I wasn´t sure what it was. All of a sudden, I was in the middle of her dark room opening her diary.

I sat down by the window, with my back leaning against the wall, and started reading those pages by the light of the street lamps. I laughed a lot... she had an ironic way to tell day to day activities that amused me. I remembered myself scolding her, preparing the swimming bag together, opening her present on Mother´s Day, chasing her around the house because she had taken my lipsticks again, punishing her because she arrived late, cooking together that chocolate cake that she was in love with,... and then nothing. No, literally, she had pulled those pages. Two white ones and nothing in the middle. From October the 23rd to January the 15th.

Sometimes she was two... four days... or even a week without writing on it... but we were talking about almost three months... something that was removed.

I tried to remember. Nothing relevant. The cousin´s baptism, the neighbour´s birthday, Christmas,... And that was a few years before she left.

I kept reading. No reference at all. She continued writing as before. Even on exam periods, she had written a few pages per week. Her sense of humour was the same, but how to obviate that?

It was half past four in the morning when I was checking each milimetre of her room looking for those pages... looking for her and the reason why she had abandoned me and didn't want to talk anymore.

The forest

The forest was not the same or she was wrong with the forest, unlikely considering that she was walking there for the last seven years. It didn´t make sense that she couldn´t find the cabin. In the last week, Minerva couldn´t find it. On Monday and Tuesday could have been reasonable because she got really angry at work. On Wednesday she couldn´t sleep well. There was no specific reason for Thursday, and on Friday she was so annoyed that even if it could have been in front of her, she wouldn´t have released.

On Saturday, she was walking aimlessly pretty sure that the trees around were so similar to the ones around her cabin, and she knew what she was talking about. Despite her rejection of technologies, Minerva was checking her GPS every second. She covered the whole forest without results. It wasn´t a dream. Her cabin had to be there.

On Sunday was cold but Minerva kept searching. The birds sang flying around her. It was funny. The wind shook the leaves which were falling like the snow in the winter. The sound of the water flowing through a close stream seemed to be the voice guiding her steps to nowhere.

Minerva stopped exhausted falling to the ground. She looked at the sky. No, it wasn´t there neither. She observed the clouds drawing the sky and the oaks´ treetops waving smoothly. Her feet were freezing. The sun on her face.

She loved spending the afternoons in her cabin. Sometimes, just enjoying the environment, like she was doing at that moment. She could keep searching the cabin for days, but the forest was not the same anymore.

From the bunch

 The door is closed.

There are no windows.

You scream.

Like anyone else.

You beat until your fists are bleeding.

You fall down and get up.

Like anyone else.

You try again.

Alone

and glad.

You don´t know

what you couldn´t have done

staying with others.

You kneel down,

assume your drama

and cry.

Like anyone else.

You think it´s all overcome,

it hurts

but won´t do soon.

You relax in the silence.

You watch the world go by.

You open your eyes

and scream again.

You break apart.

More than ever.

More than before.

Like anyone else.

You abandon.

You save yourself.

Or they save you.

And there outside

you check your body.

You can´t find any scars

but think you have learned.

They say it.

You hold on to your speech.

You stand for it.

You beat it up.

Your skin is scratched

with each stride.

You are dragged.

Just a bit.

Like anyone else.

You find your room.

You close the door.

They put the chains.

And you let them

playing with you.

Like anyone else.

And you believe there must be hope.

you want to fight and get it.

And you close your eyes.

The door is also closed.

There are no windows.

You scream.

Like anyone else.

The coffee shop

It was opened just a couple of days ago. Over the six years that she had been living in the neighbourhood, she had seen hundreds of businesses borning and dying, but it was the first time of a coffee shop. It really seemed a good option and had the advantage of no competence around several kilometers. But it was weird: no neighbour knew the owners, no one had seen trucks delivering supplies, neither workers changing what it was right previously a hairdresser.

And it wasn´t just about the neighbours, common walkers gossiping the street, not realizing about it, the problem was that she, living over the business and having the window of her bedroom looking at the entrance of it, hadn´t also seen any human life. No one could call her obsessed because she was used to observing the people with whom she was sharing the territory, as vocational training. She hated when people tried to describe her as a detective when that was a big word for her light aspirations to become senior gossip as soon as she could retire. The case was that in this specific situation, she might have gone further as she was spending the nights awake convinced that, at the moment that she was blinking, thousands of people were entering the business and having an amazing, and silent, party.

Of course, she had already thought about a second entrance. No, not at her neighbour´s houses, she also went inside, checking every centimeter of walls and floors, and even acting as a chief police officer (working for a while as her career was, not her position) using the very best interrogation techniques as no one had ever seen at her police station. Was hoping no one there ever knew about it or she would lose her valuable privileges as persistent lazy. Therefore, the alternative entrance must have been in the underground. Of course, she had already gone down, an inspirational route, and she said that seriously, it was a revealing experience. But in terms of the door... there were some mysterious places, walls that may have sounded hollow, and maybe it wasn´t even a decent house for a well-nourished rats family, that was all.

So she was in the mood of trying and go inside, she could just a too well-prepared coffee and lose her positive attitude of having the day off, but that was a matter of time, any of her neighbours were about to achieve the same as soon as they met because she wasn´t wearing the uniform (and if she had it on, it was her who ignore its meaning).

No welcome poster, nor price list were garnishing the main window, which was coloured grey as it could have been a thick dirt layer: sticky dust on the inside and muddy rain on the outside. But she perfectly knew that it wasn´t that, because she was used to the dust and mud effect over the windows since her mother stopped visiting her and she, as a rebel decision, decided to not cleaning any of them (apart, obviously, from the one on her bedroom, for already mentioned reasons).

It didn´t smell anything. Not freshly brewed coffee, nor that cheap air freshener that you buy for your house, and when you open it, you understand why, apart from having the low price, has been reduced too.

The reform was clear. She didn´t let anyone cut her mop of hair but always had time to have a look at those gossip magazines which no one in the area is interested in buy all of them perfectly knew, just to not been called ignorant. The walls had been covered with grey tiles, nothing compared to the previous flowered paper. Nor a miserable picture. It had two sad atypical fluorescent tubes that weren´t even flickering. Close to the window, there was a table, the only one in the room, with two white chairs and a coffee machine. The rest of the room was empty, just two doors at the back which could have been a toilet and the store, thinking logically, but she was convinced that there should have been a better use for it considering the style of the business. She was about crying and so excited to meet such extraordinary decorators.

She wanted her coffee and, as couldn´t see any cup, neither a miserable plastic glass nor a rusty plate, accepted that they were giving her the permission to drink directly from the tube. She couldn´t understand why was waiting so long to enter when it was an incredible place.

All of a sudden, the door closed wildly and the lights went off. It sounded a sweet song from the speakers that she was sure weren´t there but still inside. Her eyes got used to the dark and a wind flow shook her hair untangling it as even her father couldn´t do since she was seven years old. The excitement was driving her veins in a way that not even felt when she called her boss asking for a day off because an ant went through her wardrobe and she had a terrible night.

Across the window, she saw some quick crimes planed better than those screenplays from the best fast-paced action Hollywood film, and of course, of whom she wasn´t used to because of her tendency to pay more attention to the birds that could crap over her cap than the actual event, especially when the criminal (or the killer to be call) was telling her to do so. And she just chilled there.

Sticky hands were hooking her ankles while some patrol cars were arriving, certainly clueless without her support but maybe could save the day. She wanted to sit on a chair to enjoy the show as if she were watching that grossing American film, but the fingers that were holding her lower limbs impeded it. She wouldn´t mind sitting on the floor, after all, going to the cinema was something from a previous life, but the sticky hands didn´t even want that. She was okay like that. To be honest, she had enough with those afternoons when her ass was stuck on a bench each time a brainless fan wanted to kiss her after a clumsy invitation to go for a walk on a supposed to be romantic sunset and it was finally a long night without even shooting stars.

She felt how claws were scratching her skin under her jumper and realized that she should have also cut her nails. It was great feeling those bloody smelling drops falling from the roof to her hair. She had been a long time thinking about the option of dyeing it but was afraid of been called stylish, and, look at that, they had decided for her.

Finally, the owner appeared. She was starting to feel disappointed with such a long wait. It was a dark skeletal shadow. She couldn´t stop laughing when saw the hood when it was obvious that it was just raining over her, but was true that it was completing the serial killer style, and that she was about to clap when it showed her a finger of the right hand doing a deathly symbol.

She didn´t move even when a green smoke was covering the room making it hard to breathe. The shadow smiled nervously without been able to hide its surprise because of the fortitude of its fifth victim of the day. But it didn´t know that the victim, who seemed a terrible policewoman, was an unbeatable monster hunter that was about to start her work hours and, to be honest, was already winning.

Pupils

Those eyes

taught me to see

the hours sleeping

under the autumn skin,

the waves borning

while crushing.

Those eyes

taught me to be seen

without fear,

to give a hand

to the old routines

which pulled off my dreams.

Those eyes

that I want close to me

every winter

when I´m away,

far in the distance,

the ash in the wind.

Those eyes

always there in the night,

always during the day,

those which talked to me

when no one else did.

Those eyes

from which I´ve learned to whisper

and never knew how to listen to.

Those eyes

were my mirror

and I´ve buried with moss,

those were my reflection

and I´ve filled it with smoke.

Those

are now these.

Still alive.

A life I haven´t met,

the one I left,

the one I´ve lost,

that one that I miss

and one day I touched.

New eyes

that I haven´t cared

when weren´t sick.

New eyes

that I´m still looking at

despite the other reflections.

Tamers

It started biting her brain slowly, entering into the unconscious, and woking her up in the early morning without a logical reason. She was still involved in the routine, happy.

It came down into her stomach, a constant trembling scratching all the time and no name. She tried to link it with being hungry or have eaten too much food, maybe it was a confused butterfly fluttering.

Pale skin and weakness took the control of her body. She mentioned not being able to sleep because of the summer heat sailing in the opposite way to asking for help.

It was scarfing her. The minutes turned into eternal hours and nights were bringing back her childhood´s nightmares. It was like a sponge absorbing her energy. She refused every conversation related to the situation denying the constant nervousness.

With holidays it seemed to have it in pause, forgetting it in a corner like the coveralls. It was just for a couple of days. The balance was broken without prior warning; it grabbed her chest changing her breath into a deathly whisper.

All of a sudden, the help came too, like a conversation that started with an ordinary topic and ended up caressing the bug. It was the beginning but that wasn´t enough. The solution was inside of her, and it was not just to recognize and the point the exit, was also about looking for tamers to help her guiding it at her emotions maze.

It might be called anxiety, depression, or any other type of pain and agony, at the end of the day, it was pressure under the brain that was shouting to be treated as seriously as it was. Over time, it was going to add a lot to the balance of learnings: about oneself and own limits, about the bug and how to scare it, about the people around who is supportive, about what is it life and what do we want it to be.

08-04-2020

Harmony

What if the pause becomes a stop? What if the song shouldn´t be played? What if no one would have pressed the play.

The melodies without stave die suffocated with the air that gives life.

What if the pause was necessary to reset the tape recorder? What if it was breathing to sing the next note? What if the silence is the only wat to appreciate the full composition?

Improvise the chords bring life to the score.

What if it´s not necessary the advance button, but keep listening?

Let the show begin!

Identity

They were like robots. They arrived at the end of the path and, without stopping, turned around and came back home. She was sure that if someone had jumped from the cliff, only she would have noticed. All of them were following the same slowly way of walking, empty. They were talking about routine seriously and in a deep voice. She couldn´t look at them because her mind was avoiding the absolute lack of life.

Sitting into the rocks at one side of the path, she was contemplating the ocean looking up the beating of the time, breathing each wind of the world, living.

Her eyes came wet and she desired to be part of the sea. She could still be free there.

She looked at him. He seemed tired. However, he was smiling as sweet as always. He approached her and put a soft kiss into her lips. They saw each other and sighed. He tried to catch her carefully. She tried to grab him forcefully. But they were still clumsy and fell down immediately laughing. No one tried to help them. They didn´t need it.

The wheelchair went away from them due to the wind. Maybe she wouldn´t be able to walk again but she wasn´t going to be dragged by the current. He was there. And even more... she believed in herself again.

Past days

He realized it was the anniversary when the night fell. It was the first time that he didn´t wake up in a bad mood remembering that the happiness of that day was a lie which he had created. It was the first time that he forgot to wear bitterness. It was the first time that he observed the lovely pictures of the graduation day and didn´t feel anything. It was the last time when he cried due to that day. He uncorked a bottle of wine for the first time, left it breathing while he was looking at each name of the class photo. He filled the glass. No longer grudge, even to himself.

A tale of fairymen

That time when we believed in fairies was the product of a loving childhood and trusting the world. Everything was about tales, adventures where I changed from pirate to princess with the blink of an eye, adventures where you took my hand and we flew without getting anywhere.

By the time of being a teenager, the confidence came off and I personally killed each fairy you allowed to decorate my childhood dreams. It couldn´t be magic without humanity. And you left me, you chose to live at the stars without caring about the abandonment.

I remember those years as an enormous emptiness despite the people living in my room. I painted black each hope that sat on my shoulders, I filled up with hate each glass as half-full, I covered my fingers with the sand that should have covered our summers. I cursed you and wanted to forget you. I cursed myself and wanted to forget me.

I don´t know when you got back those mythical creatures. I suppose it was when I realized that you never left me, that you were here looking after my steps and spoiling my mistakes. You gave me back to life and I brought you to my memories. You sent from the ethereal world a pair of wings that join by itself to my shoulder. You made me fairy on the moment that you resigned as an angel of light.

The colour of dream

Put on your wings

and sleep,

is time to dance.

You can draw memories,

sparkle

beyond the city.

It´s getting dark,

you are shining:

switching off the real world.

Thousands of butterflies

and a crystal´s desire.

A waterfall on the riverbank

freezes

endless sonatas.

Walk near the sea.

Rocking by the silence,

smile.

A gold moment

is giving back your life.

Forget about the costume.

You are free.

Paint the night.

21-03-2018

The days before

January 2020. The world starts excited a new year that it´s going to change as we know it. For now, it´s just January with no clear news about what´s happening in China.

The volunteers were coming back from the holidays in our related countries and the boiler was still broken since Christmas Day. The broken piece was already at home but they needed to put inside the boiler. I spent ten days in Spain and entering my room was like going into a freezer even when the sun was 'heating' it all day. On the ground floor, it was hardly noticed because the heating was coming from the house downstairs and it was also the kitchen, but upstairs it was unbearable. I could sleep because of the duvet, that seemed light but it wasn´t. To continue with life wasn´t possible. We also didn´t have hot water and, even boiling water, our biggest (and only) pot was still small. We could go to the showers of our organizations but they also had some problems.

In my office, there were four portable radiators that were given to us as soon as they realized how was our situation. After sixteen days, we finally had the boiler repaired... the hot water still took a few days to work as normal and the heating was giving some more problems.

After a couple of days, Sabine noticed some bedbugs on her bed (yes, bedbugs, you read well). But it wasn´t just her, they were in at least three more rooms. The landlord didn´t take responsibility but our organization organized fumigation for Monday.

On Saturday, Lenka, Sabine, Ádám, and I were watching Guardians of the Galaxy vol.1 (James Gunn, 2014) in the living room. When it finished, we stayed there, listening a hundred times the last song (Come and get your love by Redbone), we started a conversation and sometimes silences. We talked about our childhood memories (even when we are still so young), nightmares, lions, and kind bedbugs on Sabine´s room because she wasn´t bitten and later we discovered that actually, she was the one with more bedbugs. I only felt as comfortable as that night on a few occasions. It was our house. Home. It was our little family. It was beautiful and simple. Thinking about it after all makes it more special. Watching movies together on weekends is definitely being one of the things I´m missing the most.

And we still had to put some more suitcases.

On Monday morning we had to leave our rooms empty. It was really sad because we still had seven months of placement. To look at the bedrooms as hollow, as lifeless when it was still our lives...

The living room disappeared under seven volunteers' belongings, worried about what would happen if we would need to empty it too and where we were going to keep all of that. On Monday it was the first fumigation. On Monday it was the first episode of an ending story.

Our sea

The afternoons we drowned on the beach were never enough. It was one of those perfect friendships which end up broken on its own. We never talked about it. We never regretted it. Do you remember how it all began? I don´t although we should have been old enough to keep at least some images. Do you remember how it all finished? Me neither even though if it was important for us, we should strive to understand it.

Today I walk across the sand and I want to see you here, standing by my side, but I just watch the calm sea on the horizon. And the waves come, break, become diffuse at my feet and there´s no wave anymore, and I know that I can not see you even when you are walking at the same beach.

I remember when we were younger, swimming there all day. I can´t believe it´s the same sea. The coldness prevents me to go beyond the line of the knees. And I try day after day in spring and summer, even I bought a neoprene... but this is not our sea as we are not us anymore. And it doesn´t matter, and it´s not sad because it´s life, the life of two persons who love each other enough to let them go.

Waiting

Miguel, could you please answer the mobile at some point. I´ve told you that I won´t send any email for just three stupid things, but you are still making me wait. So I decided not to continue with the work unless you call me back. And we have only two more weeks! Oh, change the message on the answerphone, please, I already know this.

09-05-2017

Above

Words are said

without any conversation.

It is called lie

when true hurts.

We don't shut up,

just fear of the right thing.

The opposite direction

towards the dream's way.

War? Post-war?

The world is not getting crazy

but those who are called humans.

Humans?

Protection available

for those who meet the forbidden.

They called it justice

while sleeping assisted

by the men with the dagger.

Give no name,

they don't deserve it.

No glance to their eyes,

don't listen to them.

They seem pets.

They are vampires

waiting for your blood.

Santa´s present

December brought cold, of course, but the umbrella and the sunglasses should have been with you always, it could be hailing and the second after just a hurricane or a lovely sun heating your face.

An interesting fact about Bournemouth is that you can not be sure where the city ends and the next one starts: there is Poole on one side and Christchurch on the other. That month's trip was to the second one. There´s not much to see but two shocking places: the ruins of a Norman castle (the origin of the city) and a big church close to the river bank where we enjoyed the practice of the Christmas concert.

I remember with special caress the party with the department mates and each one of the games. I remember the three farewells to Aalto, the social work students on an internship in my project, as if we shouldn´t say goodbye. I remember the festive mood on the streets making me fight with insomnia.

And let´s talk about that, it´s not just that they really like to wear horrible jerseys with Christmas decoration, or the postcards placed in long corridors everywhere where you can basically buy something, it´s also that on the 26th, bank holiday, there are no trains because Santa is using them, or that the self-pay machines talk with you using his voice asking you about how are you going to celebrate those days. It was a really interesting cultural experience.

On the 24th, I went with Ádám to Salisbury. It´s a city we really like and there was also a Christmas market, was enough to take the bus and enjoy the city. However, some places were flooded because of the river and the market wasn´t really big and original. The good point of that was that he bought a watch that was going to use to cook, he said, but...

There was a huge sun on the 25th but without heating. Santa Claus could have given us some coal saying that wasn´t happy with our behavior but was crueler, and so with the poor insulation that you could feel the wind with the windows closed, he decided that it was the perfect time to have the heating broken on a bank holiday, that wasn´t the kind of gift we were expecting... We went for lunch at our organization and was emotional to be there with those people and receive the red hat. In the afternoon, I went for a walk through the beach before coming back to the freezer that my bedroom was becoming.

I returned to Spain on the 26th after a rainy morning in London. I left Ádám leaving on the kitchen to have some heat from the oven. That wasn´t really bad for all the things that were going to happen in January.

Fortress of crystal

The darkness monster could catch her everywhere except there.

Was there any explanation? Marta sat down on a bench seeing the cars passing. The noise of engines was flooding everything and, however, she could still listen to the sea at the distance: constant and mysterious. But what was really concentrate on was her heartbeat strength. She smiled. Arrived only four days ago to that coastal village. Was enough. Finally, she was alive.

She got up and approached the cliff rail. Closed her eyes and took a deep breath. She allowed the saltpetre smell to penetrate her lungs, to invade all her cells and block it to go back. That was the real life! She took distance, one metre, two, three... walking resolutely and with her head held high. Her porcelain skin was shinning as never did. She could live there but her real life was waiting for her in the city. She took a step forward and left her castle.

Cleaning

Her showers lasted, on average, two minutes depending on having the hair washed or not. It wasn´t just an ecological topic. She hated how the films took so long in that moment of emotional freedom that was supposed to happen with the water sliding down the body. The water drowning in the water. She got even more annoyed with the superfluous writers who decorated the occasion trying to make it sentimental when it was just a way to say that the character was fucked. It didn´t make sense for her that about the purification of the soul, the metaphor was that, a banal comparison unable to take away any problem.

She didn´t time it. Neither had proposed to keep it as a routine but as soon as opened the tap, the speed of her movements was taken the control. Always ended up with red eyes due to the soap. Maybe it was the hurry. Maybe...

Communal living

By the noise of its footsteps, it seemed a monster of indescribable measurements. Her room shook as if was warning about the end of the world. Sometimes she felt the imperative need to hide inside the wardrobe with the headphones on and let the hours run by. But that was stupid, there wasn´t any giant leaving in her house and didn´t know what´s about an earthquake. She just had to open the door and shouted at her flatmate that it wasn´t needed to let everyone know about his departure because no one was interested in stealing in his room.

Run: chronicle of a trip to Nottingham

Picture by Lenka

Last weekend of November. Saturday: 3 a.m. The eyes of Ale, Lenka, Sabine and Ádám extremely open. No, we are not in a party. Just going to the bus station. No, we are not going to any party. It´s call tourism and trying to optimizing time while saving money. Two hours later we arrived in London in a dense fog and with the car white because of the coldness. After one hour of waiting there, we caught another bus for four hours to the center of Nottingham. This time the hostel looked better than the previous time but was difficult to find.

In this city, there are more than four hundred artificial caves that have been used for centuries for several purposes, from shelters during the Second World War, to a distillery. Who knows how many secrets have been kept there. Our first stop in the city was to visit six of these caves. It was so cold outside but a nice temperature underground. Then, we went to what they say is the oldest pub in England, and also built inside the sandstones: Ye olde trip to Jerusalem.

In the afternoon, we walked to Wollaton Hall, a big country house in the middle of a beautiful hill and with so many deers. However, the night came so quickly and the fog persisted, so after a long walk, we had no alternative but to came back completely frozen and without seeing anything.

About ten a.m on Sunday, we walked to the central bus station from where taking a bus to Sherwood forest (again a patient and kind bus driver made our journey cheaper). The travel is beautiful but even more what we´ll see there. Is the area where the Robin Hood legend takes place. The autumn and the sunlight were getting through the branches. The temperatures were down again but was well worth it. Despite is a popular tourist destination, as soon as you start walking, just nature can be listened to.

The main tree where the medieval hero hid the loots is highly protected and trapped by contemporary society, as its branches are sustained artificially to keep the icon. Its magnitude it´s impressive but a visual conflict with the rest of the landscape. There are some wooden benches where the first lights of the sunset were catching them (at 2. pm....). We sat down there to have lunch... really bad idea to eat terribly bad cooked spaghettis without stopping to jump for avoiding freezing feet.

Coming back to the city, we visited the Christmas market and returned to our hostel to take our belongings. The chat with some more other travelers was so long and we had to run to the station. And surprise, surprise, it´s full and the second one is almost one hour delayed, just the exact time we had to change the bus in London. They guaranteed we were going to have enough time but the waiting seemed eternal, and when finally appeared, needed to wait for another twenty minutes.

We tried to rest during the four hours sitting but the departure time of our bus to Bournemouth is close and still far away from Victoria Station. The bus stopped. One minute left. Run. Has already closed the door but the driver showed compassion and let us go in. Was more than 2 a.m. when we finally went bed, as tired as if we´d been in a party but with so many different experiences.

Sail across that place they call world

Listen to the night wind,

sonatas to rivers of lava.

Caress the tightrope

in sleeping springs.

Don´t love the time.

Acrylic paint of the reality.

Dance with the imperfection fire.

Discover the art of the absence.

Different: a common form of identity.

Create well-balanced chaos.

The dreams polish the soul.

Fall over with the imagined sky.

Words: unconscious whispers.

Silence: the voice of that one who feels.

Magic into the glance of a stranger.

Write salt shoots.

Being a wild animal.

Compose a life with snippets of truth.

Poem created from the reading of

Aerolitos by Carlos Edmundo de Ory.

20-02-2018

21st century

It seemed that she has the supermarket inside of her room. In four months of living in the same house, she never went out to buy and every day was coming to the kitchen with some food. The fact is that her door was opened and there wasn´t any suspect lump. She also didn´t receive any packages, so the only logical reason at that point was that she was making appear the aliments magically, that she just clicked her fingers and everything that she wished would materialize in front of her eyes. She´s got a nerve! without paying and even wiggling her ass; of course, maybe she was doing an extra mental effort that not everyone was able to do... hang on a moment, that´s still immoral and definitely not her lifestyle. What if she could teleport? She had to pay but didn´t want us to see using her powers, because we already think she´s weird and this would be one more reason to support our belief. Wait, magic in the 21st century? He was getting crazy with so much Play.

Oh, that´s it! A lover. Came in the night, when the rest were sleeping, climbed up to the first floor and gave her the food as if it was the most precious treasure. Mystery solved, let´s continue with the Play!

A walk between Romans

The city we chose to visit together in November was Bath. We cough the train for the first time in one of the few foggy mornings.

Echos from Christmas were everywhere in the streets. However, we couldn´t enjoy the market just for being one week early, and so we went first to the abbey, in works, of course. From the inside, I really enjoyed the angels, the main vault, and all the stained glasses although the biggest impact was from the global architecture from outside.

At the same square, it was located the most relevant building of the city as it is the Roman Baths. It´s a tourist overcrowded place but you can spend a few hours enjoying the environment which was a Celtic sanctuary at the beginning, and was transformed into a leisure complex after the Roman invasion. Nowadays is not possible to go into the water, but the great maintenance and explanations of the audio guide allow you to approach the time when those baths served its purposes.

In the afternoon a quick visit to the Pulteney Bridge, one of the few ones in the world that as well as to cross the river, has some shops. We spent some time at the Victoria Art Gallery, a museum with some interesting collections. We left few places to discover as everywhere.

Meanwhile, in Bournemouth, peaceful life continued just destroyed from Monday to Friday from 6am to 6pm thanked to the works in a building in front of our house. Our bedroom walls were really thin and the window insulation null, so it was the morning alarm. Then, the street was blocked due to some works on the pavement and were also doing the job in the night. Hilarious was the person who placed an accent on the diversion indication (in Spanish this word means fun but I can totally ensure that it wasn´t).

By that time we can proudly said that we were living at the Uk´s best seaside town of the year.

In-dependent of time

It was three years since I decided not to use a watch, and yeah, it could be a triviality, but I was living happier. I let myself be guided by my feelings, although sun position sometimes helped me too. It hasn´t been bad: by that time I wasn´t late to work or any meeting, but I started to get angry with all those constantly looking at their watches, breaking something as simple as enjoying the mutual company.

Then it was time to retire the alarm clock. One day I forgot to switch it on and I didn´t have problems waking up on time, so decided to stop using it. Run out of battery soon and it´s on forty-three past five since then.

It was following by the kitchen and living room clocks. I don´t remember if it was before or after, but the radio also lost the time during an electrical power failure and I didn´t bother to get it back.

Nowadays it´s just the tv where I can see the exact moment of the day, and I leave it due to my nephews, the only ones who turn it on, and the mobile, which I´m seriously thinking about burying in the garden.

I was used to the lack of time, and so when I decided to tell Martin to live with me didn´t think about that detail, that even when he respects my decision, is dependent on time himself. Every night take off his watch and leave it in the nightstand drawer. My head can just concentrate on its rhythmic tic-tac, tic-tac, TIC-TAC, TIC-TAC.

I´ve been three nights without sleeping. We´ve talked about it: he insists on his need to hear the time as well as I do to urgently to get rid of that junk. This is going to end our relationship.

Rainfall

Smells like rain. In spring, summer, autumn, and winter. I open the window and breath slowly allowing each alveolus to be occupied by the oxygen. When we met it was cold despite it wasn´t the time for it. I was dazzled by your eyes in the same way as you did with my lips. The seasons changed but you and I didn´t realize because our caresses weren´t affected.

Smells like rain. Here, in Madrid, in Barcelona, and in any other place around the world. I open the window and put my left hand out leaving each skin cell to register the drop´s presence. I don´t know where I told you `I love you` for the first time. You´d taken me to many places where I left me speechless, that I´m not able to say the exact point. We hated the cheesy things, the romantic statements, and the rest of sweety verbosity. We talked, we talked a lot about our emotions but those two words were to jump beyond the cities.

Smells like rain. At three in the morning or five in the afternoon, the universe clock is running without thinking about the sky situation. I open the window and watch the puddles feeding. I remember our last kiss in that eternal sunrise. The sun was hidden just for two hours per day and we lost the sense of time. In all those moments, like with the rain, the only thing which existed it was the feeling of comfort that shouldn´t ever stop.

Smells like rain. You are not here. I don´t have a date, hour, or a place because that aroma can only carry me to you. I open the window. There´s nothing to look at, nothing to feel. There´re no memories to fill.

Every day

Broken hours,

mutilated

for something we didn´t choose

but fed.

Vertigo

every morning,

hope

every night,

and in the middle

stars,

mourning,

dreams.

Fear.

Silence.

Minute´s silence.

Stories with a soon ending,

robbed stories,

murdered.

Far away echos

from a present live.

Reality.

Close voices

from future lives.

New reality.

Fiction.

Silence.

Courage.

Offerings

with proper name

and improper payment.

Angels´ wings.

Angels in the sky.

They.

Other distances

are shaking postponed hugs.

Bodies

that have learnt

to stroke without touching.

Silence.

Tomorrow is...

Silence.

Just today...

today.

Silence.

Exits

They left the silence to enclose them. He opened the door and she observed its movement. It arrived at the end. Now it was time to come close on its own. She knew it was going to close on its own. It was the law. She saw it sliding slowly knowing that it will get a bad bump and then would be more difficult to open. But her body didn´t react and she realized and could have avoided, but decided not to do it simply.

After the slam, she got closer to the window and saw him moving away. He had gone. Had he gone? He had gone! She opened the window and knew that didn´t need that door, there were other exits.

He

Even though he had the keys, rang the bell. It was eleven in the night and I was enjoying a Gintonic in the terrace while looking at the moon bathing in the sea. I moved forward in the darkness with my night suit. Wasn´t waiting for him.

As soon as I opened the door, he pounced through my lips. Though he wasn´t going to make the switch.

When he stopped, his pink cheeks and the eyes brightening didn´t allow him to talk. It wasn´t necessary.

I took his hand and brought him to the living room. He smiled with tenderness. For the first time, I felt him in love. He left the hat on the table and we went to the balcony.

The stars were shining in the sky rocking the roar of the sea. We were going step by step, but not turning back.

26-08-2017

Three trips in seven days

The end of October. Given the following months, that was the best week of my whole placement. It has flown two months and we are wondering how people feel when doing such short volunteering. For us is impossible to stop when we still have thousands of experiences to live... or which should live.

From Monday to Wednesday I was in a residential with some young people. It was training for peer mentors. This is the figure of a young person who can talk with the rest in a confident environment about their problems and they can have the tools to ask staff for help or just leave the conversation as friends chatting.

We were planning everything for several weeks and then didn´t follow most of the scheduled times. The coordinator of the program drove us to this forest where the residential was taking place, it´s a film landscape less than an hour far from our city. There are wooden cottages and everything around is green, with a lake and a bonfire for marshmallows.

My job was to take pictures and record some scenes that the young people were going to write in a short time about bullying and peer mentor tasks. And now is time to introduce Aalto. She is from Finland but studying social work at Bournemouth University, and started her first placement at the same time we did with our volunteering. Was really helpful during my beginning and with the preparation of these videos, but it also about admiration for her dedication and affection with the young people, how she enjoy with them and make them laugh all the time, apart from the proper job of improving their wellbeing. I feel so lucky to had the opportunity to learn and share those months with her. It´s not necessary to say that she will be wherever she wants because is something she´s currently doing. Is all about making dreams come true. People like her are the ones who make me think about my own way. Thank you.

I haven´t gone camping a lot, so it was an activity I enjoy to the fullest, even more than I expected. It was idyllic as well as tiring. I know I´ll write something really special about those days.

On Wednesday afternoon we came back home and on Thursday morning I was traveling with Ádám to Dover. You may not know this place as most of the people we talked about. It was an impulse, the need to continue moving and that recently I´d read a book which was located there and I wanted to explore. We were afraid of making a mistake and lose time and money in a place that wasn´t worth... and I could never regret that decision and that weekend.

It was a long journey, seven hours by bus with just one stop in London. I should mention that there it is the connection between England and France by a ferry to Calais and are also remarkable the White Cliffs.

From the hostel, I will write something important, but I think I shouldn´t talk about it now, just to say that it reminded me of the film Bad times at the Royale (Drew Goddard, 2018).

On Friday, we were visiting the Western Heights, a defensive fortress in time for the Napoleonic Wars. The place, I continue with the films, remembered me The maze Runner (Wes Ball, 2014), and the overwhelming silence made us think about the people who died there. It was also raining and there many, many stairs. But the view over the bay was stunning. In the afternoon we visited the local museum and then walked through the cliffs to a lighthouse. It was a long beautiful walk. It rained again, and we got wet, and we got lost, and I was covered by mud (of course), it was so intense that I think I could have enjoyed even more. There are many memories linked to that city.

On Saturday, we went to Canterbury and I became Ádám´s sister. It doesn´t make sense how the buses work here. When we asked for the tickets, the bus driver gave us a Family pass, it wasn´t the first time and not the last one, is good for us. Ah, and we continued with the tradition of running to catch the bus!

I was a bit disappointed. Probably because we couldn´t enjoy much due to the weather. Some parts of the cathedral were closed as there were going on construction works (as many others), and there were few interesting things inside (like a library with old books), my sight was still impressed by the Salisbury´s one. In the afternoon, we trayed to see a Tower but it was closed because of the wind and the rain (the guardian told us that it was one of the worst days he could remember), so we drifted about the city and came back to Dover. That night, the second of November, Irene got married and our 1500 meters were performed for the first time at the Sala La Usina. My theatre company (Fango=mud) was shining in Madrid. It was so difficult for me and words didn´t come to my mind. I went to the rooftop in the night and everything sprouted. Fango and Dover will be together forever. There were mud and happiness.

Sunday was supposed to be a calm day because we were tired. We had the best weather of the weekend. It was time to visit the Castle. We spent six hours and haven´t finished seeing everything. Though the ticket was expensive, but it really worth. There were much information and recreation. The sunset from the top of it was spectacular, or maybe is just my mind which turns those days into better memories. Or maybe is just the magic of the travel.

We came back to Bournemouth at 2am. Sometimes I get really intense, too much, I can´t avoid when it was a good time. I don´t have to think about it, is there.