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A stranger, anyway

Reflecting on my history, it’s not so long ago that I wrote in my notebook that ‘I’ve been growing like a transplanted plant’. I want to come back to this idea now.
My seed was sown, and germinated in one land. Then, uprooted twice. And then, taken back to the original soil. But it was not the same as before, it couldn’t be…
So one day, feeling trapped and isolated, a stranger in my homeland, I decided to go on my own, to walk away. And I put myself into another totally different place. I might be more poetical, continue with the metaphor and say that I needed different water, different air, different nutrients… But this is not going to work here. So I should better say that what I just needed was to take the sensation of feeling the owner of my own freedom.
I’ve written ‘totally different’. Let me think about this as well… The language definitely is. And language makes a big difference, so they also say. Different nouns, adjectives, verbs… Different ways of saying some of the same things, aren’t they? Or are there always new things, different words in different places but deep inside with the same meanings?
I’ve grown in different latitudes. This is a fact. Different weathers. Different cultures. Different people. Different history and stories. Some different ways of understanding life…
I grew in the arms of different motherlands.    Like a transplanted plant.
Different composts, different waters, different airs…
But the roots are still there. The same roots of a growing plant in different lands.
A transplanted human being.
A man in search.
A stranger, anyway.

Cherry Coke

That small grocery shop beside the School of Communication
That ham, and fresh slices of tomato, in a bollo sandwich
That bar ‘La Parrapa’
That woman behind it with that masculine energy
That dream of mine
Those Cherry Coke days

Sand castles by the seashore

Sand castles by the seashore
My sick and deformed body
The salt and iodine on the skin
The sticky suntan cream protection
The rubber ring
The waves of that enormous universe
And the powerful sun, toasting the bodies
toasting it all
And mum and dad always looking after
taking care
The marine heat
The sea
The sand
Sand everywhere
The towel was never clean
The sun umbrella
The chairs
And then back to grandma`s apartment
The refreshing shower
The meal with the family
The siesta
Lifeful years
Long innocent days
Clear nights

Fly more wisely

A voice
I hear that voice
That voice that tells me what to do
That voice that pushes me out
That is growing, gathering experience, getting old with me.
It’s a shame one learns how to really live only when one is getting older.
Life should give you the opportunity to live backwards.
And yet fly more wisely.

SHE impressed me

We wanted to be together, and we needed advice. I knew that if we married everything would be solved. And by everything I mean papers, bureaucracy, and the right to stay together by law. She was Latin-American, and I was European. I was a legal immigrant, with all the rights on my side. She wasn’t. But I didn’t want to marry, and much less because someone obliged me. It’s not that I didn’t want to marry her but that I didn’t want to marry. Years have passed since then and I still don’t believe in such a thing as ‘marriage’. Love should be always free. Not attachment but loyalty one to the other. But let’s not talk here about this political, social and philosophical issue and let’s go straight to the point. And the point was very big, to me bigger than our legal status problem itself. A ‘problem’ that could seem mundane, even silly, beside the point of this brief story. And the point was SHE.
That day I had an appointment at the Citizen’s Advice Bureau in Edinburgh. We were at the place at 10 a.m sharp.
And there SHE was in HER office. Sitting on what you may call a common office chair. Listening to me. My girlfriend didn’t know much English so I was the one to talk. I didn’t notice anything strange about HER at the very beginning, my sight problem makes me very slow in this sense. HER blue eyes looked at me calmly. Later, I wanted to imagine some deep cold resignation inside. But one can only guess and think what one wants to think, mostly because of their own experiences, thoughts and beliefs. No one really knows the real feelings of a stranger, they are not obvious, like a rash.
SHE was listening to me attentively, taking some notes. No right hand. A sort of hair elastic band holding a pen firmly from HER wrist. Perfect and fairly fast wristwriting.
I was talking. SHE was listening and answering. Short and precise answers. It seemed there was no solution for us SHE could see except marrying or getting a full time student visa for my girlfriend.
HER scottish accent and tone of voice was altered by that thing… on HER larynx. Tracheotomy, I thought.
I looked at HER other… No left hand. Just a clean and complexless stump. I can’t say I wasn’t shocked at the time but I continued talking about my own concerns, like nothing was unusual to me.
Probably, the last words I said before SHE stood up and accompanied us to the door were ‘thank you very much’. And when SHE did, I saw HER walking with two pieces of metal as legs.
And yet there SHE was, trying to help me, to help others, to help anyone…
‘Thank you very much.’

My life, this is just to say…

This is just to say I want you
Maybe not in the best way,
with enough understanding,
wisdom and know how.

This is just to say I need you,
with your misery and magnanimity,
bad and good times
And the struggle to find the beauty of every day.

This is just to say I’m proud of you
Although sometimes I ask you for too much,
other times for too little,
and other times for nothing, almost forgetting about you.

This is just to say I`ve never hated you
In spite of the pain, the sweat, the bad nights and the tears,
I take you how you are,
just feeling the energy you give me.

This is just to say I’m sorry
when sometimes I forget or even don´t want to take care of you.
And I smoke a cigarette
And I eat little, or badly
And I let your time slip out of my hands.

This is to say I love you
My life, I love you.
And I don´t want you to leave me.
Please, don’t leave me in The Nowhereland.

This is just to say what He said:
‘Love your neighbor as yourself’
And I love you, my life. I love you.
What a difficult task!

El flujo de la vida

‘Esto es una estación de trenes. Nadie para.’ Me dijo un trabajador que se dio cuenta de mi torpeza y me notó algo perdido.
Y llega el tren. Subo, encuentro un sitio, me siento e intento relajarme. Miro a través de la ventana y veo lo que dejo atrás. Cosas, gente… Y entonces intento olvidar el pasado. Intento olvidar la pérdida. Uno olvida. Y es cierto que olvidará de nuevo. Porque uno siempre olvida.
Y entonces uno aprende, llevando tu ser pa’ lante.
Yo y mi ser. Las cicatrices están ahí. Es cierto que están. Son imborrables. Y habrá más dolor, más heridas, más cicatrices… Es inevitable. Y entonces uno olvida, y aprende. Porque uno siempre aprende.
Y uno conoce a nuevas gentes, descubre nuevas cosas…
Miro a través de la ventana de mi vida y sé que puedo encontrar un nuevo amor, un nuevo sueño, un nuevo deseo. Y sonrío. Y voy pa’ lante, así hasta el final será.
Esta es la energía creativa de la vida.
‘Esto es una estación de trenes. Nadie para.’ Me dijo aquel hombre.

The flow of life

‘This is a train station. No one stops’, he said to me.
And the train arrives. I get on, I find a place, I sit and try to relax. I look through the window and see what I am leaving behind. Things, people… And then I try to forget the past. And I try to forget the loss. One forgets. And for sure, will again. Because one always forgets.
And then one learns, carrying oneself on.
Me and myself. Scars are there. For sure they are. It is indelible. And there will be more pain, more wounds, more scars… It is inevitable. And then one forgets, and learns. Because one always learns.
And one meets new people, discovers new things…
I look through the window of my life and I know I can find a new love, a new dream, a new desire. And I smile. And I am pushed out, till the end I will. It’s inevitable.
This is the creative energy of life.
‘This is a train station. No one stops’, he said to me.

Blue (loss)

I’m looking at my jeans. The longing and frustration contained within. These sky blue jeans that time is wasting. Is time leaving me with the same washed out look?

The ashtray is full. I’m smoking too much, not clearing away the butts. I need to pour some water on the plant. The television screen needs dusting. I’m gonna sort my cd collection, put them in chronological order maybe. That shirt on the chair… I should iron it. I should also write an email, or better a letter, to that old girlfriend of mine, tell her…
I busy myself with mundane chores around the house. Any little drudgery to keep me occupied, anything to rest my thoughts. I’m fooling myself. Elisa has an open pass. She comes and goes as she pleases.
Now, I scrutinise myself in the mirror. Poisoned by anger I hear my will snap. I am facing this impotent self. This reflection tells me nothing. Elisa, she is crowding my thoughts. I close my eyes and her face is smiling at me. Her lips pouting, irresistible. Lips I may never kiss.

The ashtray is getting full, again. I really don’t like smoking, I don’t think so. Why am I doing it? Maybe it’s just to know that I still have some power left, that I can control time between my fingers and my mouth, that I can kill myself my own way and smoke my life slowly…
I need to give some water to that green lady. She really needs me. Television is for nothing. I don’t want to pay the license anymore. I’m going to throw it away instead of cleaning the dust.

I have decided to venture outside. A good brisk walk is sure to do me the world of good.
The grass is fresh. Sitting here, I feel the sun on my face, warming my soul. For an instant I almost forget her. If I could banish her from my thoughts!
I start walking again when an old friend waves to me. I wave back as if I didn’t have a care. Funny, I thought, how one can put on a front when one has to. If Kenneth, that was his name, had stopped for a chat I’m sure he would never have guessed my despair. Loss doesn’t show up like a rash, you can be suffering from it but no one knows. Maybe Kenneth himself has the bug.
‘If you go, you go. Never come back’, I told her. Why did I say that? Stupid pride! ‘Come back. Please, come back. Bring a little happiness to this poor bastard!’, I beg now. She is not listening. ‘Do you know my pain?’ I want to scream at her. I don’t know at this point if loss is closer to self pity or hate.
There’s a riotous loneliness inside me, a mess of madness. A desperate heart shouting. This grief is bleeding.
What a silly thing to want what I can not have!
My own pride and manhood is maybe the real cause of this wound.

And yet… walking. Desperation in my shoes.
I feel like losing my streets, my home, my own self. A dull world is closing around me. Loss blinds us to everything, kills everything.
Your absence is throttling me. I’m bleeding tears of death.
I want to disappear, walk and walk forever. Till the end… Is there any other hope I could hold onto?

Blue and inscrutable sky. You have seen me born. You have taken me here. You have taken me to her as well. So far…
I’m at a loss. Would you guide me? Please, tell me you will. Surely it is possible that you will not deny me?
Don’t say a word, stay silent.

And I’ll be here, there; somewhere, someplace… still walking. With my hands in my pockets, waiting for yours. Dreaming as a madman on endless days, full of nothing.
Time slips away among my fingers. It’s leaving…

I love you blue.
Paths. Sometimes up. Sometimes down.
Walking.
How could I forget?
Give me the strength to… walk.

Your mark will remain. A hidden pain.
An unfathomable feeling.
Was it better yesterday?
The same.
Blue.

Blue (love)

I’m looking at my jeans. The longing and frustration contained within. These sky blue jeans that time has wasted. Will time leave me with the same washed out look?

The ashtray is full. I’m smoking too much these days, not clearing away the butts. I need to pour some water on the plant. The television screen needs dusting. I’m gonna sort my cd collection, put them in chronological order maybe. That shirt on the chair… I should iron it. I want to phone her- Listen to her voice, talk to her… But I don’t want to be heavy, nor desperate. You can’t receive love when you really want; or from whom.
I busy myself with mundane chores around the house. Any little drudgery to keep me occupied, anything to arrest my thoughts. But I’m fooling myself. Elisa has an open pass. She comes and goes as she pleases.
Now, I scrutinise myself in the mirror. I don’t look so bad. Why can’t she be mine? I am facing this impotent self. Elisa, Elisa… Your name is crowding my thoughts. I close my eyes and you are smiling at me. Your lips teasing my senses, irresistible. Lips I desperately want to kiss.
The ashtray is getting full, again. I really don’t like smoking, I don’t think. Why am I doing it? I need to give some water to that green lady. Television is for nothing…

I have decided to venture outside. A good brisk walk is sure to do me the world of good.
The grass is fresh. Sitting here, I feel the sun on my face, warming my soul. For an instant I almost forget her. This is just crazy!
I start walking again when an old school friend waves to me. I wave back as if I didn’t have a care. ‘Funny’, I thought, ‘how one can put on a front when one has to.’ If Kennet, that was his name, had stopped for a chat I’m sure he would never have guessed my fantasy. Love doesn’t show up like a rash, you can be suffering from it but no one knows. It can’t even be diagnosed. Maybe Kenneth himself has the bug.
‘We don’t choose to fall in love’, I tell her. ‘Bring a little happiness to this poor bastard!’, I beg her. She is not listening. ‘Can you listen to my heart?’ I want to scream at her. At this point this feeling is madness.
My desperate heart is shouting. This ungratified passion is bleeding.
What a silly thing to love what I really don’t know, what I have never had!
My own pride and manhood cause this anxiety.

And yet… walking.
I feel like I’m losing my streets, my home, my identity. My feet just want to go to her. Love blinds us to everything. Confuses everything.
Your presence is throttling me. I’m breathing air of you.
I want to walk and walk… Is there anything else I can do?

Blue and inscrutable. You have seen me born. You have taken me here. So far.
I’m lost. Would you guide me? Please, tell me you will. Surely it is possible that you will not deny me?
Don’t say a word, stay silent.

And I’ll be here, there, somewhere, someplace… for you. Just for you.
Walking, still walking. My hands in my pockets, waiting for yours.
Dreaming as a madman on endless days, full of nothing but you.
Time slips out of my fingers. It’s leaving, without caresses.

I love you blue.
Paths. Sometimes up. Sometimes down.
Walking.
How could I make you mine?
Give me the strength to… walk.

Your mark is here. A hidden dream.
Unfathomable feeling.
Was it better yesterday?
More than yesterday, less than tomorrow.
Blue.