29 de juny 2007


Sempre m'ha interessat aquesta paraula, pròleg... És curiosa, no?
Avui tinc temps de començar a escriure una miqueta més.
I com a introducció, vaig començar ahir a aprendre a tocar guitarra. El millor és que he entès cosetes, estic molt contenta.

Today's feelings:
It's only toughts, out of feelings, it is only sensations. Però tinc els nervis a punt de rebentar.
Em sento com fent un exàmen contínuament del que se que mai treuré la nota que vull assolir. I amb els nervis fets una coca. Així vaig

Ahir alguna força estranya em va tocar l'espatlla. Però després no va respondre...

23 de juny 2007

seafood i ternura

Un motto de temps passats.
A València de moment, a la lluna de València? Amb unes ganes de fer una orxata que ja no puc esperar i amb una calor de la qual la gent es queixa. Jo no pas.
M'agraden les retrobades. Quan fa temps que no has vist una o unes persones en concret, és com si tornessis a retrobar el que tens en comú, i el que va fer-ho ser així.
NIt de Sant Joan, sóna música patxanga des de la terrassa, no estem especialment preocupats per sortir i ens hem pres el temps per fer bon peix, uns musclos de roca, gambons... Haig de reconèixer que el meu anfitrió te un concepte gastrònomic, quasi sibarita del bon viure. Una cosa de la que una es pot acostumar fàcilmet, la veritat sigui dita. No em puc queixar, al contrari, li estic molt agraïda.
Estic més preocupada per continuar passant calor i fer merescudes "mind holidays" que per viure la gresca. Avui uns bons Km en bici, una mica de solet i un bon menjar. No menjava tant bé en molt de temps. I amb mesura.
No explicaré massa. M'agradaria tenir la càmera i poder deixar un parell de fotos.
Com estic de vacances mentals, tots aquests temes que em preocupen o em tenen en vil, s'han quedat enrere, allà, als Països baixos. Això és bo.
Bé, tornaran les inquietuds Centroeuropees amb la tornada a la rutina. La caòtica rutina a la que em veig en part encadenada.

19 de juny 2007


Bona tarda a la vila dels canals!

This afternoon I had another long trip to shops trying to get a guitar swapped.
I have my first(second-first) guitar now. Of course the first one I bought was faulty. I am used to not getting things in order the first time.
I went jogging as well. The previous day we had a wonderful festival on the park, it was beautiful and so nice to see everyone I expected to be there... It was well worth it, although a bit muddy and as far as I can recall, also a bit trueb...
The park was slowly looking like a park again.

Today I was wondering why, why this after dreaming of sth unrelated I cannot recall.
Sometimes it jsut comes and invades my thoughts. Today it was a song. Yeah, you know everybody have that "our song". Mine is very irrelevant and has to be sang out of tune. I listened to it at least 10 times. I first laughed, then i wanted to cry, let cristal clear tears that bring me crystal clear memories. The ones with smell and touch, with voice and echoing laughs. I don't think I like remembering, but alas. Always in my mind. From time to time. Never really want to talk about it. It made me sad to have the memories so far. So long ago.

I went running in the park. Found out someone was feeding the dirty pigeons. They leave them bread. I remembered how filthy they are. Is there any campaign about them?
I looked in the Internet and it seems people will get a fine for drinking in some areas or smoking joints, but not for feeding the pigeos.
Really unfair.
Went up to the lady who was carrying the bread and runned faster to her, got in front of her and lokked at her in anger and hate.
I guess that stupid lady wondered why I looked at her like that.
Some people should be banned from bakeries

15 de juny 2007

In brief

just to go through it shortly, I wanted to ask my mother about the panic attacks.
It was a goal for me in BCN.
Funny. I asked. "There was a stage I didn't want to be left alone, right?"
She said: "sure, but then you used to terrorize people around you making up horror tales".
"People around" was my poor little sister, or any kid neighbours I was left together with. I used to make up a good night story for my sis, almost every night. Some were really beautiful. She would remember some and ask the following night: "Tell me about the story of the girl who crawled the rainbow" and I would have forgotten.
And yes, I remember, that in order to cope with the fear, when left alone, my stories would turn into very descritive horror tales.
I saw my former downstairs neighbour just this last time in BCN after many years of, say, poor communication and it is one of the things she remembers from me inour childhood. That and the cassette coreogrphies in the garden. Oh, man!
I still must say I was panicking when left alone. But hell!, also delegating.
To prove facts I must say what I recalled I was panicking in 2 occasions my mother went shopping. I don't even know where my sister was. I guess in my biological clock it was taking her too long to come back from the shops. The first time I came out of the terrace and shouted my lungs out to get help. A neighbour came out and told me not to worry. I didn't worry.
The second time I shouted and shouted, and no-one would listen. I shouted: can someone listen? Please, my parents are dead! And then later this guy came out of the terrace next door and helped me jump to the neighbour's terrace. He told me everything was going to be OK.
At that point my mother showed up. Shouting her lungs off (remember, we are talking about the Mediterranean string).
I had to get back home. Pity, because I was very curious to where that stanger coming from the neighbours terrace was going to take me. Unfortunately to get back to my parents' I had to use the stair and move buildings the old fashioned way, through the street. I even made an attempt to be hung off the terrace again, but no-one wanted to help... mm :-(
Pity, because I kinda found cool the jumping terraces thing. Woo-hoo!

What comes after internet crash II

It’s been a long time, I know. Amazing how many things stay to be done in little time and you find yourself going from one place to another producing thoughts, and not having the time to bring them to shape.
I sometimes think what a pity it is to leave some thoughts for later. They are like snowflakes, not two are the same.
It ended after Barcelona. My internet connection after that was never the same again. All I get is sad bouncing tries to connect to innocent and unaware open wireless networks, but I think I’ve been blocked from all already. It would be a long story to explain my troubles with customer services in the Netherlands, pa qué? I only get heartburn. Let’s say I have been stalking my future ex-provider every other week to take my time to find the proper one. And that after one month, two letters, 4 calls and a fax it seems we are heading towards the right direction.
Barcelona was per se, as a city, nothing special. I found myself on this square, waiting for a friend and looking around. I had some paper and a pen with me so, caught by the “la meva ciutat” spirit I wanted to record what I was feeling. I started wirting: "What do I like about Barcelona", since I always concentrate in what I don’t like, poor city. I could only come up with “more bikes”, I guess one gets influenced by the city they live in. I couldn’t come up with anything else. It is true that people were all relaxed. Way too relaxed. Sometimes due to the botellón phenomenom and the damp weather I was feeling I was walkin through the allies of some Asian overcrowded city. Street drinking has become a mass-practice. And if there are a few ok bars, people don’t care if they cannot get in. You will see them just hanging around outside the doors, in masses.

See this pict, is very representative, although a very bad one (it was dark) you can see 2 bikes, at least 2 beers and what you don't see is the full bar because it is hidden by the masses of people hainging around in front of it.

In the square I was waiting for this friend there was no Catalan at reach. 2 Germans on the left, 3 French on the right and a cloggie passing by, screaming at a mobile phone. It is funny to understand each person around you in their own language and briefly following seconds of a life. I liked that. I guess the cosmpolitan feeling grows when you are in your own country. You are a local to their eyes, but not to your own. I also realized I kinda have a central European influence already. I start seeing things pictoresque... oh, ooh... Well, as long as I can recall, BCN hasn't been my spot for years. It just lost all the character I thought it onnce had and I was so proud of.
I made it not to speak a single word of any other language but my own. Catalan, for the ones who still wonder what people speak in Barcelona, or Catalonia to a bigger extent.
It is hard to recall the sentimental burden I was carrying. You know, feelings can change in a week, and you can quickly fall off the melancholic cloud and ride the busy bee again to stop feeling sorry for yourself. I had my good deal of crying in Barcelona and all thanks to my family and this friend I hadn’t seen maybe in 10 years. That was very necessary. They are adorable. They were adorable all along, only, not so free in a way. I don’t know how to explain. My older relatives have emancipated from their parents in the past 7 years. And so the latest generation has blossomed with it. The hierarchical tree has fallen. And that’s so very nice!
In my barrio people kept reproducing. It seems as if the economy wasn’t doing so bad, but, then again, it never seems so no matter what. The salaries will still be shitty and the living costs scandalous and I guess the worst it gets, the more people will probably seek for a consolation price. I won’t be mean. As Homer Simpson said, the fact that I don’t care doesn’t mean I don’t understand. Just another thing I didn’t add to the “I like” list.

I tried to initiate a conversation with my mother, but the TV was always on. I didn’t watch TV this time. It is strange because even ignoring whatever must be playing I tend to follow any movie playing, my parents have satellite, and the movies are the good thing about it. I think I tried to watch one, but football was on as soon as I came back from the toilet. Zapping has always been a common practise among my family.
We had a girls’ night out with the girls. The sister, the cousin. We are three in the family. 2 blondes one brunnete.
That rounded and topped the warm feeling of belonging. We talked and we listen to each other. Even having grown together or almost, we don’t always have the time to listen to each other, and maybe we didn't then carried by the familying way of caring to each other by reflecting us in the preselected values. And it is a pity. Family ties used the right way are cool, you need little to explain to be understood right away.
One day, somehow, we stopped judging each other, measured from the now obsolete endometric family-o-meter, and started listening, agreeing that the perfect family is a lie. Then suddenly every individual had a personality, a life, their faults and their virtues. And then, that very moment we sat together and felt each other as individuals.
At that point the statement that no family is perfect suddenly made my family perfect.