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.