Sunday, December 29, 2013
Travel is useful, it exercises the imagination. All the rest is disappointment and fatigue. Our journey is entirely imaginary. That is its strength. It goes from life to death. People, animals, cities, things, all are imagined. It's a novel, just a fictitious narrative. And besides, anyone can do as much. You just have to close your eyes. It's on the other side of life.
Louis-Ferdinand Cellesse, Journey to the End of the Night
Friday, December 27, 2013
The week before Christmas was so hectic and stressful. I didn’t have time to go on internet and mostly I just went to sleep after work. The Nativity Play was success, kids were adorable and they tried very hard. Little Gonzalo, dressed as little lamb kept falling asleep and it was almost impossible to keep him awake. Well I felt like falling asleep too, dimmed lights and that Hebrew song Manavu felt like a perfect lullaby.
On Friday, Santa Clause came to school. It was actually my flatmate Glen dying underneath that heavy and hot costume. Well at least he got some rum or whisky for doing it. He also complained about my class being really heavy when they sat on his lap. Yeah they are heavy and it doesn’t stop them jumping on me anytime they can. It’s like as if they were seeking any opportunity to do that. Afterwards the parents came to the classroom to pick their kids up. The mothers looked gorgeous with beautiful clothes and immaculate makeup. It was really hard to believe they have kids some of them even four. I got so emotional when they were all kissing me and wishing me Felices Fiestas. Pepe’s (the dreamer who eats trees and sees things) mama said that he tells her everyday how much he loves me. Oh boy my heart was melting.
The same day we had Staff dinner in a huge Hacienda. It was a stunning place, almost like a little castle with open bar and delicious food. That night I’ve realized how not Spanish I am. All Spanish staff were dancing, singing and really living and embracing the night. Mostly I was just sitting at English table, smoking and drinking vodka with coke. I feel like I’m more alive inside and when I’m writing. Every time I write I feel like the walls are cracking and I can see and feel things that come to me from so far away. You know the place where the butterflies sing and the flowers make you smile. I don’t think I could be happy until I find a job where I can write or do something with arts.
The last three days before Christmas I spent with my flatmate, Kate. We were wandering around the town, cursing the Siesta time when everything was shut, eating out and drinking. One night we got so drunk on sherry that we were singing Dirty Dancing soundtrack. Poor neighbours!
This is my first Christmas alone. Well on Christmas day I was skyping with my family and my brother who’s in Japan and I was thinking what a modern life I had. Skype people I love instead of actually being with them. Mostly I’ve been reading (The Goldfinch by Donna Tartt) watching films ( La vie de Adele, Fill the Void and Before Midnight) and shopping which is gonna kill me because a. I don’t have any money and b. every time I buy something I want more. I still haven’t figured out how am I gonna pay for January rent. Oh boy the worst is that Spanish streets are actually cold now.
I skyped Amelia who was in Honk Kong. Amelia is one of the reasons why the world is such a beautiful place. She looked even more beautiful than I remembered her. She always does and she was convincing me to register on Eharmony which is ‘A most trusted dating site’ according to their profile. Amelia said that some of her friends actually met very interesting people there. It’s not that I’m against dating sites. Ok maybe I actually am. However in our world full of whats app, snapchat, selfies, skype sex and all these online ‘beauties’ it feels normal even natural just to go online and meet the love of my life. I don’t know it just freaks me out, the idea that I could connect easier with someone online than in real life feels sad.
Tuesday, December 24, 2013
She had noticed her veins were melting. There was a coconut milk pouring out of them. She was lying beneath him, thinking why butterflies always breathe on her skin when she’s asleep.
She remembered that day when the whole world seemed like a never ending autumn and she was the only snowflake there, falling , melting and again falling and melting. That day she stopped feeling. An important part of her skin died and she buried it in a mango juice. He would always bring her a mango juice knowing how much she liked it. Mama said he came home for summer, to relax and think things through before the new term started. He just sat and sat in his room, close to the window watching a splendid view on the lake and little forest. He only smiled when she came in. He would tell her how lost he felt and how he struggled living among people. He felt like a cherry tree that could never blossom, like a dust flying in a tidy room.
She was so glad he was home, always climbing on his lap and watching sunset. Once he told her he was born with too much sadness engraved in his eyes and glued onto his eyelids. That’s why he couldn’t bear the sunlight anymore. Sunlight would change his skin into the cobweb. She said that maybe he feels sad because his heart is beating incorrectly. He seemed to be amused by it. She continued saying: you know when it’s full of orange marmalade. He laughed and cuddled her. That day he never looked through the window again. He became a little moth chasing the colours and autumn blossom.
There she was filling up with that tasteless coconut milk thinking how empty a person can make you feel. His breath and movements slowed down, he fell asleep and she chased that little moth in the dark.
She was sitting in a coffee bar, sipping sherry and looking at the beach. Some children were still swimming. Despite the warm sun she put on her trench coat and leather gloves. The seagulls were flying around and she couldn’t make herself write him a letter. Not being able to talk to him on the phone, she thought the letter could work. She could write anything she wanted, maybe a little story.
She wrote him about the time when she used to fish with her grandfather. She didn’t like it, didn’t have a patience to wait and be quiet. Eventually she told her grandfather she didn’t like fishing at all. He looked at her with a smile saying: ‘Well then you won’t be able to catch a moonlight star!’ ‘The moonlight star? What is it, grandpa?’ she asked him with curiosity. ‘It’s one of the most precious things in the world,’ he said. Since then she’d never miss fishing time with the grandpa, desperately wanting to catch the moonlight star. After grandpa’s dead she forgot about it.
She stopped writing and wondered why she remembered this part of her childhood. She was mad at herself not being able to write him that she missed him and that she would come back eventually and that they could make everything beautiful again. She paid the bill and walked around the beach. There was a fisherman sitting on the cliffs. She walked towards him and sat on a rock. His face was covered with wrinkles and his eyes focused only on the sea. Suddenly he caught something and was pulling it out. She was watching him excitingly. It wasn’t a fish but a can of coke light. She started to laugh, thinking how silly that she was expecting to see the moonlight star. Fisherman swore and cursed at his unfortunate catch. When he threw the can away, she picked it up and walked away. No one said that the moonlight star can’t look like a can of coke light.
She was putting an innumerable amount of make up on her already perfect face. She couldn’t stop thinking it wasn’t enough. She couldn’t bear the look on her so familiar face. She couldn’t stand her broken eyes that couldn’t see any other colour than red. Her nose only smelled burning candles. Her ears could only hear Mozart’s Adagio. The only thing she could taste was honey and red lipstick. It was too much for her and it bored her to death having to look at her face. She wanted to turn into a porcelain doll, with perfect complexion, blank eyes, sealed lips, still hair and delicate nose. Not feeling anything and not having to make decisions. To be death and insanely beautiful at the same time. That’s what she wanted.
He came in, told her how beautiful she was, not needing to use more make-up. He didn’t understand. Never did. He hoped he made her feel happy and delighted by saying these words but she was only dying inside, desiring to scratch off his face and hers too. She despised the scent of his skin smelling almost like petrol and cold coffee. She put on her silk dress and diamonds, deliberately not wearing any underwear so she could drive him mad, so he would starve and crave for something she’d never give him. She put one more layer of make-up on her face, looked at the mirror wanting to rip her eyes off. She smiled bitterly thinking about all the people who will stare at her in awe and telling her how beautiful she was. They always did.
Sunday, December 15, 2013
I truly cannot wait for Christmas. Lately I’ve been really busy and unorganized. My room looks like an old Parisian brothel. We’re still rehearsing for Nativity Play and I absolutely love the songs kids are singing. My favourite bit is when Nicolas is singing: Close your eyes. Rest a while. I’ll be here by your side. Close your eyes. Do not cry. These are very simple lyrics yet so meaningful. I always feel like crying when he sings it. The performance is on Wednesday and I hope no one will throw up or fall of the stage.
Yesterday there was a celebration in the town. It seems like Spanish people always find a reason for celebration. I love this about Spain, people truly embrace life and lust for fiesta.
This time it was Zambomba party which is basically the Spanish Christmas flamenco party! There were little Zambomba groups and everyone was joining in, clasping hands and dancing on the streets or inside the bars. Me and my girlfriends started to drink at 2pm attending many bars in the city centre. At some point we decided to get tattoos, unfortunately or luckily we couldn’t find any tattoo salon so we continued drinking.
I felt ok, very happy, chatting and laughing up until 3 am when I couldn’t say a word, started hiccupping and my legs were out of service. Obviously I decided to depart before I’d embarrass myself. On the way home I got lost (it’s incredibly easy to get home from the place I was. It’s literally just walking straight). Feeling so desperate about not recognizing the place I was, I started to hitchhike. A really nice Porsche stopped. There was an incredibly ugly looking guy with a gorgeous woman. I was so glad that they were giving me a lift home that I didn’t even pay attention to girl’s lack of clothes. Then suddenly the guy got really chatty asking me about my job and how much I earn, if I was interested in earning lots of money? At this point I started to wonder where he was going with this. Afterwards the girl said that he was the best boss she’d ever had and that she was very happy... Mama mia! Why is this always happening to me? When I lived in Valencia there was a Russian man with two bodyguards knocking on my door once and when I opened he thought I was the prostitute he ordered (the real one was living next door) I don’t know I’m thinking maybe they universe is trying to tell me something.
Anyway in the end they just drove me safely home. My flatmate Sophia was already in really drunk, smoking and drawing horses. Viva la Zambomba!
Sunday, December 8, 2013
First time I realised that Christmas was coming was when I almost bumped into a gigantic snowman standing outside of my class. These days we’ve been practising Nativity Play with children. At first I thought I wouldn’t have to do much because the children would be on the stage all the time and I could just sit and watch them. All wrong! I actually have to participate, bring them on and off the stage, remember the order of them (angels, shepherds, dancers....), hold the microphone etc....Madre Mia, I’m so stressed now! My coordination sucks and my memory needs new batteries. I’m so gonna fuck it up!
The other annoying thing is the Christmas decoration. I’m so not crafted. There’s no way I could have marvellous and original ideas about Christmas decoration like my friend/colleague Rosie has. If you compare her decoration to mine it’s like comparing Christmas Oxford Street to a landfill. I love beauty, I can appreciate it, write a novel about it but that’s really it. My amazing teacher Natalia told me to make a fire place with kids and honestly I tried but in the end it looked like a red paper covered with other papers.
I’ve got four days off now and I absolutely love it. It’s so amazing to feel free again, make my own plans, wake up when I want to and the best is =NO CHILDREN!!! I can’t wait to get retired.
On Friday me and my flatmate Glen decided to go to the centre for some drinks. We stayed at the bar close to the river surrounded by boats and happy people. Sometimes all that happiness (presumably mainly caused by sunny weather) drives me crazy. It feels so artificial almost like natural antidepressants. However I must admit it is very catchy and I just find myself smiling even though I’m in dept, there is no hot water in my house and I mix up the right and left side too often. Later at night we went to eat to Fosters, an American restaurant where they had only one vegetarian dish. Super! Afterwards we somehow ended up at the prostitute bar watching pimps and women dressed in very little clothes or very very very little clothes. When I was smoking outside with Rosie we couldn’t help but notice a wildly rocking car with steamy windows.... Oh boy how I miss car sex! It was a very spectacular night. Unfortunately when I woke up I had a strange rash on my body so I had to go to the hospital. There was an incredibly hot doctor injecting my ass when I realized during all that hustle and bustle in the morning I actually forgot to wear knickers. Seriously! Some of my friends publish novels, others write theatre monologues on having orgasms and sperm on their faces and what do I do? Get my ass injected without any underwear!
Today I went to explore, walked a lot and got to the beach. Puerto Sherry is one of my favourite places. It has a port, the biggest beach houses I’ve ever seen, a breath taking view of the sea and rocks and many great restaurants and coffee bars. I walked to the light house and watched the boats getting further and further, feeling so small and thinking how much there is to see and explore. Then I walked to the promenade, sat at one of the coffee bars, ordered Tinto de Verano and wrote two letters for my friends. Of course people were staring at me....how sad making that people find writing letters strange and unusual. I believe that when you get an email, text or Facebook message your heart never skips a beat but if you actually get a letter waiting for you in that tiny mailbox you feel like flying to the caramel meadows. People should write more!
Saturday, December 7, 2013
One of the best things about living in Spain is my flatmate, Sophia. She’s one of the most adorable creatures this world managed to create. Sophia is incredibly funny, erratic and compassionate. Most of the time she makes awfully bad decisions but somehow they make her look even more beautiful. She’s always high on something like microwave socks, porridge and hot water with lemon. Moreover she’s incredibly passionate ironing lady!
The very first weekend when we moved in, she brought a guy over and he stole 200 Euros from her room, while she was in the bathroom. She felt really bad about it, thinking he must have thought she was supposed to pay him for their night of pleasures. The week after, a drug dealer she was dancing with managed to steal her keys and robbed our apartment while we were at work. One day I woke up, went to the bathroom and found a used condom in the toilet. I was shouting: ‘Sophia, there’s a condom in our toilet!!’ ‘Oh shit! I thought I’d flushed it!’ Lesson of the day: There’s no way you could actually flush the condom down the toilet.
Lately, Sophia hasn’t been going out that much. She mostly stays at home, drinks wine and learns Spanish from children books. Her newest male friend is one of the weirdest people I’ve met. And I met plenty, trust me. Strangely, he reminds me of Edward Scissorhands. Alfonso is his name and he can talk a lot. The most fascinating thing is watching him putting on his coat, hat and gloves. I’ve never seen anyone so slow. It is impressive how much time a person can spend when getting dressed! Sophia told me that he doesn’t work because he has to look after his old mother who’s got Alzheimer and Parkinson’s disease. Something similar happened to my colleague Carmen. She grew up in the States, studying theatre, trying to be an actress when suddenly her mother lost her job and she had to move back to Spain with all her siblings. Back in Spain she took any job that was there to help her mother and little siblings.
Some people have to put up with so much. When they can’t do what they want because there’s someone else who needs them.... I’m sure in a way they don’t regret helping their loved ones but at the same time they must wonder what if? What if they could actually do what they wanted?
Sunday, December 1, 2013
One day I went to Jerez with Jess and Rosie. It was a lovely sunny day and I was wearing a white dress with golden dots. There was an insanely beautiful old carousal in the middle of the plaza. We were having lunch in one of the restaurants outside. After we stuffed ourselves with unforgivably big amount of food, wine and sangria, Jess told me a cute story. Her friends George and Alexandra randomly met in August when they were travelling around Australia. They spent a weekend together, the most beautiful one, they said. George was an incurably romantic, Alexandra was more practical and standing on the ground too often. She said there was no point of making any promises. How can you make a promise if life changes every second? What is promise if not another type of uncertainty? People are unpredictable, erratic and beautifully immature. George on the other hand knew that there was something special and refreshing between them. It was like Alexandra became a part of his being, a very precious part. George felt so imperfectly perfect, his eyes could grow colours and his hands created never ending sand castles made of fresh breeze.
When they had to depart, George convinced Alexandra to give him her address in Sweden. She only said the name of the street and town she’d lived. Three months passed, it was a cold December night. Alexandra was watching TV with her father, when someone rang the bell. Her father went to open and returned after a while saying: There’s a foreigner covered in snow mumbling your name. She ran to the door, saw him and started to cry. ‘I didn’t know the house number so I knocked on every single door of this street.’ George said and Alexandra managed to reply with a little smile: ‘It’s a long street.’
What a lovable story I thought. Magic is obviously happening in Australia and Sweden. I guess most people try to ignore their feelings. They give up too easily blaming the fate for getting in the way. But really anyone could fly to Sweden, spend the whole night knocking on strangers door. It’s so sad making to read all these articles about young people not wanting to be in love or even hold hands (Japan). Apparently it’s so convenient to get satisfied and happy only sexually not emotionally. We say that emotions can be painful they can take something away from us. But does casual sex really leave us unharmed? If you can’t see your heart getting scattered it doesn’t mean it isn’t. How can some people not want to love someone? To feel protective, sheltered and all that crap. I wish for someone like that, who will love me even if I eat too many M&Ms, have toothpaste all over my face and forget to wear knickers in the morning, only noticing on the way to work.