Flowing energy

Sometimes I feel that you are here. As clear as the air I breath. As pure as the last neurons that my brain created, before I became too old to make more. I feel that you are here, inside my mind, dancing with my neurons. 

And I like it. 

Sometimes I think that we have been connected since before we ever existed. As scientists claim that energy is not created, only transformed; we had to be something before being us, before that sperm and that egg. So maybe we did meet before, right? Maybe we were neighboring caterpillars, or canopies, or stars…

Anyways, you are here, right now. You make me smile. 

And I close my eyes, I close them to see. 

See you. 

And I like it. 

Do you remember that day we walked all day? I had not slept the night before, but did not feel tired at all. You were there, unveiling the world with me. Holding my hand, kissing my forehead, smiling to my camera. You told me about your past, I shared with you my dreams of an uncertain future. And we disappeared in the dark, in between those deserted streets that looked so different under the silent moon light. It was so easy to be with you. 

And I liked it. 

And you may be thinking that this is all about you, but it's not. 

And I recall that day you bought me an ice-cream, in that little shop that your mom loved to visit whenever she came back from across the ocean. We sat in a bench, next to the lake, watching people pass by, feeling the Dutch sun in our faces… that sun that had hidden for so long! We just talked. You have looked after me up to today, and I do the same. You simply stayed in my life, as I stayed in yours, despite the distance, despite the time… 

And I like it. 

You possibly have not thought about it, but there was this day that we ran through the Indian sand dunes under the moonlight. I still have that cd, that you bought me when that local band stopped playing. And I still wear that pearl necklace you brought me from your business travels. I wear it proudly, remembering that pearls actually mean nothing. You have vanished from my life, despite how hard I tried to keep you. Sometimes the only thing left is to let go. Everything changes, everything evolves. 

And I like it. 

One day you finally got the courage to invite me to the movies, you claimed that this was your favorite one. As one of the greatest and oldest Zemeckis’ films premiered in my eyes, I still remember how much you struggled to finally hold my hand. We shared the best and the worst of ourselves, of our lives. We graduated, took our first jobs, even worked together and created our own company. We stayed together, despite the distance, despite my continuous search for whom I was supposed to be. The search that I should have started within myself, and not in the other side of the world. Now you have a daughter and I have a filled-up passport. Somethings are not meant to be, but we are just fine, we grew apart but also grew up, became adults. 

And I like it. 

I saw you in that bar and told you that you looked like Brad Pitt, possibly because I was not wearing my glasses. You said that precisely my blind eyes caught your attention, and you came back just to find whom I was. We said that we would not fall in love, that it would be just for fun. That was the greatest lie we both told each other. And despite the love we had, as predicted, distance came in between us, so we promised to become the best version of ourselves and meet again someday. Im keeping that promise. 

And I like it. 

You were my best friend for years. We dated for a while, we tried, we failed. I could not love you as you deserved, I was a spoiled girl, a child not prepared for seeing beyond herself. I lost you, and years later I just felt that I should call you again, out of nowhere. Unexpectedly, you were glad to hear from me, you had forgiven me. You got married that year and I met the man that broke my heart, for real this time. “Karma police” you told me laughing and I agreed. You are still my friend, and every time we meet, I feel that things did not really changed between us, you are you and I am me, nothing to hide… 

And I like it. 

I could go on, remembering you, but as I recall this moment or the other, my heart is beating harder and harder. Perhaps these past ten years were actually full of love and I did not notice it. Yes, you broke my heart. Yes, I broke yours. But we loved, we lived, and yes, we have been transformed. Each connection we make takes us closer to where we are meant to be. Perhaps this means that we cannot stay together, but that doesn’t matter, what matters is that we had or have that or this moment. We were one, in those brief or long moments we shared. That is what life is, just moments that we keep in our hearts, that make us who we are. 

And I am grateful. 

I hope you are fine. I hope you are happy. I hope that you are living at your fullest potential. 

Thank you for making me a better person, you will always be a part of me. 

And yes…

I like it. 

El mundo y yo

Treinta años. 

Estoy en una habitación, pequeña. Mis cosas están por doquier, estoy empacando, saldré de viaje mañana. 

Y estoy llorando, escuchando su voz en mis audífonos, “and I can’t contain myself, I need to see your face… I thought we could fly away, I thought we could fix reality”. 

Pero no fue así.

Hace un cuatrimestre que retorné a Asia. No fue sencillo. Cada vez es más difícil volver a empezar, cada vez es más desgastante intentar, sonreír, adaptarse, hacer paso a los nuevos amigos sin olvidar a los que se han quedado en la distancia. Y no es que no me guste hacer nuevos amigos, es sólo que ya sé que tendré que dejarlos ir también.  

Y bueno, el seguir sola. Eso es lo más difícil. 

“Neta… esto se ha vuelto sumamente desgastante, tóxico y enfermo… Creo que es hora de avanzar”, me dijo. Otro más que no soportó el peso de los husos horarios y los cientos de kilómetros (Sin Bandera y sus cursilerías NO aplican en mi vida, para quienes entiendan la mención). 

Y siento cómo cada neurona en mi materia gris comienza a reventar, cómo cada partícula de mi alma explota, y cómo las lágrimas no parecen ser suficientes para amortiguar el paso del tiempo y el sabor ácido del rechazo. 

 Poco a poco, todo sigue perdiendo sentido, pero sigo aquí. 

Y cada día me disfrazo de quien espero ser algún día, intento dar lo mejor de mí. Aunque a veces no haya nadie con quien celebrar. Aunque a veces no haya nadie con quien llorar. Aunque a veces lo único que quede es esta ventana, este espacio virtual, que nos conecta con todo y con nada. 

Tengo estos sueños, donde estamos juntos. Corremos agarrados de la mano a través de paisajes de lugares que he visto y que espero ver, riendo como idiotas... Y tomo tu mano, como si no existiera nada más, porque no hay nada más. 

Pero sigo en esta habitación y no estás tú. 

Ni siquiera sé quién eres. 

Me doy cuenta de que yo sola me cerré a muchas personas desde que llegué aquí, quizás desde antes. Mis chaquetas mentales y el topar pared con la tercera década de mi vida me hicieron sentir que quizás estoy algo corrida para salir con lo que consideraba pubertos de cuarto de siglo. Quizás me equivoqué, pero ya nada me hace sentido. La poca gente de mi edad que he llegado a conocer y aún sigue soltera parece caer sin excepción en la categoría de forevers wannabe, hombres carentes de compromiso o interés por formar una familia, hombres que sólo quieren pasarla bien sin perder nada en el viaje. 

Esperé demasiado tiempo para tomar en serio mi vida. 

Quizás sólo exagero. 

Los años más maravillosos y difíciles de mi existencia definitivamente transcurrieron en el último lustro; son estos mismos años los que me volvieron este adefesio nómada y complejo que parece no encajar con el subconsciente colectivo. El mundo me envolvió y me sedujo, me contó sus historias, me enseñó sus paisajes, su gente… Y le agradezco todos sus regalos, todas sus enseñanzas, tanto amor, de tantas personas, personas de decenas de naciones que me enriquecieron con el poco o mucho tiempo que compartimos. 

Quizás hice un trueque con algún hechicero africano el 9 de enero del 2012 que tomé ese avión a Nigeria, recuerdo cómo lloré en el avión, pensando que mi vida cambiaría para siempre. Y así fue. 

Sé que llegará el día en el que entienda porqué mi vida resultó así, el día en que le cuente a mis nietos sobre como su abuela vio el mundo y entendió que somos pequeños suspiros del universo. Y les mostraré fotos, y les pondré videos… formatos que en 30 años parecerán obsoletos. Pero sé que lo haré. Y espero que piensen que su abuela es poca madre, ha ha ha... 

Al final, sólo nos tenemos a nosotros mismos y, aunque espero algún día poder recordar cómo tú y yo corrimos tomados de la mano a través del mundo, ahora puedo recordar cómo lo hice yo. Y es algo que no puedo explicar. Mi vida ha sido maravillosa dentro de su condición. 

Todos tenemos nuestra propia historia. 

Sigamos escribiendo porque el lienzo es infinito… 

No sé cómo terminar esto, 

Quizás sea porque apenas está comenzando…