Tuesday 22nd of November 2005

Warped reflections

I don´t exactly know what the title of this post is meant to convey this time, but it defines how I feel in some way. I´m not going to elaborate since, honestly, I´m not really sure of “it” myself. I believe today makes 19 days since I´ve been back in Madrid. A good friend of mine told me she was “going back to reality” when she left Spain, and, while I think my experience has been more diluted than hers, I seem to understand a bit better what she meant. Good thing is, I think I am content with “my reality” at this point. There´s only a few things that bother me, and really, in the grand scheme of things, they´re just trivial.

I shouldn´t even be thinking about such things. I did make a point to just let things flow as they should, but sometimes I question my own reasoning and resolutions. If you think something is worth it, should you not fight for it? should you let it go? should you just wait and see what happens? should you just let it flow by itself?

I had resolved to do the latter, but now I´m wondering, can you really, ever, let it flow? events are not water, they don´t flow, they happen because they were made to happen. You have to flip the switch in order to turn on that antiquated incandescent light bulb. The electricty that flows through it´s wire filament is what actually makes it light up. You don´t inavertedly flip that switch either. You do it because you can´t see in the dark.

When is something you want worth fighting for? when is it not? is losing something worth the slight possibility of gaining something else which you´re not even sure it´s better than what you´re losing to begin with? -The more I try to learn about myself the less it seems I know myself. The more I try to understand, control, plan, and generally “figure out” life in itself, the more it all seems to slip from my grasp. When I close my eyes, if i´m not exausted, in which case i just fall asleep, I seem to ponder about all of this incessantly.

I was once in a beach in Venezuela, my aunt Lucia took me. I believe it was in Taguao, and I seem to recall I was 12 years old. I started swimming towards the ocean. I normally stop when I´m no longer able to touch the bed with in my tiptoes, but for some reason, this time I didn´t. I kept on swimming forward.. or backwards? or sideways? -anyway, I kept on paddling for what seemed quite a bit, until I turned around and the beach seemed small and I couldn´t make out the people anymore. I have no idea how much of that was me being far away and how much was the fact that I needed glasses soon thereafter. I just stood there for a minute or two, and then, abruptly, a wave engulfed me, it carried me down to the bed of the ocean and spun me into a ball while carrying me towards the beach. I tried to move, kick and wrestle. Very stupid of me really, all I did was waste more oxygen. It of course did nothing. The wave caught me off-guard, so I wasn´t able to draw my breath, but I held what I had for as long as I could, but there was a moment there when I felt I wasn´t able to hold it anymore. I was going to open my mouth and let it in. A second afterwards I was expelled out on the beach, full of scrapes and bruises. I drew some air. I got up and procceded to play with the sand. I didn´t give the whole thing any further thought, other than “damn, this bruise right here hurts”.

That second while I pondered on opening my mouth, my foolish little self thought I would die if I did. That second seemed to never end, and I got the urge to think about my life up to that time. The thing is, it wasn´t clear. I didn´t get a flashback, I didn´t see millions of pictures representing moments of my life, I didn´t see anything. It was clear and quiet. I dare say reassuring and comforting in some level.

I didn´t know it then, but I think I do now. Up until that time, I led a happy life.

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