Perfection is a mental mirage that tarnishes the sight, it loses us in a continuous mistake and conditions our idea of happiness.
There is a whole phase of life in which we turn our gaze to a nonexistent perfection but which we believe to see in others.
It means constantly comparing with anyone, always feeling in competition, and in defeat.
It means losing, at a certain point, the meaning of things. Our sense. Our goodness, and our happiness.
We should learn to compare ourselves and measure ourselves only with what we were and what we are; others must be a spur to improve ourselves, never a model of comparison.
Over the years -of life- maturity takes over, which slowly and unknowingly leads us to make things perfect. Not to be content. But to be ourselves the key to perfection. To identify it, obtain it, make it happen. To transform imperfection into perfection, life into love. The pain in grow. And finally be happy. Continue Reading
I will never tire of comparing the life to a card game. Because it’s exactly how I see it. Everybody around circular tables, cards to the hand, playground lights. There is someone who laughs a lot, who smokes cigars, who studies others, who counts. Someone comes out of the game, who loses, someone wins. But no one is called out. Each of us can go out and return, each of us has played infinite games and millions will play again. The cards we have in hand they have been chosen by us on the experience of previous games and are our destiny. The way we play them is the free will. And they will determine what we will have in the next game.
We will never tire. Of playing. It’s an endless night. Whoever wants can decide to rest a few hours in the upstairs rooms. We will stay here to play until the last. Continue Reading
November 16th, 2017
One year as one day.
No sail on the horizon.
It frightens me the idea that one day it will be 5, 10, 20 years. A whole life without you.
It frightens me the idea that I can forget your voice, your expressions, the way you called me, how it was to live with you.
I’m scared to lose you, Mom.
To lose you inside.
Throughout this year I’ve lived as if you were just leaving home, on one of your trips.
As if every morning I woke up a second after you left, and every night felt asleep without being able to wait for you.
It was the most dreamy year of my life. It looks like yesterday and like never. It seems like a dream. That one where you there aren’t or those ones from night where you are in? I don’t distinguish perceptions, as if it were all real -or all unreal.
I’m lost. But I don’t want to lost you.
My love for you will not change, no matter how much time will pass. I’ll always love you the same way. This is a certainty.
I’ll continue to thank you for the life you gave me -the love, the experiences, the education, the culture- I’ll continue to be sure you are well and you are finally happy, I’ll continue to blame myself for this selfish lack that I feel. Sorry.
I always wanted happiness for you. But I could only help, not give it to you.
Now I should rejoice and that’s enough.
In my every prayers, from last year in the hospital, I always asked you to choose for yourself. What would been better for you. For once at least. Not to think about us. We would be fine and we love you.
Even through these tears, I’m proud of your choice. I, I would do the same.
Only once, in a dream, I allowed to give you a ticket while you leaving the front door knowing you wouldn’t be back: I wrote “Find an excuse to come back.” Find an excuse to stay with us.
I’m sorry. Continue Reading
Starbucks to start the second day in Valencia (here the first).
It would also have been my mom’s nameday, September 29th. So we went to see the Gulliver Park: taken from Swift’s novel, the moment when the protagonist on his trip is imprisoned by the Lillipuzians, men high just 15 inches. This park is built as if we were the Lillipuzians who run and play around a giant Gulliver-carousel lying on the ground. Mom often named this story when we were little, it was a novel she had loved in her endless and polyglot teens reading.
The City of Arts and Science is right there. It’s composed of several buildings including the Museum of Science (interactive experiments on sound, brain, waves, energy, dinosaurs, space, nature …), the Hemisphere (where several films are projected, but I must admit that we were a bit disappointed), and externally the Oceanographic (sharks, dolphin shows, beluga, crocodiles, birds … and an underwater restaurant).
While I was in front of the beluga tub, the beluga mother stopped for several seconds, I had the real impression she was smiling at me. I have a faint emotion for these animals when I first saw them in Canada and touched them. I’ll tell you one day.
On the pools surrounding the city’s buildings you could rent canoes, water hoverboards or stay in a floating ball.
It has been one of the most deep experience of my life. Being there, in that balloon, flowing on the water, without anyone except you. As you always are. An acoustic and emotional isolation. The world’s sounds are away, and even if you are in a pool in front of so many people, you can feel yourself.
You hear the sound of an acoustically closed place, like underwater or in a small room.
After spending the first few minutes trying to stand up and falling and laughing and crawling on the water, I stopped to look my little world inside those two cubic meters of space. The sound of my thoughts. The bubble of apathy in which I lock myself up when I feel too full, when too many conflicting emotions fist in me and nullify each other.
It’s a place where I find peace, and I repeated that it was exactly here that I would be back the next time that all around in my life would have become too loud. I lay down and let the water float, breathing deeply and remembering.
Ten minutes that seemed like an eternity. Continue Reading
This Halloween was the Santa Muerte (Holy Death, Mexican deity with different indigenous origins, cult without religion or belief, condemned by the Church).
Exactly a year ago, dressed up as Maleficient (here), I was celebrating with a light heart -at half- one of my favorite festivity. At midnight, we had prepared a cake to celebrate Mom’s birthday of November 1st (she had gone up to fatigue, also dressed up as us, and she stayed with us a few hours without knowing anything about surprise).
This year we are here, with another cake for midnight. Symbolic. We blew the candle instead of her, holding us all by the hand, listening to her favorite song in silence. Hey Jude.
And we celebrated her birthday again -and always- in her favorite place yesterday.
Only 14 days to the first anniversary of death. Holy death.
What I want to be able to write is that the more we live, the more we die.
I would like to be able to write about death, about how it tends to make sense to everything in life, to make it more desirable, ephemeral at the same time, or tremendous. But still alive. Continue Reading
The first real day in Valencia (here the day before between Barcelona and our arrival) started from Starbucks: pumpkin spice milk with soy milk and cinnamon. One of the things I prefer.
The day was hot, and we spent it at Bioparc, which hosts all the animals of South Africa and Madagascar in completely natural settings, free to live together even among different species, just like in nature.We ate the Paella Valenciana: rice, saffron, jackdaws, chicken and white beans.
In the afternoon we walked through almostall the park that surround Valencia, immense and rich in different vegetation. People run, go biking, skating, doing yoga, sleeping, playing. It’s a place full of positive energies. In a kiosk we have tasted the horcata de chufa: a drink prepared with water, sugar and milk of the roots of a typical Valencian plant. It’s offered always with fartons, sweet bread. The horchata has a floury tasty and not like our almond barley water. To try.
In the evening we tasted different tacos very particular for the flavors matched at “La Llorona Taquerìa”. And then we went looking for a bar that made churros but since they are offered with hot chocolate, in summer it’s harder to find them. So we opted for a puffle, a kind of waffle rolled up with ice cream or cream. So good and light, not at all fried. Continue Reading
I have been to Barcelona often but always for a short time. The first time years ago with mom and sister at Christmas. A couple of days, just us, I remember a lot of that experience. I’ve been back on a couple of occasions with the cruise ships.
This time we had to fly to Barcelona with our flight to Valencia, the stop was only a couple of hours.
And it was just a week before the events for the independence of Catalonia.
From the airport in half an hour we arrived at the Sagrada Familia (always in renovation every time I saw it, seems it will be over in 2026, after almost a century and a half). From the metro you exit just below the basilica. And almost in front there’s a Starbucks.
We just had the time to order a frappuccino and a cappuccino that Apple started to feel worse. She hadn’t even eaten all day. She needed a tachypirine. I went to look for a pharmacy at a kilometer and two, I tried to explain what could be the cause of the Apple’s headache and nausea, and I came back with medicine.
Fortunately, the tremors had passed fast, she rested a bit and also wanted to take some photos.
The entrance to the Sagrada Familia was sold out all day long. I have always appreciated its unique architecture, the exterior neo-gothic and the characteristic facade of the nativity by Gaudí. But astonishment enchants when you enter it, and if I had to describe it with one word for me it would be: visceral. I have visited it years ago and still looking at it now send me the same feeling. Visceral. As if it came out of the bowels of the earth, as if they were the meanders of a primordial forest that precedes the world –or underlie it. Or as if they were the neurons of the creative divine brain. Something ancestral –and visceral. In which harbor the principle of everything, ours and of our lifes. It’s a crazy construction. If you want to look for some images on Google of the Sagrada Familia inside, you will understand what I mean. With Mom we went up to the tall tower to see all of Barcelona. Continue Reading
Flamingos dance. And it’s one of the most harmonious shows in nature.
Every spring blows into them this talent that enchants nature. Hundreds of pink birds starting to sing and dance (from here flamingo dance is born).
When a flamingo recognizes itself in another’s movements, a bond is born that will last all life.
Can there be a more romantic encounter? Rediscover yourself in a dance is like talking from soul to soul, because when dancing there are no words or constructions or inventions. There are you and your eyes.
This means that each of them moves differently from the others. And that love means recognizing ourselves, only this: recognize ourselves.
Existence, though difficult, preserve infinite poetry.
The flamingos are born white – purity – and they become pink or red over time. The degree of rositude indicates their well-being. Actually, the flamingo body can’t assimilate the carotenoids (which determine this color) of the pink shrimp they eat and so place them on the ends of its feathers. What we see as an enchantment is actually a rejected of the digestive system.
Here is another thing we should learn from them: what we can’t digest about life -that hurts- we should be able to turn it into beauty, to the point of strength. Transform the negative into positive. Continue Reading