Monday, April 19, 2010
Sunday, April 18, 2010
I was thinking about which language to write this post in. Catalan or English? Sometimes I feel like a traitor, when such spontaneous expressions/thoughts like "fuck, I'm cold!" or "right, now I'll..." come up in English.
Sunday, April 4, 2010
I'm feeling all funny.
As a sentence came up in the Loesje workshop: "Do many homes make you homeless?"
If in Winter I would not have been surprised to see myself coming back to study in Valencia while living in my hometown; right now I cannot wait to get back to Edinburgh, not having many troubles with the thought that I might not go home for the summer break. All of this alongside the building up plan to have a sabbatical year in Bosnia i Herzegovina.
It seems as if I always wanted to be somewhere else.
"Travelling is your way home" or "Travel to find your home" (both also born in the Loesje workshop). Two very similar sentences and yet so different.
Maybe home is everywhere, if home is where your heart is. For my heart is broken into pieces which I have not yet finished exchanging. Like the old man in the story I always tell.
Being "home" is relaxing, yet it can be scary as well. It reminds you of what could have been and is not. It throws on your face your lack of attention, just as it rewards you with those invisible bonds that sometimes, only sometimes, seem to hold even after the longest silences. It comforts you with the always same street but unbalances you with those ever changing small details that you have no control nor experience over. Everything is as equal as it is different.
Today we came to Herbers, my (father's) village. I should remember more often the good that fresh air and nature does to me.
Lunch was over and my dad and I took two sofas to the terrace, and I started my almost-naked sunbathing session (one has to take the most out of this powerful sun before going back to Edinburgh) while reading the newspaper.
The day has had nothing special apart from easy conversations alongside nice walks. Which is sometimes all you need. Plus a few photos and songs in a small flowered field.
I left the only bar in the village early (1.20am), too tired and unsociable enough to not want to make any effort to chat with people I barely know, or whom I stopped knowing. On my doorstep I stopped to look at the sky, wondered if I should not have gone for a walk to see the stars.
But you see, watching stars is of no beauty if you do not have, by your side, somebody to share stories and warmth with.
And here I am, blaming the coffee I had at 11pm, which will probably keep me awake for a while, chatting with myself.
I want to spend some more time home, I want to be in Mostar in an hour and, yet, I also want to be in Edinburgh as soon as possible. How impossible.
I think the happiest day in my life would be the one I could gather all my beloved ones in a big laughing-picnic.
But a hectic world, climate change and peak oil seem to put some barriers for my perfect moment of happiness.
Not that I mind much, I have always been prompt to believe that happiness comes from those small smiles drawn into people's faces, those unnoticed wonders that suddenly become magically visible for the trained eye.
As one of the beautiful postcards Vera gave me:
Jeder Tag trägt tausend Möglichkeiten
Der Freude, der Hoffnung
Und eines kleinen Glüks in sich:
Ganz still und unbemerkt,
Inmitten dieser lauten welt,
Können die herrlichsten
Es sind jene kleinen Ereignisse,
Die das Leben hell und schön machen,
Jene kostbaren Augenblicke,
Von denen nur das Herz weiss.
Every day offers a thousand opportunities
Of joy, of hope
And of small fortune within it:
Silently and unnoticed,
In the middle of this loud world,
The most amazing wonder can occur.
They are these small things,
That make life bright and beautiful,
Those valuable moments
That only your heart knows of.
I think I am mistaken. Community Education is not my career; nor are they, as I have lately been wondering, Library Management or Literature. It is not being a clown either.
I am probably training in being one of those little fairies who whisper smiles in your ear, mess with your words and hands till you discover that hidden creativity you always thought as lost, and who, recklessly as magic creatures are, would not mind destroying themselves in the attempt of bringing happiness to the world.
Little boys and girls:
Or your (to)day will fade away.