if-alpacas-can-surf

[if-alpacas-can-surf]

I learnt my dad was going to die while at a shisha bar in a crowded street in Cairo, overlooking somberly-looking life-size dolls - yeah, the perfect place to receive altering news. I had had a terrible feeling all day while sightseeing, not quite managing to enjoy the awesome sites around me, and trying to shut down the voice in my head - but by now i should that the voice in my head seldom lies, and there I was, more than halfway round the world away from where I should be.

I remember a cab, realising I needed to say goodbye, a lot of airline calling from our small hostel room, feeling the unthinkable sink in -in between dinner plans (we had to eat) and packing the muslim country adequate t-shirts I had bought for the trip-, then a break - a call from home saying they might be able to do something. Plans continued, I was traversing the world in the morning, but dinner was spared, a feast of egyptian mezzes that my body forced itself to it so as to admit that there was hope - the truth came with the dessert, and it was not pretty.

There are nights that you remember because of their absurdity, the night I spent in the tub of my 1 star Cairo Hostel (the only place I had reception and didn’t disturb S), calling home every 20 min just to check if it had already happened was probably one of those. What the fuck was I doing there, i berated me once and once again, while listening to the annoying chime of my parent’s phone operator, but the answer never came.

I’m not sure when exactly I started crying, but it must have been early on, probably on the first leg of our trip when the egyptian airline we took put on arabic music over the speakers at full volume but with faulty quality that sounded like a very mad cat complaining about something and S almost hit the guy who couldn’t solve it. It could also have been in our small mediterranean stop in Athens, where S attempted to feed me fries while in order to get calories into my tear convulsing body. Every stop was a sort of lottery game, where I could decide whether to make a call to know if my father was still alive, or not. Schroedinger’s dad - as long as I didn’t call he was both, and for some time that was enough.

We arrived in Paris almost a day later, made some new changes to tickets to arrive hours before, in the hope that I would be there - I managed to miraculously have a final conversation with dad and ordered sushi because those are the kind of decisions that make sense. As S packed his bag, he asked what he should add, I was very pragmatic about it, shorts - it was still hot and we could maybe do a beach run-, shirts, ah yeah and a black suit, there will be a funeral to attend. No tears were dropped, it is just what you know you need to do, death becomes a very practical subject after traversing a couple of timezones.

There are few things I remember about the trip from Paris to Miami, except for the random couple who didn’t want to sit together and had S hostage in the middle sit - I think I might have slept through it all, completely emotionally exhausted from the last days and particularly my last call home. When we landed in Miami I knew we were almost there but had the feeling that we were too late, S convinced me to call and even though I realized we were too late I managed some last words to help him (as if he needed any help) be calm and happy at the end. I spoke my last words to the most important person in my life, in a seat at Gate 33 MIA right in front of a Nathan’s. We hang up, I got a hug and set out for Ice Cream, something my dad would have made me do too. Minutes later I boarded the first flight home I was not ecstatic about, fretted about the other passengers and laid across S in preparation for the following days. My dad was gone, and what remained of my innocence was gone as well.

[if-alpacas-can-surf]

T - about 12 hours and as has been my hobby for the last few weeks I can't sleep... but for once, I am anxious (when am I not anxious jajaja) yet comfortably calm. Calm enough that I can post one of these cheesy, cheap philosophy quotes written on top of a random background because I kind of feel it jajaja I am the queen of questionable choices, my posts quite clearly show that I try to lawyer myself around them, looking for the pros and cons and making rational decisions that will limit the costs that I will finally incur in (that is what you get when you make an MBA out of a lawyer, I know, I don't even like me myself) but sometimes you just have to let go and this is what I've doing and am planning for the immediate future, letting go, thinking less, jumping from the ship and crashing into the nice cold ocean below. And, (and I think this is what is going to end up being an issue) it feels good, it feel easy and not complicated and natural hence the Arjona-esque phrase accompanying this post. Makes you wonder no? If this feels natural, why are you living a life otherwise? This is what creates addicts, this comfort I'm sure. But, c'est la vie. I think I needed this "just go with it" period and if anything I'm doing nothing I will personally regret so, sue me. I will prob be back and running on overthinking in no time, so I can always claim "temporary insanity" to the bench and move on, no? #bdc

[if-alpacas-can-surf]

Of choices and starting over, again.

I am great at making some life changing decisions, I did not think twice about moving to another continent (and then another and then back and then back home and then back again) or abandoning the career I have been building for the better part of the last decade. Yet, for all my cool customer attitude towards life sometimes, I suck at accepting change and so at making other even very mundane choices.

How do I deal with this? It is a question of not thinking and just feeling, gut may not be the best way to decide but it is the more honest and hence the one that one will regret the least. But damn, is that hard. Gut is telling me to do things right now that brain is convinced will just screw me over, am I walking right into (several #majo) doomed paths? Probably, but I would not be me if I rationalized for hours AND stuck to the choice. Let it all come as it is, that is the motto of the sitcom my life seems to have turned into and so the one that shall be applied coming forth, so stay tuned for "very special episodes". In the meantime, I feel Dr. Seuss now more than ever:

“Simple it’s not i’m afraid you’ll find, for a mind maker upper to make up his mind”.

[if-alpacas-can-surf]

Of airports, delays and insanity revisited.

<p>I have a post on boxing a life already written and ready on my non-wifi connected computer but CDG and the french air traffic controller’s neverending drama have me here again - waiting and, of course, overthinking.</p> <p>Airports are wonderful places to overthink, one is a) bored, b) stressed and c) tired, all perfect emotions to bring on a little breakdown in between Relay and the overcrowded Gate B10 counter. Seriously I know i am creating issues where there are none, I just finished an amazing year, am traveling to what could be amazing days with a very cool person, will be home in less than a week, have a good job to come back to, my life is right now pretty much picture perfect (and god knows my pictures show that - sorry home friends) and yet here I am with a knot in my stomach that I am sure is not only related to the coffee sans croissant that I had for breakfast.</p> <p>Is it the things I did not do, the decisions I did not take? Even when I am 99% of the outcome of any other road and that makes my actions right, will that 1% haunt me for a while? Can the things we rationalize ourselves into not doing hurt more than the most probable negative outcome? I jumped off a ship in Croatia barely a week ago, it was clearly a calculated risk but it took me about an hour whilst my companions just leaped all around me - have I forgotten how to leap? This year has given me back a lot of confidence and fearlesness that is for sure but right now I am left to wonder if my hyper-rationality will not always get in the way of me hitting the ocean. </p> <p>And then i come back to the conclusion that I have been here before and before that and probably at least once more before that, and can only conclude that insanity is indeed doing this over and over again without changing the outcome - my flight is finally boarding, just as I finished this, let’s take it as a sign that if france is collaborating for once, I can also look for a different outcome this time. Now, on with some detox.

[if-alpacas-can-surf]

This is not happening.

Denial is a great friend of mine. We have shared so many experiences that by now I should be able to know when she becomes the toxic relationship in my life and let go, but alas that is not the case and I sit today in my couch (oh beloved couch) less than a week away from leaving with no return ticket (or is it going as I will then return?), no suitcases, and basically no real plans for the next 2-3 months. Denial, you are so comforting in your numbness until you go away at once and leave all the mess behind.

So, I have booked a graduation gown and bought a bikini for a beach grad trip - the first -and let’s face it less harsh steps- towards my next few weeks. If buying time-space warps where I could keep everyone I love and just see them whenever I wanted was this easy... the nostalgia begins to creep in at the most random times. Will I never watch a movie with my roommate again, or have a drunken fight with that friend, or share a burger with the other? Makes one realize that at the end those are the moments that make up good memories. And now, it is almost over - the grandiose : private islands, boat parties, chateau balls and intercontinental trips and the mundane: a shared beer at the bar or a walk around the gardens - and I am not yet ready to accept that. So, Denial, welcome back.

[if-alpacas-can-surf]

[if-alpacas-can-surf]

Of rejections and other demons

I used to believe I could handle rejection rather well - not everything in this world can be meant for me, even if I may temporarily desire it, as the Rolling Stones say “you can’t always get what you want”. It sucks of course, but sometimes life has to suck, it is part of the wavy nature of our existence. So, rationally I am fine with rejection in all of its senses, however, in my everyday closer to ending bubble of intensity and aliveness, why does it hurt so much? Do great experiences backfire and make us enhance rejection?

Lately my idyllic life away from life has been transformed into a small pot of stressed out third-agers trying to figure out their future -small decisions, you know-, and even when at first i truly did not feel a part of them, i must admit I am. It is not that i fear not landing an awesome pride-inspiring corner office, but rather I fear not actually finding a spot for myself where I continue to be amazed after having been part of this awesome life for a year. With every professional rejection I do not feel less prepared or less able compared to my peers as others do, but I do feel like maybe I am just not looking in the right places and will end up somewhere where I just do not belong.

Personal rejections come at a higher cost, and it becomes crazy real when you try to rationalize them because it is impossible to do so, we make unilateral decisions because that is how humans work and there is no explanation worth it behind it. This does not make it easier either on the giver or the receivers end, both places where I am or have been lately and which do chip away a bit of me - oh the grandness and breadth of human emotion! My hiper rationality just wants to understand so it can focus on re-wiring the failing parts but alas! that is not to be and that is something that at almost 30 I think is a very unhumany thing to do, but well I have a long way ahead of me to figure that one out.

Three months almost out of this and the demons start kicking in... but so are the rays of light that spring has started showing us and that I hope will come with trips, pools, bbqs, and let’s face it, probably loads of more rejections so chin up - nobody likes a double one.

[if-alpacas-can-surf]

Nous sommes nos choix

JP Sartre

[if-alpacas-can-surf]

Home-ish.

In a galaxy far far away, someone very corny once coined the unescapable “home is where the heart is” expression, and in the process not only probably made millions out of it (just imagine those royalties) but also made a whole lot of people (me included) confused. It sound so simple and romantic doesn’t it?: you can live wherever you do but in reality your true home will only lay where your hypothetical heart is - easy peasy - makes nomads feel better i am sure. But, really, how does this make sense? To begin with, your heart is physically always with you -unless you are some sort of miracle of medicine- so the most objective explanation is out and we all know how much i hate throwing that one out. But, really, what does “heart” entail in the world of trans-continental commuting and inter-continental feelings?

I’ve been “home” for a couple of days, if we define home legally as my last known place of residence for more than six months - even if my room is no longer my room and I am living out of a suitcase. I’ve also been “home” for the last couple of days if we consider home as the place where my parents can pick me up from the airport and have a hug and my favourite breakfast waiting for me- and that is a good definition by my standards-, i’ve been “home” where I grew up and lived almost all my life, learnt to drive in horrible traffic and know where to eat when being kicked out of a club at 6 am. In all of those ways I am without a doubt “home” and I could say that my heart is INDEED here - yet, I still wake up every morning disoriented, get stuck in the horrible traffic because of new roads I did not know existed, meet new people that are now my friends’ “new” friends and cannot fantom the latest political polls. Home is still home and it will always be, a piece of my “heart” will never leave this misty horrible amazing place, yet it has changed and so have I...

Home is now also a godforsaken town in the middle of the forest across oceans and countries, even if i currently do not have an address there and will leave for good in less than a year. Continuing the corny analogy, my heart is also there, underneath the Christmas lights that both annoyed and moved me and the roads where boars always managed to hide from me (until the very end!), in the quiches at the incredible bakery down the street and the freezing walks back from school where I realised I was at peace after a long time. 

What’s worse is that there are pieces of “heart” all around the world today -and as life goes most will always be somewhere else- so is my home that much larger? I cannot help but wonder if this is what life will always be like now, always being excited about going home yet nostalgic about leaving it at the same time - is this growing up? 

For now, i’ll enjoy every second in this home and look forward to those in the next... and the next, and the next. If alpacas can surf...everything will be alright.