Monday, 30 January 2012

Second touch: We are the people

Up to the north I was.
Another formal greeting, the usual protocol I so quickly got tired of.
Upon crossing the gate, I glimpsed that tall figure among all those short-sized people, smiling so tenderly at me.
A second touch. I felt the joy take me over.
Summer was clearly living up to its standards up there.

The warmer sands of the just-known land were soon stepped on as the sunrays licked my pale skin on quite an ineffective endeavour to add some colour in it. How silly.
Looking forward to restoring the best of my inner energies, I dove in the also warmer waters.
Regardless having done this before, being these different sands and different waters, none of this was self-repetition.

As the morning rose up, a handful of fairly good friends embarked on a road trip across the states, questing after the sun, the nature, the simpler life of a bucolic surrounding.
The upper corner of the country was reached, unveiling a city that summarized the beauties of the whole region.
Boards had been crossed. Different people, different stories, funny accents.
The local folklore merged with the vivid-green sea and the palm trees.
Raw styled we were, contemplating the sky made of teenage dreams.

We were the people that ruled the world… Or has that been my dream only?

We were, once again, living the best of our youth.
And the absent figure, who in a long lost past made promises, was never even missed.
I am glad this is over.

Still, there was that itching pain inside me, for the doubts from the very recent past were still far from being answered.
Locked up in my shelter, quietly longing for attention and care, I was repeating the very worst of myself.

All dressed up in white, we welcomed the newer vibes as the fireworks illuminated the night sky.
I prayed for the best to come and for the seas to wash me over.
I was hands on hands with my friends, to enlighten my spirit.

Close your eyes and make a wish.
I smiled. Pain seemed distant.

Back to the more cosmopolitan life, which I happen to enjoy the best, closer encounters and contact with those deserving the best were made.
To my sincere delight.

We were in such a state of mind that we did not even notice as the chaos fell over the city. Gunshots and screams. Stores closed for precaution. A mother yelling for help. Running and despair.
Still, nothing affected us in the slightest as we strolled around.
Perhaps, I think, the metropolis environment smoothes away my worries.
Perhaps, I think, the tall buildings make me feel embraced and protected.
Perhaps, I think, the rushed life suits me well.
And together we were strong.

Being a water-drinking bohemian, the nightlife felt a little less alluring than before, which was hardly a factor to keep me away from it.

And then, while trapped in a little glimmering box, I met a clown, a dancer, a lover.
That was the extra salsa to my trip.

On the proper stage we performed. The dancers became the dance.
Spanish words written on a blurry bathroom door.
And no more details are needed.

The performance is over. The curtains are down – at least from my part alright.

And thus came the time for my departure.
Leaving behind the warmer sands of San Diego, my last act was giving the warmest possible embrace to my dear friend.

As the plane took off, I saw the city lights fade in the distance.
And after a rather long trip, I reached my home soil, with its unbearably hot summer.

My year was finally set to start.
Not going to repeat myself. Not again.


Monday, 23 January 2012

Second touch: rainy summer

As the summer felt, the long sunny weeks were finally starting to take place. The heat was climbing to its agonising peak, as we peeled out our clothes and worked hard to look glamorous despite being rapidly melting down.

The weather was repeating itself.
So was I.

In a rush, as always. The road was being crossed once again, a bit less smoothly than before.
The night looked darker outside.
Heartbreaks were over. Peace was too far to be seen.

A few days earlier. A glossy white room.

The clock was ticking slowly.
She was flicking through a house decoration magazine, not paying the slightest attention to the daringly elegant tobacco-coloured kitchen depicted on the page she was staring at. The wait was unbearable.
After the approaching sound of high stilettos, a mid-aged woman dressed on a high-couture white garment came out and smiled. She immediately got up and went through the corridors, feeling a bit of relief.

Meanwhile, I was taking the first sight of the glimmering lights that came out of those crystal chandeliers gravitating above me.
A foxy lady beside me welcomed me back. Also sporting a glamorous white outfit, notably a very short skirt that exposed the full glory of her toned legs, and a strong colourful makeup, this lady reminded me loosely of some luxurious courtesan of a past adventure, and did not leave my side until she rushed into the room.

Are you ok?, I asked
Yes, yes…, she replied, smiling with effort.

Just so it happens that he was a bit too exhausted of the events on his surroundings and maybe decided for the best to reload the existence within him for a while and take a little break. It is all over now, an elegantly dressed gentleman explained.
Indeed, sir, I said, while taking off whatever prop had been pinched in my wrist.

It was the eve of the year-end festivities.
I was repeating myself.

Back to point we left, the airports looked a little less crowded that morning and the cities a little warmer. Monsters look less horrific and harmful at second glance, I believe.

Welcome to… Greeted the flight attendant, as my heart pumped hard.
Here I am again.

Both southern metropolis felt somewhat quiet and down-headed, as if they were, somehow, feeling sort of guilty for me being unfortunate.
All the wide crowded boulevards, the complexly arranged streets and the high rises of the city where I had just landed, they all looked remarkably familiar for once.
I felt safe as I strolled around, regardless that insisting little pain down inside.

The precise corner was reached.
In there, in the arms of the angels I lied.

It was Christmas time.
The city was beautifully decorated for the occasion. Pine trees, chestnut leaves, garlands and glowing arches would ornate the pedestrian zone, in which a parade would take place every evening.
As the street was illuminated in a sudden wave of light, I was taken over by full-body goose bumps. Watching the parade, my eyes felt caressed by the gentle beauty of the artistry.

Partying. Night-walking. Feeling the heat hidden amongst the uncanny coldness of the city-with-no-summer while driving around the now slightly well known avenues, both alone and in the very best of companies.

It was raining outside. Summer rain, refreshing up my feelings. Making me feel, in some slight way, a bit cleaner inside.

More canine nights took place. Calmer, quieter and far less shaking than those of before. Perhaps, a sign that while my quest is far from over, the path to be followed has not yet been found.

A night that was reproduced twice.
So distant from the original shape.

A second time, a second touch.
Never as good as the first time, as they say.

But those deep eyes. Yes, dear reader, the genuine pair. They crossed mine once again.
A destiny-defining moment. The reflex of my imagined scenarios. Victory, in some extent.
It brought me memories of a colourful age, amidst unspoken words and a complete lack of understanding from my part.

It lasted a second, a while, a century – cannot clearly remember.
It is very clear, though, that nothing will ever be the same. None of these lights will ever shine as bright as before and none of the sparkles will ever burst out from us again.
Meanwhile, I keep pushing up the hill, only to find that I will never grow up by simply stepping in the same land of old-lived dreams. 

It was still raining outside.
I was still repeating myself.

A very short stay in the city has that been, though, for there was no time to lose and the longest road lied ahead… As did the longest avenue, astounding me – and providing me with a casual meeting with a friend I had not seen for a long time.

As usual, the financial centre featured the best of the moodiness, the haste and the overcrowd of the southern Wall Street.
I, however, soon departed from that chaotic environment.

The sunny shore was waiting.
The people were waiting.

More adventures were to follow.

Wednesday, 11 January 2012

ourselves, v. 2000-12

Belated, this post is, indeed, but it is better late than never.

So another year ceases and a number is added up to the very known (and maybe never-changing) four-digit set we use in the most varied ways every single day.

It still feels like no time has passed since I last wrote my impressions of the preceding year and my hopes for the just-born one.
Time has been flying, it seems.

Oh Lord.

If eleven is the number of rebirth, I sure put on my best efforts to recreate myself.
As the pressure weighed much lighter, the nights were conquered, the sun shone brighter and I felt the pride of finding important pieces of myself amidst the mazy corridors of my always-cluttered undergrounds.

New connections, new forms of touch, new spots of love.
And a successful laboratory experiment on a revamped self.

Long skies have also been crossed.
My sins redeemed, my eyes shining bright before the flashing colours of a giant extravaganza.
Warmer lands, colder lands.
Hands that have been let go in all best terms, although never a proper word of apology has ever been said, for some words are better unspoken.

My emotions crashed. My fears bubbled up. And suddenly, I was lost in a vacuum of space and time.
I am so afraid.

And as the year was slowly deceasing, the sun was touching the warm waters of Northeast, to where I marched in an endeavour to clean off the dirty spots in my soul and renew my energies.

Dressed in all white, I welcomed the New Year and witnessed the Sun's first rising of January, praying for the best.

Now, what do I hope?
Changes, good changes.
For life is movement, and I am itching to sway to the next step.
For the cheers must continue, but I ought to get back in track from where I left off, not too long ago.
For the answers to my questions must be chased after.
For my selfishness must be superseded.

In spite all the glorious and glamorous moments of 2011, the brand new 2012 started in the middle of a dusty background of pure mess and confusion.
It is time, now, to unclutter the room and find out what lays ahead.

Random, it all is by now – actually, I believe that randomness is, indeed, an unchanging part of my existence.

All solutions are yet to be unveiled and the paths to be followed are yet to be discovered.
This, however, is purely daring and fires me up for the challenge.

I breathe in courage and all good hope, while I feel blessed and emboldened to move forward.

Time to write history.

Oh, dear reader, I wish you nothing but the best in 2012.