California scream, part II: los colores de tí

Beyond the chantilly hills, a few weeks ago.

I was literally deaf and this – obviously – was feeling anything but nice.

Coming for vacations?

Yes, I replied, unnoticed, as the officer rushed into stamping my entrance on my passport.

A meticulously built and organized land was then revealed, while I was putting on my best efforts to ignore all the yelling doubts, fears and issues bubbling inside.

My friend did keep his word, to my immense relief. A travel partner was then found.

A beautiful commune and a fairly larger space for me to lay all over, surrounded by the disturbing madness of the metropolis. That, however, was a pretty little island of quiet paradise where I could calmly close my eyes, meditate and pray for my – not yet coming – recovery.

Meanwhile, and regardless anything, the fantastic world around requested us outside – and we answered its call.

There was, however, no need to rush, for the day was beautiful and the spring would not allow the flowers to decease.

Slowly we should move, for it was no use to run.

Slowly we would stroll. Slowly we would come back from contemplating the numerous eye-catching spots scattered around the city.
Slowly we would figure out.

Despite our unhurried pace, those were no peaceful times.

By the time we reached the old town of Havana, a different side to a youth scream was met – it was revolution, set all around us.
On a young impetus, they rised up against the silent war, shouting blurred shadows of the old words in the communist manifesto.
As any enraged young, at any cost they would fight. They would crack the government, they would drop blood of innocents, they would make mothers cry.

Nonetheless, as loud, hazardous and destructive as it could have been, the heavens kept us safe while my own manifesto – the California scream – was still resonating even louder.
The revolution passed unnoticed.
We were left unharmed, indifferent to random alarming reports on a mute television.

And our hearts, they kept in oblivion, but not for too long.

Days earlier, on the county-commune in the capital metropolitan area, lost inside the mirrored high rises of post-modern architecture, we saw the picture of another life.

On a sunny afternoon at the coast town of Havana, wandering around the colourful quietness of those 1950s-ish crooked streets, we finally understood.

There is another life to believe in, deeper colours to chase after.

And then the ocean smiled to us, luring us in by its imposing beauty and the welcoming warmness of its dark sands, which, sadly enough, contrasted to the intense coldness of the waters. A trap, that is.

Still, waves of good vibes reached my inner chains of energy as the tides licked my bare feet.

The colourful paradiso island was left behind as the couch ventured itself back into the continent.

A different existence, a richer and ancient culture.

And the – not yet conclusive – quest after the perfect specimen of local female beauty.

Buds painting their own travel book in purely funny colours.

Not long after, on a comet, I would eventually feel the good airs, the epilogue to my homecoming.

It was time to, in a strongly felt relief, hit the road.

The adventures were ending.

California scream silently faded in the distance.


tbc.

California scream, part I: the smiling manifesto

The long straight road. Early spring.

The road was being cut, a - very well known - city was rising up before my eyes, a full set of appointments and a state of near ennui left behind. 

The morning had felt.

It was the beginning of my adventures.

Acting out a wayfarer until the time was proper, just to realize… the experience never fails to amaze me somehow.

Check-in line, window seat, samba in the background, an itching fear bugging me.

Not long after, the cloudy skies opened and the island suddenly showed itself in its full glory.

Nice to meet you, land.

My choreography failed miserably, much unlikely the heavenly creatures from up north the one-o-one road, always precise when it came to pleasing. The most delicious piece of chocolate ever eatten. The most comfortable and luxury shared tiny room ever slept on.

In there I set foot. Near the seas, near the wonders of that piece of infinity.

Together, we flew towards the biggest parties ever thrown.

I was breaking the shelter and stepping out of any known comfort zone. Yet, it was feeling so alluringly sweet.

Queuing up to the bubbling excitement until the city opened itself for us, revealing an island of uncanny beauty and wonders.

We were wearing bright colours for we were feeling fresh and young, gorgeous and virile.

We were the stars that night.

We were the stars every night.

Queue after queue, more stars were added to our private constellation.

…And how serious can a cosmic incident be when two of them collide?

Take my hand, will you?

And then, on an alternative place and time, while downtown was merely a backdrop picture, a private universe was formed.

Sun, however, performed its part and rose up, illuminating every corner of the city and the reality, which we could then gaze upon and more fully understand.

A new day that was.

Me and my friends, we were wandering away from inglorious spots of regular life, following the road towards to our very selves.

The redeemer sent us his blessings. We were happy back then.

In a perfect contrast to state of joy we were in, the very sensible local moodiness was a difficult enemy to beat.

So I smiled – effortlessly, with ease.

You are smiling as form of protesting, a stranger said.

Indeed, I was.

That was my smiling manifesto, against every inch of sulk in those strangers’ face.

Against every piece of sorrow in life.

Against any lack of light in one's smile.

And both in manifesto and in celebration we screamed, so loud we echoed in every corner of the universe ahead and beyond.

The California scream, shout by the California stars, a homage to our glow and to our own lives.

We reached another state of mind.

No bad feeling succeed at stopping us.

We kept walking, we kept contemplating.

And as we progressed, stars kept colliding to colourful explosions in the sky and in the land; on the streets and seaside; on a private room, in the middle of a screaming crowd.

And my manifesto kept on, solidly unharmed even when the adrenaline pumped through my veins and the emotions hit me so strikingly that medical care was demanded.

It was the gloomy sunrise of the last day in that wildly full of amaze land.

Fear, indecision.

How much further can you go?

International airports, flight connections.

I was leaving the land – and with it, some of the shiniest moments of one's life.

Please fasten your seatbelts, said the flight attendant, in all three applicable languages.

Where was I going to? Did not quite know.

The island was far away now.

California scream, however, was still mutely echoing.

tbc.

California

A small set of - rather insisting - dreams to run after.
There was I, performing my part. And it was all pretty fine, I got to say.

New winters were blowing in.
It was a new first day.

I was leaving home, heading to any place in reach.
No matter it did - my mind was no longer an inhabitant of this set of flesh.

As the independence manifesto was screamed, a louder yell was echoing inside me. Unheard, but somewhat noticed.

I was beat to the point of bleeding, while the envelope was taking long to arrive.
Wrapped in it, my safe conduct, written in serious, monochromatic letters. Frigid, but yet so welcome when it eventually arrived.

And then I was struggling to pick up the pieces of the life of a couple of weeks ago, which now seemed so distant. Funny how time never runs on an even pace.

My quest, obviously, is not even nearly finished.

No exit is in sight, no answer is yet inferable.
None of this, however, feels wrong or bad.

For there is better feelings to believe in, a feeling that is embracing us.
It took over the city this morning.

In remembrance to those warriors, they marched on a parade.

In honour to the land where the brave ones have no fear in the slightest.
Where they have the urge to take their swords and fight.
Where they are encouraged by the risk of being reduced to rag.
Where they are keen to give their blood to their cause.

Shall we bow before these brave gentlemen.
Shall we worship their land.

And should I have an inch of their bravery.

I look around and contemplate.

There is also better love to believe in, greater life to believe in, a colourful sky to believe in, a land of wonders to believe in.

Are you brave, are you a believer, dear reader?

Cheers!
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