Yesterday was my last full day on the island. Marifrancis drove us along the northern coast, just the two of us. The first stop was a cliff near where we would later have fish. I listened to the whispers of the sea, as if longing for a message, a voice. And I looked stark into the horizon, and noticed that not all the parts of the horizon are the same. Some parts have a brighter illumination on the sky part than others, some parts are blurred by whatever meteorological event that was happening there.
After lunch, we continued driving. We saw a great little town with its famous balconies. We've come here many times before along with the rest of her family, but it was always at night, after dinner or something. I realized I no longer thought everything was amazing, just appreciated everything I noticed for what it was. It was a strange sensation. Perhaps I am done with the kind of traveling I had been doing before going to Buenos Aires, which was the first time I didn't go around snapping pictures at everything that was different.
The highlight of the day trip was at the end. We found a beach that Marifrancis didn't know about. It was a small black beach, completely black, black from the eroded lava rocks that you see in many architectures this part of the island. She didn't want to go down to the sand because she had a cold, and going down to the sand would only be fun if she took her shoes off. So I went down there alone while she enjoyed the view. I wanted to feel the sand, and more importantly, the water, the warm Atlantic water (warm here, not back in the Northeast). I ran for a minute on the waves that reached that far to the damp sand. Then I stopped and walked slowly, letting the white foam of various heights engulf my lower shins. Then I stopped and looked at the sea again. It's simple, and yet, there're many parts to each wave if you just notice one. Back on the top at the cliff before lunch, the waves looked different from the bottom of the cliff; they were in slow motion, and yet, I could see the details evolving, also in slow motion. Here the waves were fast, in front of me, threatening to surprise me with a big wave that would wet my pants. Here the sound is loud and awesome. Here I could feel the waves, not only the temperature of the water, but their pushing and, even more interestingly, dragging of my feet, and when they drag my feet I sink a little into the black sand.
I turned around and walked toward the other end, where surfers were preparing their entrance into the infinite body of water. The sensation of being pushed and pulled by the waves, the view of the water, the evolution of each wave, this cannot be easily described, cannot be easily written in a poem; it can only be felt. Right away that beach became one of my favorites, and it became a highlight of my trip. I yearned for the sea, just as I yearned for the mountain, which I walked in yesterday. And I felt a slight tinge of sadness when I compelled myself to leave the waves. I turned around a few times and saw my footprint on the damp sand; they seemed so lonesome, in a good or bad way, I don't know.
I joined Marifrancis in watching the sea dance. We both noticed how the sea that was emerald earlier in the day when appeared from the bottom of the cliff now had a coat of golden shimmer. It was, in my mind, stealing the sun that had already descended behind the mountains behind us. The sun's rays traveled over the mountains and bounced off the clouds only to land like fallen leaves on the blue sea, floating, glistening.
The sea calms me down, just as the mountain delivers me peace. I was waiting still to see what the Swiss pianist would decide on. The sea reminded me the simple ways to find myself, that life's drama needs not be greater than the constant evolution of the waves, which is itself very beautiful. And I was with my best friend who would miss me dearly. We half joked that if I ever marry this Swiss pianist, I would be moving to Europe and we would be neighbors, finally (sort of). Who knows what the future brings. But for sure it brings surprises when you have an open heart. This discovery of a black sand beach is certainly a great surprise.
Saturday, December 31, 2011
Tuesday, December 27, 2011
Return to Tenerife
The last time I was in Tenerife was just about exactly three years ago. Last time I celebrated New Year's Eve here. This year I will be alone, in Madrid, just as I did the first time I came to Tenerife. The first time I came to Tenerife I came right after New Year's Eve, some six years ago. Then, and as always except this time, I would miss Christmas in Tenerife because it's a family time for Marifrancis and her family. This year I arrived with her on Christmas Eve.
And I arrived with so much on my mind, perhaps so much that I just collapsed in bed and slept more than three hours.
The night before I hardly slept. Partly because I had two shots of Scotch after a few sips of wine. Partly because I couldn't stop thinking about the Swiss pianist, about the decision she is about to make, or has already taken but hadn't dared to tell me. And of course, it was really unusual time of sleeping for a week of an already unusual sleeping patterns. I was supposed to sleep from 9PM to 4AM, local time, a time when I usually went dancing or not sleeping at all if you translated it to US time. On top of that, the sofa bed of Marifrancis was never conducive to sleeping for me.
So it was a night of lost sleep. And I managed to doze off in the airplane, despite the heavy sound of footsteps every time someone walked by on the shaky airplane floor. But dozing off didn't count. I slept a few hours after having arriving and having lunch.
It's been three years since I was here, and I am remembering many things as well as learning new things. Not just learning new things, but also deepening what I have already learned. I mean, about Marifrancis' family, about their interactions with the surrounding areas bound by the limits imposed by the Atlantic Ocean. For some of her brothers, the island seems like a prison. For at least her youngest brother, it is home and he volunteers to stay here as long as his mother needs. This is especially true now that the father had passed away in February.
The eldest brother is still working hard to provide for his daughter, and both of them live under the same roof as the rest of the family. The only member missing, besides the father now, is Marifrancis, the only one to have left the family and island more than eight years ago. When I first came here eight year's ago (exactly so starting next week), the family didn't have that brother and his daughter. The daughter was a shy little three-year-old, as unfamiliar to me as was the island. I remember coming off the plane from Madrid and discovered a lot of warmth in the air but also more coolness from the clouds than expected. The island, like my friend's family, was much more complicated than I had expected. But isn't that usually the case? You get some impression at first, some hearsay, some expectations, and the more you spend time on this subject, the more complicated it gets.
Today (being a few days since I started this blog) Marifrancis and I went to one of her favorite spots, which tourists don't usually visit since it's in the northern part. There are no beaches here, but lots of black rocks from lava and white waves smashing onto them. I sat there with her, taking some distance for our own space, and I tried to let myself go, mentally, into the emerald sea with its emerald waves. I thought about the problems each member of her family faced. Not just the eldest son with the daughter, but also the son who had been trying to get a governmental job for as long as I had known the family, or the mother who had just lost a 40-year old relationship to cancer. These things gave me some perspective in a time when I am trying very hard not to think about the Swiss pianist. The bliss with her in the final couple of weeks before my vacation is becoming a distant memory. I don't feel as desperate as before to have her in my life, but I don't want it any less. I just don't feel as desperate, either because I am calmer, or because I am suppressing that feeling better.
With the perspective I am gaining from interacting with and observing the family that has welcomed me at each visit, I gain also a sense of peace with respect to the Swiss pianist. I am thinking more about what I want to do besides worrying that she would not want me in her life the way we both wish would happen. I am still disturbed that she has gone off to Hawaii with her boyfriend without making a final decision, but at the same time, not only do I trust that she has some good reason that I cannot currently understand, but also, well, it doesn't matter so much in the grand scheme of things. My life can't revolve around her decisions about her own life. Perhaps one day my life will intertwine with another person's life, but right now, that's not the case. Being away from her, being with people whom I care and who have real dramas and difficulties, helps me move forward with my life.
Tomorrow (really officially now) is the birthday of the eldest son. I will take them out for lunch and hopefully will have energy to make him some spaghetti alla vodka. To give love to yourself, and to those who have become a part of your life, helps you feel more grounded. With this thought I hope I can sleep!
And I arrived with so much on my mind, perhaps so much that I just collapsed in bed and slept more than three hours.
The night before I hardly slept. Partly because I had two shots of Scotch after a few sips of wine. Partly because I couldn't stop thinking about the Swiss pianist, about the decision she is about to make, or has already taken but hadn't dared to tell me. And of course, it was really unusual time of sleeping for a week of an already unusual sleeping patterns. I was supposed to sleep from 9PM to 4AM, local time, a time when I usually went dancing or not sleeping at all if you translated it to US time. On top of that, the sofa bed of Marifrancis was never conducive to sleeping for me.
So it was a night of lost sleep. And I managed to doze off in the airplane, despite the heavy sound of footsteps every time someone walked by on the shaky airplane floor. But dozing off didn't count. I slept a few hours after having arriving and having lunch.
It's been three years since I was here, and I am remembering many things as well as learning new things. Not just learning new things, but also deepening what I have already learned. I mean, about Marifrancis' family, about their interactions with the surrounding areas bound by the limits imposed by the Atlantic Ocean. For some of her brothers, the island seems like a prison. For at least her youngest brother, it is home and he volunteers to stay here as long as his mother needs. This is especially true now that the father had passed away in February.
The eldest brother is still working hard to provide for his daughter, and both of them live under the same roof as the rest of the family. The only member missing, besides the father now, is Marifrancis, the only one to have left the family and island more than eight years ago. When I first came here eight year's ago (exactly so starting next week), the family didn't have that brother and his daughter. The daughter was a shy little three-year-old, as unfamiliar to me as was the island. I remember coming off the plane from Madrid and discovered a lot of warmth in the air but also more coolness from the clouds than expected. The island, like my friend's family, was much more complicated than I had expected. But isn't that usually the case? You get some impression at first, some hearsay, some expectations, and the more you spend time on this subject, the more complicated it gets.
Today (being a few days since I started this blog) Marifrancis and I went to one of her favorite spots, which tourists don't usually visit since it's in the northern part. There are no beaches here, but lots of black rocks from lava and white waves smashing onto them. I sat there with her, taking some distance for our own space, and I tried to let myself go, mentally, into the emerald sea with its emerald waves. I thought about the problems each member of her family faced. Not just the eldest son with the daughter, but also the son who had been trying to get a governmental job for as long as I had known the family, or the mother who had just lost a 40-year old relationship to cancer. These things gave me some perspective in a time when I am trying very hard not to think about the Swiss pianist. The bliss with her in the final couple of weeks before my vacation is becoming a distant memory. I don't feel as desperate as before to have her in my life, but I don't want it any less. I just don't feel as desperate, either because I am calmer, or because I am suppressing that feeling better.
With the perspective I am gaining from interacting with and observing the family that has welcomed me at each visit, I gain also a sense of peace with respect to the Swiss pianist. I am thinking more about what I want to do besides worrying that she would not want me in her life the way we both wish would happen. I am still disturbed that she has gone off to Hawaii with her boyfriend without making a final decision, but at the same time, not only do I trust that she has some good reason that I cannot currently understand, but also, well, it doesn't matter so much in the grand scheme of things. My life can't revolve around her decisions about her own life. Perhaps one day my life will intertwine with another person's life, but right now, that's not the case. Being away from her, being with people whom I care and who have real dramas and difficulties, helps me move forward with my life.
Tomorrow (really officially now) is the birthday of the eldest son. I will take them out for lunch and hopefully will have energy to make him some spaghetti alla vodka. To give love to yourself, and to those who have become a part of your life, helps you feel more grounded. With this thought I hope I can sleep!
Thursday, December 22, 2011
Returning to Paris
I've returned to Paris many times, especially when I lived in England. Leaving Gare du Nord on the Eurostar to cross the Channel into London, I watched the dark, northern landscape of the city disappear. I saw the illuminated Sacré Coeur in the distance, waving goodbye. I saw the rundown hotels disappear too; one of them was probably where I stayed once when I was coming from London with the girlfriend at the time.
But the memories that stood out most on this brief trip belong to the first time I came to Paris. It was my second trip to Europe. It was the summer ending my sophomore year, there I waited in the French capital for my college girlfriend who had just broken up with me to be with this other guy. It was at times a little awkward, I mean, we were sharing the same bed though nothing weird happened. It was nonetheless difficult. Looking back I realized I had already put myself in such awkward situation early on. That was 1995, June.... More than 16 years ago. I was there. She took me to see all the different places, showed me tricks on saving money, saving time, being a good Romanian used to circumventing "the system".
I went to a lot of places she had taken me. Some places I had revisited a few times since then. Some, like the Musée de Rodin, I had not been back since. I remember taking a picture of her next to the famous "The Kiss" sculpture. I remember, in my head, we were standing in front of the "Gate of Hell", Rodin's rendition of Dante's "Inferno". There were more flowers and the trees had more leaves that summer; now it was cold and the trees were stripped of their grandeur by the recurring winter. And, of course, I was alone.
But life wasn't so different. I was in a similar situation, in that I was involved with a woman who had a boyfriend. Difference is that she is making her decision on what to do next. And I was kept in suspense throughout my trip in the French capital. If she decides to be with me, then good chance that I will be returning to Paris many times as she intends on moving back to Switzerland, or Europe, at least. That was on my mind, too. A future with her, if she so chooses.
I didn't do much site-seeing. I went to touristy places, but not snapping pictures at the oft-snapped sites. I went to Montmartre, recalling the "Fabulous Tale" of Amélie (that's the approximate translation of the original French title). Some people's love stories are simple. Mine, for some reason, has to be incredibly complicated. I don't choose simple people, simple situations, or life decides that I deserve something more than the simple mundane thread existence.
I also went walking around Quartier Latin with another old friend who had been living in France for a while. This area also helps me recall the first trip in Paris. It's where I had cheap canteen food at a university cafeteria. The friend this time also happened to be Romanian. We met on a train in Romania, and we don't write to each other more than once a year, but we're close. Still, I know she likes me still, after all these years, since that train ride to a German-speaking Romanian town in 1999, I know she likes me, and we know I never felt the same way. Nothing weird happened between us, but with her I know how it feels to be unable to return love. At the end of the afternoon walks, she had to return to her city of Reims. From the TGV train she repeatedly asked me to come back with her, visit her place, her life there. She knew I was madly in love with a woman who would either bring me heavenly joy or abysmal dejection, but still, she begged me to go back with her, assuring me that there were two beds. I had visited her once in her native town in Romania back when I was living in England. I never stayed overnight, but I saw her small, sad-looking apartment in a sad-looking Communist style building. And when it was my time to board the train to leave her town, she kissed me. I felt very sad for her. She is the total opposite of me: expecting nothing complicated, nothing serious, from life. It doesn't mean she doesn't get into complicated situations, but we are too different; I seek adventures in the world, no matter the cost; she is happy being in one little, quiet place, being a surgeon.
The major difference between this trip to Paris and the other trips is that I danced a lot of tango. Four nights out of five. I tried dancing last time I was here, but I was still not confident enough. This time I was more open-minded and more confident. I had a good time. I was also curious what I was getting myself into, in terms of tango, at least, if I do move back to Europe. It's not as fantastic as New York, but still.
Tango or no tango, I found the love of my life, in the most complicated, tangled web I can imagine my life to get into (I guess at least she's not married with children). This suspense of not knowing what her decision process is like, not knowing the final result, drives me crazy. I try not to think about it. I try to assume the worst. After all, she is going on a New Year's trip to Hawaii with her boyfriend. I don't quite understand what that means, why she decided to do that. At the same time, she is writing me poems everyday, and the two times we actually chatted, she reminded me how much she missed me.
She will decide soon, it's just me having to cope with the unknown. It's better if I can just not think about it and enjoy my time here, and I am enjoying my time. Paris I felt in love with the city again, as always. Today's my first day in London and I met up with another old friend (this one there is not an iota of drama with). Now I am in a cafe with bad hot chocolate, waiting for my best friend to come back from her work. I don't know what we will do, but we will see. She knows about my tangled web of events, and she, being very emotional of a Spaniard, is all confused and frustrated and happy. She doesn't want me to be hurt again, of course.
But as I told her, whatever happens, I am blessed with one thing: for the first time, the woman I am crazy about is crazy about me. And I know how that feels for me. And, from now on, I won't settle. Before her I always had to work very hard trying to convince the girl to give me the same attention back. And it never worked, often backfired. Part of the problem is what my friends always told me (and many of these "friends" were actually the very same girls before becoming friends): I need to know I deserve better; I need to believe I am damn good. For the first time in my life, I realized, yes, I am really that good; I don't need to go running after every breadcrumb that comes my way just because she's beautiful. Dignity in myself. As another friend told me, let the girls come to me.
I used to have as my signature a quote from a Portuguese writer: Take care of your garden and the butterflies will come to you. I always ran after girls trying to prove I have a lot to offer, when I didn't have to do that; I already had a lot to offer. Their failure to see my beauty is not my problem. Having met a girl who absolutely adores me makes me see what it feels like to be myself while still being in love. Being in love doesn't mean I have to work so much.
I have one more week left before going back to reality, and by then, hopefully, a decision is made. But what I really should do is not think about that decision. It's her decision, not mine. I have already decided on spending my life with her. It's time to move on.
But the memories that stood out most on this brief trip belong to the first time I came to Paris. It was my second trip to Europe. It was the summer ending my sophomore year, there I waited in the French capital for my college girlfriend who had just broken up with me to be with this other guy. It was at times a little awkward, I mean, we were sharing the same bed though nothing weird happened. It was nonetheless difficult. Looking back I realized I had already put myself in such awkward situation early on. That was 1995, June.... More than 16 years ago. I was there. She took me to see all the different places, showed me tricks on saving money, saving time, being a good Romanian used to circumventing "the system".
I went to a lot of places she had taken me. Some places I had revisited a few times since then. Some, like the Musée de Rodin, I had not been back since. I remember taking a picture of her next to the famous "The Kiss" sculpture. I remember, in my head, we were standing in front of the "Gate of Hell", Rodin's rendition of Dante's "Inferno". There were more flowers and the trees had more leaves that summer; now it was cold and the trees were stripped of their grandeur by the recurring winter. And, of course, I was alone.
But life wasn't so different. I was in a similar situation, in that I was involved with a woman who had a boyfriend. Difference is that she is making her decision on what to do next. And I was kept in suspense throughout my trip in the French capital. If she decides to be with me, then good chance that I will be returning to Paris many times as she intends on moving back to Switzerland, or Europe, at least. That was on my mind, too. A future with her, if she so chooses.
I didn't do much site-seeing. I went to touristy places, but not snapping pictures at the oft-snapped sites. I went to Montmartre, recalling the "Fabulous Tale" of Amélie (that's the approximate translation of the original French title). Some people's love stories are simple. Mine, for some reason, has to be incredibly complicated. I don't choose simple people, simple situations, or life decides that I deserve something more than the simple mundane thread existence.
I also went walking around Quartier Latin with another old friend who had been living in France for a while. This area also helps me recall the first trip in Paris. It's where I had cheap canteen food at a university cafeteria. The friend this time also happened to be Romanian. We met on a train in Romania, and we don't write to each other more than once a year, but we're close. Still, I know she likes me still, after all these years, since that train ride to a German-speaking Romanian town in 1999, I know she likes me, and we know I never felt the same way. Nothing weird happened between us, but with her I know how it feels to be unable to return love. At the end of the afternoon walks, she had to return to her city of Reims. From the TGV train she repeatedly asked me to come back with her, visit her place, her life there. She knew I was madly in love with a woman who would either bring me heavenly joy or abysmal dejection, but still, she begged me to go back with her, assuring me that there were two beds. I had visited her once in her native town in Romania back when I was living in England. I never stayed overnight, but I saw her small, sad-looking apartment in a sad-looking Communist style building. And when it was my time to board the train to leave her town, she kissed me. I felt very sad for her. She is the total opposite of me: expecting nothing complicated, nothing serious, from life. It doesn't mean she doesn't get into complicated situations, but we are too different; I seek adventures in the world, no matter the cost; she is happy being in one little, quiet place, being a surgeon.
The major difference between this trip to Paris and the other trips is that I danced a lot of tango. Four nights out of five. I tried dancing last time I was here, but I was still not confident enough. This time I was more open-minded and more confident. I had a good time. I was also curious what I was getting myself into, in terms of tango, at least, if I do move back to Europe. It's not as fantastic as New York, but still.
Tango or no tango, I found the love of my life, in the most complicated, tangled web I can imagine my life to get into (I guess at least she's not married with children). This suspense of not knowing what her decision process is like, not knowing the final result, drives me crazy. I try not to think about it. I try to assume the worst. After all, she is going on a New Year's trip to Hawaii with her boyfriend. I don't quite understand what that means, why she decided to do that. At the same time, she is writing me poems everyday, and the two times we actually chatted, she reminded me how much she missed me.
She will decide soon, it's just me having to cope with the unknown. It's better if I can just not think about it and enjoy my time here, and I am enjoying my time. Paris I felt in love with the city again, as always. Today's my first day in London and I met up with another old friend (this one there is not an iota of drama with). Now I am in a cafe with bad hot chocolate, waiting for my best friend to come back from her work. I don't know what we will do, but we will see. She knows about my tangled web of events, and she, being very emotional of a Spaniard, is all confused and frustrated and happy. She doesn't want me to be hurt again, of course.
But as I told her, whatever happens, I am blessed with one thing: for the first time, the woman I am crazy about is crazy about me. And I know how that feels for me. And, from now on, I won't settle. Before her I always had to work very hard trying to convince the girl to give me the same attention back. And it never worked, often backfired. Part of the problem is what my friends always told me (and many of these "friends" were actually the very same girls before becoming friends): I need to know I deserve better; I need to believe I am damn good. For the first time in my life, I realized, yes, I am really that good; I don't need to go running after every breadcrumb that comes my way just because she's beautiful. Dignity in myself. As another friend told me, let the girls come to me.
I used to have as my signature a quote from a Portuguese writer: Take care of your garden and the butterflies will come to you. I always ran after girls trying to prove I have a lot to offer, when I didn't have to do that; I already had a lot to offer. Their failure to see my beauty is not my problem. Having met a girl who absolutely adores me makes me see what it feels like to be myself while still being in love. Being in love doesn't mean I have to work so much.
I have one more week left before going back to reality, and by then, hopefully, a decision is made. But what I really should do is not think about that decision. It's her decision, not mine. I have already decided on spending my life with her. It's time to move on.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)