Évidemment

Contingency is an interesting thing. The past is easily reawakened by an image, a smell, a song or simply a sensation. This "image, smell, song, sensation" is tagged to that memory by chance. Picture this, you were at home and your flatmate was listening to France Gall's Évidemment. Six years later, in another foreign land, you came across this song in your iTunes library, and so the familiar tune brought you back to the good old times and helped you to reconstruct better this bygone epoch, or simply that living room where the event took place. But note that this past could very well be related to another song, image, smell or sensation, Évidemment is not so evident as it might have seem.

Nevertheless, you did were transported back to that place and time, and along with this you remembered other things as well. A tour back to the past is always welcome, however, like what we'd said the other day, it brings both joy and melancholy. And as you are remembering the past with a mixture of feelings, you realize that the present will inevitably be memory in a future time, and that you will remember one of these days with "both happiness and pain" or of this particular morning in Managua in which you came across the song that made you remember Salamanca, and so in an attempt to pass that memory forward and to include her in it, you sent it to Ka.

Strangers in the Night

19:30 05.10.2008

It was good to get the hell out of the boot camp, even just for the duration of the day light. Kelly picked me up at the train station at around 0930 and we went for a coffee before lunch. As soon as we entered the establishment I noticed her immediately, she was sitting there by herself, but with more than one cup on her table, she'd also perceived my presence. The place was pretty full, only about 3 tables were left unoccupied and Kelly happened to pick the one right next to her, and then I happened to sit in a direction that offered an open vista of her. The only way I could be any luckier was for me to be sharing the same table with her, but of course, silly me, it was wishful thinking. However, it might not be as all that wishful as it might seem for I caught her constantly casting furtive glances at me!

The first feature that caught my attention were her bright, beautiful, shy, firm and elusive eyes, they expressed the kind of yearning that inspired heartfelt admiration and begged you for gentle caresses. After I overcame, momentarily, the spell her eyes had casted on me, I was able to continue with my observation: her hair was short, about level with her chin which gave her a cute appearance that went just about perfect with her eyes and face. She wasn't exactly the kind of slim and shapely sheila, she was a bit chubby which was reflected on her white t-shirt. If we follow the force of gravity, our sights would be met with a flaring, multi-levelled, light green coloured skirt with a length of about 15 centre metres below the knees which was quite popular on the streets. Further down we see a pair of gardening shoes which didn't count as sexy as the bracelet around her right ankle.

All of a sudden my cell started to ring so I excused myself and made for the door, and upon my return Kelly was at the counter thus leaving me alone with her. It was my chance. I then sat down, looked around, and at last at her, and she at me, elusively. My eyes searched again for Kelly, she was still at the counter. I stood up, out of courtesy, thinking I should help her with it instead of just sitting there so anxiously trying to get the phone number of a stranger, but I stopped midway, my head told me to do one thing, but the desire aspired otherwise.

At this moment of indecision her solitude was broken and was joined by a middle-aged woman and a kid, they seem to be a family. I was relieved and overjoyed to see them instead of a guy joining her. By then Kelly also returned to the table. Despite the changes to the situation I managed to spy on her from time to time, and a while later, thanks to the boy attracting Kelly's attention and affection, I was able to openly direct my intention at her, then as if answering my call she responded likewise. So for the duration of a few seconds that felt more like an eternity we indulged ourselves in a world constructed by the glances of two strangers.

Scenic

I took the train back home a day prior to the election day. Before I reached the station I thought it would be packed with heads eagering to carry out their rights, instead I was shocked to find out about the state of political apathy, well, I can surely understand the dislike towards politics in Taiwan, but the unwillingness to hold on to one's own right is beyond all comprehension, and don't justify yourselves with exams and papers or that kind of shit while watching your goddamn stupid telly programs where a bunch of stupid teens make fun of each other or like rubbish, because I'm not less stressed than you're.

Anyway, let's get back to the train station. So I got this nice window seat for all my through-the-framed-glass pleasure. The train pulled in one of the stations, the curtain slowly disappeared and revealed the scene - a deserted and partly darkened bench next to a lamppost. Then among the lot that walked into the stage was a female character who first vanished to the other edge, but then decided to come back looking to both directions as if she was waiting for someone, or probably just unsure about whether this was her train, with a look that tells you that that someone failed to show up.

Upon not getting a satisfying answer from her cellphone, she stood there for a while, not knowing what to do, and kept her glances to one side as though trying to avert eye contact with the audience, an attempt to hide her thoughts from the outside world perhaps, out of gloom or custom we do not know, for masquerading our feelings is no alien practice. So, what do to now? That is the question. And then perhaps a decision had been made, for she sat down on one edge of the bench. Then with a humming sound, the platform was brought back to life and slowly pulled the scene away while she still looked to the side, and filled it with darkness.

Me Tarzan, You Jane.

The documentary festival started today. One of the morning sessions left me with a bit of a headache, well I'm not saying that it was bad, instead I liked it, just that my eyes are not adapted to the way it was presented on the big screen with all the flashing and blurring images, it was about someone going blind so this technique is quite understandable, though I don't fancy it at all.

Concha was in the neighbourhood around the same time so I sought her out to kill the gap between sessions, but in fact I was considering giving up and go home instead because the world was still spinning around and I could really use some serious lying down. Still, despite the nausea, I decided to stay because I was really looking forward to the afternoon and evening sessions.

So there I was, standing in line with the ticket in my hand when I saw this incredibly attractive female passing in front of me and "cute" slipped my lips. Now that was something because I normally don't do that, I would say "take a look at that" frivolously.

After I seated myself, I found the empty seat next to me taken by someone, a female, one with curly long hair, and... it was her! What are the chances, what are the chances, mate, right next to me, the incredibly attractive female moments ago!

When the credits started to roll more than 90 percent of the audiences disappeared while the director was open to questions on stage. She remained there, just the two of us in that comfy part of the room, so under the pretext of borrowing a pen I ah officially turned and talked to her, at the same time grooming for my next move. "Excuse me, mademoiselle, allow a burning soul to disturb your peace. The thing is, my lady, that the next one which is about to be shown is Svyato which I heard was worth the trouble. And I've been contemplating over the bold quest whether you would grace my existence by permitting me the privilege of accompanying you in the appreciation of this film, to determine for ourselves whether it was truely as good as I've been told", excited and gleefully I harboured the phrase which was repeated over and over during the whole session.

Then on the way out I finally gathered enough cojones to tap her lightly on the shoulder. She turned and ah, Svyato, Svyato, open air movie, I stammered. "Ah, yes, it's the one at 1930" and then she continued on with her intended course, seemingly undisturbed by nothing, nothing at all. Because nothing came out to change that course. So nothing changed, just one more difficult night and the subsequent torture in the following days till the next opportunity presents itself before my eyes. And round and round and the concentric ruin survives.

Serendipity

So today I went to see the doc, nothing serious, just routine you know, well, the appointment was supposed to be 5 days ago, but these cats and dogs ambushed me when I was on the way to the hospital so, soaking wet, I turned back home fuelled by swearwords and reluctantly rescheduled it to today.

Today I set out for the rendezvous at twelve hundred hours and only 6 hours later was I able to leave the place fuelled by even more swearwords because I was planning to get home before dusk so that I could make dinner for my folks. So there I was sitting in the hospital besieged by the mob thinking what on earth are you doing here? you know, you have lots to do, preparing for your clases and working on the thesis. Miraculously, I had this book about death with me, but the atmosphere wasn't too ideal for some word processing so I went for a walk around the surrounding area, park, shops, etc. and returned after an hour and I was petrified to find out that time didn't even exist in the hospital! I started to calculate should I call it off again and go home now before it's too late? well, I can still take the bus if I should miss the train... yes, I suppose I could do that... So I decided to stay and after more escaping and petrifying I finally saw the doc himself and 5 minutes later I was back in the mob. Upon getting hold of my medication, I advanced towards the train station, fast and furiously.

Inside the wagon I made myself comfortable next to this nice looking girl and pull out my book, she was also having one on her laps. It was magical sensation when someone's hair tangoed with yours without actual skin contact. Then she got out her mp3 player and Tchaikovsky murmured at my ears- I coudn't believe it. It wasn't some cheesy pop music, but Tchaifuckingkovsky! Now that was a drop-dead gorgeous sheila. I asked her if she could played it again with me borrowing one of the earphones. So, sharing one earphones we immersed ourselves in bliss. After the piece was over I gave her back the half I borrowed, but she said we can keep listening together if you want, I don't mind.

Thank god almighty.

But almost ironically, the train pulled into the station accompanied by the last note of the Finale Allegro vivacissimo, prophesying what was about to happen. But she got out too! Crikey! I was looking at her from behind, not daring to take the next move, weighing the pros and cons and the percentages of a yes as each anxious step drew us closer to the deadly exit. And when I finally gathered enough balls, she was gone, out of sight, disappeared under the camouflage of the starless night.

Regrets, I have regrets. I regret that I didn't do anything tonight when she was still within reach.

I no longer resent the rain that stopped me, nor the crowd in the hospital, for they brought me to her.

But I regret knowing her and not doing anything, now that even if I want to I will never be able to. Nothing I can do will let me see her again. And it's unbearable.

The electricity and the pain. Do I regret ever meeting her? Would it turn out better if I never knew her at all?

No. It wouldn't. And I don't regret knowing her because I liked her company. I only regret not getting the most out of the time I was given. And I'll have to live with it till the memory of her finally fades out of mine, and be forgotten like a sun that will rise no more or the music that will be played nevermore.

Where the Heart Is

I shouldn't be blogging now, should be reading essays on Sophocles and Greek philosophy instead. It's due in 5 days and am having an extraordinary amount of stress and I'm moving this Friday which makes my head hurts even more, great timing huh. Just went home from the dinner with the head of the department and was just checking out some friends' blogs to chill a bit and Ting says about the story of Claire Brownsworth, a 21 year old aussie girl, and her courageous life of following her dreams despite all the bankrupts and mishaps and shits that would normally put one off.

Actually, I wasn't intended to read the whole post because it's packed with a shit load of words and the sight of that big chunk repulsed me somewhat, I was just trying to find some mindless crap to paralyze my brain for a while, so I decided that I was just going to browse through the whole thing real fast, but when I read about how she was like, how she loved the wild and how she stayed true to herself. Upon getting her degree on physiotherapy, she decided to go to some remote clinic in Mt Isa in the outback rather than staying in the city and fighting for a well-paid position in the best hospitals because of reality bites. Anyway, it's a long story, but the thing is, quoting Ting, that she was still trying to find the meaning to her life, the place for her and the only thing she knew was that she didn't want to go back to the comfort of home.

Ah fuck, I want to buy that book. I've got a long list of books for the 5 week long winter break, Sophie's World, El amor en los tiempos del cólera, Nada, all the plays of Sophocles, books I bought last year in OZ, books for my thesis... Jesus. Fuck, think it must be the stress.

I'm dreaming of living like that all the time, trying to see where my life takes me, especially more so when all I see around me are putrid waters, can't live like that, refuse to live like that. I have everything, computer, flat, cds, vehicle, whatever, but I'm not having a good time. Don't get me wrong, I do love my books, reading them brings me great pleasure, I love to ponder over philosophies, I love the metaphors in Borges, García Márquez and tons of other writers, and I love writing but I do also love to leave this place and not return for a long time to come.

Someone asked me what I wanted to do in life and I replied, just being a wise man. But it's not a job so my other ideas are teaching in the uni or writing or maybe both of them. The thing about uni and writing is that you're still learning intellectually (of course, this also varies from person to person) and I don't want to have a fixed job which works hand in hand with the Medusa-TV sets that would suck my brain dry, turn me into a statue and be filled with all that modern consumption crap and its byproducts. To achieve this requires more studies and above all, in the scenario of teaching in the uni, a PhD degree. But that's ok, I like studying anyway, plus I'm studying something that interests me greatly and I think it's important stuff.

But the thing is, my yearning to live the way she does means I can't follow the current plan. But I don't think that I can live like that my whole life either, won't be satisfied, need to learn, read and write. Think that's why I'm planning a big trip after the army and before I continue my future studies. Well, think I'd better run now, it's already past one o'clock, I'd better go read something before I go to sleep.

The Inner or Deep Part of an Animal or Plant Structure

After a couple of days of locking inside the house I decided that it was time to venture out into the wilderness so at the dawn of transferring the base to the uni which is tomorrow I went to the music store this afternoon and there by pure chance I came upon the Björk Medúlla double DVD that I was looking for a while back but yielded no success. I was really surprised to see it on the shelf and promptly (snatched it, of course) the sense of marvel gave way to the kind of joy that represents the meeting with a good old friend.

After dinner I double-clicked on the Iceland pictures folder and,... ah... Ísland... how different from the Australian Outback and both hauntingly beautiful and attractive in their unique ways… And I saw Rebecca sitting in the café in front of me, in the youth hostel, in the botanic garden, on the bench, on the streets, and I wandered, and I wondered...

Twelve Years + Two Steps = A Circle

I made the PC to Mac switch last year, and couple of months ago there was another leap, from Safari (Mac's browser) to Firefox. So far my new relationships are going well, the iBook doesn't crash on me with frenzy like my old Microsoft plus Intel Inside did. And FireFox does perform better than Safari blogger-wise. However, the speed difference is not as significant as many have suggested (and it also crashes sometimes without warning).

About 10 years ago my first computer was equipped with Netscape Navigator. Soon I got acquainted with names such as Mosaic, Mozilla and Mac. It was the time when the best web graphics were only 256 colors and DOS was still popular. The books and magazines I read were all about or related to them. Plain text web pages and maybe some with a small picture of the writer at the beginning of the article, simple and yet graceful layout, great content. I played quite a lot of DOS and early Windows games too, no 3D cards required, single player, MIDI sound/music and yet great games with great stories, great time. I've read quite a lot about Mac softwares (mostly from a company called Voyager, don't know if they're still around), for example, I photograph to Remember, All My Hummingbirds Have Alibis. The magazines were exquisitely printed, almost works of art, elegant covers, solid content, delicious smell and all were transformed into sheer weight, feels just wonderful holding one in my hands. It has articles on all sorts of softwares, educational, tool, multimedia, games, etc., and the most amazing thing is that they all looked so attractive. The design and the whole feeling of the magazine was so great that it's almost impossible to find its match these days.

Then few years later, IE made its way into everyone's computer and Netscape lost the battle. Around that time everything changed as well. The magazine seemed to have sacked the old editor and hired a new one, the layout and content turned shockingly unreadable; the internet suddenly seemed to be filled with lousy sites, bad design and no substances whatsoever. So I stop buying magazines and the WWW surfing was tasteless. Happy days were over.

3 months ago I decided that I would start blogging, because I was tired. Then I saw for one more time what was locked inside the attic and long forgotten. Blogger recommended FireFox as its preferred browser. FireFox, as I found out later, belongs to Mozilla. A sense of joy came from nowhere and held me captive under its irresistible charm. A soft breeze that caresses gently the face, I think that's how they put it. And along with joy came an opposite feeling. Mixed emotions. Mozilla, Mosaic, Mac, Netscape, old magazines with articles on those wonderful softwares, with great contents and simple graphics.

Trilogy: The Pit

The other day when I was working on my paper I came upon the word marihuana, then all of a sudden the light in the room was turned off and I was back on the open and dark streets of Salamanca flanked by towering bulidings, it must be the night that made them actually looked taller. It was around 0200 and we were the few who roamed the city.

No, it's not like what you might have in mind now, there were only 2 of us and we did not smoke that night nor were we drunk, I was just walking her home.

I thought I had forgotten about it completely, but now the images just keep coming back. It's weird feeling. It's not that thinking about the past is weird, but that the feeling the rediscovery of something which one has no conscious memory with brings along is somewhat strange. I always remember the events, but curiously when I tried to remember when and where we met, I just couldn't locate it.

So I put down the books and promptly wrote her an email, but to my dismay, I did not have her address. I sat there staring at those written words and had nothing no my mind. Fuck. That night seemed to be particularly long. The next morning I remembered that she wrote it down somewhere on a paper or on a book I wasn't sure, but one thing was affirmative, no matter where it was it was not with me, in other words, it was back home.

Now how on earth was I able to go back home, in the middle of the final term, just to fetch an email address? Shit. I needed to vent to someone (about something else as well) so I went to Ramón. He suggested that I went home to get it, right now, I'll drive you home. I stared at him with disbelif, your serious or just nuts? I got papers to write! But to my surprise, I couldn't help laughing even though I tried my best to surpress it. So the next thing I knew we were on the highway heading towards home.

There in my LP Cycling France I had what I was looking for. So I dispatched the mail successfully (without the dreadful Delivery Status Notification), which was nearly a week ago. To this moment I still haven't get a reply. But, I guess that doesn't really matter, I've done what I had to and that's it.

That day when he persuaded me to went home was a day worth a celebration because I just crossed the threshold, I freed myself.