In my head

t.A.T.u.
All The Things She Said
200 km/h in the Wrong Lane
***

All the things she said
Running through my head
This is not enough

I'm in serious shit, I feel totally lost
If I'm asking for help it's only because
Being with you has opened my eyes
Could I ever believe such a perfect surprise?

I keep asking myself, wondering how
I keep closing my eyes but I can't block you out
Wanna fly to a place where it's just you and me
Nobody else so we can be free

All the things she said
Running through my head
This is not enough
Я сошла с ума
This is not enough
All the things she said

And I'm all mixed up, feeling cornered and rushed
They say it's my fault but I want her so much
Wanna fly her away where the sun and rain
Come in over my face, wash away all the shame
When they stop and stare – don't worry me
'Cause I'm feeling for her what she's feeling for me
I can try to pretend, I can try to forget
But it's driving me mad, going out of my head

All the things she said
Running through my head
This is not enough

All the things she said, she said

Mother looking at me
Tell me what do you see?
Yes, I've lost my mind

Daddy looking at me
Will I ever be free?
Have I crossed the line?

All the things she said
Running through my head
This is not enough

***

Тату
Я сошла с ума
200 По Встречной
***

All what we need

Relationships... Why are they so difficult?

I have asked that many times but, still, no response has ever convinced me.
Why the heck we are so complicated? That's a better question, because relationships are easy peasy, or are they?
This morning, while sipping on my café con leche, I found myself being stared at after my two cents of what life really is. Yes, we were talking, I don't remember what about, and I, suddenly, uttered some words that they weren't expecting me to utter: we are here, in this world, just to create life, to bear children; just like any other animal. Then I sipped my coffee and saw all those pairs of eyes looking at me like if I had just said the unbelievable story of how I went around the world in eighty days, walking. One of the girls opened her eyes and said "So, we aren't doing well" (none of us has children). I am gay, so it is quite difficult I have children of my own. Yes, I do want to have children, I have even picked names up, but, you know, not just yet (unless you finally marry me). My mother had my sister when she was my age. My sister is eight years older than I am and she hasn't had any children yet. She is married, though, not that it matters, because Mother Nature does not know about marriage. Mother nature does not seem to know many of the things we do, daily. Or does She?
Why are we so fucked up?
That's the real question. We think that we know everything, every step. But we don't. Not at all. Not even the smallest hint of it. We can't even imagine how life could be, so fucking great, if we let ourselves alone.
The other day I was speaking with a friend and we were talking about this relationships' deal, what else. We talked about her ex and how bad he must had felt when they last saw each other, at a big party, where she was enjoying herself. Hmph? Are you sure, dear? I said she wasn't right. Men are so simple and don't go saying: "Oh, look at her, she is having fun, how I miss the times when she and I were together and she was happy, not like the last months, when it was all grumpiness in hour home." No, that's not something a man would say. Slightly thinking about that, well, perhaps. But actually saying that? No way! We are easy, simple, and we like it that way. Of course, there are some exceptions, like in every single rule: some men are (we are), let's say, different. Well, let's talk clear: some of us have a wicked mind and go thinking and re-thinking about everything once and again. Why not saying it, some of us think about relationships like a woman would do.
Jorge Bucay said: the best way to answer to "I love you" is by saying "And I feel loved by you". I thought that was both clever and true (because not all true things are clever). It is so difficult to answer to those very difficult words, you know that as well as I do, and whatever you chose to answer, will be a mistake. Because if you say "Me too" it just sounds so forced, so fake, that you wish that a Acme branded anvil fell on you to avoid the situation; and if you answer "Oh, thanks".... well... you know what happens then, don't you? I have said that, and I felt so bad. Bad is not the word.
Bucay also said in some other book that the we should acknowledge the other's love. I mean, that we should never expect others to love us as we love them. Imagine we can measure love: if X loved Y 80L (out of hundred; L being the measurement of Love) and Y love X back 60L, that shouldn't be a problem if X needed 60L to be happy and Y needed 80. Because loving more or loving less than what you NEED (note, I said NEED, not WANT or WISH) is bad.

Relationships... yes. They are weird.
Sometimes I just feel like I am a clementine and my "better half" is an orange. So we don't match.
Is that what really happens? Is that I am different (or he is)? Or is it just that I am having too high expectations.
Why do we always expect so much of our partners? Why don't we just accept them as they are? Are we giving them what they expect of us? And in case we are not, why the hell did God give us Language? If I need... whatever... and... whoever... isn't giving it to me, why aren't I asking for it, I mean, with words?
Alanis sings "would I be whining if I said I needed a hug?"
Would I?
Why are we so scared of telling what we really feel? Why are we keeping that shell of us? To protect from what others can do to us or to protect what we can feel? Is it Love what we are protecting ourselves of? What is Love, anyway?

What is it?
Do we really need it? Does it make us breath?

Perhaps. Perhaps it does. "Love is all you need".

Escúchame

Para mí siempre ha sido muy importante el lenguaje, y a veces me pregunto como es que el resto del mundo parece pasar de largo sin preocuparse si las cosas están bien.

Aunque parezca mentira, lo que quiero hablar esta vez es sobre la violencia de género. De género femenino, esto es. Y no es que quiera negar la existencia del maltrato del hombre en la pareja, porqué haberlos haylos, pero son tan pocos, que como las llamadas "enfermedades raras", casi ni merecen la pena la mención.
El otro día hubo un acto en contra de la violencia doméstica en mi pueblo. Yo me enteré cuando se había acabado. En el caso de haberlo sabido, y de no haber estado trabajando a la hora, me hubiera gustado asistir, aunque fuera para hacer bulto, para que se viera que hay mucha gente que está en contra.
El caso es que quién me lo dijo fue una miembro del grupo de mujeres de mi pueblo, a quienes no se les había informado del acto.
El caso es que tengo que hacer una denuncia. No voy a denunciar a un maltratador, pero sí a un encubridor. Este personaje no es sólo una persona sino muchas. Muchas personas que se dedican a promover la lucha contra la violencia de género. Parece contradictorio, ¿verdad? Pues es que últimamente me estoy dando cuenta de que hay muchos anuncios, etc., sobre este tema y no paro de ver como nos estamos equivocando. No hemos de aprendernos el teléfono para denunciar que nos están maltratando, tenemos que evitar que esto ocurra. "Sí, claro, fácil decirlo" pensaréis. Pero es que no podemos andar por la vida poniendo soluciones a los errores cuando podemos evitar que haya un error. Por eso nuestros profesores, toda la vida, nos han dicho que hagamos esquemas de las redacciones y trabajos que vamos a hacer, para no encontrarnos que no hay coherencia, que tengo que volver a empezar porque me he dejado algo. Ahora, con las computadoras, todo es más fácil, pero la vida real no es como un juego de los Sims, no hay vuelta atrás.
La verdad es que no sé como el gobierno (esto no es una crítica, porque el gobierno anterior lo hizo igual o peor) está atacando este tema. Pero yo creo que todo esto se debería tratar desde pequeños, desde la más tierna infancia. Desde, justo desde, el trato con los profesores. Tanto esto como muchas otras cosas. El respeto debería ser enseñado desde pequeño.
No, no le voy a echar la culpa a los profes, porque no la tienen, para nada. Quienes tienen la culpa son los padres, que lo permiten. Deberíamos todos volver al cole a que nos enseñaran a respetar, porque no lo estamos haciendo bien. No podemos ir felices pensando que todo se arregla con poner una Help Line. No, no señor. Todo se arregla con evitarlo.
Algo parecido me contaron sobre los cinturones de seguridad en Inglaterra. Creo que ya he hablado de esto en algún momento (indeed).

No lo entiendo, no. No comprendo como la gente puede vivir tranquila sabiendo que su hijo o hija, cuando crezca, robará, pegará, matará... ¿Cómo lo permitís? Yo no tengo hijos y siempre digo que educaré mejor de lo que me han educado a mí (aún gracias) y a mis crueles compañeros de clase. Pero me equivoco, porque seguro que acabaré cometiendo los mismos errores. Es una pena que los humanos seamos tan estúpidos. Human behaviour.

Una vez en mi vida tuve que llamar a la poli porque mi vecino estaba maltratando a su novia. Era en London y los "bobbies" llegaron en un santiamén, en tres cuatro y un furgón. A él se lo llevaron. Lo metieron en un centro y volvió al cabo de un mes como una persona nueva, que me pidió perdón y todo. Ella volvió con él. Como tantas. Pero "eso es otra historia y debe ser contada en otra ocasión".

En mi mente: las utopías
En mis oídos: Tracy Chapman - Behind the Wall

REU-LDN-MAD

Last night I arrived from my long week-end in Europe. It didn't feel like it was some countable days but some sort of imaginary time measure that stretched itself to create a new amount of time. This new X(for the quantity) X(for the name of the new time measure) lasted as long and as short as one could imagine, but it wasn't just over four days but, at least, what we, Earthlings (LG), call a month.

I am not going to go through all details, you know I don't like that, neither am going to recall on why everything happened how it happened. But there is some stuff I have to say. I need to say. Deserve to be said.

On some point of the beginning of this period of time, I flew to London from the beautiful city of Reus (I should have had a stop over in Paris and it would have done the long known sentence of "Reus, Paris, London"). Flying, since this Summer, is horrible for me. Thank god I met a lovely English girl who helped me over the trip. Thank you so much.
I arrived in London and what came to me, a part of the I-am-home feeling was the chaos that suddenly I found. Perhaps I felt it that way because I was a chaos, as well. But, anyway, my what-is-the-easiest-way-to-get-there chip, wasn't working. Also, there were some "planned" engineering works that I wasn't told of and a Chelsea match I wasn't aware of. So, finally, I arrived to my friend's house in Fulham Broadway just to get changed and get going to celebrate ThanksGiving in Brixton.
Very early on our arrival at the house I realised that was going to be the best party I had ever been to. And it certainly was. Delicious food (no turkey, all happened to be vegetarian, but it wasn't on purpouse, just happened). I can't recall all the great things of the party. The house, the menu cards and name tags, the music. And certainly the people. We were a bunch of people who didn't know each other. There was not one person who knew all of them. But we matched, at least that's what I think. Everybody was talking to someone, no little groups were formed. Just what I was needing for: good, intelligent, friendly talk.
I was supposed to prepare some "rom cremat" ("burnt rum", which is rum, the peel of a lemon, cinnamon stick, clove and sugar, a la flambé), but it didn't turn out, I just couldn't make it burn. That was my contribution to the party, bringing some of what those Catalans who went to the Americans brought back. Although different part of America the continent, the same America in the end. Hope, one day, you guys, come to celebrate Eleven September ("day" of Catalonia) with me, here, and I can do it right.
It wasn't a traditional ThanksGiving, it was just fabulous.

The next day was a relaxing calm day walking around and talking all what was left to talk about, which was a lot. Could meet just two of my friends there, and I couldn't meet someone very special. Hope next time will be better.
I know some people might be upset with me for not being able to meet, so I say sorry from here.

I felt great in London. More than great. I felt "me". Walking through the city, visiting shops, having tea and cake (Man, I love the cake!).
But we had to go.
We took a plane and then it was all Madrid around us.
There are many things that come up to my mind when I think of the city. Some are great, and some are not. There are that surprise me and there are that distract me.
I have to say that Madrid urgently needs a signalization freshen up. The metro is a mess, lines have numbers and colours but they are named by the start off and the end (whatever this means, because both are both) of the line. But that's not the worse thing: if you don't want to get lost, you have to be from there, or at least live in. When in London there would be a hundred signals, in Madrid there is one. I don't know if they are saving on metal/plastic, but what they are wasting is time. For instance, at Atocha train station, I wandered around for a good ten minutes before I arrived to the right place: there were signals saying just the opposite to one another. And the escalators; oh, my god, they drove me crazy: if you had to go on three escalators, you'd find the one going up in the right and the next two in the left (with corridors in between, of course, not just ahead one another). And all for stops that you could walk, really. [Once we were at Puerta de Alacalá, or something, and we asked for directions to get to Chueca (Soho, Village) and the girl told us: "That's so far, better take the metro": it was just about ten minutes walk.]
The city is very polluted. So much traffic. So many cars.
There are great shops and great trendy people. They look clean.
Many, many blind people.
I don't live there, but it didn't seem such a big deal the road works (my city is now wide open as well and it is a pain in the ass, really) but perhaps is because it is big enough to be able to get somewhere else.
People is kind (except some waiters and the woman at the fruit shop in Chueca Square).
Coffee tastes like coffee and is black black even if you wanted "cortado".
El Retiro is great. I don't know why is always so quiet: I'd be there all the time.
So many gay guys and so many handsome guys (not only in Chueca, but all around the city).
It is clean.
People does not know how to walk.
The metro is quiet: the actual train (both meaning silent and not moving much) and the people in it.

There are many things but I can't recall all of them right now. Over all I liked the city a lot, after twelve years. I wouldn't live there (need water) but I'd like to go visit once in a while.

One of the last nights of that-amount-of-time-we-got-created, we went to Sala Clamores to the concert of Anna Maria Jopek. There we were Gatchan, Mal (plus two) and me (plus one). I was called the "fan". I have never liked that terminology for myself. I am not a fan of anyone. I like some artists' music but that's all. In fact, this was one of the few "real" concerts I've been to. By real I mean someone I own an album of before the day. Actually, it might actually be just the one. I have most of AMJ's discography and I have to say I like her a lot. And now, that I have seen her live, I am willing to make other efforts to see her again.The venue was a nice small intimate place. There were Poles but less than I'd expected.
She sung songs from her album "Secret", which is the English one of which I had expected the whole concert, and for my great surprise, from "Niebo" and my favourite "Farat" along with a new song of, once again, a version of an Sting's song.
I'm no expert in music, I just know what I like, that's why I am going to let the review for others (Gatchan, I thought you would have commented the concert by now). I must say that she was very nice: she spoke little in Polish, quite in English, and quite a lot in Spanish. She even sung in the city's language. Her accent in Spanish was great. She pronounced the s's as the Polish ś (like an English 'sh') and a couple of c's as in her language (like the 'ts' in cats), but what she said was perfectly well structured with a pure Castilian grammar. She was even funny and she made us sing (men, and blonds against brunettes). Her Spanish was actually great with perfect plurals (Polish plural isn't ending in -s like in Spanish or English: jeden kawanos, dwa kawanosy).

I had recently obtained a camera so I made some photos. I am no photographer and I am just learning how to use it. Also, the light was down but I got a couple I am actually proud of. Also, I got many that are blurred but which I like a lot.
Also, I recorded a video (below) of her version of "Don't Speak", for me the best cover ever. Again, you'll understand that I used a photo camera and that this was the first time I ever recorded anything. Though, it is a hint of what you can get if you get hold with her albums or you get to see her live (she plays tonight in Gijón, and on the following time in Estonia, Poland and Germany); you can find all the info at her site, there is a mistake on the English version so I would trust more the Polish one (koncerty).
Oh, I have to say that Marek Napiórkowski, wow, that's a heaven of a guitarist.

The next morning was a relaxing shopping and walking at the Retiro day, were we run into one of the friends of Mal and we were delighted with lovely "Over the Rainbow" on the acordion.
In the afternoon I took a train to Tarragona. It was only 4 hours and I was expecting a very long very pleasant trip. It was pleasant and calm, indeed, but it was short. I love trains.

Many more things happened, many emotions, laughter, many smiles. New, hopefully, friendships: Gatchan and Mal (plus his plus two's).
I can't find the words... but, all what happened this weekend made me so happy. The way everybody has treated me. The fact that, for firs time, I puzzled something from scraps, i.e. the concert with people who weren't that in touch of her music, everything...
There are no words...
So I'll leave it at here.

Anna Maria Jopek - Don't Speak
Sala Clamores, Madrid, Spain - 21 Nov 06

Photos: 1 Bishops Park, Fulham, London, UK;
2. Image of a screan of my new camera that appeard
on the train to the airport. Taken by L(isf)G.
3 Chueca metro station, Plaza de Chueca, Madrid, Spain;
4. Anna Maria Jopek, Sala Clamores, Madrid, Spain.

Two coins of the same side

I went to my university yesterday for first time. Yeah, I know, this is the second year studying at this open university and I didn't go last year not one day a part of the examination days. I don't have to go as they are not proper classes, but help and guidance. Though, it is very nice to go, especially so you keep a schedule and you achieve knowledge on some time basis.

So I went. I have to say that, again, Renfe, Spanish train operator, made me wait almost an hour. I was with a school mate. I met her last year when I went to the first exam. It was great to catch up and, since the uni is so far away, we had time and time to talk about everything. So, we missed the first lesson but I had class for three of my four subjects. The other one, there is no class actually. [The one we had missed was the first half and we had the second half later on, so it was fine.] I am not going to bore you with what I study (or at least not know, since I have no clue of what I study, actually! LOL).
That is going to seem silly but one of my subjects is Catalan and the other is English. Taking into account that I study Spanish, it is actually funny! But the thing is that I took those two so I would have it easier to pass the course. With Catalan, I was wrong. It is actually quite of a thing. But English... well, as far as I have seen, there won't be much problem.
So my teacher. She is Swiss or Swedish. I didn't quite get it cuz she said something like "Back in Swiss..." which I was surprised of. Perhaps it is a kind of slang or she just pronounced Sweden so fast that I understood it wrong.
Anyway. The thing is that we got engaged in a conversation (I was the only pupil) and she was trying to convince me of things that I was totally sure of. Or things that I just don't like. Also, she said that my pronunciation of the word 'come' is wrong. I pronounce it more like with the 'o' of 'omelet' and she said that I should pronounce it like if I was saying 'cum'. Yeah, I know that some, perhaps most, of people say [kΛm] but, also, most of people say [mΛm] but you can't say [mom] is wrong cuz there are some loads of British who say it like that (have you seen "Calendar Girls"?). So this bothered me a bit. I know my pronunciation is horrible with this annoying Spanish accent (you lucky you read [with mistakes] me). Though, I don't like when people excludes some part of people because they don't speak standard. I am proud of my SEV (Spanish English Vernacular), if I can call it like that. The thing is that she said, also, that I should choose between American accent or the British one. First of all, I am not having a spoken test. So, I don't really care. Second, she had some American pronunciations and some British ones. How does she dare telling me that, then?
But one thing that bothered me a lot was the fact that she said Spanish Philology. Well, most of my friends don't use or even know the word philology (check second last entry). I've seen that some London universities call a similar degree to what I do as 'Spanish Studies'. Yeah, it is alright, since it is in the UK and speaking in English. But we were both also users of Spanish language and we could call it properly. My degree title will be on "Filología Hispánica". OK, it translates to Spanish and to Hispanic. Well, that's not really accurate. When we talk of Spanish whatever, we mean that of Spain. Yeah, you can understand also of part of South America, too, but, knowing the words, why not using them? So, since she was using 'philology', which no one uses, why didn't she used 'Hispanic', which no one uses either, if they are the real translations? I don't only study the language and the literature of Spain. I also study those things of the rest of Spanish speaking territories (including the US, of course).
The worse of everything, is that she told me that she had never heard the word 'Hispanic'. Well, dear, perhaps you didn't hear the word talking about philology, but, hey, how many times have we heard the word 'hispano' in a US movie?

In high school, we used to learn what is called 'false friend' like 'exit', which seems that is the Catalan word 'èxit', that translates for 'success'.
Also, we, non-English-mother-tongue-ers, use words that are very similar in our language even if it isn't common.

Anyway, "it is late and it wants to rain". Hope you understood what I just explained.

El tiempo

Bebe canta "que el tiempo corre, en patines, cuesta abajo y no tiene freno" y es que en mi caso, últimamente, parece que vuele. Pegas un saltito y de repente, cuando quieres darte cuenta, ya han pasado dos semanas (sin ir a la autoescuela) o dos meses (sin postear) o un año (sin ir a Londres) o dos (desde que volví).

Ufff...
Nunca he sufrido por los cambios de temperatura, ni de lugar, ni de tiempo ni nada en general de lo que se suele quejar la gente. Sí, por eso, siempre me he quejado de lo mucho que me cuesta acostumbrarme a una cama nueva o a compartirala. Pero este año, no sé si por causas de la acumulación de pensamientos en mi olla exprés o por qué, pero es que el cambio de estación me ha afectado/me está afectando sobremanera. Lo cierto es que estamos ya casi a mitad de noviembre y todavía puedo ir con camiseta de manga corta por la calle, cuando vuelvo del trabajo, a mediodía. Por la mañana no, por la mañana hace frío, a las siete y media de la madrugada cuando aún no hay nadie por la calle. A la noche vuelve a refrescar y ya me pongo la camiseta de manga larga para estar por casa. Pero aún no he sacado la chaqueta y me da pereza ir a mirarme una nueva, la que tengo ya está muy llevada.
Me gusta el frío y tengo ganas de que llegue de una vez.
Los huesos me han dolido como nunca me habían dolido antes. El cansancio me ha seguido allá por donde he ido. El sofá se me ha comido como si no hubiera comido en un mes. Y las cosas de mi "To Do List" se me han ido acumulando. Los pedacitos de papel, las notas, los artículos, los posts por leer... se han ido amontonando. Los temas por estudiar. Los tests por hacer. Y el tiempo pasa. Time goes by so fast. Life is passing us by mientras estamos ocupados intentando darnos cuenta de lo que sucede.
Y, de repente, la escusa perfecta. De repente, un ángel llama a tu puerta diciéndote "hola guapo" y tú te sorprendes. ¿Cómo no te ibas a sorprender? Si ya, con este sopor, no sabes ni entender el reloj de agujas.
El ángel ha entrado y ya estás tomando té. Té, con scones, quizás. Té con pastitas francesas. O quizás es chocolate con porras. Una cañita, un pinchito. Comer. Comer. Sopa, ya es tiempo de empezar a comer sopa.
El tiempo vuela, y de repente te das cuenta que el ángel se ha ido. ¿A dónde has ido?
Me estoy dejando llevar, algo impropio de mí; mi inhibidor no funciona por los imanes que me han regalado. Quizás esta es la manera de sacar el tapón. Quizás es la manera de aprovechar la vida un poco más. Agarrarme a este tren que me lleva a Madrid, haciendo escala en Londres.
Si todo fuera tan fácil... Pero es que el tiempo vuela y la vida me está pasando de largo (mientras te espero).

La imagen la he hecho yo a partir de una foto que
tomé en Holand Road, London, donde vivía en 2003.
No soy diseñador y me ha costado mucho hacerla.
Perdonar la imperfección.

Me acabo de dar cuenta de que hay un error en la imagen.
Pone 'foto' en vez de 'photo'.
Lo siento.