To wonder

An empty jar of nuts sits on my desk. Everyday. It just sits there.

I edit, talk, drink too much water and wonder about all those long nights in Madrid,

how the cold wind took over the city and how those tall and cheap drinks made me happy.

I wonder about those tiny lonely streets filled with drunks and sad puppy eyes,

how I used to examine closely every tiny crack on the sidewalk before I got to calle Toledo.

To my cave. My place. The house of loud laughter. 

I wonder if that bartender in Malasañas remembers I owe him 6 euros. 

I still don't know how I lost my wallet that night. My crazy weekend. The last weekend.

I wonder where's my John Lennon tshirt and how it's holding up.
I still visit that apartment in my mind, every single time '1979' plays my mouth taste like calimocho.
Every single time I listen to Fito Páez's 'La casa desaparecida' the room smells like costo.

I really wonder about that pretty petite girl I kissed in Lavapies.
Does she have pretty petite children? Does she still smoke Fortunas 25?
Does she ever wonder about Jorgito in his hot and tiny island?

Maybe not.

I put down my ugly coffee mug, stare at my screen and stop wondering for a while.
I need to get back to editing.
Oh to wonder and daydream.
It's a crazy & nasty job, but someone has to do it. Right?   

A conversation that changed my life.

After 5 months without seeing a friend that lost his wife to sudden illness, I ran into him in a mall. I hate malls. We saw each other from the distance and decided to say hi, we shared a solid embrace, and had this small conversation:

FRIEND
How are you Jorgy?

ME
I'm alright, but I really wanna know how are you doing man?

He sighed, kept quiet for a second, I got nervous and felt bad right away. He looked right into my eyes and said the following:

FRIEND
Jorgy, my man, I'm trying to live my life exactly how I want my life to be.

...

He hugged my again and just took off.

I stood there in the middle of the people, in a filthy mall. I just stood there for a long time.
That friend shocked my existence to its core.

I forgot why I was even there and left the mall. After 10 minutes of just sitting in my car, my eyes began to get watery, I started the car and drove to my house, went to my room and got my Jujutsu uniform.

When I got to the dojo the class stopped and the sensei shouted:

SENSEI
Matte! everybody facing the door and salute the sensei, REI!

Everybody was really excited, even the students that did not know me.

I went in and practiced like it was my first day there. It was my first time there in a year after I developed a serious lower back problem. Turns out I was more afraid to get hurt again than anything else. They knew about my bad back, and really took care of me. Martial artist are one big family.

My life changed that day and I cannot express how angry I get at myself when I forget this story.

I found happiness that day, that part of me that I had pushed aside. I found part of myself that day.

Now, I tell myself that story everyday I wake up, I tell it to others and now I'm sharing it with you.

"My man, I'm trying to live my life exactly how I want my life to be"

What a scary and beautiful thing to try.

Let's all dedicate ourselves on being happy.

Why not?

My back is just fine now, it does what I need it to do. I lost the fear of getting hurt. I guess I can do that with many of things in my life.

It happens.

“We are
Born like this
Into this
Into these carefully mad wars"

Henry Charles Bukowski

It happens. Usually on thursdays like today. But it does happen. 

I remember the distinct smell of the green grass and roasted garlic taking over my home. My sweet home. Mom makes lunch, my dad tries to paint, my brothers argue and I sit on a corner listening to Jefferson Airplane. Butterflies are nowhere near, but some butter melts in a frying pan. That's enough for me. 

A mirror looks at me inspecting all my bruises, my white hair and this little black dog that shits everywhere. I take another cup of cold cold coffee and expect another rainy day to come, that rainy day that never seems to care for me, while that old singer keeps harassing my mind as I miss that painful smell of my childhood. 

This hard fought journey keeps getting to my bones, to the core of every rotten fruit on my fridge,

to that old man that just passed by barely making it to the next step. I mean, who walks anymore?

But there I am. There you are. The music in between, old poems written by drunks and hustlers and some cheap rum. Here I am, hiding before my gray hair and roasted garlic smell. And there you are always still, fun and broken.

This mean city will be here after we are all gone, so in the meanwhile let's cut some fresh grass and buy some good old butter. 

I read on a street wall "craziness is life". And so it is ladies and gentlemen. 

Bai. 

J.

23/mayo/2013