Life is happening everywhere at this very moment. Wherever you go you'll find people making transactions at the local market, laughing on each other, having a beer in the afternoon, playing soccer, or flirting at the corner. To an extent, I believe that creating beauty around us is a manifestation of "life happening". Taxi and truck drivers add stickers and hang decorations to their vehicles in Asia and South America, flowers are displayed outside homes in flowerpots or empty tomato cans in Spain, Colombia and Nigeria, Indian temples are covered in colorful dust, men in Rwanda wear golden watches matching their golden teeth, women wear lipstick and high heels to ride motorbikes in the mountain highways of Laos or to cross the Tijuana-San Diego border. Beauty dispels fear; it unifies and humanizes. A few years ago, at the peak of the Iraq war, a different image was shown during the morning (French) news, an old man was sweeping dust outside his grocery store in preparation to sell cardboard hearts and bonbons to celebrate Valentine's Day. When you think about this you might feel there is no place you wouldn't go. The biggest risk, as my friend Mario says, is that life could happen regardless of your involvement, and passes you by.
La Paz
It's raining heavily in La Paz, the noise of thunder blends with Cerati's Te Para Tres on the radio. Sylvia is still asleep and Johnny has already set the breakfast on the table. It's 1:00 pm and Radio Deseo plays a concert by Fito Paez and Luis Alberto Spinetta. Argentina has been the main provider to Latin America with an alternative soundtrack and identity to that coming from Hollywood. In comparison to Mexico, South America feels so independent of the United States and mostly relaying on what the region produces. A few days ago I met Mamerto Betanzos who was the producer of "Teatro de los Andes" for 19 years. "I travelled around the world preparing the ground for our theatre troupe to perform," Mamerto said, "so I lived a few months in Padua, Prague or New York setting the stage, promoting the show and selling all the tickets in advance." Now, back in Sucre, he assured me that there is nothing like Latin America, "we believe in community and our lives aren't centered in our jobs, but in enjoying time with our families." After a few seconds he confessed, "I chose work over family, I've dedicated all my life to theatre, and the troupe was my family." As I write, Johnny appears from his bedroom. "How did you guys sleep?" he asks, reminding me that as Mamerto, for the past years my life has centered around my job, and my colleagues and friends around the world have become my family. You learn to feel at home almost everywhere and love the people you spend time with; you give yourself openly in a need to establish meaningful connections. "It's a good life, you learn and grow enormously, but you need to know when to stop and settle," Mamerto said before saying goodbye. I think I could settle in Latin America. I've been daydreaming for quite some time of moving to a place like Uruguay for a year and just let life happen, without looking for it. Sylvia is awake now and Johnny invites us to the table to have breakfast: coffee and bread with cheese. Radio Deseo starts playing Mariposa Technicolor, giving me the perfect lyrics to finish this post. Todo al fin se sucedió, sólo que el tiempo no los esperó, la melancolía de morir en este mundo y de vivir sin una estupida razón.
...come to terms...
I’m freezing. The landlord hasn’t been turning on the heat lately. My guess is that Polina is watching Russian films in her room; she got back a few days ago and is still carrying with her the nostalgia of the other place. I’m about to sleep but for a moment stare at the stack of half-read books on my desk. The sight is daunting. When I was a little girl I tried really hard to start the new school cycle with an organized backpack and neat notebooks. To my eternal disappointment at the end of each school year my backpack was a mess, stained with ink and pencil, and the notebooks, missing a few pages, had notes in blue, black and sometimes even green ink. I tried really hard to be someone that I wasn’t and failed year after year. So, in that spirit and considering that today is the Chinese New Year, I have made up my New Year’s resolution: stop worrying about all the half-read, half-done, half-thought, half-everything. “Be kind to yourself”, I pronounce loudly as I type, “and come to terms with the fact that it might be fine to leave the bed unmade sometimes.”
Note to self: Get over the fact that this is who you are.
Which way to go?
Today is Christmas. We are driving through foggy-mountain highways crossing La Sierra Madre towards Xalapa. We drive quietly listening to some country music. Enrique, my Mom’s partner, stops to buy a bag of pig-shaped sugar cookies that people sell on the side of the road in this part of the country. “Do you remember the time we went to Veracruz for the holidays?” Pepe asks as I nod trying to remember a trip that happened more than 20 years ago. It’s hard to imagine how we pictured ourselves as grown-ups back then. “What is it next for you?” I ask as we take pictures of the cookies against the foggy backdrop. “I’m not sure.” He shrugs his shoulders. For the past two years he has been teaching at the School of Architecture in Mexico City, after living in Venice, Barcelona and New York. He has a love for knowledge that is only proportional to his lack of interest for a relationship. “I’m still interested in urban planning,” he says, and I know he hasn’t found his place int he world yet. Two days ago I was interrogated by some other members of our family, the usual questions intended to make you feel you’ve been driving in the wrong direction for the past 33 years. “It is terrible that cities are built around cars and not human interaction,”Pepe asks interrupting my thoughts and making me feel relieved that I have a cousin that even when he doesn’t know where he is going, he knows what he stands for. At 35 he doesn’t know nor is interested in learning how to drive.
Fruit flies
After doing the last Christmas shopping I sat at Sofia’s tounwind; bags were already packed and there was nothing else to do but relaxbefore flying early the next morning. Leo, the bartender, gave me a glass oftheir best champagne and while chilling at the bar I simmered into a millionthoughts. These last few days havebeen one of the few moments in which I’ve spent time with myself; a very much-neededsilence between trips and with just a handful of friends in New York. It was when Leo refilled my glass that everythingwas clear to me: I’m a New Yorker; my life is here; not somewhere else. I’vebeen living for so long with a longing for the other place, for the ones I leftbehind without acknowledging what I have built for me here. For a moment I thought about the fruitflies that appeared in our office a couple of months ago. They stand on our coffee mugs and annoyingly circulate infront of our monitors. “It feels that we’re working in Ecuador or India”,Lindsey would say trying to kill one. My theory is that we brought them from one of our trips and for a reasonthey are thriving in their new environment. What is needed to survive and grow?For the flies it seems that sugar and a cozy environment suffices. This is ofcourse considering that the metric is to survive and reproduce extensively andnot to be happy, fulfilled, loved, empowered, and so many other complexdefinitions of success. New Yorkis challenging, I don’t think I’ve ever felt as lonely anywhere else and theconcept of anxiety took a new dimension. At the same time it has given theopportunity to try my strength, friends have become family and it has seldom beingboring. To challenge oneself mightbe a good way of thriving. Althoughsome of us feel in the paradox of wanting to anchor and keep sailing, there isnot necessarily a dichotomy as we might find people to sail with. Probably, aswith the fruit flies, the wind of inspiration or a tourist will take me to anew port.