It´s been twelve years since I left Argentina. The initial idea was to leave for a year in order to do some work experience in Florida, USA, with the intention of coming back home and start a new University course. My mother, who was either hoping that I would never come back (mainly because she is one of those who thinks that everything works better abroad) or maybe because she had an intuition of what was going to happen, built a small storage room in my house, which in Argentina we call a "baulera". It´s like a little attic where I could keep all the things that were dear to me while I was away.
Since then, my life has been kind of a rollercoaster. I´ve been wandering through several countries, merging into their cultures and ways of life, feeling like one of its inhabitants, but never putting roots down...
I am currently living in Spain. I can´t exactly say that we have an idyllic love affair. Spain and I try our hardest to get on in every possible way. It offers me the climate I so long for, with almost 300 days of sunshine a year and only a few months of cool weather (in Argentina we could consider ourselves lucky if we get that temperature in early Autumn). It gives me the opportunity to make my dream of living near the sea come true.
It also tempts me with its fabulous food (I´d never eaten so much fish before I came here!) and seduces me with its cheerful people, who seem to close their eyes in difficult times and are always planning their next fiesta to forget about it all. I´ve met wonderful people, whom I´ll keep forever in my heart because they seem to have the amazing ability of making me feel surrounded by love even if they barely know me...
Even so, Spain and I don´t seem to be able to see eye to eye. Spain tries to convince me that it´s not its fault, that it is not always this way, that it was unfortunate that I arrived when the current crisis was just starting and that right now it´s not able to show me all its splendor. It asks me for more time, it promises to bare itself in all its glory as soon as the government, or mother Europe, allows it. In the meantime, it keeps me entertained teaching me its incredible history, letting me search the misteries behind its wonderful literature and gives me the opportunity (at last!) to study the long overdue University course. Spain has made sure to keep me here for at least another year and a half, hoping that it will be enough time for me to change my mind...
This is not a coincidence, not at all. Spain knows that it´s constantly competing with the great love of my life, London. I can feel its jealousy since I arrived, and so, it does everyhting in its hand to stop me from looking behind my shoulder. Spain wants me to realize that its virtues are far superior to those of its rival. It can´t understand what it is about London that I miss so very much. Is it working non stop 70 hours a week? Or living under a grey sky, in a place where one can feel lucky if there are two consecutive weeks of heat a year? Or maybe having to use an extremely expensive public transport that works whenever it feels like it?
To be honest, I don´t understand it a lot either... A good friend of mine, with whom I grew up and knows me better than anybody, always says that I am a "summer girl". In fact, she could never figure out why I was so hipnotised by London. She would say that partnership was like mixing water and oil. But, against all odds, London and I got along perfectly. We got along so well that I wouldn´t dream of complaining when my nuckles bled in winter even though I would wear two pairs of gloves. We got on so very well that I wouldn´t mind living in a reformed victorian house that resembled more a shoe box than a flat, which also cost me a fortune...London seemed to be aware of its disadavantages and so, it didn´t promise me anything. "This is what I have to offer, you are free to take it or leave it, I´m not going to force you to accept me", it seemed to say. And I accepted it, literally.
There, I could have the best of both worlds. If I grew tired of the cold and the rain, I would take a week off in the Algarve, Malta, Tunisia or Greece...London didn´t mind. It knew I would end up coming back. And once a year, it forced me to go back to my motherland, to avoid having me the rest of the year crying and moaning because I missed my friends and family. London understood the very core of my soul...
But, what has all this to do my storage room back in Buenos Aires? This year I had to travel there unexpectedly. The truth is, since I left for the first time back in 2000, the storage room had been barely untouched. In every visit, I would feel too lazy to see what on earth I had decided to keep so safely. I trusted that whatever I had kept, I must have had a damn good reason. So I used to open it and see the things that were at hand, which were always the same.
But this time, due to one of those funny jokes that life plays on you every once in a while, my mother asked me to look for something she was adamant I had put away in the attic twelve years ago and she now needed. I couldn´t remember keeping it there, but just to humour her I started to look for it. The funny thing was that as soon as I started opening box after box, I completely forgot the reason why I was digging up all these items in the first place.
Just like Mary Poppin´s bag (which, funnily enough, was going to be this blog´s title, but was already taken), I started to find all sorts of stuff I didn´t even remember existed, let alone having kept them there. Huge amounts of teddy bears, enough to open up a toy shop (well, some of them had been presents from some childhood sweetheart, but where the hell did the rest come from?). Some old high school material, little notes that my friends and I would pass each other in class making plans for the weekend or moaning that the boy we liked wouldn´t take notice of us, old letters, photographs (thousands of them! we are talking about the era before digital cameras!), videotapes of movies I used to consider masterpieces (what a fool!), clothes that I now hope nobody sees me in... And even a bow and arrow from a guarani tribe from Misiones!
This storage room, just like a Pharaoh tomb long forgotten and so full of dust that gave me my first allergy, turned out to be like a box of chocolates (you know the saying)...
What I´m trying to say is that this blog might be going the same way. I´ve been wanting to write for a long time, but never had the courage to start. Sometimes, politic news outrage me, other times I daydream about travelling to faraway destinations or going back to the ones that conquered my soul. Every now and then, some memories pull my heart strings or I might be moved by an outstanding piece of literary work. I have no way of knowing how my mind will work, therefore I can´t promise how this blog is going to turn out. For the time being, at least.
I apologise in advance for the possible ravings of my restless mind, and I also thank those of you who are willing enough to take the time to read my entries. Welcome to my, sometimes peculiar, way to understand life. Welcome to my particular "storage room".
Note from the author: I am aware that my english is a bit rusty. By no means this is an educational blog, it is just my way to stay in touch with a language I love so much. I apologise for any mistakes and welcome any form of constructive criticism.
No hay comentarios:
Publicar un comentario