Escape

I escaped.

When your whole life is based on making every minute count, you start to look at time and opportunity in a different way. It is no longer about waiting for life to get back at you or about giving it away to contentment.The controversial part of finding your comfort zone is, it's acknowledging the moment to run away from it.There is never enough time if you plan on living for two, never a spare second to waste while breathing, when she couldn't. Never letting down can be a very lonely pathaway, exhausting and overwhelming. But that's the price for growing up.

Long story short,
I could tell you that's why I escaped.

Instead, to make things easier for you, I will just say, because I wanted to.

In between levels

There are those who wish to stay on the ground floor. With an eye on the doorway, they wear their heart on the sleeve and get all suddenly carried away by the wind. Easy-comers and -goers, who leave and forget locks unlocked.

Then there's those who prefer looking out from the window from higher up; hands holding thin air, cup of tea for rainy days. Never did they use the stairs, their head's always on the clouds, any way.

Not least important is the underground crew. They met in the shadows, saw clearer than ever, in candlelight they cherish intimacy.

I, for some reason, never found myself in elevators, missed the buttom, got blocked by closing doors. Managed to jump out, not without much effort, and missed the floor;

kept my heart always inbetween levels.

The plan

Some people might think I have all my life planned up.

Well, maybe deep down I do. Or maybe all our lives are actually planned up; call it destiny if you may, I just got that gut feeling about it. How can you know what you don't know? Well, I think sometimes you just need to follow your intuition, and carry along. And sometimes, it is about making a decision, and pushing for it. Be clear about what you want, and if you don't just know, figure it out. It is about it being crystal clear. About not forgetting who you are, who you were, what your aim was. Your essence, you.

After that, it's all just straight forward.

Belief

I was never a true believer, never had the time to completely understand or the maturity to grow belief. But reality has this way of breaking every one of those conviccions, stories of saved souls, of redemption and faith. You cannot blame me for cursing life and every holy spirit of the injustices in the world. You cannot corrupt childhood and expect loyalty.

They would say it was only a service, but the truth was the priest kept singularly referring to her soul; being loved, saved and always among us. And the mention of her name was tearing apart every wall inside my body, while flooding my eyes in silent transparent tears. It was no longer a phase, it was a state of never healing long-life grief. And the amount of people behind me just would not matter, the church, to me, was as empty as the service speech itself. No words could stop the storm above us, nor return the loss in our lives.

In some way, you feel betrayal in other people's faith. As if them believing was their commitment to an almighty party, responsible for looking the other way when there's suffering, violence and death. As if we should be thankful to a divine being for the love and health in our lives, but understanding i.e. tolerant of the unfair. 

At eleven thirty, Sundays, disagreement would arise. 
- My daughter will not go into that church with you to allure that big Lie that keeps you blind. I won't let you take her.
- She is too young to decide, she should be coming with me until she can choose for herself. It will only make her good, I want her company there as well.

Troubled eyes of disbelief hesitant of a decision too early for commitment. With a scaredly muttered  'no', I would turn around to my room, breaking my father's heart and letting him by himself. Not before glimpsing in his pupils the disappointment of a lonely Sunday path.

I guess I was never a true believer, because never did I feel myself grateful to believe in. And I guess your faith can help heal your soul; but sometimes, the damage is just irreversible. 

Reflectance

One day your life starts spinning faster than you'd even realise, and it is just not easy for you to follow up. You've been your entire life putting together an idea of who you are, what is feasible for you, the long-term image of you... All based on what you once were. 

But sometimes, within a very short period, your portray changes drastically, and the reference to you evolves. You now get to be taken for what you are becoming. For the new people into your life, that's you, the present and future you. That's all you ARE being. And maybe, they are right. 

In an instant, your reaction to situations will tell you more about who you are now, than any of your memories. 

And that, 

that's okay. 

Recuérdame

Parte I

El paisaje se precipita a través de la ventana. El cielo se oscurece y las primeras gotas de lluvía anuncian un día que ya comienza, otra mañana que amanece gris en Reino Unido. El tintineo del tren en movimiento deja caer los párpados de algunos, mientras otros, más emocionados, se debaten sobre cómo mejor emplear sus días de libertad. Los menos afortunados, alternan cafeína y Mac, con algún que otro bostezo entrecortado. Y tú, mirada perdida, repasas en tu mente cada tema de la agenda, al paso que la incertidumbre se agita en tu vientre liberando un cosquilleo. Aprietas la mejilla contra el frío cristal, justo antes de que el paisaje se cubra con un velo azabache, y la luz recién encendida del vagón, te devuelva una mirada ahogada en la ventana.

Los pasajeros, anulados de poder contemplar el camino, se ajetrean en un ir y venir constante al vagón cafetería; balanceándose con bandejas de café y té, mientras alcanzan regresar a su asiento, no sin esfuerzo. Algún valiente, prueba en vano la cobertura de su móvil o se frustra en actualizar sus notificaciones de la red social. Frente a ti, una niña dormita, suave respiración acompasada, en un sueño profundo, ininterrumpido desde que el tren partió de King's Cross, una hora atrás, dos, horario CET.

La salida del túnel devuelve la mañana al tren y la renovada cobertura a los móviles; y con ello, el rinrineo de llamadas en el vagón se une a un ambiente que despierta ya, con enérgico compás. A medida que los campos franceses son relevados por belgas, mis últimas revisiones de los planos, traen de vuelta la concentración a mi cabeza, el coraje anticipado a mis venas. En la penúltima parada, haces acopio de tu disperso equipaje y te debates si el primer paso a dar, es endulzar la mañana en la estación, antes de empezar la aventura.

Los motores rugen al detenerse el tren en el andén, tal disparo de salida a un frenético público, que en masa es reconducido al exterior; evacuación acelerada y apremiante. Sus mentes, ahora, en el ansiado destino. El taxi, conocedor de tu necesidad, aguarda al umbral de la estación; no tituvea, no importa el idioma en el que le abarques. En un respiro, el tren ha quedado millas atrás y tu destino se muestra ante ti, con empolvado y ensordecedor ajetreo diario.

Aprietas tus puños al bajar del taxi, tomas aire, y caminas hacia adentro.

Impulso

Siempre habías pensado que era mejor esperar a que la vida te sorprendiera. Que ella te iría guiando y haría de cada decisión una respuesta evidente. No haría falta debatir lo que por razón de ser era lógico en tu vida. Que lo mejor era dar tiempo al tiempo, cerrar los ojos y cruzar los dedos.

Aquello tiene sentido hasta que pierdes de vista el factor impulso. Cada movimiento necesita algo que lo impulse. Una hoguera no arderá sin una chispa que la avive; un cuerpo, en equilibrio, no variará su estado sin una fuerza capaz de hacerlo cambiar. Y aunque ese impulso nunca sepas realmente a dónde te va a llevar, es la fuerza motriz que te permite evolucionar. Ese pequeño, a veces insignificante impulso, es lo que a menudo te separa de aquello que ansias, convirtiéndo una zancada en un universo de incertidumbres, la duda en tu mayor obstáculo.

Siempre había pensado que sería capaz de tomar el rumbo de mi vida, si hallaba el rumbo a tomar. Hoy me pregunto si no me refugiaba en la indecisión, para no afrontar mi cobardía. Si tomar partido por mí era ser responsable de mi destino, prefería guardar bajo llave cada una de mis inquietudes, a verlas rodar escaleras abajo y sentirme vencida. 

Pese a todo, la vida tiene esa peculiar manera de hacerte girar como una peonza, en un infinito salón de danzantes títeres, para luego, en el momento más inesperado, dejarte caer de bruces contra tu indecisión. En ese instante, puedes desfallecer y perder la jugada; o ser espontáneo, un poco más valiente y arriesgar. 

All in.