Category: coming of age


I guess we all have years that sort of push us, that get us to the verge of not knowing where to start and where to end. This will be one of these years for me. I know it.

2016 is the logical consequence of 2015, and even though the past year brought me so many many good things, it also brought with it a lot of things and insights that have overshadowed this young year. The facts are all known. And hence, the remedy is at hand too. However, I need a break from all of what surrounds me now.

This being the fact, I decided to re-activate my English blog to keep track of what I’m doing.

I decided to take one year off. I need to for various reasons, and I have a lot of things on my mind right now. So this blog will serve the sole purpose of being something of a log book of the year 2016.

At this minute, these are very early stages of a much needed time-out and of a new phase in my life. Hoping that it will bring me wisdom, creativity, laughter and relief, as well as distance to certain things. Traumas that I need to let go.

The good thing about a Sabbatical is the whole tabula rasa notion, the freedom to let go and the ability to find new shores, new tasks and new skills.

The bad thing about a Sabbatical is the emptiness of a blackboard that you need to fill with useful content.

 

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Ok, no cuddling this time. No time for that. Straight full sex. Or said in other words: medias in res. I’ve really had it this week. Maybe, it’s the lunar constellation, maybe it’s fate, maybe it’s kismet, karma, call it whatever you like, but I’ve had so many weird experiences and no-go situations this week that I’ve seriously had it when thinking about the time I’m losing due to the negligence and poor behaviour of other people’s behaviour. My pain threshold has been pushed and scraped past or also being plainly crossed many times.

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I won’t go into details because this is personal, but fact is when you can’t keep an appointment for whichever reason (whether you did not like the appointment in the first place, whether you thought otherwise, whether the moon was in a bad constellation for you, maybe your chakra was out of tune, your cat was sick, or you were sick, or the whole idea was sick) it basically does not matter. What matters is you inform people when you are not coming. It is simple as that: this is basic. If on the other hand, you don’t find informing someone who came to see you helpful, so this other person does not know that you have no intention of seeing them, it is common knowledge this is basically downright rude behaviour and, basically, even by today’s low standards absolutely inacceptable unless you willingly want to annoy someone (in which case, bravo, this is way to go). Maybe I am naive, maybe I am still believing in Santa Claus, it does not matter. I basically tend to believe people what they say. This does make me vulnerable, and maybe I am an easy prey too for some people. I can see the downside in this behaviour of mine clearly. So maybe it was about time that I got shaken up a bit to make it clear that this time around, I need to adjust my asshole threshold level a bit… But on second thoughts, I really don’t want that. Yes. I am a sensitive person and I seriously want to stay that way. I don’t want to adjust myself to make myself less sensitive because some other people aren’t sensitive enough.

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Don’t get me wrong. This is not an ego trip. This post is so not about me, this is basically about how society is changing and why I find it difficult dealing with some of its worst outcomes. This is about the way in which so many people have morphed in terms of behaviour. It is so sad. It is seriously breaking my heart. I don’t like what I see. But beware that you don’t criticize this. Otherwise you are the weirdo forever and ever.

I might be a weirdo to some. Still… I am pretty clear on this one. Society is what people consent to make it. In other words, society is the product of all our commonground behaviour. And if this rude, insensitive, and pretty much asshole like behaviour is cementing itself as being acceptable then we don’t need to make any moral claims to the future… That will be a redundancy. This is the 101 of human behaviour. And it is slowly but surely getting lost.

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Everyone who I told this story, basically just shrugged and asked me “what do you want?”… “People are like this today.” No, I am sorry, they are most certainly not like that. I deny the possibility and I also resist the temptation of verifying it. The people I chose to deal with are my circle and in my circle I demand a certain standard, and the most basic understanding to me is that if you cannot make an appointnment, you at least pick up a phone and cancel. This is like the 101 your mum or your dad ought to have told you when you were little. And if not, hey, it’s still time to learn.

I am so sick of this shit. In Ibiza standards do tend to get lowered by the watering down of boundaries, by the mixing of different cultures and different standards.

So, I am going to tell you guys which kind of behaviour is really totally unacceptable:

1) not cancelling an appointment, and basically being a “no-show” – highly penalised in my book, I am dead serious. There are thousands of ways: phone, email, facebook, whatsapp, twitter (or even excusing oneself through a third person, even though this is pretty iffy… but at least it’s something)

2) being extremely late and not excusing oneself. I am not talking about the socalled academic 15 minutes. I am talking about serious time here.

3) not answering one’s emails – also not really courteous, respectful or nice… can be excused in some cases, but basically is neither welcome nor promising either.

4) Being closed-minded. Being hard of hearing in a metaphorical sense. Be a good listener – it does make such a big difference as people generally don’t want to listen anymore. They just want to tell things. The most challenging thing today seems to be to have an open ear for someone. I try it every day. And believe me, it is so rewarding. Whenever I do it, I feel I am being me, I learn sometimes something from doing it, and I get one step closer to being the kind of human being I aspire to be.

5) saying please and thank you in general… I feel terrible even having to write this down. But there are so many cases each and every day where I feel inclined to slap some people’s faces… and it just seems so normal to be impolite that you feel weird even being polite. And this is just soooo wrong… to me, this would go without saying that of course, you need to say thank you but there seems to be a tendency that some people might find this acceptable. I personally find this kind of thank you is very important as a motivation factor and therefore and also out of sheer courtesy ought to be said. However, society as well as their benchmarks are changing.

6) To be honest, truthful and still be polite, this seems to be today a contradiction in terms as it is. Either people slap you in the face verbally or they suck up to you. But you rarely get a moment of truth which is even made sweeter by someone who is actually capable of serving you some truth in a polite and understandable form. This is such a dying species. Please don’t become extinct. It is so important to have true friends who will tell you things, important things and still be able to remain your friends because they might do it in such a way that you can actually learn from each other. This is something I totally miss these days. There are hardly any people around who combine both properties.

7) Be moderate. People tend to brag about themselves so much. Where is moderation and modesty gone? I sometimes don’t believe the exaggerations I tend to hear. Basically, this means that you need to reduce everything you hear by someone from outside your circles by a certain ratio. This is truly exhausting. Actually, you could even say… that lying is becoming trendy.

8) Being helpful. This is again a dying species in mankind. DO not always think first in the good someone else can do for you. Think first and foremost in the relation that you might be having with any given person. See the person. Do not see them directly as a competitor, as an enemy, as someone who might steal your show. This actually is so annoying.

9) Be respectful. I know there are a lot of moments when I lose my temper and I might also not be overly respectful to some people and I feel ashamed for it. But the mainstream of today’s world seems to be – the less respectful you are, the farther you get. This is bullshit. Try learning, try studying, try outsmarting people. That’s the way to go. And don’t think you’re better than someone else. First of all, it is all relative. Secondly, respect your fellow men. And thirdly, does it really matter?

10) Be kind. Kindness is something I am really missing big time in the new century. Kindness used to be all around. And the past 12 or thirteen years or so I have the feeling that kindness is often mistaken for weakness. As if kind people could not be strong… Or that tough people need to be unkind and therefore they show their real tough nature. This is so wrong. That’s again skindeep.

11) Don’t judge people. Who are you to judge someone else?

12) Don’t insult or write flame-mails to people. I am serious. This is the worst. Things are somewhat seriously getting out of hand. It went that far that I did not want to open my email account but I can only say. There are lessons to be learnt here. I don’t know which ones yet.

I am so not a preacher. And I don’t want to be one either. But I needed to vent in this case. And be sure, I know, I am so not in the position to preach anyone either. I do a lot of wrong things my end, believe me. But, at least, I am aware of it and I try to mend, I try to become better, someone nice and someone I would truly love to meet. If this were the maxim, if this were the bottom line, then we all could not go wrong. If we all became just a little the people we ourselves would love to meet in the street, at the school meeting, in the press conference, in the board meeting, at the music concert, at the gas station.

Little changes. If everyone does their bit, we all might get along better, and this little could go a long way.

 

 

I would really love to get feedback on this one here. How do you feel about the way that society is changing slowly into?

Suicide and bullying / The breasts of Angelina Jolie – truth and nothing but the truth please

This is going to be an article that is dual. I wanted to write about suicide and bullying, so I will. But another thing that has recently been on my mind was the case of Mrs Angelina Jolie who showed some breast cancer awareness or at least tried to shock people out of their lethargy by communicating about her drastic move to have both her breast glands and breast tissue removed to prevent a very rare form of hereditary cancer. I will get back to that later. I promise.

Suicide and Bullying will come up soon. There is a sad reason behind it. Very recently, a Young man of 20 was found dead (I won’t go into details out of respect for the relatives of this Young man) in the Sant Mateu / Sant Miquel area. This is a very quiet and rural area. You can find sheep here, orange and olive trees. You can walk through some wooden areas, climb some small hills, but one thing which is really difficult in that area is to feel not at ease when you step outside and take a walk. It is the best anti-depressant I would say. The more shocking I found it when the Young man first was missed… Then his friends organised a search with GPS and what not, but then his lifeless corpse was found. It is very sad indeed. Rumour has it that he was suffering from heartbreak. This is a very typical age, and a very typical reason to commit suicide. Don’t think I was making fun of this. I am dead serious. I have had the bad luck to be around suicidal people quite often, and some of the early signs, some of the things they say before the go, this is something you never quite forget. THe thing is… Suicide is something nobody likes to talk about.

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And it is true why should we? We are the winners, we are the survivors. We are the ones that keep a brave face, keep a stiff upper lip until sometimes that lip starts to tremble and we fail in life. And some of us feel more lonely, more lost, more caught up in their situation than others. And yes, you guessed right. How can she know? Yes, I have been in the situation before. I too have been contemplating it more than once. The thing with suicide is you don’t do it at one. There are very rare cases that people have a very short fuse and they have something bad happen to them and they go out and kill themselves. No. It does not work like that.

You have one bad thing happen to you. You keep going. You have the second thing coming. You swallow. You keep going. THere seems to be a collection of bad things that may happen to you. And each and everyone is different. But depending on your personal pain and suffering threshold you may react differently. And that’s human. THe thing is when people talk, when people tell you that they are contemplating suicide it is high time to keep a good eye on them. Chances are that this is not the first time they have thought about it. Then, you start to think about how to kill yourself.

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I don’t want to make this a macabre dance of death blog post. I do believe that we need much more awareness on suicide. I remember that when I was 10 I was first confronted with a a-level student who threw himself before an incoming train. That was gruesome, traumatic and the teachers just told us because they were taught to be honest with us. I of course never quite understood at the time why this always smiling nice and educated student killed himself.

So, there is another thing. Suicide does not mean, that there is a person wearing black, it can just as well be someone you would not in the least suspect to be suicidal. It all depends on their coping mechanisms.

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Suicide does not mean you are weak.

It basically means you have been strong for a way too long time.

There are lots of boring statistics about suicide. That most suicides are committed by men. The highest suicide rates we have in adolescent males, followed by Young men. Young women are right behind men and now catching up. Sad story.

Please. Whenever you see someone who is shutting up. Who does not talk anymore. Who does not play his/her favourite band, who is giving away things, and saying goodbye to people, who is telling things like “… would be better without me”, do take that serious.

Lastly, I can only say. Even an area like the Sant Miquel or Sant Mateu area is just another microcosm of the big macrocosm earth, so of course, we have suicides too. Maybe not as many, because the absolute numbers are much smaller, but then again, a human life is a human life.

And if you can save one life, do it.

Do it now. Do it tomorrow. Do it whenever. But do it.

Be there for someone. Be someone who is listening. Be someone who is not turning away.

Ok, that was technically yesterday. Nevertheless I thought about which ten books I really devoured as a child / teenager and why I would recommend them to others no matter what.

Here is my run down:

1) Der kleine Vampir by Angela Sommer-Bodenburg (The Little Vampire)

2) Die Vorstadtkrokodile by Max von der Grün

3) Die rote Zora und ihre Bande by Kurt Held

4) The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn by Mark Twain

5) Harriet the spy by Louise Fitzhugh

6) Die Abenteuer der schwarzen Hand by Hans-Jürgen Press

7) Robinson Crusoe by Daniel Defoe

8) Pippi Langstrumpf by Astrid Lindgren

9) The secret diary of Adrian Mole, aged 13 3/4 by Sue Townsend

10) The hitchhiker’s guide to the galaxy by Douglas Adams

11) The treasure island by Robert L. Stevenson

12) The three investigators by Robert Arthur

13) Das fliegende Klassenzimmer von Erich Kästner

14) Lord of the flies by William Golding

15) Le Petit Prince by Antoine Saint Exupéry (The Little Prince)

16) Winnetou I-IV by Karl May

17) Die unendliche Geschichte by Michael Ende (The neverending story)

18) The Third Wave by Ron Jones (Die Welle)

19) Alice in Wonderland by Lewis Caroll

20) The last man alive von Alexander Sutherland Neill (Die Grüne Wolke)

21) The catcher in the rye by J.D. Salinger 22) Sherlock Holmes by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle

The listing from 1 – 22 does not represent any form of ranking, it’s just the order by which they came to my mind.

In case you don’t know these books and want to find out about what they are, just give me a shout, and I will expand on any of these.

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I have found other books that I quite liked for children. These ones here:

1) When sheep cannot sleep by Satoshi Kitamura 2) Hexi Lili by Knister 3) Am Samstag kommt das Sams by Paul Maar 4) Tintenherz von Cornelia Funke

When Sheep cannot sleep

I am sure there are still a lot I am missing right now. Plus I did not separate them regarding to their respective age groups. But nevertheless, whenever we remember how colourful we remember our first memory of children’s books, this is a tradition we should try to pass on to the next generation.

When you have children’s books I should know about, please comment here.

Thank you.

You have classics such as Carlos Castaneda “The teachings of Don Juan”, you have William S. Borroughs “Naked Lunch” and then there are Kathy Acker “Blood and guts in highschool” and tons of people who tried to jump the bandwagon. In the 90’s we have Irvine Welsh who is not just the “Trainspotting” but also the author of “Acid House”… But probably one of the more unknown ones, there is an 80’s novel by the back then still unknown American author Bret Easton Ellis. He wrote this novel at age 21 and it’s called “Less than zero”. Later on, it was made a movie with Robert Downey Jr. who himself quite often struggled with being on and off drugs.
I want to talk about this book since it was an eye opener for me. In many ways.

Back then when it came out, I was still at school when it came out. But as soon as I lived in Ireland I would make sure to read it.
I actually first read the book and then saw the film.
The whole book is a good sized package. It includes so many good streaks about modern western society that you cannot even say it is purely a drugs book because it would not be true.

Ellis lets us into the heart of American culture. Their obsessions, the silence within families that asphyxiating silence, and the pure hedonism of a youth centered culture.

It is still an easy read and a fast paced novel. At the end of the day, you see a group of friends shaken and faced with being part of a system that is pretty glamorous on the outside but sometimes proves to be a pitfall, and allows for more and more people to stumble, fall and not get back up again.

The part of Julian who is the heroic anti hero, the guy whose life falls spectacularly apart is so heavy that sometimes you keep asking yourself how Downey Jr was able to carry this off with such lightness and with such ease and charme.

Anyone who is wondering about the term spoilt brat, brat generation or generation x should read up on Ellis. He wrote for the generation x. For some Ellis is THE generation x author. The generation x covers the between 1965 -1975 born ones. It is a narrow generation but neither before nor after did we find ourselves inmidst a maelstrom of cultural decadence, affluence, and the feeling that everything would be possible some day not too far away, and these kids lived by it and through it. Let’s face it… My generation, we were growing up in absolute affluence, and the sometimes insane feeling that anything was possible. As long as you had the money to buy it, hire it or do it.

In gold digger terms: Boomtown years. The years of 1985 until 1999 more or less. I would make the cut here. You could argue and include 2000 but there was already the sign of an decreasing economy so I would just go as far and include 1999. In any case, 9-11 was the already a totally different era.

I will expand on the historic dimension and also on the impact of politics, terrorism and education another time since it would somehow make this article expand too much, but the crucial point is this: we – our generation – took the drugs because… Just because.  We simply could. It was a juvenile try out. It was somehow recreational. Like people do wellness or yoga. Speed, acid and pot were the yoga and bling bling of the mid-late 80’s and throughout the 90’s.  The money was there. Jobs were plenty. People were well off. Cold war had ended. There was no imminent war with anyone except for the gulf war. Everyone was relatively rich in the 80’s and beginning 90’s. So… The brat generation was born. Douglas Coupland called us generation x. But I find brat generation much more apt cos ours was the first ever generation after ww2 that was totally free in terms of freedom of speech, had received good education, was not forced to make do, but was rather encouraged to spend more time studying, and this would pay off, and still even students had plenty of money and other amenities through their parents, through society and the way the world was in. The basic word that comes to mind would be squander.

The funny thing is… 2000 was already the end of the dot com area and the high fly dreams of many many people.

So, just in case you should also belong to the generation x or brat pack, go out and read “Less than zero” and you will understand many things, looking into the rear mirror so to speak.

Plus it is a fast book that gets you hooked from the first moment. One thing I very much liked about Ellis and his style was that his stories sound like reality. These people are pretty much all out there. The situations too.

Julian is a true anti-hero, a lost boy, a kind and very weak character. Even though someone should protect him, he finds himself on a trip, caught in a downward spiral and we become voyeuristic witnesses of what he has to go through. The end is something very un-american and that is why I like so much about this book.

This is one of these books that you read, then put it aside, pick it up again and re-read it.
It is a very good novel about friendship, decadence, power and power abuse, drugs and the  principle “the show must go on”.

If you are afraid of reading a “drug book”, take it easy. “Less than Zero” is a read that shows and combines drugs, social decline and misery, but it is not as outspoken as others books earlier mentioned.

Should “Less Than Zero” be too lame and too boring, too harmless for you, try “Naked Lunch” instead.
Having said that, I do not find it lame or boring in any way, it is subtle. I really prefer “Less Than Zero” to “Naked Lunch”.

In case, you are interested in the urban novel, try and read Jay McInerney. “Bright Lights, Big City”. Here we have a sweet case of love, heartbreak and obsession. The coke he is snorting, the affect that the drugs have on him and the constant partying is a sideline but it is like it is an antagonist of the story-teller. Another generation x novel.

I can just see myself from an angle, others might have seen me from. When the words popped out of my mouth. I had been trying to keep things quiet over this one since I knew this would end in endless questions…

“I am going to live in Ibiza from December onwards.”

It is so funny, it feels even now as if it had happened yesterday. First, the opening: These stares of disbelief. These questioning gazes. Like I had really completely lost it. Then, the main course: the inquisition. I felt like I was either a woman accused of witchcraft and to be burnt at a stake or a heretic. As for dessert, there would still be the worst, those ones who pat you on the back, congratulated you on your decision and then were bitching behind your back. This is so remote in a way, and yet still so near in another.

It is weird. To the day, these are exactly five years I have been living now in Spain, or more specifically, in Ibiza.

When I decided to go all the way, the scenario was really tough. So many questions, so many doubts. It made me doubt too, that much I have to tell you. I was not all too sure I would be a winner. All of a sudden, people thought that at 36 I needed some mollycoddling, or worse: a nanny, someone to watch over me so I would not be a fool in bringing up two innocent children. Obviously, I was not to be trusted. It was ridiculous. My kids were 2 and half and five and a half when I left our home in Cologne. I went away in a dark and cold December night. It was all well planned. I thought I would start to cry cos surely I would miss my husband, but somehow, I knew that this was the beginning of something good. Something that required my highest level of concentration. I was so poised. So keen to experience something else beside bringing the kids to kindergarten and being at a dull office job from 9 to 5, only to be kicked out since I was just not used to some hen fights in the subterranean office hierarchy. I felt such a failure. It was not right. I had had a real career before and now I was being kicked out like I was no good. I wanted to prove myself. I wanted to conquer the world once more. Luckily, Berno knew how much it meant to me that I did not have anything to keep my mind busy. I could not sit around day in day out. I truly felt such an emptiness inside. I had given up writing years before. I seemed to exist as a mother, a bad example of a mother. One that does not rejoice in simply bringing up the kids. One that needed a career. God, I felt so empty inside. A void that nothing, but really nothing could fill. Nothing except for a huge challenge. Time for change. Change of habits, change of lifestyle, change of surroundings. But do you tend to say these things to your friends? no, I guess you don’t.

And in fact, I did not either. I felt out of sorts, out of place. I felt cheated. Someone had pushed me off the big ferris wheel they call job market. I went on about the bad situation for mothers who want to return to a job, the slim market chances of a mother of two in Germany to find a qualified job.

If I am being perfectly honest and true to myself the situation is this: I could have done the same thing that I do now in Spain, much easier in Germany, but honestly: I did not want to stay in Germany. I had grown bored somehow. Boredom is the worst disease of all, You start taking things for granted. So, in the end, I threw all things out the window, and I called it a day. I did not have the guts to go through with it in the old country. I was fed up. Maybe, I needed the kick, the extra challenge. The adrenaline rush. Maybe. But there was also this strong yearning for Ibiza. There was this island, like an energy source that had some incredible magnetism for us.

Berno, my husband, was staying put in Germany cos someone needed to keep working, keep the money coming in, while I would be testing the water and also be trying to find a job which I did, after only two months and being a “single mother” for all the Spaniards knew at first sight. See if living there would prove to be the right decision.

What can I say. It did. It was the right decision.

Despite all the initial problems we encountered, we somehow did it. We are still here. And we don’t want to go away. Despite the bleeding crisis.

I feel that for us as a family but also for us as individuals, Ibiza has given us plenty of good things. So many good things that happened to us. I see this whole journey as a means to finally do the things we wanted to do while not feeling observed all the time.

People thought so many things about all of this. It was kind of amusing. But then again. If people have nothing to bitch about, that’s what makes them angry. So, once I’d find out what they needed, I’d give them just enough to keep their mouths busy, and just enough to keep the wolves at bay.

“How could you do that?”

Ah, how many times have I heard this utterance? Like it was my fault or something.

“But what about your children? What about your home, your flat? But what about your marriage?” These questions were not simple questions. They were dum dum bullets.

Guys, you don’t really listen when I say things, no? I did not say I was leaving my husband, I did not say we split up. I simply said that I am going away for a while and see if it’s a viable option to go and live in Ibiza. And so, of course, I took the kids, since Berno would stay in Germany. How else could we have done it? We did not have any savings so it was the only way to do it.

And yet… Funnily enough, this here happened:

“Ibiza? You mean this party island where all the youngsters go to make a night of it with all the parties and drugs, the free love and the hippies?”

“Ibiza, yes. Well. The drugs and parties is only half of what is true. But yes, Ibiza.”

People would then tend to take a good look at me then. Some of them would even look at my kids like they were sorry for them cos they had such a lunatic mother. Many people were looking at me like I had completely lost my mind. And some of them even spoke out what some of them must have been thinking.

“So, Berno stays here?”

“Yup. Stays here. For the first time. And then, we will see how things go. And we will take things easy. Work it out step by step.”

I really hated those inquisitive looks. These insinuating seemingly harmless questions… They were the worst to my mind.

But fast forward to now… What has happened in between?

Was it worth it?

I would say: Heck yes!!!

I am still here. Actually, I seem to free myself finally of so much mental baggage it is just incredible. Berno is learning Spanish, he is holding down a job. I a, learning Catalan, and I am kind of doing three different jobs and projects whenever possible and so we keep our heads above the water somehow. Of course, in Germany we had much more money. But we were not happy with the life we were living. Yeah, maybe that’s true. The fat years are over, but that’s not just for us, it is basically for everyone. But that’s ok by me. Honest to God, I sometimes wish, we would have more money for travel and that, but other than that… I could not be happier if I tried. We have everything we could want for.

We live in Ibiza.

We are happy, we are sane and we are healthy.

Our marriage is still not down the drain despite the fact that so many people believed this when they saw me driving away in a car with two young kids. Of course, Berno seemed to be the poor husband left behind. Well… If people want to believe shit, they just do that, no matter what. So I don’t care too long about what these people say. I learned that the hard way. Sometimes, it is better not to know about these rumours.

To be honest. Ibiza was probably the best decision I could have come up with in terms of mental freedom, and personal development. Here in Ibiza, I could just do what I always wanted and be what I wanted to be. I kind of made a quantum leap. Ibiza gave me the protective shield and the energy to do that. Everyone here is so flipped out, so creative, the truth is that in Ibiza, anything goes. If you are “normal”, you are boring, so that is Ibiza’s secret how to get you going. It is a haven for people from all walks of life, so many different nationalities, so many artists and also craftsmen.

Ibiza really inspired me to become “me”. I know this sounds weird. But that’s the way it happened. And this is just the beginning of a process. I can feel that I am developing right now. As a person. As an artist. As a writer. For in the past I used to be someone who would be my own worst critic. I was always holding myself back. Always thinking: no, cannot do it. You are not good enough. Always putting my foot on the brake instead of the accelerator. Instead of trial and error, I was hiding beneath the kitchen table. I was so afraid I could fail.

Now, it seems I found the accelerator. And that is not bad at all. I seem to have matured. At last. At long last. Bloody hell. 41 is a quite an age to see yourself become slowlu but surely an adult, to be coming of age. But it is true. That is exactly what these 5 years were good for.

What else is there to tell?

5 years have seen stumble into a deep deep recession. The world is no longer the same after the downfall of Lehman Brothers Bank and the banking crisis in October 2008. Ever since then, they have been trying to get back on track. But it becomes worse and worse. The terrible thing is that the people in Spain don’t have any faith in the future now. The only thing that keeps them going is the independence of Catalunya which is something I could see on the horizon.

—–

The little girl lost finally woke up and rubbed her eyes to see the world in its whole beauty and also with its neverending cascades of possibilities. And I decided. I no longer procrastinate.

Ok, I gotta explain this. Procrastinate. That was a term we used a lot at uni when we were discussing Hamlet and the way he tarries. He is consuming time. He is biding his time. When he stops procrastinating, the drama is put into action. The real action begins here.

So, back to the topic. Ibiza and 5 years of my life. What does it feel like?

It is a good feel. I guess I belong here. I can relate to the people here on the island. Some of them are so incredible and so friendly it is hard to believe. You need to wait a while until they learn to trust you, but once they trust you, that is a moment like an epiphany. It is like belonging to their big clan. It really feels like home. Island people always seem to be like that. Caring and somehow a bit like the godfather thrown in. 😉

Anyway, we are happy here. And our kids could not be happier for all we know.

Even if we are no longer rich and well off… If we just scrape by. I kind of enjoy it.

Before, I admittedly, panicked here and there. And then I kind of started to think. What is the worst that could possibly happen? You run out of money, and you go back. That’s all. Maybe with the tail between your legs, but hey, at least you tried.

And guess what, that kind of triggered an enormous will to survive and to make us somewhat more resilient, so we do not ever take things for granted anymore. And that is something we should have learnt a bit earlier in our lives.

But maybe, we were all just spoiled brats back then. When I look upon my old life, I seriously, I really don’t want it back. And I don’t even want to have the carelessness with money. I hate that today. So many people are out of a job and they are struggling just like us. But hey, somehow, you always make it till the end of the month.

—-

I think I might be baking a cake with the kids. One that has a big fat 5 on it. And they will know why.

PS: One thing I feel kind of bad about is that we – even though we are all Europeans – cannot vote in this country not even on a communal basis. The only thing we are allowed to vote is within Sant Joan (one of the five districts of the tiny isle of Ibiza… I personally find this insulting and humiliating). I would love to be able to do just that. To vote. I always voted.
Right now, it is a hell of an important time. It is a historic moment. Catalunya could really break away from Spain. What would happen with the Balearic Isles then? I wonder. But that is a question I will answer in some other blogpost.

I will do something now that I normally never do: I will tell you just at the beginning, that this is quite a long and tedious posting. I bet you will not like it. Better find a different blog. This one is really lame. If you are not interested in reading anything truthful, yet serious and about waylaid sex, about love and lust, pleasure and pain, mixed up sex orientation in teenagers and twens, then, don’t read this post. If you are willing to read it, get in, and enjoy the ride.

Sometimes I am being dragged, whoosh, all over the place since our teeny weenie dog Cedric is no longer so teenie weenie like before when we first had him in August. Actually, he makes sure that I get out a lot and get a good share of long walks which is just fine by me. He eats and sleeps a lot, but mostly he is full of energy and wants to play a lot. Our little garden patch did not last long under the new garden architecture that he introduced. He either loves or he hates lavender. I love it and I am kind of sad that he dugged out all the little plants. And he developed a good hunting instinct, also he is now a force to be reckoned with, and I do have to run after him since my natural authority somehow seems to wash with him only in connection with little yummy treats (ehem). Well, still, we are working on that one.

So, as I was saying, when I am walking alone which does happen lots of times, my mind just wanders and I really start to forget about the daily grind. My mind is immersed in so many unfiltered thoughts, I am sometimes amazed at what thoughts I come up with. Like I said, I truly and deeply relax as others might relax doing an apple cake with cinnamon, driving a motorbike, diving a coral reef, having a karate training, trying out a new lipstick or having a bubble bath or swimming naked on your favorite beach or reading a book you really like. Last time I was out on my own, it really came to me that I should sometime start and write down a bit of an autobiography, you know, the stories, the people, the things that made me the person I am today. It is not that I am so much in love with myself (working on that one, too) that I think I need to have a keepsake of my oh so important life, no, nothing like that. No. To me, it is rather a quest to understand why I am sometimes really exhausting, a bit eccentric and so hard for others to understand. I know this might sound a bit weird, but in a way, I tend to be proud I am different. But then again, in other moments, I just wished I would have had a different background, a different youth and a diferent set of cards right at the beginning. But then again, what can you do?

That’s water under the bridge now.

Some say this is karma. Some others don’t give a toss. I tend to belong to the others. The point I very awkwardly am trying to make here is that we are who we are. No matter how much we hide it, no matter how much makeup powder we put on, no matter what our aspirations are, no matter how much we try to turn ourselves into others and try to appear in a different light, we still are what we are.

Again, where am I going with this train of thought? I guess, I am trying to say that even though I can sometimes demanding, I can be pretty egoistical, sometimes even a bitch at times (there, I said it), perfectionist to the point of a mild obsession. My husband would now laugh if he would read this, mild??? You must be joking.  I can even hear him say it right now. Ok, scrub it, so instead: a wild obsession. That better, honey? Ok. For the sake of avoiding any marital dissonance, so it is.

Anyway, while I was out with the dog, I asked myself, if I would be me if I hadn’t had all these ups and downs, experienced all the things I did, enjoyed, suffered and lived through a great many, wild, crazy, and sometimes really not so funny situations. Would I still be me? Sure I would. Silly question. But the “I” of the presumed presence would be different to the “I” of the really historic “I” and therefore, we shall never know. So, again, in terms of a philosophical and also psychological perspective, we need to view things from an empiristic point of view. We humans are all unique, because of our genes but more so because of our experiences and our senses. We have our little traits, we all have our talents, and for sure we all have our flaws, we all have our fair share of virtues, but also of vices. Life would be damn boring, if it wasn’t like that.

Will you show me yours, if I will show you mine?

That is probably one of the oldest games between children of the opposite sexes. Why are we so damn attracted to look at the genital region of the opposite sex? Well, yeah, I know, there is quite an obvious reason, but honest, I swear I did not mean that. Anyhow, as children we hardly knew anything about it, so that cannot be the only reason for it either.

I truly have no remembrance of such an encounter (there was something, but it looks kind of blurred, hahaha), but I imagine that this is something we all try to understand, why are we humans built in two different models. Why did life itself come up with a set of two different sexes, why are there boys and girls, men and women? I haven’t got the faintest clue to be honest. But it sure is fun, isn’t it?

To be dead honest, I have always been interested in this topic, ancient as life itself. Listen up. I have a thesis. If we were equipped with all the same standard material, it would a) be not any fun at all unwrapping christmas presents if you get me. It would just be like, oh yeah, I know. I got the same. Nice meeting you. Bye bye. b) there would be no mystery involved. I have the theory that love itself is about overcoming the difficulties of understanding the opposite sex. Half of it is trying to make yourself understood, and the other half is chemistry.

But since we happen to have been blessed with such a funny equipment, we tend to be more adventuresome. We tend to be proud of what we are. Are we?

Are we really?

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Well, I guess it really depends. Which part of the world you were born in. Which family you had the luck to be born into. If your parents wished for a boy / girl (vice versa). These are all criteria that can make life easy for you, or it can make life hard.

I remember that when I grew up, I had a strong sense that being a girl was only second best. I had two brothers. I was the middle child. I was the odd one out. I remember now that I quite seriously wanted to be a boy. I mean don’t get me wrong, I was not transsexual. Only thing is that I did not feel at ease being a girl. I never knew my lines being a girl. Do you get me? That my mother gave me always the trousers that were quite worn out from my older brother, did not make this any better. I was always a bit of  a tomboy. I climbed trees, I was very good at short distance running. I wanted to learn judo. I tend to get into a fight for nothing to show off my strength with the other boys in the  streets.  But as the years progressed, boys started to look at me wondering who I was. That was pretty weird. I kind of felt I was somewhere in the middle. I felt like a girl but something within me shouted “let me please disguise as a boy”. I wanted to make myseld invisible since I felt so insecure.  I even looked quite boyish by nature, my features were kind of unisex, which did not make things easier at all for me. Kids I had never seen would shout at me in the bus and ask me if I were a boy or a girl. Some others would call me names. I would not answer. One part of me happy I was not easy to figure out, the other part of me was afraid my voice would give me away. Then, when a sturdier boy would came after me, trying to beat me up, I would run for dear life. Like I said I was always very good at short distance. Childhood for me was not a safe place. My parents were both working. They were hardly at home. But one thing they always made sure was to show me that girls were not allowed as many fun things as boys. Don’t get your clothes dirty. You should be home by that time. You are a girl. Girls don’t do that. That was such a screaming injustice that I now know that it really wasn’t a sexual identity thing at all, it was a mix up alright, but rather all mixed with the thought of a child who came to understand that girls don’t get as much freedom as boys. So, that was the natural solution. I wanted freedom and be able to do all the nice and wild things boys were allowed to do. So I needed to act and look like a boy. Nothing else.

 

Looking back on it now, this might seem an odd memoir, but what I really wanted to say is this. What ever you wish for, be it a boy or a girl. Whatever your tradition is, please don’t let your children suffer the same shit as me. I do believe, that life could have been easier if I hadn’t had this twist in my personal history. Much much later, I got to understand that I was really a girl. And that it is nice to be a girl. I did come to like it. That much is true. And it does not necessarily have to be defeat if you start crying, or if you feel helpless and you admit to it. I grew up in a weird testosterone dominated environment where girls did not count at all and boys were everything.

Right now, I think that I have overcome it. Ten years ago, I was still quite unaware of it. It was dormant, hard for me to admit it, to even to speak about it, let alone give it away that I felt insecure being a girl/woman. Today, I can rationalize it, I can vocalize it and I can understand the patterns of behaviour. I can even laugh about it.

At university, this drama of a mixed up identity or a missed female coining, kind of persisted. Due to my sexually confused behaviour, I was often dubbed the ice princess. I came over being aggressive and yet still kind of unattainable. The talk was I might be bisexual. God, even I did not know this rumour. I spelled trouble. I got many dates, many of them with really sweet boys, but I just could not bring myself to find the right tune. I did not know the right key to hit a strike. At night time, I went out a lot. I tried out a lot. Sex, drugs and rock´n´roll. Yes, I had between 19 and 23 my fair share of madness and mayhem. I somehow tried to win back all the time, and the experience my peers seemed to have achieved in their late teens while my Greek father was watching over my every step. Moving out at 18, I plunged head over heels into life, an unknown source at the time. For me that was a very intense period where I was rarely left on my own. I did not want to be alone. But most of all, I wanted to see what I had been missing.

I craved life itself. It felt like I had been living an ascetic life. Something which is probably true.

So, I did it all. I kicked and screamed. I kissed and scratched at the surface. I drank from the golden cup. I did not leave out one foolishness. No. I guess I did them all. Sometimes I dug my nails in deeper. Those were wild nights. Filled with sheer, mindless and directionless energy that only youth possesses.

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While I was 20 I fell very much in love with one guy. Then fate would have it that I came to be a grant student at Trinity. So I would be gone almost a year. The wide world was beckoning. We hadn’t gone all the way until then. When the last day before my journey to Ireland approached, we finally decided we would give it a go. It was in his parents home. That was such a silly thing that happened. Yeah, guess what, his parents, no, his father suddenly opened the bedroom door while I hid under the covers. I was mortified and still I laughed because it seemed to be taken from a French teenage movie. The next day, he brought me to the trainstation which would bring to Frankfurt. I flew to Dublin, via Paris. It was an adult thing to do. To say goodbye. I felt so immensely mature and aloof. Little did I know.

We wrote each other tons of letters. It felt good. Then I noticed that he had fallen in love with another girl. I tried to talk myself into thinking that it did not matter. I was away anyway, why shouldn’t he have some fun? When I came back, I found out how much fun he had had. My little heart became yellow. I was so jealous, I could hardly stand myself being that way. When he touched me, it was like a fever that consumed my whole being. But still. Our time window had closed. We both moved on. It was a shame. But it was over. So over.

At 21, turning 22, I fell for a gay guy. He was so unattainable. So provocatively sexy and really mature, mind you he was 26. I guess that I was deeply and madly in love, or to put it in other words, I was infatuated. Maybe I was just not ready for love, I wanted to have a boyfriend, but one that would not get too close, one that was right because he was not right for me. Got it? So, we dated. But to be honest, let’s face it. Girls and ladies, have you never dreamed of turning a gay guy around? Never? Liar! It was a kick. So we talked. He was nice, intelligent, good looking. The only strange thing was that he fucked a gynaecologist. That was pretty weird. And yet, whenever I was with him, I felt so safe and so cared for. With him was like being protected. While I had a cold, he would mother me until I was good to go again. I felt home. The real trouble just started when we finally landed in bed with each other. Yep, that’s when the real problems started. I was so unexperienced, so green. It really hurts even thinking about it now how inexperienced I was. I was wax in his hands. Let’s face it. I never had a chance. He knew fully well what he was doing. This guy, let’s call him Francis, was bisexual. And all of a sudden, I was amidst a bizarre love triangle. That was way more than I had bargained for. His gay love interest was so jealous of me, he wanted to punch me. I was 22, Francis was 26, and the other guy was 29 I guess. We both shared a love for music, whenever I was with him, his guy would make sure, we would run into him. He would push me aside, so he could kiss Francis right before my eyes. I was so devoted to Francis, I kind of did everything he wanted for him. Christ, I even hid out at school so I could help him pass his Latin exam at his evening school. I guess there is not much I would not have done for him. He was in a theatre company at the time and played a very modern type Hamlet. I trained him speaking english with an english accent. I spent all my money just being with him. I took a train all across the town only to be with him for a couple of minutes. I had it really bad. I had become a dumb muppet of his. My glasses were so deeply pink in their shades that I hardly noticed when someone slipped them  off.

This someone happened to be my gay roommate. He invited his and my friends all over to our place and I had to witness that Francis was just keen to torture anyone who had been foolish enough to fall for him. Ok, that someone happened to be me. That was not so much fun. My roommate tried to warn me. He knew that Francis was only in love with being the centre of attention. He asked me why on earth did I have to pick a gay guy when I knew so many cuties.

 

But if you loved once, you know how difficult it is to stay sane if you are deeply and madly in love. I saw them kissing, trying to avert my eyes, intending not appear too keen. I wandered, kissed and being kissed by other men. I felt icecold and burning up. Sometimes I was approached by other women. I no longer cared. If he could have men and women, why shouldn’t I try and go for the same? I have to admit it. I really tried it out only once and went all the way. I was with a gorgeous female co-student and her boyfriend and we decided we would have a threesome. Hm, no, it basically just happened. It was winter. We were in this tiny little student appartment. We were cold. All soaked wet from the snow. We undressed and huddled up on the sofa beneath a blanket. It kind of just happened. There was a mutual consent between us three. I must admit, it was not bad at all. But I really prefer men to women.

Francis was better than me at this game. I only teased him. He knew how he could torture me. He knew how he would drive a stake through my heart. And he did. After that night, I was suicidal. And I really did something really stupid. I took some strong hallucinogenic drug. I was all on my own, I was also offered heroin. Luckily, I did not take that but LSD instead. I should have known better really. Lucky me, though, I only ended up having a bad trip. That was a long, long night that one. And when I was coming to my senses again, I knew that the gay guy was out. The ridiculous thing was that as soon as I did not act as devoted as before, he kind of showed more interest. However, whatever you see in a trip is somehow a sign that can be translated into normal life. I just knew I should forget about him, so I moved on, he moved on and he looked out for a fresh victim. There are people like him. After that I took an HIV test, the first one I ever did. Back in those days, 1992/3, it was kind of shameful to have a HIV test. A HIV test said that you had been a bad girl/boy. They tested you, give you a handful of condoms and brochure in four colour print. But I wanted to know.  I needed to know to continue life. I had to wait for one whole week. You went there anonymously. You had this little piece of paper. I knew he had really had so many affairs. He always said that condoms were not made for him. Of course, we did not take one. That week I swear to God, I hardly slept a wink. I felt that if fate has me then I would be HIV positive. But I wasn’t. Glad I survived my own stupidity.

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A couple of years later, I met him. He had put on a lot of weight and lived in an open gay relationship. He still loved me in a way I guess. He was super friendly and it felt right for a very short moment.  However, I no longer loved him. How did it feel for him to hold so much power over someone. How was it to have an innocent love to a young woman while having a gay relationship? Cos that is what it was. I had loved him no matter what. Something I don’t know what had been there, a tie between us. Maybe he did not know what he did to me. That was one moment I will never forget. I left and did not look back again.

At 22/23 I was pretty much disillusioned. I felt as if I had seen it all. I was alone and I wanted to be alone. I studied a lot, and relationships left me feeling disgusted. However I still felt the urge to continue my quest for sex, lust and some more extremes. No strings attached. I wanted nothing but sex. In its purest form. I wanted sex in a very masculine way. Somehow. On a deeper level, of course, I yearned to have someone as deeply fascinating and still someone who was sane enough not to be the apex of a love triangle. I dated no-one. I had one night stands. Fair enough. I did not try to be something I was not up for. I just wanted to have some fun. I once more fell for the drugs I had started taking while I was 15, 16 and had given up in between. Only now, I also started taking speed again, and some other amphetamines to really make it through the night and afterwards be able to study and go to my parttime job in the city. I really did not care. It was quite a hedonistic era, 1993, 1994. I did anything I wanted. I danced the nights away. I stumbled out from the disco and into some seedy clubs. I would sniff speed and go back home at dawn.

Shortly after I had started taking amphetamines, a friend of mine warned me, that I was already pretty hooked, it was true, there was not many nights I did not take it. I was on a large dose of speed already. I had upped and upped the dose since enough was never enough. Coming down was the hardest part. Normal life seemed so excruciatingly slow. It felt like I was trapped in a slow motion picture. Life was only real when the pulse hit you with a feel that you knew the grip would not let go of you until the next morning came. Speed just felt too good. The great part was you were left with enough energy to go to uni and study. Only in the afternoon I would go home to crash and wake up around midnight again. How was I supposed to live life when things were so damn slow? To be honest, speed was the drug that was cut out for me. My heart rate increased, I had slight arrythmic moments from taking drugs. I never really thought about the things that could happen. It wasn’t LSD, it was just speed, it was the cheapest drug you could buy. Cheaper than pot and marijuana. My only concern would be if it had been cut with some washing detergent. I remember I had this small little mirror cosmetics box where I hid a small paper fold, a naked razor blade and a cut up mcdonald’s straw. That was my personal tool kit. Perfect to prepare a line when you were out at night. Anyway, so this friend of mine told me not to take it anymore. She made me promise. I was a bit fucked up then. Who was she to tell me what was right and what wasn’t. Of course I did not keep my promise, I got the stuff somewhere else.

Shortly after, still 23, I met my future husband. I did not expect anything. But everything was suddenly there. There was a sudden feel of being innocent again and being able to fall in love again. And it happened just like it was meant to be. He saw me, I saw him. Thunderbold and lightning. It was in the uni library. We exchanged phone numbers, I left. He called. We met. We talked most of the night. Touching the hand of the other shyly. A gaze from the sidewalk. We walked by foot a long long way. At my appartment, we did all sorts of things until we passed out. It had to be that way.

Now, at 41, almost 42, I look back upon that girl… That girl that was afraid of love. That girl who wanted to trade in sex for love. That silly stupid and sweet girl. I am so damn lucky to have survived so many bad moves, and to have found the man I am with, the love of my life.

I cannot undo the harm that was done. But what I can do is to let it go. I do not need the scars of the past anymore. They are what they are. But most of all, this is the past. That was then, this is now.

If you have children, please make sure, they identify with their sex and don’t let them think that one sex is better than the other. Children are very susceptible that way. They will believe anything. As absurd as it might be. Be sure to tell them you love them. Children want to and need to hear this each and every day. This is much more important than a pint of milk. Love is much more nourishing in so many ways. I would go back in time if I could do something to change my childhood and change the past. Help myself with the knowledge I have now.

If you have children, make sure they understand at an early age, but not too early, what drugs are and why they are dangerous and can seriously fuck you up. I still have that one speech ahead of me, and I hope that I will find the right words to tell my children that I did take drugs but that I am not really proud about it and that there are way more fun things to do in life than doing drugs.

I need to forgive my parents that they never accepted me being their daughter but instead treated me like an invader, like an outsider all my life, and that they still give me the feeling that I am the persona non-grata. Including my two brothers. Actually, they treat me like I would not exist. All that matters are they. I seem not to belong to this family. Lucky me. They are like the mafia somehow, and sadly, I don’t belong, I am the girl outside. Fuck you. I am me. And I can live, and love without you!

Some people need to be 42 to grow up, to make peace, to let go of their past. That is the case with me.

And I won’t let this destroy my life.

Brendan Kennelly who was my English teacher at Trinity College Dublin, once told me something. And I swear to God the way I am recounting it, that is a true anecdote.

(Me, looking really beaten and crushed. Boy trouble.)

“What kind of a face are you pulling? Smile. This is a beautiful day.”

(Headstrong, and still crushed, a bit angry)

“How can it be a beautiful day? It ain’t.”

(He starts to laugh uproaringly and looked at me provocatively with his laughing piercing blue eyes.)

“You have been kicked in the teeth, ain’t ya?”

(I look on the ground, even more crushed. Shit, why can people always tell when I say nothing?)

“Chrys, you know what? Never mind that boy.

I am telling you something and that is going to bug you most.

You are a survivor.

(I looked at him with a big question mark in my gaze).

Yes, you are. And you know it. Get out there, Chrys, get some air, the sun shines.”

(He shoved me gently to the open door, turned around and left me smiling)

He is such an irreverant character but he kind of pinpointed the exact situation without knowing anything. So, is he psychic? No. I was just such a child back then that it did not take much to read my mind and to see what’s going on. Still. Five out of five for that quote, Brendan. Have a pint on me. You are the most amazing English teacher I have ever had. Maybe a bit of a father figure.

Brendan Kennelly used to be English professor at TCD until 2005 and is also a well loved Irish poet.

31 noches is good. That is the Spanish title of a book of some 150 pages that is an easy afternoon read. It was previously published as a weekly (?) read in some Madrid newspaper in 2009. Now it has come out in book form. Well. Not easy, but it is a fast read. And you won’t be disappointed. Apart from a lightning fast pace, the author shows insight in the social, political and sociocultural realities in Spain. The plot is set in Madrid. Since I hardly know Madrid, the book was difficult for me in as much I had to mostly imagine the places he was talking about since he merely stated the name of a certain district but took it as read that people will know the place. But it does not do the book and its understanding any harm. The book is full of insider knowledge, but also full of allusions. But the later ones are hidden in the things that some of the characters say or the way they speak or think. Mind you, this is not a read for children, neither for adolescents. This is an adult read. It is painfully adult at times. But nevertheless a good book.

How did I come across this book? I virtually stumbled upon it. It popped up in casa del libro when I was looking online. Since I write something that may be called similar in terms of topic (but only very roughly) I thought this would be an interesting read. And it was. However, it struck me how few expressions colloquial terms /frases fetes/ I know in Spanish and which therefore I had to guess… and how many I know by now in Catalan. But I digress…

Read the book. It is definitely worth it. It is a mix of crime, film noir, but also a bit of a belated coming of age novel. And at the end the book has a mean twist, something quite unexpected happens.

PS: One question remains to be answered. When a serious journalist like Escolar writes fictional books, they are never just fiction

… Are they?

31 noches de Ignacio Escolar

Ok, you may say now that it is light-hearted to open up a new blog just for the sake of pre-publishing a story. Well, I found it better than to enclose the catalan story in here since this blog is chiefly written in English and I would it to remain that way. I think for me it will hopefully prove the right step at the right time. Please feel free to share this and tell anyone you know who might want to read a creative story in catalan.

It is nothing new that writing in a language which is not your own does have it difficulties. But at the same time I know there is this story inside of me and I really want to get the thing off my chest. It started with a harmless two pager that I wrote up when I was 21 or 22. Ever since then, I have been thinking up the same story over and over again, in different scenarios and with different characters. Somehow, it never felt quite right for some reason or other. Now, here we are, May 2012, the shape is fitting, the timing is right and the story is ready to see the light of day. The story has grown a bit more complex, it right now has 21 chapters, of some planned 30 chapters (+/-1). Even in a language which is not my own. I hope you will enjoy taking a fast-paced ride through a universe which may be unknown to most of you. Cos that’s what it is and what you can expect: a story built around the protagonist’s character. He is somewhat sympathetic, somewhat meandering, somewhat a modern tramp, despite all his shortcomings, you need to feel sympathy for him, and then, he is most certainly an anti-hero, trapped in a world he does not find the emergency exit door. We are thrown right into a downright dark story, a tour de force of set in Ibiza in the Balearic Isles. Pau, a late twenty-something, sucked up into the negativity of dealing and stealing, which does not help him really since he is a clean heroin junkie. We watch and witness him being caught up between his girlfriend, a new hit of heroin, another crazy night with his friends, being pushed around by the police and some underworld thugs with pretty violent manners. We watch Pau descend ever deeper and deeper into a downward spiral, oscillating between life and death more than once.

The only question that can remain is this: will he be able to put an end to both the nightmares and the real life danger close at hand, will he  step wisely, and what’s more will this turn happen early enough?

For those of you interested and willing to read the blog and the story in catalan language, even with some grammar and lexical blunders, here is the new blog URL:

http://veig-i-escric.blogspot.com.es/

Let me know please if you like the character and the story-line around him. Yes, it is a film noir type thing.

So, shoot me…  Image

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