lunes, 12 de septiembre de 2016



I spent my hours in the plane reading about the history and culture of India. But I miss a fundamental part of the guidebook that could have saved me from a life lesson in my first day in Delhi... Anyhow, there is something that guidebooks cannot capture clearly enough: the cultural shock.

I have some pages in my notebook whilst I was few hours before my destination. They reflect part of the anxiety and fear of regarding myself as a solo traveler and a, probably, solo human being. I had some flashbacks from these summer camps for kids. The first days, I used to question what was my parents' purpose for leaving me alone surrounded of unfamiliar people. Nevertheless, all those camps ended with waterfalls of tears caused by the separation of what it had been a fifteen days, friendship, a fifteen days connection, fifteen days of love and fun. Next time one of us witness the tenderness of a salty drop sliding through a seven year old cheek, combined by the unnatural tension of a face distorted by sadness and pain, and wrapped by the groans and hiccup of loss, think twice about the amount of future that is being conditioned by a precise moment.

I also reflect about the way I was going out of my comfort zone with the simple fact of having a dinner in the plane. The last time something similar happened was when I went to New York in 2013 with my flatmate. But this time, I had taken an eight hours flight and I was having dinner by own. Tiny details that mean huge changes. Then, after convincing myself that I should look tougher and don't let myself get drown by self-destructive thoughts, I stared through the window and get awed by the deepens of the darkness that surrounds spaceships at night.

How alone will businessmen feel when they travel to Mars in order to strike a bargain?

After this reflection, I decided to practice some self-therapy describing the situation in a more encouraging way, focusing the attention on my growth, on the way I face and overcome challenges. And how, even when I wasn't sure about what I was doing, I was doing it. The whole reflection finishes with a small poem that may put some light in how fast I can deceit myself through writing. (It is recommended to read aloud. Whispering is enough, not to seem too weird.)

I cannot complain,
I've been alive and that's a lot to say.

I have been trying
and I have failed.

I have smiled
and I have been scared.

I have been fighting
and I have been afraid.

I have asked questions
with answer that hurts.
I did it
and I would do it again.

Because life is feeling alive
and for that I meditate.

I move,
I breathe,
and I approach my sense.

I understand what it means to be alive
if I don't try to get there.

I don't know if I could have done this much
if it weren't from that place,
where the source lays
and the energy remains.
There, where the power emanates.

Maybe it changes my mind
or maybe it reaches my whole life.

Maybe my body transform
to a better person
and a being that doesn't scorn.
Even if I don't know
the meaning of my words.

Being productive has always changed the world.

Keep on writing is challenging the wolf.
The wolf or the fox.
Or the fox and the wolf.

Because in this forest
there are no walls.

What separates us
from you to me,
and from I to you,
it is just our minds.

Because what remains always together,
we decided to call it soul.

It is already three pages,
of not so random thoughts.

Everything will be found,
if we believe so.

Everything will be fine,
if we don't stop the work.

Half an hour later, I was landing on Delhi.

*           *           *

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