2013: As it was, I had neither the consolation that I was free of guilt, nor the conviction that I could ever be forgoten

17.09.2013

Bueno mundo, bueno natxo,

I sometimes believe that I want to get a quiet job, something stable, from 9 to 5; a fixed schedule. Something that will pay the bills, give me some extra money to enjoy a movie or a dinner outside once in a while and, of course, a few weeks of travelling a year. Why, then, am I heading towards crappy-paid jobs that require ongoing thinking after “office hours” and that represent the antithesis of peacefulness of mind? Is this, again, a representation of my deep rooted habit of self-induced pain?

It might well be.

Skipping some previous days by now. You’ll have to pardon me.

Coming back to the idea of getting used to once-unthinkable facts, I want to tell you (tell me) about another episode of inner struggle.

Happy re encounter

Earlier today, after meeting Nick (O.O), I walked to the beach (where it reads “walk” you’d rather read “crawled along”: that will give you a closer idea to reality) and let myself get cleaned by the purity of salty water*. Once fingers raisined, I started my journey home. I got into a closed-bus stop expecting no more that a heated chamber made with the solely purpose of decreasing humans blood pressure. To my surprise, the chamber was air conditioned and it offered shelter to poor pedestrians that, just like me, dare to challenge lavished temperatures.

a/c bus stop

Inside there was a man waiting for the bus. As I got in, he smiled and (un)consciously stared at my boobs (it wasn’t till I stepped out of the bus stop that I realised I had two large dripping patches of wetness screaming oot (out, sorry!) from my bikini top... Oops!). Acto y seguido, he tried to establish (a?) conversation. This time I was prepared: “I am not going to talk to strangers, it can be misleading and it will give me no more than trouble”. Therefore, while asking about my destination and other flawed piffle, I didn’t even looked at him and answered no more than monosyllables. I was being tough, assertive in my resolution of not smiling randomly and teaching myself not to be as nice as I wish: I looked at the bus map, realised that was not my stop, and walked away.

The ten endless minutes walk to the next bus stop were an autoimmune torture to my soul. Was I going to become a rude and mean person with everyone from now on? Was that part of growing up: caring less about people, being stingy and selfish? Did I lose my innocence (even though I once promised I would never do) as people lose virginity? My body shivered at the thought of it. Survival instinct (and a bit of tiredness of thinking everything I do is wrong!) helped convincing me(myself?) that that was the way it should be. In a blink, I was a fervent supporter of feelings ablation.

For a few minutes, I was bloodless. As I’ve said before, we just get used to anything.

When I finally got to the next stop I was ready to put in practice my new brand personality. Poco duró el cuento. I sat with three other guys in a bench and almost immediately one of them started to talk to me. In a 30 seconds stint I was less than 22 yo, was so fit that obviously I went to the gym everyday and everyone was surprised and disappointed that I was already married (of course). I swear that at the beginning I impeccably played my new role, however, within the 33rd second I was laughing in disbelieve to their words and we started a supernice talk. Imran, (I do remember his name, as we were talking for an hour) [oh, wait, there’s something wrong with the second part of that sentence... I still don’t remember some of the names of my workmates and I’ve been working with them for months...] he was 22, was the oldest of 4 brothers and had an 11 mo child back in India. This was the first time he left home and was missing his family like crazy (my empathy levels rose insanely when absent tears welled up in his eyes)... He’s only been in Dubai for 3 days. The same story repeats again and again. There are high unemployment levels in India for someone coming from an agricultural background and with no studies. Even if he got a job there, the salary was going to be so miserable that he decided to emigrate. Why Dubai? Because he had some far away relatives that could “invite” him into the country. An Indian taxi driver can make 9000 rupies a month. Here in Dubai (you’re already aware under which conditions) he can make 64000. No question to be posed, then.

Anyway, back to my selfish story...

It was so easy to ignore the first guy that I got scared and that, unfortunately, made me think. We are indeed able to block our feelings. How terrifying is that?

My thoughts can only go into concentration camps, slaughterhouses, prisons, and other diverse types of tortures. Can’t these people see the terrifying aspect of what they are doing? No, they cannot. They’ve learnt to survive: They’ve decided to ignore. We’ve decided to live our lives with our hearts closed. With our eyes shut.

Me myself, I do block my feelings every day... at work. It is a defense mechanism.