No time to waste, no time to linger, precious moments of intense activity until you drop dead. Working, seeing people, watching films, cooking, always doing something, keeping crazy busy. Having the cell and Internet always at hand. Too busy to think.
These months of laziness and zen attitude fed my soul alright for the times to come, beyond the tears and the doubts. I feel like a dot under an exclamation point, complying only with the fact of existing. Life is so complicated, applying for jobs, using rigid words to express your professional exceptionality, trying to find a dignified subject for a PhD thesis, when it could be so simple - this is what I know, this is what I can do, take it or leave it, just don't make me wrap it and sell it. Sometimes my hands are restless, I enjoy cooking and ironing, I regret not having learned a manual profession, something with a practical meaning, really useful. A words' child is clinging to relativity itself.
The other day a hostel receptionist was explaining me how bad it is to live in Catalunya and that he would consider moving to Canada. I think that anyone that hasn't lived in another country would think his is the best, or the worst of all, not appreciating its positive sides. And it's always a very personal choice, that involves taking risks, again, not something everyone would do. There are always miscalculations that you have to take the philosophical way. I didn't realize that my Canadian Master of Arts degree needed to be legalized in Spain because there is no bilateral agreement. As Maître Pangloss used to say Tout est pour le mieux dans le meilleur des mondes possibles.
Catalunya is amazingly beautiful, joining the Pyrenees with the Mediterranean. It's drier and less green than Romania or Canada, but we can't have it all, right? Spain was a target when I was 20, then I first visited Italy which got me under its spell. Now Costa Brava conquered my senses with its crystal clear cool waters guarded by the yellowish green hills that form long bays all along the shoreline, up to the French border. Living on the shores of the Mediterranean has been an old dream of mine and like every dream becoming real it has its price, which I cannot even evaluate right now.