I was reading joaquin's blog, a post where he mentions his christmas, perfectly gray winter at Ihouse. And I suddenly thought of an email letter I wrote to the Ihouse people from Spain, where I was having my christmas holidays, back home after 4 months at Ihouse, Berkeley, California. Here's the letter:
" Dear friends,
Still haunted by the Ihouse Christmas lyrism of Alyosha the plant-keeper, I
write you from the haunted bed of this haunted, my father´s house. The snow
covers the roof and whitens the fields that surround home... through the
window I can see, every morning, a line of icicles hanging from the
neighbours roof. Everything very Christmas-like, but believe me, the warm
sun is better: home, Spanish home, is not the same with white
all over. Anyway, it´s 1am, I don´t want to sleep and I´m writing in bed,
with an old bic pen and a few sheets: I´m against technology
these cold days, although you´re reading this in the screen of an impersonal
personal computer(even if it answers to the name of La Maga.)
A second feeling: I´m sort of tired, and don´t know exactly why. Must be
I´m getting (c)old, old because every year new memories fill my brain like
the red wine in a cup waiting to be drunk or rotten - and I had some (too
much according to my grandma) fine, Spanish wine these days. However, I am
enjoying my tiredness: I´ve come to the conclusion that a man needs nothing
more than a bit of tiredness to enjoy in the company of those he loves to be
the happiest thing on earth (things, like the lamp that lights my dear,
little, warm room now can also be happy.)
I came back home almost a couple of weeks ago (yes, Bernardo, it was also
difficult for me to fall asleep the first days, alone in a big, strange and
empty bed) and the third day I couldn´t help phoning my first-ex-love and
meeting her in a charming, expensive, couple-making restaurant. We ate
excellent foie de canard and I knew that she had just moved to
a brand new, modernist (that was the adjective she used)appartment with her
brand new boyfriend: good for her, and may she bring happy, brand new kids
to the world! We shared the bill, which is a beautiful way to stop sharing
My sister is also happy (I´m afraid I´m abusing of this adjective -blame
Christmas spirit and my poor education) learning more and more in a new
jesuist high school. She plays her firsts sonatas on the piano, and sticks
to me the rest of the time... must be that she feels I am the only one who
can understand her (when you´re twelve, you want to
understand) of all the old-fashioned faces of my family. I
can´t hardly see a black hair in my father´s head, and his wife... well, let
me say they are (again!) happy too, because they are now sure (at last)
that they´ll have each other for the rest of their lives, and that´s the
best beggining for a still better ending.
Well, I´m afraid this letter (this is NOT an email) is getting longer than
Alyosha´s report, and anyway I guess it fulfilled its aim: after some
writing, I feel I will be able to sleep. The future is now new year´s eve,
when Barcelona becomes the wildest (and sweetest, like Cartman would say)
scenery to welcome a new year. I will keep a memory (a stardust memory, to
remember Woody Allen) for each of you in the
traditional chin-chin& with champagne at 12:01am, 2002,...
although I can´t predict what night will bring afterwards. I look forward to
seeing you all soon.
Your (virtual) friend, enemy, mom, fruit,... sends you a (virtual) hug,
kiss, hello, hands shaking,...
P.S. Merry Christmas from Stephen. I met him the other day (he was
completely high, as usual) and told me he might not come back for the Spring
semester. We´ll miss him! (??)"
Oh fuck, do I miss those days! The days when I would be innocent enough to lie, and still, enjoy. Those days were a feeling, a feeling you didn't need to analize or understand. Those days were a feeling, and a feeling is all I got now.
By the way, I love yahoo. Don't ever say google is king anymore.