Thursday, July 30, 2015

Tin Women

It's six AM and no one is stirring.
The past ten days of constant motion has finally set into everyone else's bones.
Or maybe it's the wine.
Or maybe it's the fog from yesterday that's still clinging on today.
There is no urgency, no need to beat the demanding heat. Alone, you and your partner scramble as silently as possible to successfully load all of your belongings into your bags and onto your backs.
The floor creaks with every shift of weight; like it did all night, harmonizing with the piercing snores.
You feel stiff today, and even your morning stretches can't shake off the elastic pull.
Half asleep, with new body parts taped together, you hobble down ceramic steps and out into the cool air.
And you feel.
You feel tired.
Alive.
Like you're dreaming.
Unsure about today.
Like the Tinman in the wizard of oz, who in the modern day needs a cup of coffee to lubricate the joints.
If your life was a movie, a flag would wave at the grace of your start.
But then the first laugh cracks the shell of not-sleep.
And you begin you move.
Like you did yesterday.
And the day before.
And the day before.

Wednesday, July 29, 2015

...but first, a shower

Delusional, you walk through a semi-abandoned town.
You only pass by one person, on a bike.
Your partner is sure that zombies will soon be crawling out of the rubble. And then you start to laugh, and she starts to laugh, and there is no reason other than the fact you have walked nearly 20 miles.
The body that carried you feels like someone else's, and it seems that there isn't any chance of finding a place to sleep here.
The thought of having to walk another 7 km is funny too. Your mind must be lacking oxygen.
And then by some miracle you come upon a sign "Virgen de Guadalupe."
But the sign has an arrow, and when you can see where the sign is pointed, you see another sign.
And there is nothing to do now but to laugh again about the pain.
About the blue paint splattered on the walls to cover the scars.
About the flower pots by the doorway.
About the man who answers the door.
In a flurry you are asked to take off your boots, shuffle upstairs, put down your bags and get your money. The man explains to the only other 4 guests that he will cook their mushrooms for them because they can't use the kitchen.
And after you pay, you ask for the wifi password and he responds swiftly "duchar, primero."
You know you smell.
Trust me you know you smell.
But this man feels he needs to remind you before you use the wifi.
Before you sit down to wait in line for the shower.
And before you go outside, "but first, shower."
And after you shower, the man sits nearby and watches orangutans on tv, while the ice cream truck sings outside, and you rush out, moved by some force to buy two liters.
Only until he drives away do you realize what you've done. But it's too late, so you smile and laugh one more time.
You've always dreamed of eating ice cream for dinner.

Tuesday, July 28, 2015

Wake Up and Walk

This post may not captivate you.
This post will be nothing more than a compilation of words.
But these words are mine,
And this is the story I will tell.

Wake Up and Walk
One day you decide to walk. There is no reason other than the desire of your body to move through the world and the mind with it. A plane transports you, a train helps, the metros and buses carry you as well, and then it all slows down. One day you were running through routine. Early mornings, mindless tasks, days full of unwants, ending in drained energy. Today all you have to do is walk.
And you think you can.
Because any body can walk.
So you drink wine to aid in sleeping next to strangers snoring softly, loudly, and not at all. And when you wake up, your bag is packed before the sun graces the grasses with its love. The first step out the door is never memorable, but the feeling of certain uncertainty rings in your bones.
"Will I make it?" You wonder.
"Will I still like my friend after 500 miles?" You wonder.
"Will I like myself?" You ask, as the steps that follow begin to answer.
The first day is the furthest distance you have walked in your life. The adrenaline of adventure screams through your mind. Everything is simple. Each breath is important. Each pain reveals new aspects of disconnection and reconnection. The conversations surrounding you are full of broken languages trying to understand each other. Movement fills in where words cannot. Some people wait, others rush on. This is the pace you've chosen.
Its nothing short of magic to take that first shower, or to drink that first beer, or to feel that first buzz come on so easy while your body tries to rest. And sleep comes on so deeply, you wonder if it will ever end. But then it does.
And morning comes again.
And you fill yourself with fuel.
And you know what next, to do.