What am I still doing here...?

I have been lately very concerned on finding out what the hell I am still doing here. I ask this myself since I came back from a coma of 3 days. When David didn’t do the same, and decided to leave. I have since then trying to figure out what is the failed subject that keeps me here.
Can’t figure out. Three years later, I married. A half made man. I didn’t know he was not yet a full made man. I find miself now, married, with a 2.5 years old girl, 3 months pregnant, and my husband does not give me enough safety to keep my mind healthy.

Which makes me think, at some point, I gave the wrong step. I do not know yet if it was before, or after the accident. But nothing seems to be all right. At least not with him.

To Zaida

My heart is very vulnerable today. Too many burdens weakening it. However, too many reasons to thank life for too.

The one that has recently softened it is Zaida. I wish I could describe Zaida. But she is so unusual, than only by knowing her, you would understand what I mean.
I met her a few months before going to Istanbul, in the only school that would give Turkish lessons in Madrid. She was 40 but looked like 28. Glamorous to clumsy. Beautiful, lively and energetic. Usually in the clouds… She was the only one wearing funny hats in springtime, when nobody in Spain had ever dared to…

It didn’t take us more than a few days to become good friends. Like coming from the spirit instead of from the brain, I remember I told her that we would be lifetime friends. It was 1993…She is my soul friend. And the last years I have seen her suffer so much, and me, unable to help her. Health problems, unemployed, and when employed, abused (personally and professionally). She’s such an splendid spirit…I want to think all this suffering has the reason to take her really high in whichever the “hierarchy” of the spirits and souls can be…as one of God’s favorites.

Yesterday, I called her, and she gave me good news. Seems to see the light at the end of the tunnel, finally after soooo long. And it made me so happy.

After meditating before sleeping, praying for her as I am used to, I saw my baby by my side, peacefully sleeping, and wished she’ll have such a soul friend as Zaida. Do not know why I love her so much, when I know she is so unbearable. I just feel my heart bigger when I think of her. I called her. I told her. We both cried and laugh at the same time.

Hope this time is the time, when she is being set free from so much suffering. Hope it is. Pray it is.

Thank you Zaida, for being in my live.

I read the book “ the most beautiful names of God”. For you, yesterday, I read Al Qabit, Al Basit…It was teaching for both. Not just for you.

1995, I came back...

Istanbul was left behind August 1995. Started working in the same company, but now in my city. Didn’t come back to mammy’s, but to my new flat. My heaven.

I met David. My love, my beloved David. Mate at work for one year. He used to tell me that, the first thing he saw of me, before he knew we were going to be mates, was my back moving, swinging left and rigt, walking in the street. “ I couldn’t help it, couldn’t stop looking at you, baby…You looked so stunning …When I saw you entering the same building, an stopping in the door of the same elevator, and you turned back and said hi, I couldn’t say a word…and escaped running to the stairs…”.

It was a happy year. By Christmas, when we still did not have so much contact, in the Christmas cocktail, I found myself thinking…”I’d look so well holding the arm of this guy…” Couldn’t believe this though had passed so clear, so natural, so simple, though my head…but left it go for a while, didn't want to notice it.

We became such good friends. There’s no man like you, David…With Miguel, Carlos, Alberto (you know he’s the only one that has made his friendship worthwhile after all? Surely you are not surprised about it ), so much fun, so many things we did all of us together…La Mafia china, that’s how the rest of the colleges used to name us…

I once sensed you wanted something more, the day we went alone to see “Heat”. And got really scared…took the taxi, and left…

Getting near the summer, I was so close to you already, so used to your company…Getting near the summer…I already loved you, and didn’t know it yet…
Tel

Still in Istanbul...

What’s certain is…that since then I can see my memories with colors. As if the time before Istanbul didn’t really happen other than to prepare myself for being what I was at that point.

Maybe before I go on, I should give a screenshot of who you would see if you’d take a picture of me now. If you did it during the weekend, you’d see someone in comfortable jeans, most of the time running after a hectic 20 months beautiful little girl. During the working days, you’d see a concentrated woman, wearing a women’s tailored suit, leading a finance and admin team of 6 people for a multinational consulting company.
In any case, my mind and heart are same. In any case, I am the one trying to do the right thing in each situation. I am in this world. Try not to be off this world. And try not to be in the clouds either.

But, at that time, I was living the experience of my life. Working for one of the (then) Big Six (audit companies). In a mysterious secular Muslim country. Making up my mind about breaking up with a childish too passionate-sick pseudo-bohemian spoiled 21 young man. I was 22 to 23, I think.

In that painful process, I remember myself hidden in a café I would still be able to find, near Taksim, smoking a cigarette. I remember also the sound, the lovely sound of the hocas (priests) calling to pray waking me up at five am. First from the nearest mosque, and going slowly further, getting lost in the distance with the same song....

I remember receiving the evening from the roof of the building where I lived in Kadikoy. I do not remember the name of the girl that used to live with me. It could be Kerem….However, I would love to hug her now, and tell her how much she helped me without knowing….curly, ash-color hair, extremely thin lips, whistling voice, pure heart, smart, privileged mind. I wished I could remember your name. But I only remember you used Aqua d’Gio perfume. Weird isn’t it?

Tel

Did it all started in Istanbul?

There was no believe in God for half of my life…When I was about 12, I confessed the priest that I loved my mother more than God, and he made me pray 12 Lord's Prayer!. I was fearing loving my mother more than God could be a sin, and he did not deny or explain to me why it shouldn’t be. So I decided this man and all alike where just true idiots. And God just an invention that didn’t fit me, but only poor minds that need something to hold on…

I kept living…really living intensely…from being the ugly duckling always, to be an interesting charming young teenager…Being the ugly duckling has been a real advantage, allowing me to concentrate in what’s important in live, to concentrate in the inner…

I have never let anything happen around me that wouldn’t leave a trace in me. I felt in love with John when I was 17. He had the ability to make me laugh most of the time. We spent 4 or 5 years together. Wonderful years of sharing, learning and loving. We broke up friendly, and then, I went on a traineeship to Istanbul, for a complete year (1994 I think).

It is there that I remember myself for the first time, at nights, before sleeping, talking to “somebodyouthere”, whispering, telling my own thoughts, wishes, memories…in the dark of the night.

Did that “somebodyouthere” liked me so much that speeded up my life after that? Or was it just to happen as it did?. Could it have been the first contact I had with a sufi that introduced the changes from then on? That contact impressed me, but did not make me think at all of God. Only made me think of extraordinary people…

Tel

I need to find my way....

I have always liked being an “open book” for everyone around me. I have always been able to be…until a few years ago, when something so terrible happened…that speaking about it hurts not only me, but those who love me. I believe this is the reason why I thought writing here in English could be healing for me. Please, forgive me if I make grammar mistakes, or if I do not check the orthography, as it would slow down the speed at which my thoughts want to come out. I’m not English native speaker, but I think I can express myself quite well this way.

Why in English? A few days ago I opened a blog with a friend of mine. That one is in Spanish. And, mainly, it is not totally secret…

Like this one is ment to be. Secret, because noone that knows me will ever read it. This is the aim. Doesn’t matter who else will read it, as long as doesn’t know who I am, where I live, where I work…from this blog I am going to try to get rid of my story…

I dedicate it to all those that have been in my way and have left. To those who stay. To all those that at some point helped me, and to those who didn’t. To Agha, whose existance keeps me away from the deep fear of disapearing, but, above all, to David, who really loved me in the best way a man can love…and left early 2000. God bless you David. I will always love you. And to Lucia, my sweet daughter. Good bless you too and protects you.

Tel