LUCIA, MI TESORO...

Tengo la hija mas bonita del mundo. Es una princesa, que lo ve todo rosa, se viste de rosa, con el pelo suelto de princesa y faldas que vuelan…que busca los tacones de mama, si hace falta se los quita. Se pone sus medias cortas (a ella le llegan hasta la ingle), y se pinta los labios.
Eso es ahora, que tiene 3 años y medio. Pero aunque la memoria es débil, yo todavía recuerdo como empezó a caminar, como empezó a hablar, y sus palabras mas bonitas….piriposa (mariposa), colache (chocolate), birirón (biberón)…

Es mi linda princesa, unaniña cariñosa, preciosa, lista y buena. Buena, muy buena. Con su carácter. Ese que intenta imitar del mío. Sin saber equilibrarlo muy bien aún con su enorme deseo de que yo esté contenta con ella.

Recuerdo como, con dos añitos, todavía la llevaba yo a la cama, y hasta que no se dormía, no me iba yo de su lado. Solía yo intentar meditar mientras ella se dormía, pero al parecer, en lugar de dormirse, prefería abrazarse a mi, primero tumbaba su cabeza sobre mis piernas cruzadas. Yo la acariciaba la espalda para que se mantuviera tranquila…Luego se ponía de rodillas frente a mi, y me miraba, me acariciaba la cara. Luego se sentaba en mi regazo mientras yo, todo el tiempo, hacía como que no le prestaba atención. En ocasiones, aunque le pedía que no me hablara, no podía evitarlo, y …ella susurraba…”mamiiiii, mammiiiii, quio agua….” Imposible no interrumpir la meditación, “bebe agua mi vida…” y vuelta a empezar. Entonces, ya tocaba abrazarse a mi, calladita….hasta que ya no podía mas, y volvía al lugar en el que había empezado, con la cabeza en mi regazo…y se dormía.

Eso, los días que meditaba. Pero siempre, siempre, con o sin meditación, hablábamos mucho. Y cantábamos “twinquel, twinquel little star…” “baa baa black sheep”, “dijo el pez…”, y tantas otras. Y pedíamos la bendición para todos nuestros seres queridos…con sus manitas juntas mirando al cielo a través del velux de mi cama, “sion mami…sion dady, sion abuela…sion Cristina…”…y leíamos cuentos, aun lo hacemos…

Pero aquel día que, mientras yo me dormía a su lado, la vi incorporarse, sentarse junto a mi, poner las manos en posición de meditación y estar así un ratito, callada…para luego, acariciarme la espalda como solía hacerlo yo mientras ella se dormía…aquel día que la vi hacer que meditaba…sin dejad de darme amor, con aquel respeto, con aquel silencio…supe que lo estaba haciendo muy bien con ella. Ese día, como hoy recordándolo, recibí de Dios una palmadita en la espalda.

Que Dios la bendiga, a mi niña rosa. A mi dulce tesoro.

Un poquito de normalidad...o acabamos ya?

Intento darle algo de normalidad a mi vida. Pero insistentemente me llegan pensamientos acerca de mi marido, que me llevan a creer que sería mejor que nos separasemos, que es una influencia muy negativa en mi vida.

Parece que lo único que le importa es sacar adelante una empresa, que representa para él “ser un hombre con aspiraciones”. A toda costa. Ha cogido dinero de la cuenta de su hija. Ha pedido dinero a su cuñado (mi hermano, que pensé era sagrado para él). Sigue debiendo a proveedores a diestro y siniestro…y sigue creyendo en su proyecto. No debe de existir nada sagrado para él…

Y sigue apenas pudiendo pagar a Cristina 800 € al mes , pero de la casa y los niños, cero. Del préstamo personal que me hizo pedir para financiar una supuesta situación transitoria de tesorería derivada de la cagada con el malnacido de Brot..., ya me debe varios recibos.

Me obliga a tener que tomar yo las decisiones porque sus expectativas jamás se cumplen.
Ahora, hay que reparar el coche, 4000 €, y si no tuviera la devolución de hacienda, no podría afrontarlo. Hay que pagar el gasoil, y nuevamente, sólo dispongo de lo de hacienda para pagarlo.

Como no voy a tener ansiedad en estas circunstancias. No cuento con él para nada, porque no vive en la realidad de su familia. Vive solo en la realidad de su empresa. Empecinado en su proyecto, caiga quien caiga.

¿Se lo digo? ¿No se lo digo? Ayer le dije que había perdido la confianza en su proyecto, en él, y me dijo que tampoco tiene interés en recuperarla.

Tengo que seguir tomando decisiones en función de que él no está. Pero no puedo tomarlas todas. Por que si yo quiero ahorrarme el dinero de la guarde, el quiere seguir llevando a Miguel a la guardería. Si yo quiero que nos desprendamos de un perro, él no quiere. Si yo quiero comprar la piscina barata, el quiere la cara….

Y así permanentemente en lucha. En lucha sola. Sin contar con él siquiera emocionalmente, sin siquiera agradecimiento, respeto….

¿Quiero seguir así?

Si ni siquiera quiero dormir con él….

No matter...

Weird. I had writen today something like three paragraphs, and have lost them for no reason. Just Word decided to blok out. Never mind.

I am not going to give up comino back to a blog that can allow me to remind myself.

Recently, my acupunctor told me that my name doesn’t fit me.

“ X is…is a Light for her family, for her friends. X is, it’s the name of “the woman”. It’s the reflection of independency. She is herself, no matter what, no matter how, no matter inspite of who…” and he kept talking and talking, and, by then, I was already remembering who I had always been. Exactly that. The captain of the basketball team, the one that would dear to travel to a new totally different country to live for a year, the one that would just accept a gurus offer to stay three days with him in a community and stay a month, the one that would do sooo many things I cannot tell here…Whoever I am, it is in my hands to allow be. No matter what, no matter how or in spite of who…God bless you Javier Martínez…and thank your for the help...

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