I dare you: What?

January 22, 2014

What would you do if you knew you are doing the thing you are doing for the last time?

What would you say to your parents if you knew you are seeing them for the last time?

How would you make love with your girlfriend if you knew you’d never see her again? How would you hold her in your arms?

How would you enjoy dinner if you knew you could never feel the taste again?

We tend to take life for granted. And people, and chances.

We especially tend to take small things for granted: a hot shower in the morning, a clean toilet seat, drinkable water, a piece of advice, healthy food, a home, friendship. And we sometimes do that for a lifetime.

But most of the times, the same life we take for granted gets back to us and teaches us some lessons.

The lesson of tragedy, the lesson of need, the lesson of compassion, the lesson of the break-up, the lesson of the death of someone we love. And sometimes one lesson is enough for us to learn. And sometimes we need more than one lesson to learn…

…that we cannot own people or tiny things or feelings or life itself. Therefore, we cannot take them for granted.

So I dare you: what would you do differently today if you did not take anything for granted?

Whom would you thank? Whose arms would you cherish ? Whose smile would make you smile back? Whose forgiveness would you ask for? Whose life would you save? What would you say or do that you are not saying or doing today?

I dare you: what would you choose for your life if you knew it was the last chance to choose?

Perfection

December 23, 2013

Ever since we are born, we are being told that nobody is perfect. And so we grow up, thinking that perfection does not exist.

And yet…
…two people do not have to be perfect in order to be perfect for each other. For a second or a minute, for months, years or a lifetime. Still, perfect for each other.

And there are so many other perfect things!

The perfect morning, with the perfect coffee smell.
The perfect smile for celebrating the joy of the perfect memory.
The perfect music for the perfect dinner.
The perfect wine for the perfect conversation.
The perfect outfit for the perfect evening.

The perfect emotions for the perfect lunch break.
The perfect gift for the perfect Christmas.

Perfection exists!

We just have to admit that it sometimes takes us by surprise.
We just have to admit that it sometimes is different than we had imagined.
We just have to admit that it sometimes brings us a bit closer to what we want to be.

For it is in perfect little things that we can find the lost perfection of our souls.
I wish you a perfect Christmas!

Mine has already started.
With perfect moments, perfect gifts, perfect memories, perfect smiles.

And it goes on.
With perfect moments, perfect gifts, perfect memories, perfect smiles.

Because perfection does exist!

Because these tiny bits of perfection make you feel perfect.

When writing about travels, one can only be subjective. A trip is a unique experience and, as I have stated before, it has to do more with the people you meet than to the places you visit.

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Spain is the story that my heart needs to explore from time to time. Long enough as to long for it. Short enough as never to forget.

Alicante (including Altea) and Valencia were two very different experiences. Because traveling has to do with the people, with the travelers, with their state of mind. Traveling is about feeling.

Alicante was warm and nice and cozy. With narrow streets in the old city and street art on almost every wall. The Mediterranean gently kisses the shore and the sandy beach was sunny. The buildings are nice and the air of the city is somewhat aristocratic. And still… Alicante was not about the city. It was all about the people. It was just the living proof that distance does not affect friendship. Alicante was about rediscovering friendship in it’s most amazing form.

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Altea was a one day dream that I lived with my entire being. Some kilometers away from Alicante, this jewel of the coast is amazing. And the trip itself is a great invitation to dive your thoughts in the sea. As you can get to Altea by tram, along the coast.

The narrow streets, full of flowers, the view over the sea from pretty much everywhere, the nice terraces and the fancy but cheap cafes, the ducks that found the only spot of unsalted water that is close to the sea and the lazy cats are all tiny bits of the puzzle that is Altea.

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Valencia. The hardest to describe. As a city, as an experience. For me, Valencia was a lesson of patience and of expectations that were somewhat misaligned with the reality. I was expecting a great city, with a wonderful city center and a great beach. It was close to that, and yet, just another proof that the traveler’s state of soul matters the most in a traveling experience.

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Valencia was too hasty and too short. Intense, yet lazy. Beautiful, yet overwhelming. Original, yet strangely familiar. 

Valencia is curves and sand, unique buildings and sun, narrow streets of the old city and tapas. Valencia is a dream that needs to be lived once. Once more, I mean.

About doors

October 24, 2013

We do not have a problem with the doors , but with the leaving. With  the doors that are about to be closed , leaving bits of souls behind.

The doors are good. They protect us from anything that could attack from the outside. They are guarding the souls from any form of pain .

Doors are closing sometimes, leaving regret behind. Regret –  not for what it was , but for the fact that is was not as much as there could have been.

Sometimes, doors are uncomfortable and leave room for interpretation about what is happening behind them.

Sometimes you can not lock the doors and they can no longer hold any secrets.

And yet , no matter how good they are , we do not like doors . Because they are the gate for departures. And departures force us to act, to react, to act again.

Out of all passionate gestures , my favorite  one is the kiss in  the door. Because it does not mark the end, but the possibility to return.

We do not have a problem with the doors , but with the leaving. With  the doors that are about to be closed , leaving bits of souls behind. With the doors that we are afraid to close forever.

Boxes

October 15, 2013

Sometimes, when looking behind, I have the feeling that my past was all packed in boxes. Bigger boxes, smaller boxes, colorful ones  or just plain white ones. It does not matter much. I do have the feeling, though, that each box needs a place of its own, on a shelf or in a corner. And so they stand there and become dusty and old and useless. For I do not often open them… I am scared. I am afraid, for I never really truly know what’s in the box.

They were labeled at the time. And then locked in the cellar of the soul forever. But, you see, in time, handwriting washes away. And so do memories.

I sometimes just sit back and wonder how much of the content of these boxes is real and what part of it is just an illusion, a dream, a fantasy. For some of the boxes look so strange to me as if they came from a different time, from a different dimension, from a different life.

And the cellar becomes full. It is fed up with useless boxes. And the only way of deciding what boxes to leave out is to… open them. And check what’s inside. But I am scared. I am terrified. I am running away, with the lock from the soul cellar in my hand. I am running away, scared and terrified. For I know that once you started opening the first box, there is no way back… And the point of no return is always a point that I do not want to reach…

I am petrified when needing to face the past, because now, when I grew up, I realize the mistakes I have made. All the wrong decisions and the wrong steps, all the wrong paths and the doubts. But they all took me to what I am now, this very second. And I might not be in the proper box, but would surely not be here if not for the other boxes that piled up in my soul cellar.

In time, common sense selects the boxes. It leaves there just the ones that are relevant. The ones that contain the lessons, not the pains. However, from time to time new boxes are being delivered, and they smash the old ones.  And when the box is smashed, you can peak in and see the whole content.

Damn, the memory of the past can be hurtful! And painful. And cruel. But still, when locking the door of the cellar, it is my own choice to walk away with my eyes closed, blinded by the brightness of the boxes or with the eyes wide open, grateful that today I am in this exact spot where I can still choose the color of the next box. And the one after that… And the next one after…

The boxes of my past have piled up. But I am not afraid of them anymore. I know that I can choose to just take the lessons from them and lock the door back. I need to choose freedom, or else I will just end up in so, so many boxes, belonging to other people’s past…

The boxes of my past have been locked somewhere, but I am still afraid to sort them out, so I keep ignoring them. I am trying to fill in new boxes, just that I have no clue where to store them, as the soul cellar is already full of useless boxes that I am afraid to open in order to sort out…

I am not perfect!

October 15, 2013

No, I am not! I am far, far away from being perfect.

I have not hit the road in search of perfection! It would be an unnecessary trip, full of obstacles, a trip that would not lead anywhere.

I did start this road with the aim of finding my imperfect self.

I know that on this road I will lose. I will lose something from what I am and I have already lost part of what I have.

I like to hope that what’s important, however, has not been lost. It will change, it will be redefined. But not lost.

I’ve always had the tendency to control things. See? I told you I was not perfect! However, things cannot be controlled right now. Things happen and I remain just a quiet and docile spectator, I can do nothing to control them. From where I am, I can only control myself.

And on this path I’ve taken, there’s loss and gain. I will maybe lose on the one hand and on the other hand win. I could win or lose … Nobody knows. It’s a destiny lottery. Maybe just a little more daring game than any other games …

I like to think that I did not lose the essential, though and that I will not lose it. I like to think that I am closer to myself with every door that’s closed, with each new road that I am taking or that takes me away. I like to think that life shapes itself beautifully, rightfully, like a dance on a  perfectly polished dance floor.

I like to think that I would find myself and I will not care about my own imperfections when I will be found .

I like to think that the fact that I have found myself will matter more than a deformed image of a hypothetical sterile perfection .

Until then, however, some doors are still waiting for me, some roads, some trails and some bridges. Until then , I already know this one thing: I’m not perfect and I do not want to be!

I like to think that I have not ran away from something, but towards something: towards myself!

People keep on telling me that. I keep on repeating that to myself.

I am whispering that to myself before I go to bed, as if trying to convince even my dreams to take it slowly.

My life has been a continuous hassle, I have been running a lot. Sometimes, in the direction of my dreams, sometimes, just sometimes, in the opposite direction. And yet, I seem to be incapable of slowing down.

I am running away from something fast or I am running towards something just as fast. Sometimes I push limits and break dreams just to reach a point. And when I am there, I find another thing to run from, to run towards.

Sometimes, just some of the times, I am getting wonderfully lost. Sometimes I am just lost, without anything wonderful attached to it. Sometimes I do not even understand myself, my thoughts, my dreams. My escaping moods.

I am hesitant and hectic and fast running. And from time to time I do need to stop. And breathe. And relax. And remember…

… that Rome was not built in a day. And it’s good that it was not, for it is a perfect city just the way it is!

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