This is not a Maraya post

 "We'll see" was my answer when you asked me if I would write today, about what has already started to change. We'll see, like when I know that I will probably not put an effort on doing it and usually things do not happen to me just because. But I was just left by myself, and it was the perfect time to try to put into words what aches in the heart in low but growing intensity. 

They left, between yesterday and today, and even if they did not leave me I pretty much feel like they did. I feel like in a few months I will look back and be frustrated because what has been everything to me will not be the same for them; although I rationally know it is not true, because I see it in how they crave for doing things together, how they seem to appreciate as much as I do this safe space we have created, by chance. 

My heart broke a little bit when yesterday I had to say goodbye to what has pretty much been a little sister this semester, and my eyes were all watery when today my savage waffle cook and the best next-door flatmate vanished from this place that now seems too big, too spacy, too quiet. Nothing has really changed because I have seated in this same place so many times before by myself when all of them were here; but now, these three will not be coming in, even if it's not to talk for a bit, even if it is between exams and with the head full of worries, or between rushing from party to party. I do not like this and I do not like that saying goodbye seems like such a small unrepresentative thing compared to the love I feel for them, and that it lasts so little in comparison to how much I lived with them. I do not like it, but here I am, with no other option than taking it. 

In a way I had easier than what it could have been, but it's also this slowly dripping torture that I will not be fully aware of until I am put in a place where I absolutely notice them not being there; when I live with someone else, when someone asks me to play "riktet gar", when I am having coffee in a living room that is not mine, in a place that is not here, with people that are not you. When I get home feeling like shit and I do not get to tell you; when I go to a party and I miss the complicity I feel with you, knowing that we will all go home together. I smile sadly thinking that whenever I storm in my room singing out loud, there is not going to be a single soul saying "yes, you are a rockstar!", or someone asking me to go to the gym, or someone wanting to explain me a crazy story about a really complicated soap-opera-kind-of-life, or someone offering waffles after getting arrested, cakes, food, COFFEE, jamón; someone to just be there with. Someone that is going to ask the important questions. Someone to complain about the lack/excess of sun with. Someone that will hear my stories about how much of a mess I am. Someone to steal milk to (and being stolen by). Someone to sing and dance with; or carry a piano across a city because we were too stubborn to give up. Someone that I know I can call in the middle of the night if I am not okay (even if I do not always know it), and that they will call me if they need to; someone to share wine and beers with, and summer rolls and crazy kitchen experiments. 

And yes, sure, there is going to be more of that, but not more of you, and that is the part that matters the most. Because I couldn't care less about what we are doing, just doing it together (and I know how cheesy it sounds, and I also hate it and love it at the same time). Summer does not set right with me; because summer is full of goodbyes and changes and endings, and I very much prefer beginnings, the start of something new, and having hugs for the first time. 

I would love to grow old and be able to tell you about all the stuff going on; to feel this is reciprocated in the way that matters. But until then I will leave you here with a pretty nice anonymous poem, and lots of love for what has to come FROM NOW ON.

"We're soaring, 

Flying, 

There's not a star in heaven that we can't reach, 

If we're trying"

And I will not say we are breaking free because the freeing experience was living with you. 

With all my love and best wishes, 

V.

Floden

Fa poc vaig escoltar una cançó amb una melodia ben dolça que parlava a l'ànima, però la lletra va romandre un misteri per mi fins fa cosa de dos dies. I llavors, al assabentar-me de la lletra de la cançó, no només les notes la van fer quelcom especial, si no també aquelles paraules. Aquí us deixo un fragment de la cançó, Floden:

Jeg lurer jo på, hvorfor går jeg ikke mer for det?

Hvorfor, hvorfor når jeg kjenner det gode du gjør med meg?

Det kan nesten virke som om jeg prøver å unngå det

Og jeg føler meg redd for nåden og gleden du skjenker meg

Forunderlig, forunderlig

I la lletra em va interpel·lar directament perquè em trobo ara mateix en la encrucijada d'estar decidint marxar d'un lloc que sé que em fa bé, estic decidint quedant-me en decisions on la incertesa m'omple, sabent que n'hi ha d'altres que no han fet res més que portar-me tranquil·litat, seguretat, saber que sóc estimada i que sóc una persona que els meus amics i amigues volen tenir al voltant, que els importa el meu benestar, el que em preocupa i em fa mal, el que sóc realment i que estigui còmode; no només la incapacitat de posar límits que tinc, ni la calma que puc desprendre al adaptar-me absolutament a tot el que la resta vol. I avui per primer cop m'he despertat pensant, "ah, sí, quan d'aquí trenta anys em casi (o no) i convidi a totes les persones amb qui he viscut (tant literalment compartit pis com haver viscut experiències vitals), que bonic serà recordar los viejos tiempos, pensar en aquells dies de foscor i etern dia que vam compartir, que divertit serà revelar aquelles coses que no es van parlar en el seu moment, que tendre serà saber que aquesta gent sempre serà la meva família". I immediatament després de pensar això, una por terrible m'ha omplert les venes; perquè no vull perdre aquesta gent ni vull perdre aquesta esperança, i per desgràcia fa molt que no la sento. Perquè no vull assumir que és impossible mantenir-les, i boicotejar-me a mi mateixa i ni intentar-ho. Perquè no vull tornar a un espai on no senti aquest afecte cada dia de la meva vida, on no em senti còmode de ser qui sóc sabent que això no farà que se m'estimi menys. I he viscut amb aquesta por cada dia, i ara que pel que sembla per primer cop puc respirar tranquil·la, no vull tornar enrere, i no vull dubtar que veure aquesta gent altre cop, que tornarem a celebrar junts l'espai-temps que vam gaudir com a petita família.

It feels so good to not doubt being loved, to feel the safety of love and affection being the ground base, it feels so fucking good to feel this hope again, that spreads all over the place, to feel like this time, maybe, it can be forever, because something changed in me and the people I chose to be surrounded by, or because the people I accidentally surrounded me by changed me in the best possible way. 

Amb esperança, i molta por, 

Maraya 

Un pedaç

 Fer maletes pel que sembla és quelcom que em produeix pànic, perquè no es limita a posar coses en una bossa o motxilla, si no a decidir quines parts de la meva vida ara marxen, a haver d'empaquetar trossos de mi, a haver de reconèixer que ja s'acaba i que ja no viure aquí. I fins ara les maletes no estaven fetes i podia fer veure que encara quedava lluny, que potser l'escenari canviava, que seria ben fàcil deixar d'estar aquí. Però acabo de fer les maletes d'allò que puc sobreviure sense tenir-ho a prop i estic al límit de posar-me a plorar en qualsevol moment. 

Tinc una llista de coses que vull fer abans de marxar i només de pensar que se m'escorre el temps entre els dits m'omple d'angoixa. 

- Nedar al fiord

- Fer una barbacoa al llac del costat de casa

-Veure la "posta de sol" des del llac de la presa

- Ballar per últim cop

- Anar amb la Bianca al gimnàs 

- Menjar Ramen

-Fer un pastís

-Un passeig per la ciutat

-Anar ALLES AS

no tinc l'ànim per escriure més

Maraya