Sometimes you find truth in a bus and sometimes you walk hundreds of kilometres, you cross oceans, you visit continents and it elludes you.
Yesterday classes ended. I realized that maybe it was my last day as a student in the Complutense (not counting exams, of course). It was a strange feeling. Another "home" I am leaving. Something else left behind, polluting my memories and making me go slower and slower still.
And then to work... work work. Why do I work there? Why? Because I need the money? Yes, I need the money. They pay well enough. True. The restaurant is not too far away from where I live. The job does not involve touching dirty or greasy things, or cleaning anything. There are very nice people working there and I do have fun at times. I can even read when there's not too much work... But I am unhappy.
What am I doing there? Handling money all the time. Again and again and again. And I despise money. I hate how all the managers focus on making financial benefits instead on focusing on the people. I hate hearing the conversations of the associates about their other bussinesses: they make me think there are no real good people around, just generous people. I hate witnessing people humiliating other people, whatever their rank. I hate going there night after night waiting for some sort of miracle that never happens... and when there's a spark of hope it only leaves my hungry for more, desperate for something more real, something I can grab and touch and smell and...
I am too delicate for them, too sensitive, too soft, too sweet, too pretty, too good. So they say. The maitre said that I puzzled him, I was the only person he couldn't figure out. He said he had met hundreds of women but never anyone like me. I said I had been brought up in a special way. He said it wasn't that... that there was something completely different about me. Tonight I dreamt there was someone who had been brought up just like me... who played with shadows of flowers and whose glance danced while he walked. Am I a different species?
Do I really live inside a balloon? Should I stop believing that people are good? Should I stop believing in miracles? Should I stop waiting for a fairy tale hero? Should I stop dreaming? Should I conform?
4 comentarios:
never stop!
No , you wouldn't , but remember that the only miracle is inside you ....
You are not!!! we are very much alike
"I am too delicate for them, too sensitive, too soft, too sweet, too pretty, too good. So they say."
That´s crap if you ask me :). Why not listen to those who tell you about themselves instead of those who talk about you?
"The maitre said that I puzzled him, I was the only person he couldn't figure out."
I wouldn´t trust people who say that they can figure other people out.
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