He came back

   Trekking the archipelago was an adventure, there’s no other way to describe it. They had always been there, available for everyone to go and just take the challenge. Technically, they were a national park but getting the permission to walk through the islands and sail was not impossible to get. The only condition that could annoy people would be the fact that a guide sent by the government office in charge of national parks would have to get a seat in the group that would be crossing the islands.

 Amak was the name of our guide and he was only the third member in our small party. I was one of the others. The second member would be my husband, the person that had initially thought of the trip. He had been dreaming about it for many years, as he had been trekking the world with his parents since he was a little kid. They were ecologists; so travelling around the planet was a common thing for him. He had a birthday on Mount Everest and his parents wedding had taken place in the Australian desert.

 Somehow, he had ended up marrying to a person like me, someone that rarely travelled more than a hundred kilometers away from his birthplace. I had only flown on a plane three times in my life and they had all been moments of a certain character, like birthdays and special occasions for my family. I had met him in college and, to be honest, I had never really liked him. He had the attention of every single person at every moment, he was the one all girls fell in love with and all guys admired.

 It was just like that until the very last semester; when we were almost forced to interact do to the impending arrival of that dreaded moment when you have to make a final paper to sum it all up at the end of the career. The problem, which I now see as a blessing, was that we had similar projects and we were convinced to do the work together and surrender it as a duo, instead of doing it all by ourselves. So we had to start seeing each other often and it was then when everything changed.

 We started seeing each other differently and I discovered he had an image of me, as I had formed a picture of him. Of course, both ideas were not complete or accurate, so it was kind of interesting to uncover that slowly. We became friends after the first few months and then we really got to working on our thesis. We came up with a lot of things together and, by the end of all that process, we discovered we had something very precious between each other, something that was much more special than a newfound friendship. It was the time we knew more feelings were involved.

 After college we separated for a while though, because he needed to go back to his parents who were living in Nepal in that time. I was sure that he wasn’t coming back to the city, so I decided to just be a nice friend before he left. He didn’t say much during those days, preferring to be silent and a little bit distant. When he left, I caught myself crying sometimes, in the most strange places and moments. I just dried the tears and pretended nothing was going on, lying to myself because it was easier that way.

 To my surprise, he appeared in my life again six months later, after a long time without communicating to me. We agreed on talking on a bar and the moment I saw him I felt everything again, as if he had never left. It was strange, so I decided not to act on any feeling and just enjoy the moment. And we did. He told me new stories about his parents and also some of his own, helping people in remote areas and enjoying nature and life at tits fullest. He seemed to have had a great time there and it was obvious he wanted to be there.

 So I asked him why had he came back? It was obvious that he had everything he wanted back with his parents, traveling the globe and enjoying life near nature. And he now had a career to help himself and his family, so it did not make any sense to come back to a place he didn’t like or appreciate it beyond some friendships and the career he had gotten. I turned a bit angry as I said that, but I tried to control myself as much as I could. My voice trembled and my hands were shaking visibly.

 He did the worst thing he could have done in that moment: instead of talking, of explaining himself, he put his hand on mine. I jumped from my seat, almost knocking over my glass full of beer. Everyone turned around to look at me and I was too embarrassed, so I left him there on his own. I walked back to my house, not that far away from the place we had been drinking in. I was enraged and on the verge of crying, my fists tightly closed and my jaw closing violently as if I wanted to destroy my own teeth.

 However, he ran to get to me. Again, he grabbed me by the wrist and stopped me. Instinctively, I launched a punch towards him but he dodged it and made me get closer to him, in a weird hug that he forced at first but then I corresponded slowly. I finally cried and asked him again why he had come back to that place, to me. Again, he answered with no words, something I’ve learned that he likes to do quite often. He kissed me right then and there, in the middle of the street and of the night. It didn’t last long but it was enough for me to let my defenses down and finally get calm.

 And now, year later, he convinced me to travel like he once did. I had no commitment with nay kind of work or with anyone, so he convinced me to work with him and his parents and sometimes only with him. He was the kind of person that helped remote communities stand on their own two feet. He helped them communicate with the world and get access to everything they needed to survive. He convinced me to go with him and I accepted, feeling maybe I needed to change my life decisively.

 That trip crossing the islands was just part of the fun, something to do before and after helping people. The first night, we hugged tightly and Amak slept as if he had never done that before. I realized it couldn’t be that bad to be in the middle of the wilderness with the one person that came back to me, looking precisely for me. He loved me and I felt that every day I was with him, even if he made me do things I didn’t particularly liked doing. I guess he felt I was able to do all that and he wanted me to dare a bit.

 I spent all of those days holding his hands, sometimes for some minutes, sometimes for much longer. I realized I really loved that man and I loved the way he did things and how he trusted in me much more than I did myself. He made me feel better than special. He made me feel I was worth it.

I choose freedom

   I had never been the type of man that smokes. However, after so much shit happening around and to me, I figured smoking was not really the worst thing in the world. I had received all the cancer pep talks, all the advice to tell me it looked so disgusting and the smell was so repelling. But I didn’t care. I had already been in a hospital for several weeks and had been given a bunch of things to do, as if I had just entered middle school or something. I threw all that crap out to the garbage and decided to leave as freely as I could.

 Then again, freedom was a word people said but rarely understood in these times. Freedom is not what it used to be. Now freedom has limits, it has rules and regulations. Freedom stopped existing a long time ago and gave way to all these people that just want to rule over everything people are able to do with their bodies, including the use of their penis and their brain. Freedom doesn’t mean shit anymore. The good thing is that I don’t give a rat’s behind either. The world around can crumble and I will crumble with it.

 In my small flat, the one I barely have money to pay for, it is me who determines what freedom is. And my version of freedom involves not using clothes around the house, except when cooking and just doing whatever I want, in whichever way I want to do it. I eat whatever I feel like and I invite all the people I want, when I want it. And if I want to be alone for days, I do that too. Books and movies become my refuge and I binge them like crazy for a while until I’m ready to be in the world of the living again.

 I do have sex when some of the people I invite come. They seem a little bit scared sometimes, because my flat is not the kind of mess they are expecting to see. They look at me and think they have me all sorted it, some weird hipster fuck that rarely bathes, smokes weed and smells funny. And then I’m not, because people often prefer to form ideas of others in their heads instead of properly getting bothered to really know someone. Then again, sometimes there’s no time to really get to know each other.

 Sometimes they only come here for a fuck and that’s all we do. And I try to make it good for them, because if I went to a guy’s house, after paying the bus fare and maybe dressing nice and getting something to do before fucking, then I would want the whole experience to be at least enjoyable. Sadly, many times that doesn’t happen, especially when people come thinking one thing and then it becomes this other event in which no one has sex and everyone is miserable because they are dealing with some kind of shit. Those dates are the worst and after those I go back to my books and movies.

 Weird or not, I never mix both those things. I never ask someone to come and then watch a movie. Not only does that seem counter productive to me, its almost invasive and unbearable. I enjoy watching movies and those that I love are like precious gems to me. Sharing them with people that may not be able to see what I see in them, would be problematic, to say the least. And I never talk about books, religions, politics or anything like that before having sex. No idea how many right-wingers I’ve brought in. And I don’t want to know.

 Besides sex, I really like to cook and sometimes I do that with the only friends I have. We’re only three, two guys and one girl and we like to get together sometimes and just chat away, and talk about all those things I can’t and won’t talk about with the people I sometimes bring in. It’s fun, because it makes me change a little bit every now and then. It makes the place look different and feel different, and it’s not all about the food we make. It’s about the trust and all the other feelings that are able to exist in those circumstances.

 Those two are my only friends in the whole planet. There’s no one else. I know the have other friends, their social lives being way more diverse and entertaining than mine. They sometimes mention those other people but I think they know how uncomfortable it is for me to hear about people I don’t know. They only do it when they want to make a point or tell a funny story. And its not because I forbid it in my house or something, it is just that they know what kind of person I am and they have decided to respect that.

 They ask me about the people I bring in my house and always ask questions, trying to get funny stories and anecdotes from me. They know how it is and that weird stuff always happens. I tell them and they usually laugh their asses off and that’s how we know our gathering is going well: by counting how many times we’ve laughed as hard as we can. Of course, we don’t actually count the times but we are very aware that some times things are different, because of some exterior occurrence that has the power to change the ambiance.

 That happened on the first meeting after I got out of the hospital. They had visited me there a couple of times and when we decided to meet up just the three of us, it just seemed odd. For most of the time, it felt like we didn’t even knew who the others were, as if three complete strangers had suddenly appeared in some random living room with glasses of wine and little things to eat. Even the food tasted funny that time. Thankfully, it all ended very early and the next time we actually discussed it all and started having fun like all those other times before. It was a tough situation.

 The third kind of visitors I get in my flat are my mom, my dad and my brother. They often come all at the same time, as if it was an invasion. I have to say that I really like catching up with mom and dad and I try to visit them in their place as often as I can. It gets a little bit tiring because they always want me to do something for them, but I guess that’s one of the things that happen when your only brothers is married and has a full family of his own to take care of. They assume he’s too busy to ever help at all.

 Of course, he kind of is but he could still visit them more often. The reason he comes to my house when they come is because he can then do two visits at the same time and that’s time saved for him. The thing is he brings his wife with him and his two children. Yeah, I think she’s kind of a bitch and I know she thinks something similar about me. And the children are okay but a little bit to overprotected, so they tend to do dumb things and ask the stupidest questions, but I really do not blame them for that. I blame her.

 She’s always going around my house telling them not to touch my things or not to do one thing or the other. I always tell the kids, away from her, that they can do whatever they want as long as they don’t break anything or do any serious damage to my place. But besides that, they can jump on the bed or flood the sink and play with boats or whatever the fuck they want to do. Oh, and she also hates that I curse but, as it is my place and I was in a hospital for so long, even my parents have decided not contradict me on that.

 I love watching her all pissed off while we eat. Not only because my concept of freedom goes much further than hers, but also because she knows she cannot say a word. She’s in my house and they are my nephews, my parents and my brother. In a way, she’s the one that doesn’t belong there. But I would never tell that to my brother who loves the woman like a mad idiot. He knows we don’t get along but has decided to ignore that in order to have a peaceful family life. And I greatly admire him for doing that. Very well done.

 When everyone leaves, I clean and get everything in order. I take off my clothes and lie down in my bed and do what I like, read something or watch a movie. But sometimes I also stay there, looking at the window or at the ceiling, just thinking about how much my life changed after I had the accident.

 We all thought I was going to die. We really did. The doctors still tell me it was nothing short of a miracle that I was able to live through that, to survive. I do consider myself lucky but I wonder about the responsibility that gives me. I’ve decided to be really free. That’s what I think the world wants from me.

Memories with sauce

   As the water began to bowl, I opened the pasta packet and dropped it all inside. I was eating alone, but I felt hungry and also felt like not having to excuse myself if I wanted to eat a bit more than usual. I turned to the fridge and grabbed my favorite pasta sauce. I would mix it with vegetables and cheese, in order to turn my meal into a needed relaxing time. I really needed to stop thinking about all the things around me and just, for once, enjoy myself having a nice plate of hot and hearty food.

 The pasta softened fast and my sauce started boiling in no time as well. I had chopped onions, peppers, carrots and mushrooms, as well as a big eggplant that I had found in my fridge and didn’t remember buying at the store. It all went into the sauce and I decided to wait for everything to be just perfect. I grabbed my phone, and browsed through happy pictures of people, some traveling and some others with their children and getting married or celebrating something with, apparently, thousands of people somewhere nice.

 I rarely had any time to go on holidays, so I always wondered how the hell they did it, how was it that they earned a very decent living and, at the same time, had so much time to do nothing. Getting a job had taken me forever and it was not now that I would attempt to lose it only to go frolicking in the waves of some beach in an Asian country. I sure was jealous of what they had, but not at every single moment of my life. It was just when I browsed those stupid pictures and also when I felt not so high on myself.

 The pasta had to be ready then. I grabbed my plastic strainer and took all the water out from it. When it was good and dry, I put it back into the pot. No moment left to think, I grabbed the other pot with the sauce and pour it all over my pasta. Looking at those delicious chunks of deliciousness was enough to make me feel very happy again. I forgot about the stupid pictures I had seen and decided to only dedicate the rest of that day to the delicious food I was making and also going to eat.

 I stir it all good and even put on some butter on it, in order for the pasta not to stick to anything too much. As I moved my food around, the smell of it all reminded me of better times or at least easier ones. I remembered the food that was served to me in the cafeteria, at school. I especially remembered taco day. The tacos were not even that good but the rush of having such an uncommon food in school was enough to make me feel happy. It even made the food taste so much better. I would ask the lady for more and more, until she had to tell me that others also wanted to eat tacos.

 Fat was something I never really was but I did get a bit chunky in high school. I think it was because I would rather completely avoid any physical exercise. I ate like any kid does at that age, tacos were an exception. What I really hated was physical education and how the teachers were always so happy and positive in those courses. It was really unnerving how fucking happy they were to play anything or to make us run around the whole school. It was almost like some sort of boot camp, at least in their minds.

 As I served myself a big bowl of pasta, I realized I was smiling from ear to ear. Apparently, remembering school was causing me some kind of pleasure, which was very strange because I didn’t really have any nice memories from that time in my life. I was a very average student, I even had to do one year all over again. Making friends seemed like the world’s hardest task and I also felt it was just futile because I kept failing horribly when trying to get to know people, and kids are tough as nails when they want to be.

 I smiled though. I sat down on my two-seat dinner table and turned on the TV in order to feel some company in the apartment. It was one of those things most lonely people do in order not to feel they are going completely insane. I left it on some animal channel, were dogs seemed to be misbehaving and a man was trying to get them to be nicer. I didn’t pay much attention to it, preferring to get back to my teenage years and explain to myself why I had been smiling before. The answer was pretty simple.

 As strange as it may be, I realized I really liked myself back then. What I mean is that I love how I did some things in that time. Sometimes we recall are youth and have second thoughts about everything, but I had just realized I didn’t or at least not about that whole segment in my life. I loved that I had the balls to just not go to some of my PE classes, I’m glad I stood my ground and just pretended to go to the bathroom and instead sitting down on the library in order to enjoy myself in a more personal way.

 Yes, the teachers caught a couple of times and I got in trouble with my parents because of that but it was worth it. Because I was building myself, I was building this man and everything could have been different if I had forced myself to do the things I didn’t want to do. Some people don’t understand that doing things that you don’t like is only good when it makes sense and not when the only thinks that it causes is that just start disappearing, you stop being yourself and instead you become this copy, a bad one probably, of some else who’s not even that interesting to begin with.

 The dog show has ended and now it’s a cat show. Every single piece of vegetable in the sauce is just right, beautifully seasoned and with a taste that would make any Italian mother and grandmother proud. It fills my heart and my soul that I had the good idea to make something that delicious in a moment when I really needed to feel comforted. It cannot be all about responsibilities in life; we have to learn how to have fun and how to make ourselves feel good when we need to. That’s the only way we can survive.

 The only really bad thing about those times and my life in general, is that I never really had what it took to make friends or get to know people properly. Sure, I did call some people friends during high school and also in college. Even now, I call some of the people I work with “friends”. But I know the word is probably too big for our relationships. I know that friendships are built of much stronger materials and that they should at least last for a couple of years in order to be considered real friendships.

 So, in that sense, the amount of friends I have is alarmingly low. And again, I put the blame on me. I lack what it takes to be a really good friend and I have to confess I don’t really know what it is that makes you that. Even in high school, I failed horribly at trying to make connections with people. Sure, I had “friends” but once we parted ways after college started, people disappeared in seconds because we stopped having something in common. Only being in school made us feel similar and much more is needed.

 I think that is my only regret, not trying hard enough to be a better friend or just trying to figure out what people look for when they are looking for a friend. Well, for starters I guess people don’t really “look for” friends, they just happen to get some as any normal human being. Damn, I guess most people don’t put so much pressure on the whole business to start with. But, again, if I didn’t think too much about things, I just wouldn’t be me. And what would be the point then, if it’s not the real me looking for those friends?

 The past filled my soul and body. I learned the recipe from my mom and I thanked her for that later that day. But after eating, I sat there at the dinner table, thinking about my memories from school. The people I had hated for being so easy going, the likely friendships lost because of that.

 I grabbed my cellphone and look around some of the apps. I finally found the name I was looking for and started texting with him. After a few minutes, I asked if he could come by my house or if he wanted to have a drink. No idea if a friendship is possible there but at least I’m willing to try.

Lessons in the ice

   I would always spend my winters in my friend Robert’s cabin, in the woods just north of the Northern Lake. His family never used it on such windy and cold months but I needed that time to be alone and be able to think for once, about my life, decisions and so on. My family lived far away and I didn’t have any money to go and visit them, so I would pack my laptop and portable Wi-Fi and just cold them from the cabin on Christmas day to wish them all a happy day and talk to them for a while.

 The reason I liked the cabin, or at least the main one, was that the lake was just a few minutes away by walking. Part of it would freeze but the other half would stay liquid because of a strong current coming from a river that traverse the body of water. The part of the lake nearest to the cabin was the one that was always frozen, and I would practice my jumps and twists right there. I would do it for hours, never fearing that the ice would break beneath my feet or that I could be attacked by a feral animal.

 I had grown to know the lake deeply, so I knew very well that the ice was at its thickest when I visited, almost a meter thick at times. That was more than enough for me to spend hours and hours practicing. My skating was getting sloppy and I couldn’t do the things that I was famous for several years before, when I first entered the ice skating circuit. I had been labeled a “star” and “the next best thing to come out of ice skating”. There were gifts and praise and flowers and all kinds of beautiful moments.

 But that had happened then and this was now. Me gliding on the ice, jumping and trying to make a good figure, just to be stopped in the middle of the air by my weight or my stupid feet. I seemed to have lost my form in a matter of a few years and coming back now was going to be the most difficult thing ever. I had made the decision to try my best to make a comeback, a last attempt at glory before I entered well into my thirties. That’s the magical number that you cannot go over, not in this world.

 I had checked out every single competitor I was going to have and they were all much younger than me. The prodigy of the group was a kid that was more than ten years younger, with a small stature and slender body, he was sure to make a big impression in any contest. I needed to work a lot to get to that level, to even get near what the others were doing. No one cared that I had won so many awards years ago. They didn’t care if they had been gold, silver or bronze. I wasn’t in their landscape at all. I was just a memory of a past that wasn’t that old.

 I worked out every single day in the cabin, just after having a small breakfast. I would jog around the woods and do sit-ups and pull-ups and every single kind of exercise to make my body what it had used to be. It hurt a lot and it there were many moments in which I wanted to drop it all and just go back to what I had been doing for the past year and a half. Working at the supermarket and as a cashier in the local skating rink was not bad at all. It helped pay the bills at least. But I needed more.

 Telling anyone about my plans was out of the question. Even after sending my papers to inscribe my name for the upcoming events, no one had notice that I was there, trying to make a comeback. They would only notice me once I stepped in the ice once again to reclaim my throne or at least make a decent attempt at it. I hadn’t told my family or anyone else. No one needed to know about what I wanted to do with the next few years of my life. They wouldn’t understand why I just need to do it.

 Maybe if I had a friend, I would tell them what was going on in my head the moment I decided to go back to such a difficult sports life. But I don’t have any because everyone left me after I stopped being famous and a success. And those who didn’t leave me were alienated by the person I became after I hung up my skates to pursue a more “normal” life. They were disappointed in me and got fed up of my negative attitude towards life. I have always said that I would never hold that against them.

 Sometimes, at night, I wonder about what those people think now that I’m planning to come back to the competitions. Are they going to be still mad at me for leaving everything in the first place or are they going to silently cheer me on? Well, I’m never going to know that but it’s not important. I need to do this whatever the results may be and no matter how difficult it can get. And it’s already pretty hard so I guess things are going to be pretty messy. But that’s the challenge I accepted.

 When winter is over, I will go back to the city and start practicing on a proper ice rink and then the trials and competitions will begin. Everyone will know I’m trying to get back to the top and then everything will become even harder. But I trust I can push through and just get to a point were I get to enjoy skating again. I want to feel what I felt all those years ago, because it was the best feeling ever. It was like walking on clouds and being able to fly over everyone else, doing something most people would only dream about. It felt so special and magical, a one of a kind sensation.

 But before that, I need to get back in shape, I need to be able to be that person I once was or at least someone very similar. I have to learn from the mistakes I made back then and also make new ones, because no one is perfect and there’s no way I’m going to step on those competitions thinking I’m better than others just because I have been there before. No, I need to know that I’m starting over, from the bottom. I need to make the trip to the top with all the dangers and difficulties, because that’s the only way I can do this right.

 Sometimes, I can already feel the rush through my body, going up from the skates to my hair, rushing with my blood which is warmed by the simple power that you feel when you’re doing something that makes you feel unique and present in this world. That one of a kind feeling.

 But then I fell, flat on my ass, hitting myself once and again and again, against the hard and cold ice. I see my body covered in cuts and bruises and I realize I’m just beginning. There’s still a long way to go for me but I do not mind at all. I want to get to the finish line. I need to get there.