All wrong

   Alan put one finger in the water: it was perfect. He closed the tap and took off his towel. He put it on a hanger just by the tub and then entered the water, laying peacefully in the tub, closing his eyes and smiling calmly. He hadn’t been properly relaxed for many days because of work and family and he had decided to take this Sunday to just be at peace with himself, enjoying what he liked and doing everything for him only.

 He opened his eyes remembering he hadn’t used the bath foam he had bought a day ago in the mall. He stood up, carefully stepped on the floor mat and walked to the sink. He grabbed the small bottle and poured some in the water. Then, when he was about to enter the calm of the bubbles, he heard the intercom’s sound. He decided not to answer it but then it kept on ringing. He grabbed the towel, put it around him and went to the kitchen to answer the call. Apparently someone from work had come to visit him and leave some documents. He asked the man to say he didn’t want any visitors but then he heard another voice: it was his boss and apparently he had come with his wife. There was no way to say no.

 He put on an old t-shirt and some gym pants and received them. He thought his clothing would make them go away but they certainly didn’t. The truth was his boss was very fond of him but he didn’t like him in return. He was the kind of person that would use other people’s time freely, as if it was his own. Alan had to give them some cookies he had gotten from his mother as well as coffee he had prepared for a post-tub breakfast.

 Their visit seemed eternal. Who visited an employee at nine in the morning on Sunday? His hatred of his boss grew exponentially as he told him his stupid stories about the club and encounter had had with a well-known actor in the airport and when he had gone to Thailand. Alan did not want to know any of that. He couldn’t give a fuck about what his boss did outside of work and, clearly, his boss didn’t really cared about his employee’s lives.

 Then, after all his stupid stories, he confessed he had only come to visit in order to give Alan some papers that he should read for a reunion the following morning. And the he just left, as if nothing had happened. Alan decided not to ask why he hadn’t sent those damn papers by email or with a courier or some other way. Why did he have to come and bother the only person that visibly disliked him in the office? It was funny how Alan really did not express any animosity for him but then he was all nice and kind to Alan.

 He tried to not think about work, leaving the papers on his coffee table. Alan walked back to the bathroom, where the bath foam had grown so much it was spilling on the sides of the bathtub. Deciding he didn’t really mind about it, he took off his clothes, left them on the floor and put one foot in the water. He almost fell backwards when he felt the icy cold water that was beneath the foam. Now he had to empty the tub and fill it with hot water again. Half of the cold water out would be enough to fill it again.

 When most of the water was out, he opened the hot water tap to refill it. He also added some more of the foam solution, as most of it had gone down the drain with the cold water. Then, the doorbell rang again. Alan let out an exasperated sound. He was going to kill the doorman if he had let someone in without asking him. He grabbed his towel and went to the door almost running. Before he realized he could have just not answer it, he had opened the door.

 It was his neighbor Marco, a big guy that apparently spent every hour of the day at the gym. Sure enough, he wore the right attire to go and work out but that wasn’t important right then. He was holding a white cat, very fluffy with a flat face.

 - Hey man. I was wondering if you could take care of Snowball for a few hours. I            normally leave with my…

 He’s face looked as if he had forgotten the word he was about to say or even why he was there. Alan stared impatient, looking from Marco’s stupid face, to his cat’s face and then back to Marco’s. Then, he realized he was only wearing a towel, which could fall at any moment because he had not put it correctly in the haste.

 - Am I interrupting something? – He said, looking at something over Alan’s shoulder,  which wasn’t very hard to do as he was very tall.

 - Kinda… - in a very cold voice.

 - Cool…. So my girlfriend won’t take him. She’s busy and can’t do it. So would you do  it? Just for a few hours. She has already eaten and she’s very well behaved.

 He held the cat in front of Alan’s face, as if the animal was an offering a weird sacrifice ritual. Alan took the cat that tried to release himself from the man’s arms, and told Marco not to be late because he had a very busy day ahead. Marco just nodded, smiling in a way he looked like a very small child. He gave the cat a pat in the head and then headed down the stairs.

 After closing the door, Alan left the cat on the floor and turned to go in the bathroom. But the cat crossed his path and tried to attract his attention. The creature just roared softly and circled him with his fluffy tail but Alan had no time for this. He grabbed the cat, walked back to the living room and left him there. But when he tried to leave, the cat would cross his path again. He grabbed it once more but then realized the cat’s paws were wet. He was about to yell in fury because he thought it was cat piss but it wasn’t.

 There was a very large puddle of water, still advancing, from the bathroom. Then he remembered the open water tap. He threw the cat away, which landed softly on the floor, and ran towards the bathroom, his towel falling to the damped floor. He almost fell trying to close the tab of water. There was soapy foam all over and the tub kept spilling water to the floor. He finally was able to close the tap and drain the water out of the tub. Now he was wet and soapy all over and his towel was more of a wet cloth than anything else.

 He went to the kitchen and when he was about to grab the mop, the doorbell rang again. Exasperated and frustrated because of his failure to be at peace, he opened the door, slamming in hard against the opposite wall.

 - What? What the fuck is it now?!

 On the other side of the door stood his landlady, an elderly woman who was always accompanied to the upper floors by the doorman, who stood behind her. They both stared at Alan and then the woman yelled and started saying things so loud no one really understood. But Alan did get one of the words: “Pervert”. And then he realized that he was still naked, having not replaced the wet towel with a clean one.

 He slammed the door shut and, for some reason, put the security chain on. He could hear the old lady yelling all the way to the elevator and the doorman trying to calm her down. It was a disaster. Alan just remembered she had told him she would visit in order to negotiate an extension on his rent contract, which he needed to do because of the great price and place he had there. Now that was, like the bathtub foam, down the drain.

 He slid down to the floor, covering his face with his face, frustrated and sad that this so-called “peace” day had been a total failure. Then, with his eyes covered, he heard a weird scratching sound. Panicked, he put his arms aside and realized that Snowball had been quiet, too quiet until now. As he got close to the sofa, he realized the cat was cutting it open, strings of fabric on the floor and even some of the foam from the cushions.

 But that wasn’t the only thing. The papers on the coffee table were now on the floor. And no one could say now what they had been because there was only a bunch of paper strips beneath the table. Alan looked at the cat, which meowed joyfully to him and kept on going with his destruction work.

Unwind

    It felt stupid, just waiting there as if I had nothing better to do. Besides the person that had to give me the documents was late so if the job seemed easy at one point, had now became annoying beyond imagination. I had drunk a cup of coffee and was tempted to leave after waiting for fifteen minutes. Just then, a man in a white coat arrived. It was impossible to miss her: her coat was made of fur, fluffy and beautiful and, beneath it; she wore a red dress with a deep cleavage.

 What kind of agent was this? I had never seen someone so obvious! Or maybe it was her technique, to look completely out of place in that park. She waved her hand at me and I just nodded. She sat down next to me and opened her purse. Silly me, I thought she was going to extract the papers from there but I was wrong. She grabbed a lipstick and a small mirror and began a routine she must have done twenty times a day, at least. When she was done, she put her things inside the purse and looked at me.

-       Girl’s got to be ready at all times.

 I stared at her, confused. I was sure she was the one I had to talk too but she didn’t seem to know what she had to do.

 I cleared my voice and asked, looking at a family pass by:

-       Do you…

-       I’m hungry. I haven’t had one rice for hour. That plane food… I don’t know how someone eats that. I couldn’t afford first class this time so I was under deep stress for all those hours. You know those flights.

 She clearly thought she was making sense. Or it may have been the fact that she was a very good actress because I had no idea what she was talking about. She glanced around, apparently looking for something.

-       There must be a nice restaurant in this area… Town Hall is just across the street, right?

-       Yeah…

 I stood up and offered to take her to lunch. She was thrilled by the prospect of eating and didn’t shut up in the long walk to a restaurant. Seoul was a beautiful city and I wanted to see it just as much as her but I considered myself on duty. The thing was Agent Volnal appeared to have a very different attitude towards her duties. She pointed and practically screamed at everything she thought was odd or peculiar. Being a little obvious wasn’t bad but this was a bit too much.

 We finally got to a nice little restaurant. They seem to serve every traditional dish but also other popular Asian foods like sushi or fired rice. Ms. Volnal took her coat off when seating at a table by the wall and I noticed how physical she was. What I mean is she looked like a person who goes to the gym pretty often.

-       Ms.…

-       Mirna. – She said, barely moving her lips or her eyes from the menu.

 There was a long silence in which both of us decided what to order. I wasn’t feeling too hungry myself but I preferred to go along. This was too strange to leave it at that and, most importantly, people were expecting me to have important documents by nightfall.

-       I think I might have the sashimi. I love fish.

-       Good.

-       What are you having? Maybe we can order like many small things and then share. What do you think?

-       Sure, sounds fun.

 It didn’t sound fun because time was scarce and I had been advised not to stroll for too long away from the hotel or the airport. No one wanted me to be caught by the enemy or by some foreign police. But I needed the documents and I was sure she had them.

-       We would like a sashimi plate, and some kimchi and the “kaboom” sushi you list here. And…Let’s see… What else you want honey?

 For a moment, I was too shocked by the fact she had called me honey. But then I recuperated and ordered two more plates of traditional meat and vegetables. She looked around the restaurant, admiring every single piece of the décor. I, for one, was starting to get worried. Even if we decided to eat fast, which I wouldn’t bet on, nightfall would catch us there, in a small restaurant in downtown Seoul. I had to have the info fast in order to travel early the next day.

-       Have you ever been in Asia before? – She asked.

 I jumped a bit, being to immerse in my own thoughts.

-       Yeah, I’ve gone to Japan and the Philippines. And have been in Singapore too.

-       I went to Thailand last year. Phuket. You know, the place where the tsunami happened. You wouldn’t believe; they have all working and it’s so beautiful. You should totally go there.

 As a matter of fact, I had always wanted to be there. And then the waitress came and I realized I was really hungry.

 As it happens, Mirna was a delight. For the following three hours I absolutely forgot whom I was or what it was that I was doing. We talked about everything single shallow and silly thing. We laughed at some celebrity news and also about some funny things that had happened to us in the past.

 We never said a single word about or jobs. It seemed to me we didn’t need to talk about that, seeing we worked so often and for so many hours and in so many places.

-       God, this is delicious! – Said Mirna, having some kimchi.

-       I know, right? Who would think a bunch of stewed cabbage tasted this good?

-       It’s crazy. Although, I’m more of a sweet tooth.

-       Really?

-       I just love chocolate. Any guy who gives me a box of chocolates, has a very good shot at being my husband.

 I laughed. I had never felt so at ease with a woman, at least not too recently.

-       You know, there’s a store in my hotel. They sell these Belgian chocolates. Maybe we could have some.

 And we did. After eating, we took the subway together, still laughing and pointing and smiling and talking. We must have looked as best friends all the way to the hotel. There, on the ground level, there was a large chocolate store. They even created custom made orders. Mirna and I tasted a whole bunch and we each came out with a big box for our journey back home.

 Then, it came the moment to say goodbye. I had forgotten all about work until, when she kissed my cheek and hugged me goodbye; she put her lips near my ear and said:

-       Bathroom wastebasket.

 We smiled and each other and, as she walked towards the subway station, I entered the hotel and went up to my room. I didn’t even close the main door to check in the bathroom. As she had said, there was a small flash drive beneath the plastic bag in the wastebasket. And attached to it, there was a note:

I HOPE YOU ENJOYED DINNER.

I GET BORED DOING THESE THINGS

SO I HOPE YOU UNDERSTAND I NEEDED TO UNWIND.

GOOD LUCK.

M.V.

Writing Crap

My days are always the same: I wake up ten minutes before 10 AM to watch this tv show I like. As I do that, I eat breakfast. My breakfast is basically anything that lays around the fridge or the cupboard. I don't like breakfast, it annoys me for some reason.

After that, my mom is already up too so we watch more Tv for like an hour and then I shower, get dressed, tidy up my bedroom and by 1 PM I should be writing on my laptop.

And then, things get really easy or really annoying. Sometimes I've had an idea before and it comes back as I seat in front of the screen so it comes right up: every detail, every character, everything there is to say to make it good enough to read.
However, I practically never make corrections. That's because I'm lazy and also because I think that makes me kind of a bad writer, if I'm not capable to see errors as I write them.

Well, that's on the good days. On the bad days, it sucks, big time. I normally come up with stories I can write fast and don't make me go crazy. As one day I write in English and the following day in Spanish and so on, it gets easier or harder depending on how ready I am to write in one language or the other. Some things are easier on one or in the other. it just depends on my mood or something.

It happens a lot too that after i began, already with two pages finished, I realized how awful my story of the day is. I read a paragraph and I get pissed, sad and annoyed at the same time. It either doesn't make sense or it sound stupid or childish... It make me angry.
Sometimes, if I spent too much time doing it, I just post it and think "Fuck it". No one appear to be reading these so who to fuck cares.
If I happen to be particularly annoyed by my writing, I just erased it all and start again. Those times, I think how awful it would be if someone read my blog and thought "What is this?". So I write something else, out of the blue.

Writing is the only thing I think I am able to do correctly. I mean, I make cupcakes and I read a lot of wikipedia, but writing is my thing. I'm an idiot with numbers and social issues don't really get to me. Let's just say if I was a president I would very rapidly become a dictator.

And I know it's weird and frowned upon, for a so-called writer, but I don't really love reading. I mean, sure I read but not huge books and 5 in a year. Maybe I read one a year. I mean, for many people I know I suck a lot. But I believe writing and reading are two different things, that have little to do with one another. But that's me and, quite possibly, I'm the only one who thinks that.

So this is what I do. Write a blog and just hope for thing to pick up somehow. I have a career and a masters degree but no company gives a fuck about that. They want people they can mold and I'm past that. Not to say I'm such a creative soul but I'm not an empty canvas either.

After writing, I normally go walking somewhere. my goal every week day (there's no way in hell I'm going to exercise on weekends), is to walk 10 kilometers. I do it through nice little neighborhoods or by avenues or on huge malls. I don't care as long as I have time to make my brain calm down.

To sum it up, here are the reasons why I NEED to walk everyday:

 - Live with parents
 - Never had a job. NONE.
 - Have never been paid to do nothing. For real.
 - I'm 25.
 - I'm gay.
 - Social life in a coma.
 - What the hell. I do need the exercise.

And those are all (probably not) the reasons why I need to breath some fresh air and prevent myself from going crazy, again. I have my "rage episodes" and they can get pretty ugly but I writing has gotten those under control.

See? Writing is not only about doing the one thing that I do good. It's about doing something that makes me calm, that has the incredible capacity of make me think and just concentrate. I left school and college so long ago and I need some structure in some kind of way.

Before you think "the gym is nice" or some shit like that, let me tell you a little something. I hate gyms, I loath them and the people that love them. That's it. I won't apologize for that and won't explain it because, let's face it, how many people will be reading this?

Anyhow, what I like the most about writing is the imagination part. Many people think about techniques or structures or storylines and I don't really care about that. Actually, that doesn't really matter because what really matters is a good story, a real one, kind of original. That's it.

My career was focused on cinema and that made me think about how brilliant minds can be when they put all their energy on something. We are all in awe of people that have come up with awesome tales and characters and dialogue and we worship them like gods but we forget they were once like us.

Ok, maybe not like me but you get my point. They were people just looking to make their dreams real and by that I don't mean "dreams" like in "making your wishes come true". Not that. I mean taking out from you mind what's there and put it in display for others to see. That's the dream that comes true, not if you find a loved one or win the lottery.

Imagination for me is the most attractive thing. Maybe that's way my social life is in a coma. Yes, I have friends and they are a small number, which for me it's great, I know them better because of that. But I fail to make new ones because I get bored fairly fast. I mean, if I'm not interested in you in the first five minutes, believe, were not going to be anything.

Same goes with guys. If they prove to me that they have no imagination whatsoever, there will be no second date. Or second chat, to be accurate. Nowadays, not even that. I have no energy or personality left to have a steady relationship with anyone. And before you say "Someone will come when you least expect it", let's just say I have been waiting for 25 fucking years so kiss that.

Well, I think I digress a bit from my main point. For me writing makes things happen were I need them to happen first: in my mind. Yes, life is about physical things and so on but that hasn't worked for me, so what's bad about creating stuff for people to read and, first and foremost, to make me feel I'm not a failure and that I can do something?

No harm done I think.

To be honest, I prefer writing my crap every single day, that forcing myself into a life I know I will hate and loath every single day of my life. Unemployed and poor? Well, yeah. But hey, there are always fast food chains.