No happy endings

   After it happened, I went right into the bathroom and pretended I was doing what people do in a bathroom. Of course, I had closed the door properly and, after a few minutes, I turned the faucet on to make water run and make them think I was washing my hands. But the truth was that I wasn’t doing any of that. I was staring at myself in the mirror, looking at a person that I knew but not really that well. I got closer to the glass and really tried to get in there, I really tried to see if there was a human behind those eyes. Maybe the one I thought I knew or maybe another, a new person that I had to get to know better.

 But no, it was me. It was me there, naked on a bathroom in which I had never been in. I decided right there that I wanted to leave but, after what was happening in there, I had no idea if anyone was going to let me leave. To be fair, they both looked like decent people, not the kind that put a lock on the door and then do something unspeakable. No, they really seemed like any other people or at least like any others that liked what they had started doing after a lot of drinks. But I did want to leave so that had to be my priority. In this day and age, I couldn’t just do as they pleased and forget myself in seconds.

 However, that was exactly what I did. I tried to forget myself for a while, trying to pretend I was some other person or that I was in some other place. It worked for short periods of time but then I had an interruption from reality and I had to start over again. But that had been a very good idea because, not much long after my escape to the bathroom, everything finished and we found ourselves catching our breaths. It was then I stepped out of that place, after arranging myself properly that is and checking that I had all my belongings on me. I know very well how rude that was of me, but there was no other way.

As I walked towards the bus stop, I tried to convince myself that was the best thing to do. After all, I didn’t even know them. I hardly knew their names and not so much more about them. I did not know what they did for a living and had no idea of the dog’s name, the one that had been sleeping in his little bed for all the time I had been in there. I didn’t get to ask how was it possible that they could afford such a nice place in such an expensive neighborhood, being only two people with, as far as I knew, fairly common incomes. But none of that was ever mention at any moment, as alcohol had played too much a role.

 I sat down at the bus stop. The place was lonely and freezing. Luckily, the next bus would pass in just a few minutes and I would be home in a rather short time, or so I hoped because of the late hour. When the bus got there, I noticed there were very few people in it at that time and the only ones there were all alone, not talking to anyone or having any kind of interaction. Somehow, I felt I belonged there at that moment, in that exact place in the world.

 When I got home, I checked my cellphone as I took off my clothes off for a second time that night. They had written me that they had loved their evening with me and would have loved for me to stay. I felt strange, wrong somehow. It was all made even weirder by the fact that the guy that wrote had a picture of their wedding as his profile picture on the app he used to contact me. It made me feel like an invader, like someone who wasn’t supposed to be there. And also, it made me feel lonely and not worthy of anything.

 I spent a few minutes in the dark, sitting on the edge of my bed, only wearing socks and briefs. I wondered about my life, my shitty little place, my horrible job and my absolute lack of friendships and real love possibilities. Instead of spending a fun night, which had been my intention all along, I was feeling horrible. Feelings of loneliness and sadness invaded my body and it was then when I moved to get under the covers and tuck myself in tightly in order for the warmth of the fabrics to make me feel a little less horrible.

 However, the mind always works more when left alone. So, I started thinking about the cute couple that I had met earlier. They had seen me at the bar, and we started drinking right then, drinking and drinking a lot. We did that for only a couple of hours and then they talked about their place and I just said “yes”, without any hesitation or doubt. I just pushed myself into something I didn’t know about, without measuring any possibility of danger or any outcomes. They had chosen me as their person for a while and it was just when I entered their place when I realized what I had become, at least that night.

 I was just a guy. I wasn’t me, with my personality and all the things that make myself the person that I am. They weren’t interested in that, so the alcohol collaborated with some part of my unconscious brain to just hide all that was me and “enjoy” myself that way. And I did, I cannot pretend I did not feel pleasure or happiness in different amounts. But it was right before running to the bathroom when I realized they just wanted a body there to be with them. I was not myself in the sense that there was no one inside that body, at least not the full me controlling everything, as it should always be the case.

 One has to do what one has to do, so I did. I made them happy or at least did exactly what they had probably thought about for a long time. I was the vessel for their imagination, for their pleasures and fantasies. And that was nice, I guess, but I have to believe someone, only one person, can also feel something for me and not only for the me that moves around the world but for the me that lives inside this body, the me that thinks and hurts and feels insane sometimes. Maybe someone can find a way to actually love me for who I am.

 But I won’t keep my hopes up. This is life, not a silly movie. There are no real happy endings.

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.

Happy new year

   The last place has always been paired with all the bad connotations. Being last is seen as having virtually no good qualities. Sometimes, not even bad qualities. You just don’t have anything going on for yourself if you come up in the last place. You might as well not run or participate, many think. But the truth is that there will always be a last one, as nothing in this world lasts forever and everything and everyone is doomed to disappear. And someone or something will be last, because things are finite.

 Can you imagine being the last human in the world? Yes, it would be extremely lonely and sad but you would be the last one, the last creature walking in two legs with a brain good enough to create things that are almost impossible. And you would be the last one in that lineage. You would be the last one to understand what feelings are and the last one to know how to attempt and explain them. You will be the last one to love and the last one to properly cry of real sadness.

 That’s all very beautiful, poetic even. You will be the last recipient of a vast history, encompassing bloody wars and beautiful romances. In you, the last remaining body, memories of all that has been and had been before you were born would be deposited. A brain acting as the last vessel for all human thought and advancement. Every single thing that humankind has done will be imbued in your blood and your flesh. When you die, being the last one of us all, an entire part of the history of the universe will die too.

 Tragic but there’s beauty in all the most awful things. We can deny it all that we want but that’s the way it is. Awful things can be fatal, can mark the last part of something, and maybe that’s why they can be beautiful, even in the darkness and among the most despised of human occurrences. Not everyone can actually see that light in the dark, but when you do, it’s the most beautiful thing you can ever see. That’s the world we live in and the world we have made around us, as members of the human race.

 So when you die, being the last of us, you will encompass everything beautiful and everything awful in your own essence, in your body and your soul.  All the concepts, the ideas, the feelings and thought, they will all somehow live inside of you, still breathing even if barely, trying to survive one more day. But, as we said before, being last is something that happens forever, something that does not change, no matter how much we would like it. “Last” is forever and that’s the way it is. So we will have to calm down in the last moments and just appreciate what was and never will be again.

 A year is the same. The end of this year marks the end of a series of events that marked our life that made us into the people that we are. Of course, many of those things will spill put into the next year and the following years, but as our live are so short, we can really define each year with ease. It isn’t difficult to put a name to it, to define it as something. Some years are bad and some are good, for example, depending on whom you ask. That’s the base of it all, the one that’s stored inside our heads for the future.

 It always happens that people begin to think an awful lot during the last few days of the year. They regret not doing some things and are happy that they did some others, but they know very well that whatever has happened cannot be undone and that they will have to deal with it. Nothing is clearer than when a loved one has passed and we remember that year because of it. Of course, its painful, but it’s also the reminder of our own mortality and that we should appreciate every single day on this Earth.

 The thing is we start thinking about what we have done only when the year is coming to an end, but rarely before that. Maybe in birthdays or days when we feel especially sad or down about something, but in many countries the last month of the year is the one with more suicides, homicides and, in general, more violent deaths than any other part o the year. Maybe it’s precisely because we start thinking about things and we decide we didn’t do enough or others didn’t do enough either. It can be a mess.

 The best thing is to think about every single thing we did and not only fixating our look on the bad stuff, which is what we tend to do often. Bad things always seem to be more serious, like their matter more, which is ridiculous. Feeling good and happy should always be as important as feeling like shit, so we should never take it for granted. Taking everything into account is very important and never forgetting that we are creatures made to feel everything, no matter what is and that nothing is forever.

 At the end of this year, we shouldn’t thing too much about the next one, we should just feel content with what we have done and just be on the lookout for the next year. If we want to achieve something special, then we should work towards it, doing whatever is needed to properly reach our goal. And that’s it, do things if you want or don’t do them if you don’t want to. It’s that simple and you should never complicate yourself with silly thought in a moment when you should be celebrating instead of feeling like shit. Jus enjoy the time you have because it is limited and there are no do-overs.

Happy new year.