Miks And Jen

06 February 2012, 11.04 PM
Valladolid, Spain

Quickly as I am tired. But there are things I have to remember.

It was cold tonight. I was freezing. No, seriously, I was really cold.

I met a Scottish girl tonight. We talked for an hour in English. She taught me how to say words with a Scottish accent. She taught me about kilts. She taught me about the Fringe. She taught me about nay and aye and nayeyoudidnte or something like that. She taught me how Scotland is like. I absolutely love her accent. I seriously do. It’s a bit difficult to understand but she sounds so adorable. Hoose, oot, gizme, yoos, wee. I can’t remember the rest anymore.

I attended a former classmate’s talk about the movies of Don Siegel in the library. I don’t know any of his movies. I’m not so sure if I want to know any of his movies. I had to leave early to eat something and meet the Scottish girl.

I was in the library and I saw the books I used to read when I was a little girl. All in Spanish. I wanted to cry. They brought back so many memories. A time when, as Kurt Vonnegart phrased it, “everything was beautiful and nothing hurt.”

Valladolid - Barcelona - Tampere - Tallinn - Riga - Vilnius - Barcelona - Bayonne - San Sebastian - Valladolid - This MIGHT just happen. Thank you, God. Thank you, Universe.

I had my hair cut today. It has been growing. People were telling me so. Hence, the haircut. I don’t know when I will ever grow my hair. I like my hair short. It makes me seem edgy, I’m not BTW, I’m not edgy. And I don’t do anything to keep it neat and tidy.

I listened to Amy Winehouse the entire day today. I love her. I feel ashamed for not listening to her when she was alive. She was brilliant. I am mourning her death.

Oh and remind me please to write something about the witty Catalán friend. He’s adorable. And he’s French. And he’s witty. I need to talk about him. He said something about tortilla de patatas. Yes yes yes.

05 February 2013
Valladolid Spain

Neil Gaiman is making me cry. His #KeepGoing project is making me think of things that I shouldn’t be thinking of. Of Junes and Julys and Augusts. No, those should be kept in a box and locked away.

I don’t want you to hurt me like that anymore.

31 January 2013, 8.14 AM
Valladolid, Spain

So I won’t forget.

I absolutely love basil. I remember eating them by the handfuls when Miks used to make those Italian dishes of his. My plate always used to resemble a pasta salad because of all the basil I used to throw in. But, yeah, I don’t eat pasta now so I eat it with my tortilla de patatas instead. Ina Garten does so why not, right? OK fine, hers’ is a fritata but they’re kinda the same things, I mean the tortilla.

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I am listening to Beirut. In Europe. I used to listen to them back home, you know, yearning to be where I am. I am here. I am in Europe. Oh God. *weeps with gratitude*

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I taught English yesterday. It was … challenging. Sigh. To be honest, all I wanted to do was tell kids that they were beautiful and smart and loved and that learning could be fun. But but but they weren’t listening to me. They kept on talking in Spanish. No one wanted to talk to me in English. They didn’t even want to give me their names. I remember this kid who kept on insisting that he was Eustaquio. And Simon Says was a disaster. I didn’t even know how to play the game. Sigh. Oh the woes of pedagogy. Maybe I should just get into art or gastronomy. At least food and photos don’t talk back to you.

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I met a beautiful Scottish girl yesterday. She might possibly be able to get me a job. Hm. A job. Hm. Well let’s see. I’m crossing my fingers. It’ll be fun.

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I now know where to buy fresh rosemary. So, fresh basil, check. Fresh chives, check. Fresh cilantro, check. Fresh dill, check. Fresh mint, check. Fresh parsley, check. Fresh spearmint, check. Now if I can only find fresh thyme and oregano, life would be perfect.

29 January 2012 10.59 PM
Valladolid, Spain

So I won’t forget.

Camarera: O sea, tú quieres aprender el inglés y ella el español.
Yo: No, al revés.
Camarera: Pero para qué? Ya lo hablas muy bien.

Ajijiji.

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I’m teaching English tomorrow. Oh but I don’t know how to teach that. I teach Spanish. It will be … interesting. To be honest, actually, I think that getting TO the academia would be the hardest thing. I will get lost. I just know it. No me oriento bien.

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I lost my earphones. I NEVER go anywhere without them. Sob.

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Yo: Y la contraseña para el wifi?
Camarero: No necesitas.
Yo: Pero me la está pidiéndo. No me conecto.
Camarero: No necesitas.
Yo: Ah, lo pillo.

Mario, Gonzalo, Gorge, Enrique, Obet, Ana, Alberto, Fernando, Karin, y Rodolfo. Y yo.

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Sois, sois, sois pijos, majos, pero pijos, no debería haberme ido.

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I’m exhausted. I don’t even want to wash my face. I just want to sleep.

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I didn’t cover my tattoo today. I should have but I didn’t. It’s beautiful.

27 January 2013 10.58 AM
Valladolid, Spain

I used to write to a boy everyday. For months. I wanted to tell him so many things you see. But he wouldn’t listen. So I wrote. I wrote him my memories. Because if I insisted, he would listen, I know. But he’s gone now, that boy. He disappeared. I’m left with no one to write to.

Oh but there is always myself. There is indeed that. From and to myself. So I write. It has been a while.

Oh to put pen on paper. Oh to write.

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I got myself tattooed yesterday.

I had to wait. José Antonio was still working at 1. I didn’t mind. Music was playing, rock, one artist after another, a medley. I was reading and he was drawing on a pretty girl with glasses.

He was complaining about my design being too small, he said he needed it to be bigger. I told him to go ahead, to do what he had to do because I trusted him. He asked me why. I was surprised, he caught me off guard, so I said truthfully “Because you know more than I.”

He was getting ready to draw on me when Black Dog came on. I sang along. “It’s my favorite Led Zeppelin song.” I said. He couldn’t believe it. How could it be, that a little girl like me, would listen to things like that? “They’re for old ones like us.” He said. “No.” I replied. “I don’t think so, they’re for cool people like us.” He gave me a smile.

He drew on me, the first verse of my favorite poem by my favorite poet. It’s beautiful.

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I asked 3 different people the same question last night. I asked “If you were curious, why didn’t you ask?”