Inertia

From a rational standpoint, I don't have faith. No gods, no afterlife, no wishful thinking, prayers or things of that sort. Life's now and once I'm dead, that's it (thankfully).
I may have a day-to-day faith: that tomorrow I will wake up in the same city and that a nuclear bomb hasn't been detonated above our heads, that a spectacularly fast meteorite completely made of undetectable matter won't hit the Earth while I sleep (or something to that effect).

I guess the only thing I have to believe from time to time is that I'll get better. There are times in which I really see everything black and everything I do and live through loses sense. I don't really know why this happens or how does it develop; I'm just glad it's not lasting as long as it used to do just some months ago. And probably it doesn't last as much because I believe it is a transient state.

I do have my schedule fairly arranged, and try to keep on doing that regularly. It's about keeping contact with different people, getting engaged in different activities, arrange to go to the theatre, play sports or whatever thing, during the next week at least.
That's my mechanism of self-defence against myself. I spin the wheel hard when I can, and when I'm at the bottom of the pit, somehow the wheel keeps on going for a while.

The axis on which the wheel spins is that belief that my mood will get better.

Gloominess Disclaimer

"Perché scrive sempre canzoni tristi?"
"Perché quando non sono triste, esco"
(Luigi Tenco)
__________

"Why do you always write sad songs?"
"Because when I'm not down, I go out [and do stuff, TN]."
(Luigi Tenco, Italian singer and songwriter)
__________

"¿Por qué siempre Ud. escribe canciones tristes?"
"Porque cuando no estoy triste, salgo [a hacer cosas, NdT]."
(Luigi Tenco, cantautor italiano)

Will I ever be picked again?

Will I ever be picked by life again?

As I lay down in bed, I'm alone and feel like my body just finds itself in a random point of this world.
The blues.
I feel calm, but I do not know whether I can say I am at peace with myself. I every now and then get anxiety bouts, and all of a sudden everything looks black, and dull at the same time, and it comes and goes as a storm. But no, not now; it's not depression or anxiety, back-to-the-wall feelings. It's probably the rest of a man after a daily work in the fields; looking at the greatness and immensity of things around, knowing how little we are in this sea of doubts, yet knowing that the little patch of ground we ploughed, though not even fertile, does exist.

Nevertheless, I draw a line to this day and sense a need, I long for more.
Feeling happier, maybe; or feeling more at ease with the place I live in; never cease to explore.
I don't know whether I should do more to feel connected with the place in which I happen, and have at some point chosen, to live in. I know there's a lot of "exploration" to be done around here and I'm not doing this place justice in dismissing it just by having known the Buenos Aires area. Just even think about the diversity one can find in this very country, let alone Chile, Paraguay, Bolivia and such!

It's a matter of mixed feelings, though. I know coming to Argentina was a love-bound move, but I realise I've grown up personally and psychologically a lot while being here and that there's a lot more to be discovered; however, I also sense I'm, at this point in time and space, underachieving (with respect to my own standards) at some other aspects of life. I learnt how career is not everything in life, yet I can't forget how studying certain subjects at uni actually gave me a purpose, maybe I couldn't say it made me happy, but it certainly was worthwhile and sparked my curiosity. I think I can finally see both sides.

Doing work you like is important, but I also finally recognise that I need to give myself that little bit extra attention to make myself feel good, even if it involves activities such as saturday-afternoon-napping and sunday indoor cooking, socially considered "boring" for a 24-, soon-to-be 25,-year old boy, or man, guy, whatever the definition is of someone who may be financially independent from his parents, but still feels as defenceless as a 10-year-old in front of this turmoil of decisions, feelings, duties and aspirations. Best description of me at the moment.

I guess I am alone after all. It kind of comes natural, I do not have that "I belong to..." feeling, which ties me to a place, to a set of people. I have been living abroad just for the past 6 years, yet I can't help thinking in a foreign language all the time, mostly English, and recoiling to the native dialect and language just when grunting about the daily commute.

How many people have I known and "unknown"? What sort of ties do I have with my family? Will I ever feel at home again, like that time before I felt the need to evade from that very place I felt like mine?

As I browse through the the information about Australian visas, I wonder whether I will be ever picked again. Submit an Expression of Interest (EOI). "Intending migrants can be found and nominated for skilled visas by Australian employers or state and territory governments". Being chosen.
Am I a person that can like himself, what I do, and yet still be liked at the same time? Is that really what can make one happy? Am I doing my best to be chosen at least from a professional point of view?

It is a special feeling to have a real partner, not just a girlfriend, someone who chooses you everyday. I had that feeling. Not having it any more makes me feel a bit like drifting in the sea. Now that I am adrift, I might as well land somewhere else. Hoping to find firm land. Someday or maybe never. At this point in life, I probably should accept the fact that there is a chance of not being able to find firm land before I die, although that is truly disheartening.

If I ever find my land, it will not be the land I chose. I will be chosen by the land.

Tarde gris en la ciudad

Tarde gris siempre a la espera
todo cambia todo rueda
y nada parece brillar

Ha pasado tanto tiempo
aunque ya casi ni lo siento
y vuelvo al mismo lugar

Tarde gris siempre a la espera
todo cambia todo rueda
y nada parece brillar

Tal vez no sea el día ideal
tal vez hoy no sera
quizás ya no habrá nada por cambiar
tal vez no habrá final

Tarde gris en la ciudad y nadie me espera
ya no habrá manera, de decir adiós.
Tarde gris en la ciudad y nadie me espera
ya no habrá manera, de decir adiós.

Tarde gris siempre a la espera
todo cambia todo rueda
y nada parece brillar

A pasado tanto tiempo
que ya casi ni lo siento
y vuelvo al mismo lugar

Tal vez no sea el día ideal
tal vez hoy no sera
tal vez tuviste tiempo de olvidar
tal vez no volverás.

Tarde gris en la ciudad y nadie me espera
ya no habrá manera, de decir adiós.
Tarde gris en la ciudad y nadie me espera
ya no habrá manera, de decir adiós.

Tarde gris en la ciudad y nadie me espera
ya no habrá manera, de decir adiós.

Tarde gris siempre a la espera
todo cambia todo rueda
y nada parece brillar.

Random states of mind

Certain days I wake up and feel good, feel the warmth of my friends, still have something to look forward to..then right at the bottom of my heart, there lie and start to float all sorts of bad memories, bad thoughts that never leave me (like the volatiles of cigarette smoke never actually leave the lungs). The timespan of a short train trip to work is enough to change me.
I feel I become autistic on certain days. Gloominess inside, in stark contrast with the bright sunshine outside. Not giving a flying toss about anything and anyone, including me.

I hate mood swings.

Just yesterday I was going on about how relieved I felt I met again with Sofía...kind of agreeing on terms of what the current situation is..relieved to have kind of cleared it, relieved to have seen her, to have slept with her, yet sad to know that things couldn't really work despite the mutual attraction and respect. It's hard to take it.I also talked about it yesterday night at a dinner with some friends (one of them came back to Argentina from Italy!), and even though I can't forget why the relationship didn't work and can't work now, I also can't help reminding the physical comfort I felt on Saturday, how fun it really was to be with her. And it hurts because after all, I'm heartbroken.

Funny thing, I went on on Facebook about how happy I was Italy won against England in the Euro2012; my ex's mother, who hates the English because of the Falklands' war, congratulated us on sticking it up the Anglos' arse (my rendition of what she actually said). I so wanted to reply, Frankie Boyle-style, "yeah, it was great! Almost as good as shagging your daughter last night!"...but then of course I didn't.

Oh, and finally, still trying to pull myself together: I have a date on Thursday, lunchtime. I briefly met Martin's friend, she's Argentinean, lived 12 years in northern Europe and actually knows who Jacques Brel is. And that little touch of French in her accent is just wonderful.
We'll see, I better get to that date with a better mood though.


As always, my mood does not really depend on what goes on around me, it is just a random state of mind.

I don't want to sound pessimistic and all but...

I don't want to sound pessimistic and all but...

..all of lately I've been having this thought going around, about just dying overnight of a stroke, such as going to bed and not waking up the next morning (no pain involved, clearly, but it is a rea-life situation after all; it HAS happened).

On the other hand, I would like to be remembered (as if stuff were to be written on a grave; I'm not having any of that funeral/religious ceremonies/corpse burying pile of horseshit, anyway) as "Italian-British Engineer for Sustainable Development, Sport Journalist and Comedian widely known in Australia, famous Tango Singer in Argentina".

And I'm a loooooooooooong way out from being what I want to be. Which is why I bring myself down, after all!

The bullied's at fault

For fuck's sake
it's the first time I heard that the victim of bullying is to blame for being bullied, that he must have done something to trigger the "response" of a bunch of close-minded people with a workplace social collective intelligence like that of a class of 10 years old...who need to seclude and pick on someone just to talk about something (because the conversations they have are otherwise piss-poor and just contentless).
Yet somehow according to a certain person I am at fault for not fitting in with that, and not taking a participative attitude! Duh...

When will certain people ever grow up, I wonder?

Looking for a new place (small scale)

Looking for a new apartment is really bugging me.
I know I have to leave not because I'm forced to, but because it is about time I let go of a handy help (a very favourable rent for a great apartment in a great area) which admittedly made my early buenosairean life a lot easier.

I can't decide how much I want to spend for what kind of apartment.

I found out I really like to cook and having a cramped up, miserable kitchenette is not something I would quite like. But then again I would need to find a nicer apartment (the shabby ones don't come with such facilities), which suit my budget only if located in areas relatively far from where I live now (and where my gf and friends live)...that is, unless I can increase the allocated budget for rent, therefore cutting down on other stuff...that is, unless I manage to get a few pesos in from a part-time job, ideally related to languages.

And then when would the ideal time to move be? Would it be now, or in a few months?

That's a lot of variables there..still too many.

I just need to get my stuff right, I've got plenty to do and it has been like this for a long time...

Strangers in the train

Morning rush hour.
The train which is supposed to get me to work in time is running late. "The next train to Retiro is coming in 12 minutes" the PA growls - loudly enough to be understood, which in itself is quite astonishing for an average Buenos Aires train station.

After roughly 10 minutes of eagerly eating away the pages of "Das Boot" (oddly enough, recommended to me by a lunatic Uni chemistry lecturer and given to me by my girlfriend - a war novel!), the PA comes to life again: "The next train to Retiro is coming in 15 minutes, due to a technical fault". Thanks for the details. I mutter some swears in Italian, much to the amusement of a next-standing girl.

People start to cram at the edges of the platform. My book and me try to stay steady on the platform floormark which indicates where the train door is going to open, knowing this could effectively mean whether or not I can get onto the train.
"The train is coming in 7 minutes". And shortly after: "The train is currently at the Rivadavia station". "Ok, not bad". Anyway, not that I care if I arrive 30 minutes later at work; it is fully accepted that commuting here is an issue and that public transport will not rarely leave you stranded somewhere in town.

As finally the train approaches and I see the first carriages packed with people pressing against the windows and doors, I gulp in amusement. "This is going to be like the final pull of the tuna fishnet".
It is not quite like tuna, but rather like sardines.
I manage to stay in front as a few people make their way out of the train, then I slide in and try to tuck myself into some air void amidst limbs and torsoes. I manage just fine until I start to eat hair. The bun of a girl comes slightly loose, and I need to arch my neck backwards and twist it slightly to one side, as if I were carefully observing the cobwebs hanging from the ceiling.

Blackberries are everywhere. One could almost say that every person on the train is a plant, and every plant gives a fruit, and many plants are blackberry plants. I am a blackcurrant plant, a Nokia plant; my newly-acquired, but used, E55 proudly stands out as the odd one there, and it still looks to me as a spaceship.

Everyone is busy messaging. They hang on to a railing, if they are sufficiently near to it, and with the other hand they hang on to their mobile. When they are writing, the chances of them barging into someone increase sensibly. At the usual railroad switch, as always the carriage sways violently sideways, people lose their balance as I, in the middle of it, bend slightly my knees to acquire stability. Then, the train reestablishes its steady course.

I am surprised at how willing they are to share their private lives. I am standing as close to this girl as I can possibly be without being rude, we are almost spooning. I follow the whole conversation, important to them and unintelligible for me. I learn that some relative had some health issue which really scared him and the girl I'm almost spooning with, and that this man is somewhat considered to be dumb because he did not take care of himself.

I still wonder how the U-Boat is doing down there in the sea, being attacked by an allied destroyer. I leave them, there, in the Atlantic Ocean abysses, with the pages closed. At worst, it's 15 minutes of reading per day.

Passing by the largest 'villa miseria' in the country, the train sails toward the final destination, Retiro.

As it comes to a halt, everyone starts turning towards one side of the carriage. Just like ferromagnetic particles of molten rock aligning with the earth's magnetic field and then solidifying. The doors slide and slam open with a hiss of the compressed air system.
The train vomits humans out of the doors and, as the first passengers brush through the exit turnstiles, these known strangers start to tiptoe forward, tiptoe gracefully like geishas on a stage; yet they look as menacing as a relentless hoard of sect members.

The Damned Sect of the Train Commuters.

E mo' che je dico?

"How are you doing, love?"

So what shall I answer back?

 "Yeah all good, I just had a bout of suicidal depression, due to which I felt forced to stay in the office til late. But that's nothing that two pints o' beer on an empty stomach, together with Fry and Laurie, Monty Python and Rowan Atkinson sketches can't solve"?

That wouldn't do the trick, I guess. I'll have to go for the formal, pitiful, farcical way: "all good, I've had a rough one at work, I'm calling it an early night." 

Lightnings like daylight

The last two weeks have really felt like wanting to jump off a bridge, more than a couple times. There's no real reason apart the frustration with my current job and some sort of sexual frustration under the sheets.

I tried to be cool about stuff and concentrate on finding a new job and basically on the other year goal too, i.e. getting fitter. I'm also trying to keep myself busy, seeing people, doing things. I also went to the seaside last weekend.

But for some reason it comes to no avail. I keep on thinking and mumbling, wondering what am I really doing here and why am I not happy, despite being in probably one of the best moments of the relationship with my girlfriend. Worst of all, really, is that I'm starting to have nightmares about the job situation. That sucks largely, since I predominantly rely on my capacity to sleep well and reset my mind while I sleep.

I really wish I could leave without leaving her. I'll have to put this issue forward, at some point.

On the other hand, days getting shorter are better suiting my mood (or so I feel, like I need some darkness to process my feelings; or maybe it just reminds me of the UK, as do some new Dutch friends I've newly made), and some huge thunderstorms are soothing my thirst for amusement and providing me with sheer and delightful bewildering of the power of nature. 

Two goals

With a delay of approximately one month, and with a great deal of indecisiveness, I finally set my two goals for the year.
Getting a better, more satisfying job.
Getting fit. (not in the UK slang sense, that would be impossible).

I finally ditched the idea of going back to university because of its cost, mainly. I am quite short of money at the moment, with holidays coming up which I haven't paid for yet; I'm setting apart money for that, but I am not left much after I deduct my "overheads". And in a week there falls the 5-year anniversary date, which implies I have to "do" something which implies spending a sensible amount of money.

I am also trying to improve on self-confidence with my counsellor, so I can say I have got two long-term objectives. Finding a better job is also a matter of perseverance in searching and skill in sending the right CV to the right place for the right position.

Well, the great challenge now is to stick with them goals!