Since I have been a tad less than busy lately, I can finally waste my time in laying my eyes upon tons of forwarded emails unchecked for months and I have just discovered some interesting aspects about this phenomenon.
Some people are really ADDICTED to recieving, reading and resending these accursed series of emails. Beyond the point of enjoying the activity, they are horribly obsessed with what's in it and take it seriously. I mean they truly believe it! The promised miracles or good luck and that sort of things. I try not to be judgemental but sometimes I just can't help feeling irritated. Well, let's say...what's the point? You have passed on these messages for thousandth time and have you ever found any 4-leaf clover in your garden? No is the answer and you keep forwarding them in tiny hope of finding one someday. I'd rather investing in additional land and fertilizer to grow more clovers....well, that gives better chance than keeping your duty as an email forwarder.
More tragically, some good-hearted cybersurfers are misled by the so called one-address-per-one-cent donation. Honey, it's the second millennium, who on this capitalist earth is going to make a donation based on the untraceable, if not unprovable, text-only message like that? If you really want to be an amateur do-gooder, please spend few minutes to check the source's website whether such project really exists.
Another classic hoax similar to the case above is, for example, that a ginormous email provider of all time will start charging their users, either on per month or per year basis, very soon unless the notice is fowarded to more than XXXXXX users. Darling, they don't even have your credit card number. And even if it was true, though the biggest provider they may be, there would always be the rivals who are ready to take advantage on the situation by offering the similar or even better service for free!
This article isn't intended as an aggression to anyone in particular. I just need some space to holler my anxiety. On the other hand, a few potentially interesting emails have made their way into my inbox and, in this case, I consider myself lucky to be one of the readers. To all my friends, I still encourage you guys to keep sending constructive chain emails but perhaps less for me. I'm just full.
Tuesday, July 17, 2007
Sunday, July 08, 2007
¿Qué Será de Nosotros?
Hoy cumplo un mes en Bangkok y, viendo atrás, todo es notablemente diferente que el día de mi llegada. Como todos los repatriados, intento de adaptarme de nuevo a la realidad, a la que, en mi caso, nunca he estado acostumbrado. Los esfuerzos han sido empeñados. Voy tejiendo poco a poco mis redes que me permitirán el aceso a la gente del círculo de mi especialidad. Me conformo con este éxito, salvo una cosa; lo que será de mi y mi novio.
Ha pasado un mes y sólo nos hemos visto 4 veces sin mucha oportunidad de hablar tanto. Estar ocupado siempre ha sido la razón que me ofrece. Obviamente, se ve que está realmente ocupado, pues, por su beca de Ph.D., que obtuvo hace casi un año. Le espera una serie de examenes, entrevistas y ensayos en el futuro muy cercano y, para poder salir con todo lo que siempre desea, tiene que esforzar más que nunca, poniendo todo en juego, incluso la estabilidad de nuestra relación.
No pienso en dejarlo ni cortar el rollo ni enfrentarme con él, y esto es mi problema. Seguiremos así sin mencionar el amenazante futuro de nuestra relación, quiza por el miedo de perder lo que tanto tiempo he intentado preservar.
Siempre nos dicen que 3 años a distancia no es un reto cualquiera y, pasado esta prueba, ya deberemos esforzarnos más que nunca por el bien de esta preciosa relación. Bueno, ¿qué opción tengo yo? Hay que seguir adelante, fuese como fuese, exactamente como dice un refrán tailandés "Una vez montado a tigre, hay que seguir allí hasta el final".
Hasta que no llegue el dicho final de nuestro drama, mucho ánimo de parte de todos de mis amigos necesitaré.
Ha pasado un mes y sólo nos hemos visto 4 veces sin mucha oportunidad de hablar tanto. Estar ocupado siempre ha sido la razón que me ofrece. Obviamente, se ve que está realmente ocupado, pues, por su beca de Ph.D., que obtuvo hace casi un año. Le espera una serie de examenes, entrevistas y ensayos en el futuro muy cercano y, para poder salir con todo lo que siempre desea, tiene que esforzar más que nunca, poniendo todo en juego, incluso la estabilidad de nuestra relación.
No pienso en dejarlo ni cortar el rollo ni enfrentarme con él, y esto es mi problema. Seguiremos así sin mencionar el amenazante futuro de nuestra relación, quiza por el miedo de perder lo que tanto tiempo he intentado preservar.
Siempre nos dicen que 3 años a distancia no es un reto cualquiera y, pasado esta prueba, ya deberemos esforzarnos más que nunca por el bien de esta preciosa relación. Bueno, ¿qué opción tengo yo? Hay que seguir adelante, fuese como fuese, exactamente como dice un refrán tailandés "Una vez montado a tigre, hay que seguir allí hasta el final".
Hasta que no llegue el dicho final de nuestro drama, mucho ánimo de parte de todos de mis amigos necesitaré.
Friday, June 22, 2007
Desperately Unemployed
Twelve days are gone since I came back home for the first time in almost three years and things haven't changed much, not yet. Some say that two weeks of doing nothing are fine and I shouldn't complain too much, given that there are people who spend months, if not weeks, as job hunters without finding one.
However, I can't help feeling annoyed for being so helpless and, at times, useless. If you are looking for a demanding, or even picky, type of person when it comes to job seeking, here I am; available 24/7 and... for free!
Returning to the old lifestyle resulted shocking enough, but somehow I managed to survive the first critical week (a bit depressed though). Now I find myself in a second phase of adaptation; looking for means of survival.
Bangkok, similar to any other capitals, isn't the place where you (or me, in this case) can live happily ever after if there's no stability in your professional life. Everything costs you quite an amount of money. It seems that during my absence the inflation rate has increased considerably. Bangkok isn't a cheap place to enjoy like I thought it once was anymore.
I need LIFE. I need to do something and live my life the way the urban bourgeoisie does. I want to hang out with friends after work, drinking and gossiping about our bosses or whatever that might slip into our mind. There's so much I'm desperately wanting to do, about which I can keep on ranting to make a list of three-metre long to show the world how energetic and self-motivated I am.
All this digression might just be a result of me being jobless for too long, according to my standard, of course, or me being too worried about my future. Whatever it is, I know that I can't stay like this anymore.
Perhaps it's high time I went out (again!?) to find something to do, even if that means I'll have to kick somebody's arse to takeover his/her position. It's a world of survival anyway. ;-)
Saturday, June 09, 2007
Te Dejo Madrid
Al final ha llegado el momento. La hora de despedida a todos mis mejores amigos. Aunque es muy problable que nos crucemos otra vez en algún punto de nuestro camino, la despedida nunca ha sido la cosa que se me da bien.
Simplemente quiero recordar a mis mejores amigos, a los que he tenido suerte de conocer y con los que he podido pasar buenos y malos momentos, que os quiero mucho y siempre me acordaré de vosotros.
Aunque, esta vez sí, me toca dejar Madrid para seguir adelante, pero me llevaré lo mejor que mi estancia me ha ofrecido, la amistad.
Mil besos,
Mod
Simplemente quiero recordar a mis mejores amigos, a los que he tenido suerte de conocer y con los que he podido pasar buenos y malos momentos, que os quiero mucho y siempre me acordaré de vosotros.
Aunque, esta vez sí, me toca dejar Madrid para seguir adelante, pero me llevaré lo mejor que mi estancia me ha ofrecido, la amistad.
Mil besos,
Mod
Friday, June 08, 2007
Mirar Hacia Atrás
La primera memoria que tuve sobre España era la tierra rojiza y árida que se extendía infinitivamente hacia el horizonte. Estaba volando en algún punto entre Valencia y Madrid y me dije "¿Este es España? No parece Europa. No hay muchos árboles verdes. Mmmm, no es nada como esperaba".
Al aterrizar el avión, a través de la ventanilla, veía cómo los edificios de ladrillos naranja me daba la bienvenida y me dije "Hasta los edificios tiene el mismo color que la tierra. ¿Sobreviviré aquí?"
Las primeras comidas en el colegio Africa me daban miedo. No conocía a nadie, menos a un tailandés que estaba a punto de irse. No se me daba muy bien socializar con la gente. No me atrevía a saludar a otros becarios, también recién llegados.
La primera persona a la que me presenté en el comedor era Dixie, una filipina muy maja. Y con ella, iba conociendo a más gente, tanto interesante como no, hasta a todos los que habitaban el colegio.
En las primeras semanas, sentado en el escritorio, observaba el calendario anual que había dibujado en mi libreta pensando "¿Qué estaría haciendo en mayo 2005?", "¿En 2006 mi español alcanzaría al nivel que aspiro?", "¿Qué tipo de clases tendré en ese cuatrimestre?" y "¿En qué pensaría el último día de mi estancia en España?".
Las primeras clases me hacían sentir como si fuera otra vez un niño pequeño. Sentía el mismo miedo de lo que podría pasar en la clase, de las posibles preguntas que me harían los profesores, de los compañeros de clase que no me hacían caso. Me pregunté "¿Cómo seríamos nosotros cuando termináramos este curso?" y me contesté "Muy diferentes que ahora llegaríamos a ser. Siempre es así."
Al pasar el tiempo, conocía la ciudad cada vez mejor y me sentía cada vez más a gusto. Fue como si me hubiera aceptado con todo su corazón. No me di cuenta desde cuando me había enamorado de Madrid. No fue un flechazo, sino un amor que tardaba en llegar. Mejor así.
Dicen que el tiempo pasa volando y es verdad. Siempre aguardaba mi futuro regreso a mi tierra, mirando hacia adelante, hacia lo que sería de mí al pasar el tiempo, hacia lo que me esperaba y... de repente aquí estoy... mirando hacia atrás, con toda la nostalgía, que es feliz y triste a la vez.
Al aterrizar el avión, a través de la ventanilla, veía cómo los edificios de ladrillos naranja me daba la bienvenida y me dije "Hasta los edificios tiene el mismo color que la tierra. ¿Sobreviviré aquí?"
Las primeras comidas en el colegio Africa me daban miedo. No conocía a nadie, menos a un tailandés que estaba a punto de irse. No se me daba muy bien socializar con la gente. No me atrevía a saludar a otros becarios, también recién llegados.
La primera persona a la que me presenté en el comedor era Dixie, una filipina muy maja. Y con ella, iba conociendo a más gente, tanto interesante como no, hasta a todos los que habitaban el colegio.
En las primeras semanas, sentado en el escritorio, observaba el calendario anual que había dibujado en mi libreta pensando "¿Qué estaría haciendo en mayo 2005?", "¿En 2006 mi español alcanzaría al nivel que aspiro?", "¿Qué tipo de clases tendré en ese cuatrimestre?" y "¿En qué pensaría el último día de mi estancia en España?".
Las primeras clases me hacían sentir como si fuera otra vez un niño pequeño. Sentía el mismo miedo de lo que podría pasar en la clase, de las posibles preguntas que me harían los profesores, de los compañeros de clase que no me hacían caso. Me pregunté "¿Cómo seríamos nosotros cuando termináramos este curso?" y me contesté "Muy diferentes que ahora llegaríamos a ser. Siempre es así."
Al pasar el tiempo, conocía la ciudad cada vez mejor y me sentía cada vez más a gusto. Fue como si me hubiera aceptado con todo su corazón. No me di cuenta desde cuando me había enamorado de Madrid. No fue un flechazo, sino un amor que tardaba en llegar. Mejor así.
Dicen que el tiempo pasa volando y es verdad. Siempre aguardaba mi futuro regreso a mi tierra, mirando hacia adelante, hacia lo que sería de mí al pasar el tiempo, hacia lo que me esperaba y... de repente aquí estoy... mirando hacia atrás, con toda la nostalgía, que es feliz y triste a la vez.
Wednesday, June 06, 2007
The Day I Exploded
One of the notorious habits of the Spaniards that I can never live with is the lack of service mind and customer orientation. Prove? Just pop up in some souvenir shops, boutiques, banks, hospitals or restaurants and you'll discover the truth. You may get a 50-50 percent chance of being ignored. Some salespersons show an obvious sign of upset while being called for some assistance. Of course, they prefer standing at the counter chatting with their colleagues than attending us and getting a comission. For some family-run small business, should any problem arise, they won't give a damn. Buy it or leave it.
I have been tolerating this tragic truth for almost 3 full years until now, the day I blew a fuse in Banco Santander over a simple matter that didn't actually matter. The day before yesterday I popped off to the bank to close my account and was asked by a male staff to come back the next day since the bank needed 24 hours to have my money readily prepared. And so I did.
Yesterday at midday, I returned to the branch and a girl in charged told me the bank could only give me some large denomination notes, but the rest of my savings must be paid in 20-euro notes... Ok, I can live with that, never mind, it's money anyway...
So she closed my account and told me to get the money at the counter. When I approached, the nerdy-looking staff looked at the screen and reiterated that since I hadn't informed the bank 24 hours before closing the account, it was impossible for the bank to arrange for well-prepared notes... Me cago en la leche!
That marked the historic point where I, for the first time in 3 fucking years, exploded in anger because of an unexpectedly ineffective service.
After a barrage of criticism, I filled in a complaint form (for the first time in my life!) that was supposed to be sent to a governmental office resposible for the matter. The assistant manager tried to calm me down and finally got me several notes of larger value. At that I was satisfied.
While I was leaving the bank, I saw the branch manager, the assistant manager and the guy whom I talked to the day before in the meeting room. Of course, he had screwed up and must face the consequence. Well, at least my efforts wouldn't go in vain. I couldn't help but wondering how they work here in Spain? Why there's always some kind of miscommunication or, from time to time, no communication at all? I believe that the problem stems from an individual's bad habit that will eventually, without any proper training or correction, affect the working structure of an organization.
All in all, most companies/shops tend to offer their services they way they like, not the way the customers prefer. And that is ONE BIG OBSTACLE for them to gain the upper hand in the international market.
I have been tolerating this tragic truth for almost 3 full years until now, the day I blew a fuse in Banco Santander over a simple matter that didn't actually matter. The day before yesterday I popped off to the bank to close my account and was asked by a male staff to come back the next day since the bank needed 24 hours to have my money readily prepared. And so I did.
Yesterday at midday, I returned to the branch and a girl in charged told me the bank could only give me some large denomination notes, but the rest of my savings must be paid in 20-euro notes... Ok, I can live with that, never mind, it's money anyway...
So she closed my account and told me to get the money at the counter. When I approached, the nerdy-looking staff looked at the screen and reiterated that since I hadn't informed the bank 24 hours before closing the account, it was impossible for the bank to arrange for well-prepared notes... Me cago en la leche!
That marked the historic point where I, for the first time in 3 fucking years, exploded in anger because of an unexpectedly ineffective service.
After a barrage of criticism, I filled in a complaint form (for the first time in my life!) that was supposed to be sent to a governmental office resposible for the matter. The assistant manager tried to calm me down and finally got me several notes of larger value. At that I was satisfied.
While I was leaving the bank, I saw the branch manager, the assistant manager and the guy whom I talked to the day before in the meeting room. Of course, he had screwed up and must face the consequence. Well, at least my efforts wouldn't go in vain. I couldn't help but wondering how they work here in Spain? Why there's always some kind of miscommunication or, from time to time, no communication at all? I believe that the problem stems from an individual's bad habit that will eventually, without any proper training or correction, affect the working structure of an organization.
All in all, most companies/shops tend to offer their services they way they like, not the way the customers prefer. And that is ONE BIG OBSTACLE for them to gain the upper hand in the international market.
Wednesday, May 30, 2007
Sorry For Not Being There
A farewell to my beloved Toon...
Only if I didn't insist on staying...
Only if I didn't linger...
Only if my return was 10 days earlier...
I could be there to say good bye.
Every single moment with you was truly precious...
Thanks for being my best friend always.
I am sorry for not being with you in the last moment.
I hope you would always have me in your memory...
just as I will always have you in mine.
Rest in peace.
With Love,
Mod
Wednesday, May 23, 2007
Chronicles of Mod : Eleven Truths I Found Out About Norway
Here we go...
1. The Spaniards prove to be unconditionally noisy regardless of their location. While I was quietly enjoying the evening spring sun in the City Hall Square, a loud chattering group of Spanish tourists suddenly caught my attention. They were across the square but I could still hear their conversation as if they were sitting next beside me.
2. Norwegians seem like albinos. Pretty, beautiful and elegantly tall but bloodlessly pale (No offense!).
3. EVERYTHING is costly. A bottle of mineral water costs 3 euros and a pack of Doritos 4 euros, isn’t that nuts?
4. Too many Thais living there. Why? More investigations need to be fully done to satisfy my curiosity.
5. Contrary to the number of Asian immigrants, this country has fewer Chinese restaurants than I expected! Not that I was desperately finding one, but it surprised me.
6. Norwegian tulips are as visually appealing and beautiful as Dutch.
7. Norway doesn’t boast the architectural grandiosity as most European countries.
8. Norwegians in general can surprisingly speak English! Well, I got this low expectation based on the experience from where I’m currently living, Spain.
9. Oslo, Stavanger, Bergen (and hopefully any other cities) are sprinkled with sculptures. They are extremely obsessed with statues (Well, perhaps not “they” but “some artists”).
10. The weather in spring isn’t as freezing as I was told. In Bergen, it’s kind of wet though. Too fucking rainy.
11. Norway has sparrows and pigeons just like any other cities in the world! Furrier and a bit plumper though.
1. The Spaniards prove to be unconditionally noisy regardless of their location. While I was quietly enjoying the evening spring sun in the City Hall Square, a loud chattering group of Spanish tourists suddenly caught my attention. They were across the square but I could still hear their conversation as if they were sitting next beside me.
2. Norwegians seem like albinos. Pretty, beautiful and elegantly tall but bloodlessly pale (No offense!).
3. EVERYTHING is costly. A bottle of mineral water costs 3 euros and a pack of Doritos 4 euros, isn’t that nuts?
4. Too many Thais living there. Why? More investigations need to be fully done to satisfy my curiosity.
5. Contrary to the number of Asian immigrants, this country has fewer Chinese restaurants than I expected! Not that I was desperately finding one, but it surprised me.
6. Norwegian tulips are as visually appealing and beautiful as Dutch.
7. Norway doesn’t boast the architectural grandiosity as most European countries.
8. Norwegians in general can surprisingly speak English! Well, I got this low expectation based on the experience from where I’m currently living, Spain.
9. Oslo, Stavanger, Bergen (and hopefully any other cities) are sprinkled with sculptures. They are extremely obsessed with statues (Well, perhaps not “they” but “some artists”).
10. The weather in spring isn’t as freezing as I was told. In Bergen, it’s kind of wet though. Too fucking rainy.
11. Norway has sparrows and pigeons just like any other cities in the world! Furrier and a bit plumper though.
Chronicles of Mod : Dreaming of You
Last night I dreamt about you. It has been such a long time since I last saw you in my slumber. You were there waiting to pick me up at the arrival gate but somehow didn’t speak a word to me. I saw you saying good-bye to someone I didn’t know and whom you didn’t even bother to introduce to me. There was something between you two that had me disconcerted but, as always, I dared not ask. Fear grew inside me; things would never be the same between us, or at least that was what I thought it would turn out to be.
16:00, May 5th, 2007
Stavanger, Norway
16:00, May 5th, 2007
Stavanger, Norway
Saturday, May 05, 2007
Chronicles of Mod : Invading Norway, Part I (Live)
Stavanger
May 4th, 2007
22:51
Here is the first online note I've been able to made about Norway, simply becuz I'm stucked in the lodge, not knowing exactly what to do.
Stavanger is very small, so tiny that you can finish off the outdoor sightseeing within one day. I was supposed to take a stroll in the city centre in the evening, but since I overslept a great deal, I'll have to come to term with my drowsiness before deciding what next will be done.
Gay scene is off the list, as far as I know. I haven't seen any places particularly established for gays yet. Couldn't find a proper list of them on the Net either :( This is truly sad... But then again, in Oslo I may have a better luck.
I wasn't able to get to the top of The Pulpit Rock since no bus would run there till next week (Good timing!) but, nevertheless, I wouldn't let the chance to get a glimpse of it go easily. I took a fjord tour to the base of the Rock this afternoon and it was indeed impressive. Seeing the majestic Pulpit Rock covered in mist from down below was like paying homage to one of the most wonderful grand creations that Nature itself had ever made.
For now, I'll have to figure out what to do for the night... perhaps a short walk to the lake.
May 4th, 2007
22:51
Here is the first online note I've been able to made about Norway, simply becuz I'm stucked in the lodge, not knowing exactly what to do.
Stavanger is very small, so tiny that you can finish off the outdoor sightseeing within one day. I was supposed to take a stroll in the city centre in the evening, but since I overslept a great deal, I'll have to come to term with my drowsiness before deciding what next will be done.
Gay scene is off the list, as far as I know. I haven't seen any places particularly established for gays yet. Couldn't find a proper list of them on the Net either :( This is truly sad... But then again, in Oslo I may have a better luck.
I wasn't able to get to the top of The Pulpit Rock since no bus would run there till next week (Good timing!) but, nevertheless, I wouldn't let the chance to get a glimpse of it go easily. I took a fjord tour to the base of the Rock this afternoon and it was indeed impressive. Seeing the majestic Pulpit Rock covered in mist from down below was like paying homage to one of the most wonderful grand creations that Nature itself had ever made.
For now, I'll have to figure out what to do for the night... perhaps a short walk to the lake.
Thursday, April 19, 2007
Así Empezó La Despedida
Hace unos días empecé a despedirme de Madrid. Salí de paseo para decir Adiós a las calles en que, durante tantos años, había pisado y pasado, a los sitios que tanto frecuentaba, acompañado y solo. Aún me quedan varios lugares donde dar la última visita, de eso no tengo prisa, que tengo un mes y medio para hacerlo.
Todo comenzó el domingo pasado. Salí emergiendo del metro Tirso de Molina, encontrando al mercado al aire libre en pleno día lleno de muchedumbre alegre. Caminaba a ritmo relajado hacia Sol y luego Sevilla para alcanzar al Retiro, donde había quedado con Por, una amiga tailandesa.
Disfrutaba ver cómo los turistas exploraban cada rinconcito del Madrid de los Austria con los ojos curiosos y cómo los madrileños gozaban del sol primaveral. Prestaba más atención a los detalles minuciosos que nunca antes había notado. Observaba la belleza arquitectónica de la parte más alta de unos edificios antiguos más importantes del centro, que tantas veces había pasado pero nunca tenía interés suficiente para detenerme a contemplarlos. Me fijaba más en la gente que se me cruzaba en la calle; cómo venía vestida, en qué hablaban, cómo sonreían, qué miraban, cómo aprovechaban el descanso dominical y qué le interesaba. En el Retiro me reuní con Por y juntos dimos un paseo muy largo pero ocioso por el parque, dando comentarios sobre temas propios y ajenos.
Las cosas que damos por bien conocidas no siempre lo son al verlas desde otros puntos de vista, desde otros ángulos. Aquella tarde me sentía tan extraño como en el primer día de mi estancia en esta ciudad. Era como si nunca hubiera estado en este metropolitano. Me parecía un lugar desconocido cuyos misterios aún se quedan por descubrir. Quizá fuera una sensación que solo una persona a la que le toca dejar el sitio que tanto tiempo ha vivido puede sentir. O quizá fuera simplemente una impresión (pre)nostálgica.
Fuera lo que fuese, a partir de aquel momento, empecé ya a echar mucho de menos de todo lo que me ofreció y ha ofrecido esta ciudad encantadora llamada Madrid.
Todo comenzó el domingo pasado. Salí emergiendo del metro Tirso de Molina, encontrando al mercado al aire libre en pleno día lleno de muchedumbre alegre. Caminaba a ritmo relajado hacia Sol y luego Sevilla para alcanzar al Retiro, donde había quedado con Por, una amiga tailandesa.
Disfrutaba ver cómo los turistas exploraban cada rinconcito del Madrid de los Austria con los ojos curiosos y cómo los madrileños gozaban del sol primaveral. Prestaba más atención a los detalles minuciosos que nunca antes había notado. Observaba la belleza arquitectónica de la parte más alta de unos edificios antiguos más importantes del centro, que tantas veces había pasado pero nunca tenía interés suficiente para detenerme a contemplarlos. Me fijaba más en la gente que se me cruzaba en la calle; cómo venía vestida, en qué hablaban, cómo sonreían, qué miraban, cómo aprovechaban el descanso dominical y qué le interesaba. En el Retiro me reuní con Por y juntos dimos un paseo muy largo pero ocioso por el parque, dando comentarios sobre temas propios y ajenos.
Las cosas que damos por bien conocidas no siempre lo son al verlas desde otros puntos de vista, desde otros ángulos. Aquella tarde me sentía tan extraño como en el primer día de mi estancia en esta ciudad. Era como si nunca hubiera estado en este metropolitano. Me parecía un lugar desconocido cuyos misterios aún se quedan por descubrir. Quizá fuera una sensación que solo una persona a la que le toca dejar el sitio que tanto tiempo ha vivido puede sentir. O quizá fuera simplemente una impresión (pre)nostálgica.
Fuera lo que fuese, a partir de aquel momento, empecé ya a echar mucho de menos de todo lo que me ofreció y ha ofrecido esta ciudad encantadora llamada Madrid.
Friday, April 13, 2007
New Year Solution
Here comes again the Thai New Year, Songkran Day. This time I welcome the feast with a big change in my life; I quit the job, prompting to leave Spain.
It's time to start anew, but this isn't at all my new year solution. It's pure coincidence.
I was supposed to leave the company on 30th, as stated in the voluntary redundancy letter I handed three days ago. However, the words I had with the company's lawyer the day before yesterday changed all that. She said "Since you're stressed and not very happy with your job, if the company tells you not to come to work tomorrow, do you think that's OK? This way the company is doing you a favor". I was caught off guard. Favor my ass. If I wanted leave at the instance, I wouldn't need that "favor" nor permission from the company, I could do it at that very minute. She then confirmed that it was just one of the measures the board might take. Until she, my boss and the board discussed about the issue, nothing was fixed yet.
The next day I went to the office to settle the wage payment. Most of my colleagues seemed surprised because nobody knew I was leaving. It then dawned to me that the board wanted to kick me out before the 30th to punish me for selfishly leaving the project, but my boss insisted that I stay. Well aware of that fact, I had to choose between continuing till the end of the month as my boss wanted or quitting on that day. Between a bit more extra money and pride, I chose the latter.
And it felt good! I left the office smiling and winning. I didn't need any revenge for what they would want to do with me. It was just to prove that I quit because wanted to, while they still needed me. They could sack as many workers without work contract as they would love to, like they had always done, but not me.
So what I'm going to do from now? More exercise, more swimming, more cooking, more fiestas, more travelling, enjoying the little time I've got a tope before starting a new chapter of my lifetime journey...in Bangkok.
P.S. The most sincere thanks from my heart to those who have always listened to and supported me through this hard time; mom and dad, my brother, Patto, P'Por, Now, Evans, Takeshi, Trixi, Fiat and many more. :-)
It's time to start anew, but this isn't at all my new year solution. It's pure coincidence.
I was supposed to leave the company on 30th, as stated in the voluntary redundancy letter I handed three days ago. However, the words I had with the company's lawyer the day before yesterday changed all that. She said "Since you're stressed and not very happy with your job, if the company tells you not to come to work tomorrow, do you think that's OK? This way the company is doing you a favor". I was caught off guard. Favor my ass. If I wanted leave at the instance, I wouldn't need that "favor" nor permission from the company, I could do it at that very minute. She then confirmed that it was just one of the measures the board might take. Until she, my boss and the board discussed about the issue, nothing was fixed yet.
The next day I went to the office to settle the wage payment. Most of my colleagues seemed surprised because nobody knew I was leaving. It then dawned to me that the board wanted to kick me out before the 30th to punish me for selfishly leaving the project, but my boss insisted that I stay. Well aware of that fact, I had to choose between continuing till the end of the month as my boss wanted or quitting on that day. Between a bit more extra money and pride, I chose the latter.
And it felt good! I left the office smiling and winning. I didn't need any revenge for what they would want to do with me. It was just to prove that I quit because wanted to, while they still needed me. They could sack as many workers without work contract as they would love to, like they had always done, but not me.
So what I'm going to do from now? More exercise, more swimming, more cooking, more fiestas, more travelling, enjoying the little time I've got a tope before starting a new chapter of my lifetime journey...in Bangkok.
P.S. The most sincere thanks from my heart to those who have always listened to and supported me through this hard time; mom and dad, my brother, Patto, P'Por, Now, Evans, Takeshi, Trixi, Fiat and many more. :-)
Tuesday, April 10, 2007
The Most Decisive Moment in my Life
Now is the most decisive moment in my life. Everything that happens from this moment on depends solely on the decision I'm going to make today. And it isn't an easy one.
Life in Spain and Hard Life in Bangkok, what will you choose?
After months of waiting and struggling, I've finally been authorised to apply for a Work and Temporary Residence Card. It hasn't been easy, since it took the company six full months to start the procedure, another four months for the Ministry of Labour. And now with the official permit for Work Visa in my hand, and a limited time period of one month, I must decide whether to go back and apply for the visa and come back here again, so as to continue my assignments and responsibilities in this company. All these efforts will be in vain if I choose to throw the chance away, just to return to normal chaotic life in Bangkok.
Two months ago, I was very determined to leave the job, but now, with the paper in hand, I'm not so sure. What if life in Bangkok wasn't what I'm expecting it to be? What if I didn't get the job that I'm applying for? What if things didn't come out as planned? What if being again with my Patto wasn't enough? Will I ever regret the path taken? Will I live in misery, overwhelmed by the mistake I've made? So many questions unanswered, and they never will be until I reach the decision.
I was told, today, by the boss that it wasn't fair for the company that, after all these bureaucracy and procedures the company had gone through FOR ME, I simply decided to go, leaving everything pending in the air and in mess. I didn't speak up, silence. I didn't dare, I suppose.
What dignified me the most was that the company did all the paper things FOR ME. Liars. Partly they did it for themselves. And they did it too late. They should have begun eight months ago, before summer, not after it. That was why I had to extend my Student Card by enrolling in a language school, which took me each month a good amount of my already reduced salary. It was the money I shouldn't have paid for had the work permit procedures been done earlier, but they lingered. Now tell me who was doing a favor for whom? If I hadn't stayed, parts of the project wouldn't have born fruit. They helped me to earn money? Forget about that, what I got paid was a misery because it was only media jornada.
But his comment makes it easier for me to reflect. Tomorrow I'll face what is about to come and justify my action. I'd love to live here and work for this company, but it just isn't me. I can't stomach what I'm doing daily. It's pure torture. The stress is eating me inside out and doesn't leave me in peace at night. I go to bed with headache, thinking of the next day and the tasks yet to be done; tasks I hate to do. Shall I sacrifice myself for the cause of the company? If not, will I be a prick? So be it.
Some other Thais might probably see me as a loser, the one who throws away the great opportunity of life. I used to compare myself to those who tried any means just to stay in Spain and I couldn't be at peace. Comparing oneself to the others will only deteriorate your state of mind. The solution? To hell what the others think of you. It's your choice, it's your chance.
Life in Bangkok may be hard. It's obviously not as beautiful as in Europe but my roots are there. At least I won't suffer from solitude nor loneliness because my family, my friends and Patto will always be there for me. And it took me two years and a half to realise how important they are to me, how their presence keeps me mentally alive and how much I love them.
Life in Spain and Hard Life in Bangkok, what will you choose?
After months of waiting and struggling, I've finally been authorised to apply for a Work and Temporary Residence Card. It hasn't been easy, since it took the company six full months to start the procedure, another four months for the Ministry of Labour. And now with the official permit for Work Visa in my hand, and a limited time period of one month, I must decide whether to go back and apply for the visa and come back here again, so as to continue my assignments and responsibilities in this company. All these efforts will be in vain if I choose to throw the chance away, just to return to normal chaotic life in Bangkok.
Two months ago, I was very determined to leave the job, but now, with the paper in hand, I'm not so sure. What if life in Bangkok wasn't what I'm expecting it to be? What if I didn't get the job that I'm applying for? What if things didn't come out as planned? What if being again with my Patto wasn't enough? Will I ever regret the path taken? Will I live in misery, overwhelmed by the mistake I've made? So many questions unanswered, and they never will be until I reach the decision.
I was told, today, by the boss that it wasn't fair for the company that, after all these bureaucracy and procedures the company had gone through FOR ME, I simply decided to go, leaving everything pending in the air and in mess. I didn't speak up, silence. I didn't dare, I suppose.
What dignified me the most was that the company did all the paper things FOR ME. Liars. Partly they did it for themselves. And they did it too late. They should have begun eight months ago, before summer, not after it. That was why I had to extend my Student Card by enrolling in a language school, which took me each month a good amount of my already reduced salary. It was the money I shouldn't have paid for had the work permit procedures been done earlier, but they lingered. Now tell me who was doing a favor for whom? If I hadn't stayed, parts of the project wouldn't have born fruit. They helped me to earn money? Forget about that, what I got paid was a misery because it was only media jornada.
But his comment makes it easier for me to reflect. Tomorrow I'll face what is about to come and justify my action. I'd love to live here and work for this company, but it just isn't me. I can't stomach what I'm doing daily. It's pure torture. The stress is eating me inside out and doesn't leave me in peace at night. I go to bed with headache, thinking of the next day and the tasks yet to be done; tasks I hate to do. Shall I sacrifice myself for the cause of the company? If not, will I be a prick? So be it.
Some other Thais might probably see me as a loser, the one who throws away the great opportunity of life. I used to compare myself to those who tried any means just to stay in Spain and I couldn't be at peace. Comparing oneself to the others will only deteriorate your state of mind. The solution? To hell what the others think of you. It's your choice, it's your chance.
Life in Bangkok may be hard. It's obviously not as beautiful as in Europe but my roots are there. At least I won't suffer from solitude nor loneliness because my family, my friends and Patto will always be there for me. And it took me two years and a half to realise how important they are to me, how their presence keeps me mentally alive and how much I love them.
Thursday, March 29, 2007
Molar no mola
Yesterday I had one of my wisdom tooth pulled out. It was one of the worst experience I've ever had since childhood (well, excluding the appendectomy one).
I had known for years that one fine day this molar must be got rid of for good, and from the moment I noticed its inclination towards the other teeth, my fear over the extraction had been gradually increasing ever since. Call me chicken and I wouldn't retaliate. Yes I am, at least when it comes to odontology. Each time I stepped into dental clinics, I was brought back to that painful bloody experience in my childhood when my mom brought my bros and me to that damn dental clinic near our home where one of the two kind-looking female dentists took care of us. If her hands had been at least as gentle as her speech, I wouldn't have been left traumatised up until now. I could feel that she was madly rummaging in my mouth in search of some villainous bad teeth and tried her very best, and successfully, to pull them out in spite of their persistance to stay rooted in my gum.
In fact, the yesterday operation was noticeably less painful than any one I had had. However, I was totally rigid, tense and stressed in my position. Didn't move an inch. Embarrassed and uncomfortable as I was, I walked out of the clinic with a swollen cheek, pretending to be normal as people stared at me in the face. It wasn't about physical pain that worried me like when I was a child anymore, but a humiliation caused by the eyes of curiosity penetrating right into mine.
I couldn't help thinking about my swollen face and what people would think of it...especially when some good-looking guys came by. :D
I had known for years that one fine day this molar must be got rid of for good, and from the moment I noticed its inclination towards the other teeth, my fear over the extraction had been gradually increasing ever since. Call me chicken and I wouldn't retaliate. Yes I am, at least when it comes to odontology. Each time I stepped into dental clinics, I was brought back to that painful bloody experience in my childhood when my mom brought my bros and me to that damn dental clinic near our home where one of the two kind-looking female dentists took care of us. If her hands had been at least as gentle as her speech, I wouldn't have been left traumatised up until now. I could feel that she was madly rummaging in my mouth in search of some villainous bad teeth and tried her very best, and successfully, to pull them out in spite of their persistance to stay rooted in my gum.
In fact, the yesterday operation was noticeably less painful than any one I had had. However, I was totally rigid, tense and stressed in my position. Didn't move an inch. Embarrassed and uncomfortable as I was, I walked out of the clinic with a swollen cheek, pretending to be normal as people stared at me in the face. It wasn't about physical pain that worried me like when I was a child anymore, but a humiliation caused by the eyes of curiosity penetrating right into mine.
I couldn't help thinking about my swollen face and what people would think of it...especially when some good-looking guys came by. :D
Sunday, March 25, 2007
Lost in Translation
Last month I had a chance to revise a thai translation of three english texts, done by an outsource translation agency who eventually paid a freelance to do the job. It was, without any excuse, a totally botched job done by a self-proclaimed profesional translator. A real shame.
I don't mind people making mistakes in their jobs, we are human after all. The vital part is whether we've got guts to face our own blunders and embrace the comments for the better. If we made our own bed and wouldn't want to lie in it, who else would?
As far as the ethics concern, a translator should at least revise the final text before submitting it to his/her client. In this case, the translation came with tons of orthographic mistakes. Misspelling could be found in every single paragraph, not to mention the inadequate use of puntuation and mistranslation. I gave in after meticulously having corrected the first text, for it took too much time which I had better dedicate for something else more useful to the project.
The company returned the texts to the agency, who consequently passed our comments (made by me) to the translator. A few days later he sent us an email explaining about the gaffes. His excuses weren't in any way plausible. My translation is semantic not verbatim and therefore I didn't translate literally into thai (well, his translation was INDEED verbatim rather than semantic, in my opinion. I had no idea why he said that! And some cases, he even failed to translate certain words). As for a term such as Andrology which isn't yet officially coined in Thai, he opted for loan translation which doesn't make any sense at all, without putting any explanatory note anywhere.
The worst of it all was the catastrophic use of puntuation such as full stops, commas and semicolons. These marks are hardly used in Thai, only in some extremely rare cases, according to Thai standard, but each paragraph was full of them. The culprit justified his action by saying that, though fully aware of the said standard, he still used them because it was HIS standard and style! With this sentence, he didn't even deserve to be called a translator, and even less a Thai.
Until next time, I will keep praying that such species of irresponsible language professionals faced the extinction very soon so the circle would be left untainted.
I don't mind people making mistakes in their jobs, we are human after all. The vital part is whether we've got guts to face our own blunders and embrace the comments for the better. If we made our own bed and wouldn't want to lie in it, who else would?
As far as the ethics concern, a translator should at least revise the final text before submitting it to his/her client. In this case, the translation came with tons of orthographic mistakes. Misspelling could be found in every single paragraph, not to mention the inadequate use of puntuation and mistranslation. I gave in after meticulously having corrected the first text, for it took too much time which I had better dedicate for something else more useful to the project.
The company returned the texts to the agency, who consequently passed our comments (made by me) to the translator. A few days later he sent us an email explaining about the gaffes. His excuses weren't in any way plausible. My translation is semantic not verbatim and therefore I didn't translate literally into thai (well, his translation was INDEED verbatim rather than semantic, in my opinion. I had no idea why he said that! And some cases, he even failed to translate certain words). As for a term such as Andrology which isn't yet officially coined in Thai, he opted for loan translation which doesn't make any sense at all, without putting any explanatory note anywhere.
The worst of it all was the catastrophic use of puntuation such as full stops, commas and semicolons. These marks are hardly used in Thai, only in some extremely rare cases, according to Thai standard, but each paragraph was full of them. The culprit justified his action by saying that, though fully aware of the said standard, he still used them because it was HIS standard and style! With this sentence, he didn't even deserve to be called a translator, and even less a Thai.
Until next time, I will keep praying that such species of irresponsible language professionals faced the extinction very soon so the circle would be left untainted.
Friday, March 23, 2007
First Come, First Serve (?)
Life in Spain is all about making queue. Be it in banks, hospitals, supermarkets, theatres, lottery stands, department stores, FNAC, Casa del Libro, Mc Donald's, Kebab's, bus stops or even the chinese grocery store by your home. But as far as my experience concerns, I still haven't found the clearly defined standard of queuing etiquette in Madrid.
Every morning, on weekdays, I must hurry to Moncloa to form a part of an incredibly mile-long queue of oficinistas waiting for the bus number 162, a sole mean of public transport that connects one of the most congested squares in Madrid to a desolated suburban office zone near Aravaca. Since I enjoy the pleasure of sitting and reading on the way to the office, I always arrive exactly when the first bus leaves and wait for the upcoming empty one.
Unfortunately, there are also those who want to earn this privilege without effort by shamelessly cutting the queue on the pretext of talking with their colleagues or acquaintances who have previously arrived before them.
I've been experiencing this phenomenon for one full year and see that this is not quite common in some other places or establishments. It particulary happens only at this cursed bus stop and, therefore, can't be concluded as a Spanish queuing etiquette for which I at first wrongly mistook.
Spaniards do jump the queue , although rarely. Most of the culprits are immigrants (no offense here) and that, in my opinion, contributes sadly to the fact that foreigners are negatively viewed as troublesome in the native eyes.
At first, I was so firm in my believe in the proper queuing etiquette and always gave some openly accusing gazes at those who had a real cheek to slip in front of me, until one fine day I realised that it was done regularly, even by a colleague of mine who always came to salute me and stood by me as if it was one of the most ordinary behaviour in the world. No guilt, no shame. It shook my foundation of believe to the core. And I started thinking maybe I was the one who was swimming against the tide.
I'm ashamed of what my colleague does but still I haven't got the guts to tell her that I really don't think she should cut the queue just like this. I don't want to look at the others in the eyes, because I know, though not my fault, I was partly to blame. I wish every morning that the bus come before she finds me or that my existance in the queue went unnoticed or, be that as it may, somebody reproached her (or us?).
Maybe it's too much to ask for. Perhaps I'm expecting something from the place that can't grant such request. Or it's simply the way it is and I'm too serious about life. But there's one thing I know for sure; making a queue at this bus stop isn't what it was anymore and has become some kind of stressful adventure each morning.
Every morning, on weekdays, I must hurry to Moncloa to form a part of an incredibly mile-long queue of oficinistas waiting for the bus number 162, a sole mean of public transport that connects one of the most congested squares in Madrid to a desolated suburban office zone near Aravaca. Since I enjoy the pleasure of sitting and reading on the way to the office, I always arrive exactly when the first bus leaves and wait for the upcoming empty one.
Unfortunately, there are also those who want to earn this privilege without effort by shamelessly cutting the queue on the pretext of talking with their colleagues or acquaintances who have previously arrived before them.
I've been experiencing this phenomenon for one full year and see that this is not quite common in some other places or establishments. It particulary happens only at this cursed bus stop and, therefore, can't be concluded as a Spanish queuing etiquette for which I at first wrongly mistook.
Spaniards do jump the queue , although rarely. Most of the culprits are immigrants (no offense here) and that, in my opinion, contributes sadly to the fact that foreigners are negatively viewed as troublesome in the native eyes.
At first, I was so firm in my believe in the proper queuing etiquette and always gave some openly accusing gazes at those who had a real cheek to slip in front of me, until one fine day I realised that it was done regularly, even by a colleague of mine who always came to salute me and stood by me as if it was one of the most ordinary behaviour in the world. No guilt, no shame. It shook my foundation of believe to the core. And I started thinking maybe I was the one who was swimming against the tide.
I'm ashamed of what my colleague does but still I haven't got the guts to tell her that I really don't think she should cut the queue just like this. I don't want to look at the others in the eyes, because I know, though not my fault, I was partly to blame. I wish every morning that the bus come before she finds me or that my existance in the queue went unnoticed or, be that as it may, somebody reproached her (or us?).
Maybe it's too much to ask for. Perhaps I'm expecting something from the place that can't grant such request. Or it's simply the way it is and I'm too serious about life. But there's one thing I know for sure; making a queue at this bus stop isn't what it was anymore and has become some kind of stressful adventure each morning.
Monday, March 12, 2007
Metro de Madrid informa...
Que ya pueden ustedes disfrutar de la prestación de servicios especiales en toda la red de Metro de Madrid.
Ponemos a su disposición un nuevo servicio de tren de mierda, cuyo mantenimiento se realiza cada década para el mayor rendimiento de la máquina. La situación se efectúa de forma extremadamente lenta e imprevisible en todas las putas estaciones llenas de basuras y carteristas.
Y con el objetivo de que los estimados pasajeros pudiesen disfrutar de la maravillosa vista de las oscuras paredes subterráneas, tambien se presta, gratuita y aleatoriamente, el servicio de paradas interestacionales de entre uno y treinta minutos (o más), independientemente de horas punta, trayectos o la voluntad de pasajeros. Este dichoso servicio está destinado exclusivamente para hinchar los huevos a todos los desesperados oficinistas que aspiren llegar con toda prisa al curro a tiempo pero que no consigan despegar el perezoso culo de la cama a las seis de la mañana.
Además, informamos que traigan paraguas y linterna en caso de diluvio incesante que pudiese provocar una riada suburbana, resultando en la falta de luz y goteos. Para demostrar la responsabilidad de nuestra parte, Metro de Madrid repartirá dos tiritas a cada persona que sufra cualquier tipo de traumatismo, causado por la superficie deslizante del puñetero suelo mojado.
Para expresar nuestro constante apoyo a las campañas del Ministerio de Salud, apagamos la mayoría de las escaleras automáticas y ascensores medievales (que nunca funcionan con normalidad) en casi todas las estaciones más concurridas y profundas de la red, tales como Cuatro Caminos, Plaza de España y Moncloa. De esta manera, todos los distinguidos pasajeros, sean jóvenes, embarazadas, asmáticos o cardíacos, podrán aprovechar la ocasión para hacer ejercicio físico por el bien de su salud.
Les confirmamos que, utilizando todo el dinero que ustedes nos han abonado estúpida e inevitablemente, continuaremos ejecutando este desarrollo degenerativo de la red de metro, con el fin de convertirla en la mejor caja de sorpresas de todos los metros del mundo.
Esperamos que todo nuestro esfuerzo anteriormente mencionado, junto con el apoyo leal de nuestros pasajeros, nos ayude a ganar el primer puesto del concurso internacional de El Metro Más Jodido del Mundo.
Muchas gracias.
Metro de Mierda de Madrid (MMM), siempre pueden contar con nosotros.
Ponemos a su disposición un nuevo servicio de tren de mierda, cuyo mantenimiento se realiza cada década para el mayor rendimiento de la máquina. La situación se efectúa de forma extremadamente lenta e imprevisible en todas las putas estaciones llenas de basuras y carteristas.
Y con el objetivo de que los estimados pasajeros pudiesen disfrutar de la maravillosa vista de las oscuras paredes subterráneas, tambien se presta, gratuita y aleatoriamente, el servicio de paradas interestacionales de entre uno y treinta minutos (o más), independientemente de horas punta, trayectos o la voluntad de pasajeros. Este dichoso servicio está destinado exclusivamente para hinchar los huevos a todos los desesperados oficinistas que aspiren llegar con toda prisa al curro a tiempo pero que no consigan despegar el perezoso culo de la cama a las seis de la mañana.
Además, informamos que traigan paraguas y linterna en caso de diluvio incesante que pudiese provocar una riada suburbana, resultando en la falta de luz y goteos. Para demostrar la responsabilidad de nuestra parte, Metro de Madrid repartirá dos tiritas a cada persona que sufra cualquier tipo de traumatismo, causado por la superficie deslizante del puñetero suelo mojado.
Para expresar nuestro constante apoyo a las campañas del Ministerio de Salud, apagamos la mayoría de las escaleras automáticas y ascensores medievales (que nunca funcionan con normalidad) en casi todas las estaciones más concurridas y profundas de la red, tales como Cuatro Caminos, Plaza de España y Moncloa. De esta manera, todos los distinguidos pasajeros, sean jóvenes, embarazadas, asmáticos o cardíacos, podrán aprovechar la ocasión para hacer ejercicio físico por el bien de su salud.
Les confirmamos que, utilizando todo el dinero que ustedes nos han abonado estúpida e inevitablemente, continuaremos ejecutando este desarrollo degenerativo de la red de metro, con el fin de convertirla en la mejor caja de sorpresas de todos los metros del mundo.
Esperamos que todo nuestro esfuerzo anteriormente mencionado, junto con el apoyo leal de nuestros pasajeros, nos ayude a ganar el primer puesto del concurso internacional de El Metro Más Jodido del Mundo.
Muchas gracias.
Metro de Mierda de Madrid (MMM), siempre pueden contar con nosotros.
Wednesday, March 07, 2007
Tuesday, February 27, 2007
Do I Look Vulnerable?
One more time, I almost fell victim to professional pickpockets.
It was 2 o'clock in the afternoon when I was enjoying my double-cheese burger at the most peaceful corner of Burger King, Estadio Santiago Bernabeu branch. From plenty of empty tables and seats, I chose to sit at the second table from the innermost corner of the floor.
While I was experiencing the divine taste of oily french fries, three latinos (a girl and two guys) came up the stairs, scanning the area with their inscrutible eyes and impassive expression. I wouldn't have paid any attention had they not come directly to the table behind me, the one at the corner, and sat there.
What really aroused my suspicion was that one of them maintain his position at a table by the stairs, gazing at my direction, watching the couple sitting and doing their business.
There were tons of unoccupied tables but they chose to sit behind me, in the corner which wasn't at all easy to access. I was observing them in the reflection on a plastic panel in front of me. They looked around and then sat down. I instinctively drew to my side the chair on which I had placed my shoulder bag and then stared at the guy by the stairs. Our eyes met. He picked up his mobile and made a call. In the reflection, I saw that the man with the girl answered the phone and suddenly both of them stood up and, passing my table, went straight to that guy before going downstairs. All of this happened within about 10 seconds.
Although relieved, somehow I felt a tiny bit of anger inside me as well. WHY it had to be ME? Because I was alone? Because I seemed like a careless tourist? Just because?
Do I look vulnerable?
Don't answer me, I don't want to know the answer (nor the truth). Thanks for reading.
It was 2 o'clock in the afternoon when I was enjoying my double-cheese burger at the most peaceful corner of Burger King, Estadio Santiago Bernabeu branch. From plenty of empty tables and seats, I chose to sit at the second table from the innermost corner of the floor.
While I was experiencing the divine taste of oily french fries, three latinos (a girl and two guys) came up the stairs, scanning the area with their inscrutible eyes and impassive expression. I wouldn't have paid any attention had they not come directly to the table behind me, the one at the corner, and sat there.
What really aroused my suspicion was that one of them maintain his position at a table by the stairs, gazing at my direction, watching the couple sitting and doing their business.
There were tons of unoccupied tables but they chose to sit behind me, in the corner which wasn't at all easy to access. I was observing them in the reflection on a plastic panel in front of me. They looked around and then sat down. I instinctively drew to my side the chair on which I had placed my shoulder bag and then stared at the guy by the stairs. Our eyes met. He picked up his mobile and made a call. In the reflection, I saw that the man with the girl answered the phone and suddenly both of them stood up and, passing my table, went straight to that guy before going downstairs. All of this happened within about 10 seconds.
Although relieved, somehow I felt a tiny bit of anger inside me as well. WHY it had to be ME? Because I was alone? Because I seemed like a careless tourist? Just because?
Do I look vulnerable?
Don't answer me, I don't want to know the answer (nor the truth). Thanks for reading.
Wednesday, February 21, 2007
Sick Again...Naturally
I went to see a dermatologist, again. This time with the hope of finding a solution to get rid of an itchy red patch on the back of the neck that had popped out a week ago.
She told me that it was #?!@!?#@ (Srry, since the left hemisphere of my brain didn't function well, I couldn't catch that technical term), probably caused by nervous breakdown or stress. That analysis hit the bullseye.
I was under extreme stress during the past two week as a consequence of my work (I'll bore you with that issue later) when these annoying little spots started to exhibit themselves to the world using my neck as their base camp. As I said before in Life is a Roller Coaster, I had never believed about the influence of stress on our physical condition, but this situation just made the theory more plausible (to me).
Well, let's see if I'm capable of keeping my stress level under control. Maybe all I need is just a little trip of soul-searching with myself, alone.
She told me that it was #?!@!?#@ (Srry, since the left hemisphere of my brain didn't function well, I couldn't catch that technical term), probably caused by nervous breakdown or stress. That analysis hit the bullseye.
I was under extreme stress during the past two week as a consequence of my work (I'll bore you with that issue later) when these annoying little spots started to exhibit themselves to the world using my neck as their base camp. As I said before in Life is a Roller Coaster, I had never believed about the influence of stress on our physical condition, but this situation just made the theory more plausible (to me).
Well, let's see if I'm capable of keeping my stress level under control. Maybe all I need is just a little trip of soul-searching with myself, alone.
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