Stories

A momentary lapse of breathing

There was a girl in a tiny coffee shop, writing something for herself on a sleepy november morning. It started drizzling outside — a timid touch of rain. The drizzle soon became a pour, and the pouring was loud and angry. Her attention dispersed from the page, as her eyes moved to the roaring waterfall.

‘Can’t outrun rain’, she thought of the people on the chaotic sidewalk. Her breath, caressing the numbing sweetness of the coffee, made a tiny film of foam tremble on its surface, and she took another sip. The falling showers soon became so dense that the coffee shop window could be mistaken for an aquarium.

Splash, sprinkle, and an endless trinkle. The road became a stream, the street filled up with liquid, and everything outside suspended in itself, amidst the clear blue. Cars tipped sideways! A bycicle cycled on itself. Passers-by started floating, motioning in a spell of weightlessness, their clothes suddenly alive, faces in a subdued panic. The girl in the coffee shop stared, musingly, at the peaceful water world. Her pages seemed to flow with the tinkering of light from the far-away surface.

Then, two gloved hands appeared in the uppermost door frame of the coffee shop. A masked face appeared between them.

It was a diver, in full scuba diving gear. He looked at an upside-down coffee shop, expelling a long breath. Upside-down chairs, upside-down people, and, somewhere in between, an upside-down her.

He hesitated for a moment. Then, with the tiniest flick of the fins and a momentary lapse of breathing, he let himself fall towards the ground. She could hear his diving computer beeping closer, and his breathing powdering the ceiling with wondering, confused bubbles. Coffee drinkers around her stared at the strange newcomer.

‘Hey’, she whispered. The diver came closer, curious. She had the dreamiest of eyes and a calm smile. He noticed her writing, stopped in the the middle of a sentence, her eyes, speeding through a million thoughts, her fingers, trembling–

A knock on the window made him jump. On the street, another diver made a gesture at his left hand, remembering him to check his air.

With a sunken feeling, he glanced at his manometer, and realised his air was almost up. Her eyes paused for a moment, and she understood. She gave him a hug. Bubbles lifted from his lungs, ever so lightly, ever so slowly.

For all of a moment, the diver wondered how deep he was. For how long had he been at this depth? Was, by any chance, the nitrogen affecting his reason?

Anyway, it was time to go. Gently he floated away, crossing the coffee shop door, and — ever so softly — ballooning up towards the sky. She sat down, returning to her coffee, her writing, her life, and all of her ten trembling fingers.

The coffee shop’s ceiling glistened in silver, with all of his captured air.

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Creatures, Travels

A film about a trip

It’s not easy for me to express how much I’ve learned on my trips to Santiago.

The first time I’ve walked the Camino the experience was something I was totally unprepared for. Ever since then, all of the times have been different, but as enriching as the first. I’ve walked the Camino once with two close friends, once by myself, and once with my mother.

Now, at last, with in equal parts shame and longing, I can share the short film I’ve made about that one time I started it alone.

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Notes, Travels

The failure artist

There’s Erdinger, doritos and monopoly on the table, as our wolfpack is playing amidst a cloud of happy smoke. While we recover our bodies from a day of snowboarding at a cozy Airbnb, a white landscape gazes at us from the window.

This was my first time snowboarding, and, as you can imagine, I’ve fallen. A lot.

I’ve tumbled like wet clothes on a washing machine. I’ve shaken like an astronaut on reentry. I’ve stirred like a martini, rolled like a Royce, felt my brain pole-dancing on its skull as I fell face first on a white sheet of snowish ice.

I’ve hit the softened ground face first, ass first, God knows what else first, and on those rare instances I flew a bit, as I twisted mid-air before the inevitable impact, I knew — this was one of the greatest days I’ve ever had.

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Travels

This title belongs here

And you? Do you belong somewhere? How is it that you make a place, a group, a family part of your fiber? Where do you plant your lunar flag? When do you finally set the palm of your hand gently on a lover’s face, letting her close her eyes indefinitely, without second thoughts flying above you?

There was a pub in Glasgow I remember fondly. It had a brazilian theme — go figure — and a mesmerizing scottish redhead from Inverness at the bar. Me and my cousin bristled with enjoyment, as we had been visiting Inverness not many days before. Between laughing at our misadventures, she warned us about scottish winters.

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Stories

Autoresume

He never felt like running.

Every other morning, he puppeteered his lifeless mass of numb arms and legs to venture into the cold, brisk north wind that swept the morning beaches. Seagulls kept a promise of life among the dark blue plains of water, crying about their birdly affairs, and the long stretches of atlantic summer chaos, devoid of people, welcomed the elements and almost nothing but.

Every now and then a pilgrim on the way to Santiago crossed his path, and to every single one he wished ‘bom caminho’, dreaming of the times, future and past, he walked to Santiago just like them. Otherwise, he was all alone, for it was much too early in the day, and every wave broke a silence only disturbed by their own echoes on the sleeping buildings.

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Stories, Travels

Magic air

A timid sun lurked between rows of distant, sleepy houses. The raincoats shone from the constant pouring, and the mud on our boots clinged for dear life. You’d see clearly, by the way we moved, how sore our feet were. Compared to past days, they were strolling gently through freshly cut grass, drinking camomile tea and being massaged to the soothing sound of generic oriental new age monk music.

We had arrived on the tiniest of grocery stores. The old lady running it didn’t care much for light, as half her universe was as dark as a coal mine, and the rest dimly lit. The small collection of fruit and food was everything you could hope for in the middle of the Camino. I picked up some bananas, apples and grapes, and ordered coffee. Scratch that — saying I ordered coffee will sound like I was in a Starbucks, selfie’ing shamelessly around my badly written name on the paper cup. I wasn’t.

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Notes, Stories

Spiraling in blood

Feeling like he could be sick on the fucking bus at any moment, Charlie closed his eyes and tried to tame his stupid stomach. What a fucking disgrace it would be, and all thanks to the pills he took this morning. Fucking pills. Fucking teeth. The anesthesia could disguise the pain of ripping a vile tooth from the bone, but the feeling of ingrained uselessness remained.

What a fucking mess of mouth, the dentist must have thought. With a couple of stitches on the new crater, and a never-ending flow of blood to swallow, Charlie traversed through a sea of people on the smelly, noisy, disgusting bus station. As he sat down on a disease-ridden waiting room, where time wasn’t the only thing passing, he pulled the phone from his pocket.

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