Like lots of people is this ultra-visual world, I like to think of my life in cinematographic terms. An ingenious remark makes me immediately think "Lovely dialogues"; a boring and undefined person makes me feel like their character has not been quite well constructed; a heart-breaking sunset is a mental applause for the Art Director. Regarding the script, the meaning of life, and etcetera, my theory is that the most annoying and decisive parts -those slow processes that really take your story where you want it to be-, are never properly shown in films. Yes, I am talking about the '80s montage sequence: sports training, studying for the big test, getting organized and getting a job in a Survivor's track time. In the real world with the real humans -stupid humans, I hate them-, we are not prepared to actually do those things.
Whatever genre we choose, we are still in a movie. For what we know, getting fit only takes a strong resolution after a moment of crisis -lets say eating a three-thousand-calorie Swiss chocolate bar... not that I have ever done that, specially not last night while watching Archer (season five)- and three to five minutes of sandwiched shots and catchy rock music to reach destination.
Trying to figure out what really happens in between shots would be an accurate description of my life right now. I'm in the employment decisions moment. Until now, I thought this moment didn't even existed. I blame London.
What Daniel and my lovely hippie life in Silver City taught me, was that there was no decision point, that you could change your mind as much as you wanted, that there wasn't much in the bet anyway, and that having any job is good enough... as long as you have time to enjoy your life, drink your beer, friend your friends, do your art, and smoke your weed. I still feel that way, I feel it strongly. But, I also must admit London is having an effect on me, and all that competitive, non-rewarding and ass-raping system is making me truly afraid of not having money, not having a job, not having enough education (meaning academic education). Since Daniel is gone, I'm having a hard time balancing my socially-fit side with my fuck-the-system side. I'm lacking a little bit of the latter. I am ashamed to admit that I have been thinking long and much about money: the money I'm saving, the money I don't have yet, and the things I could do with it. Of course, they are Felix-like things to do with money, like opening a coffee shop, or raising a baby, or dedicating myself to write.
I reached a point in my concern when I desperately needed robot-mum advice. Should I continue to study? I don't even think that's possible, even if I wanted to, not without the money and references. Should I find another job? I'm not sure I could afford a rent and continue to save money. Should I travel? First I should solve that problem with my credit cards, probably -I promise I will call today-. What should I do, Mamma?
She was, as usual, kind of neutral, kind of directive. I think she would prefer me to study, but I don't think she actually knows the variety of impediments on my way for that. She tells me I can be a writer, work in magazines and publishers. Thank you! That's what I wanted to hear. That's what I've actually been saying for the past year or so: "What I really like to do is writing for magazines". So, I had already decided what I wanted to do... I just didn't remember.
On our last weeks of friendship, Daniel was convinced he wanted to go to Bolivia to live with and defend a local community of people. I say "local" in order to avoid terms as "aboriginal" or "Indian". After all, I don't hear people around here saying things like "I'm going to Amsterdam to smoke ganja with the aboriginal Dutch", or "This aboriginal English peoples sure know how to enjoy a greasy breakfast!".
He was more like a radical character, always extremist, always wanting the big change, always wanting to be completely different from everybody. Daniel couldn't just bare the idea of being normal. He wasn't normal, except for that strong urge of being abnormal, which is actually very normal... specially these days. I hate to admit, even I have it, and the smartest way I found of being abnormal is pretending I don't mind being normal. You can find it all over my speech, for example in the first sentence of this chapter "Like lots of people...". I just find it fake and "normal" to say "Hey, I'm different, am I the only one who feels his life is like a movie?". I don't think anyone older than fifteen falls for that.
I am writing this to understand the characters in my movie. Eventually, my character. Who am I? What do I want to... etcetera.
When I see some interesting catch phrase in the characters around, me, I take it, I make it mine. For example, the "etcetera" thing. That's Daniel's, of course. Most people use it to avoid listing obvious and boring things, after they've made their point clear. Daniel used it when he was saying something really important.
I can tell where most of my expressions come from. I have many from Julia, lots from Daniel, some from Harry... all above a base that's basically my mother's way of communicating my father's way of thinking. That's good for a start, for defining myself. I really don't feel like a have a core concept, a centre of feelings that are only mine. I think I'm more like a permeable robot, who's been programmed by different people surrounding me. And I am totally OK with that. I don't feel empty. I feel full, of cookies. And that's all that matters to me.
