This over promoted month of December comes around quickly, but does it have a different affect on those of us who live abroad?
Can you receive the same level of affection and love from friends, whilst the family is not present?
Is it harder to live alone and away from home, or to feel the suffocation of family ties?
Mostrando entradas con la etiqueta Barcelona. Mostrar todas las entradas
Mostrando entradas con la etiqueta Barcelona. Mostrar todas las entradas
miércoles, 11 de diciembre de 2013
sábado, 12 de octubre de 2013
Minute details
A loaded silence, his daughter playing with my mobile phone in the backseat. Getting lost, silent frustration. A sense that everything had turned into a task, an annoyance.
A hurried fast food lunch in a windy terrace. Staring out at the tarmac of the train station, waiting for his return.
Sustenance but not the right kind. A need to be looked at, listened to, seen.
We sat side by side but not close enough.
The wind picked up the burger wrappers and a stained napkin escaped.
Hardly any chit chat. Silence. Looking for solace in the food.
A hurried goodbye. An ´I love you´ in a Foreign language escaped. Turned on his heel.
I didn´t look back. Marching on seemingly confidently. A heavy disappointment. Uneasiness accompanying me home, like an unseen warning for what was to come.
A hurried fast food lunch in a windy terrace. Staring out at the tarmac of the train station, waiting for his return.
Sustenance but not the right kind. A need to be looked at, listened to, seen.
We sat side by side but not close enough.
The wind picked up the burger wrappers and a stained napkin escaped.
Hardly any chit chat. Silence. Looking for solace in the food.
A hurried goodbye. An ´I love you´ in a Foreign language escaped. Turned on his heel.
I didn´t look back. Marching on seemingly confidently. A heavy disappointment. Uneasiness accompanying me home, like an unseen warning for what was to come.
domingo, 11 de agosto de 2013
sábado, 29 de junio de 2013
THE END OF THE AFFAIR Part 3
The following weekend was Valencia. I had the dress, the shoes,
the shawl. I was so excited and felt so, so secure in us. He had invited
me to his Brother´s wedding?! Too fast, too lacking in caution I now
see.
I met his daughter for the first time outside the hotel. She threw her arms around me with an excited, all consuming energy and love. His grandmother gave me an icy hello. Why had she been so frosty with me when in the end I am the injured party? Did she know something I didn´t about him, his ex wife, his taste in women?
Disjointed communication and an odd distance between the family members. The children all took to me straight away. Him and I then escaped and had the most romantic evening I have had in a long time. It culminated in a drunken phone call to my mother saying he loved her daughter and then hours devouring each other in the dark, stripped naked of any other worries or issues; purely physical mixed with loving words and hushed voices.
The next day, the Wedding day. People I didn´t know or care about. I suppose I was an imposter.
He was serious and tired, united to his longterm friend; weariness and lack of sleep. I was elated. I spent most of the day with his daughter in the hairdressers and shopping but missing him. She told the hairdresser I was her mother.
The wedding itself was a mix of observations towards him and the family dynamic, tainted with loneliness and insecurity. He didn´t drink, he didn´t actively respond to me. My acts of affection were met with affection, but I had to go to him.
At the dinner table in the vast, canteenesque banquet hall, he had told me to stop worrying as I had to focus on his actions, not on his words and that he had taken me to the wedding. Was that not enough proof of his feelings? In retrospect, no.
The end to the weekend was dramatically different to the ending I had experienced in Madrid just one week before. I had cried quietly in the bathroom on the evening of the wedding when we had returned to the hotel. He was tired. I felt rejected in some way and my strong and unfailing instincts had told me that something irrevocable had changed in the dynamics of our relationship. He had got impatient with me as he had heard me cry. He tried to comfort me but I saw a total lack of empathy. The next day he was in a bad mood. HE had a 6 hour drive back to Madrid. HE hadn´t slept well. I WAS seemingly the selfish one, and yet I was the one who later on put myself in his shoes, thought it through and generously or stupidly adapted myself to his needs.
I stuck it out. He took me to the train station. We had a fast food lunch. I showed him my most recently published article. He didn´t read it. I felt trepidation. I felt the sense of an ending. He left with his daughter and said ´Te quiero´.
That was the last time we saw each other. The communication continued as always but I saw signs of waning commitment. I saw signs of a confused, overworked man who couldn´t live up to the image he had created of himself. I saw cruelty and impatience and then regret. I saw huge amounts of frustration. I saw the hideous vice of potential alcoholism rear it´s ugly head. I witnessed the sense of being the victim in a badly thought out game of two halves, where sentiments and love are disrespected and under valued. I saw and experienced a distancing, and then the silence came.
I met his daughter for the first time outside the hotel. She threw her arms around me with an excited, all consuming energy and love. His grandmother gave me an icy hello. Why had she been so frosty with me when in the end I am the injured party? Did she know something I didn´t about him, his ex wife, his taste in women?
Disjointed communication and an odd distance between the family members. The children all took to me straight away. Him and I then escaped and had the most romantic evening I have had in a long time. It culminated in a drunken phone call to my mother saying he loved her daughter and then hours devouring each other in the dark, stripped naked of any other worries or issues; purely physical mixed with loving words and hushed voices.
The next day, the Wedding day. People I didn´t know or care about. I suppose I was an imposter.
He was serious and tired, united to his longterm friend; weariness and lack of sleep. I was elated. I spent most of the day with his daughter in the hairdressers and shopping but missing him. She told the hairdresser I was her mother.
The wedding itself was a mix of observations towards him and the family dynamic, tainted with loneliness and insecurity. He didn´t drink, he didn´t actively respond to me. My acts of affection were met with affection, but I had to go to him.
At the dinner table in the vast, canteenesque banquet hall, he had told me to stop worrying as I had to focus on his actions, not on his words and that he had taken me to the wedding. Was that not enough proof of his feelings? In retrospect, no.
The end to the weekend was dramatically different to the ending I had experienced in Madrid just one week before. I had cried quietly in the bathroom on the evening of the wedding when we had returned to the hotel. He was tired. I felt rejected in some way and my strong and unfailing instincts had told me that something irrevocable had changed in the dynamics of our relationship. He had got impatient with me as he had heard me cry. He tried to comfort me but I saw a total lack of empathy. The next day he was in a bad mood. HE had a 6 hour drive back to Madrid. HE hadn´t slept well. I WAS seemingly the selfish one, and yet I was the one who later on put myself in his shoes, thought it through and generously or stupidly adapted myself to his needs.
I stuck it out. He took me to the train station. We had a fast food lunch. I showed him my most recently published article. He didn´t read it. I felt trepidation. I felt the sense of an ending. He left with his daughter and said ´Te quiero´.
That was the last time we saw each other. The communication continued as always but I saw signs of waning commitment. I saw signs of a confused, overworked man who couldn´t live up to the image he had created of himself. I saw cruelty and impatience and then regret. I saw huge amounts of frustration. I saw the hideous vice of potential alcoholism rear it´s ugly head. I witnessed the sense of being the victim in a badly thought out game of two halves, where sentiments and love are disrespected and under valued. I saw and experienced a distancing, and then the silence came.
THE END OF AN AFFAIR Part 1
It seemed right but it wasn´t was it. It seemed astounding and as if I had mentally envisioned this man beforehand and summoned him to me. I actually had.
Five solitary years here in Barcelona with broken romances or short term sentimental anxiety, but not what I was really looking for. Need and want are two very different things. I had learnt this and held on fervently to the image of my ideal partner, leaving the young pretty boys and easily accessed seduction behind.
With clarity of mind and a clear vision of what I wanted, at the start of May I met him online. I hadn´t been dating this way for some time but I then got the urge to try one more website for seemingly more discerning and serious singles. It´s terrible and terrifying how our daily lives can potentially function so well, and in my case be filled with almost constant joy and happiness, and yet we must resort to actively searching for love on an online menu of candidates because society or our own fears and lack of social interaction skills have failed us.
His first message arrived on 5th May. I remember dates, I cling onto time. He asked me if I could tell him something about myself. I did. He lived in Madrid but also worked here in Barcelona and in London. He sold himself as International. A Financier, an Investments man. Basque. I had no experience of them as people. It has to be said that previous to meeting him I had realized I needed to be with a Brit. However, fate ( or manipulating it via the internet ) got in the way and delivered me up my Basque.
We exchanged various messages, he asked for my number, we began speaking on the phone. He asked when he could ring me. At 4pm on a Tuesday I said. He rang on the dot. His voice was like a radio announcer. He had already bragged about that one. A detail of himself that he was proud of I saw.
The communication via messaging and phone calls grew quickly. He rang me everyday and a habit formed. I soon became accustomed to seeing his name flash up on his inbound calls. It made me smile every time. I was happy. Although worried that I would not find him attractive in person. We got to know each other via a plethora of photos and once a short video. I yearned to be with him. His height, his glasses, how his face changed when he took them off, his clothes, his laugh. I liked his upbeat energy, and responsable attitude to life. He was his own boss, but perhaps only in the confines of his office; his emotions seem now not to have been governed by himself.
We met on a Tuesday evening. He had asked his representative to find him a good Fish restaurant as I wanted to try oysters. He choose the best there was, a local institution of fine dining and a place that I knew from my 30th Birthday. He gained status in my eyes for having such good taste. Maybe I should have dated his representative in retrospect. He promised me red roses too. I sat down at the table and they arrived in the arms of the rotund waiter in his white jacket. 20 red roses and too heavy to carry. I remember laughing nervously and happily with my face obscured from the curious stares of the fellow diners by an aggressive red mass of petals.
It was a perfect dinner and although he wasn´t quite what I expected, I found him attractive. He was affectionate and hugged me. He later on asked if he could kiss me. Should I have said no? Is that what you are meant to do?I wanted to experience that kiss to see if I liked it. I did. We had a lovely dinner filled with anticipation and wonder. He had known he wanted to be with me longterm even before meeting me he said. I had been sceptical but secretly delighted to have met Mr Commitment. I was searching for the same staple requirements.
That night we went for another drink and then to a club. He wanted the night to continue endlessly I saw. Impulsiveness, fantasy. When tiredness took over, he waited for me outside the toilet clutching my roses, petals falling thick and fast and leaving a trail of romance behind us as we left.
Outside on the street a gay guy tried to pluck a rose from the bouquet and was met by a frosty, defensive reception. Was the Basque homophobic? I have always been suspicious of a homophobe´s own sexuality..
He took me home in a taxi and left me and my roses there on the corner of my street. I had made it quite clear that I wouldn´t be spending the night with him.
The next morning we went for breakfast close to my house. He arrived late but dressed in an expensive suit and with a different hairstyle. He was in work mode, he had changed persona somewhat. The phone calls started and he lost concentration but kept his hand on my knee and there were kisses in between calls. It was only an hour and then he left in a taxi and I left for work. He kissed me passionately outside the taxi and it made me embarrassed. I walked up the hill and saw his reflection watching me in a billboard. I turned to wave. He later told me that he had shed a tear as I left. What for?
Five solitary years here in Barcelona with broken romances or short term sentimental anxiety, but not what I was really looking for. Need and want are two very different things. I had learnt this and held on fervently to the image of my ideal partner, leaving the young pretty boys and easily accessed seduction behind.
With clarity of mind and a clear vision of what I wanted, at the start of May I met him online. I hadn´t been dating this way for some time but I then got the urge to try one more website for seemingly more discerning and serious singles. It´s terrible and terrifying how our daily lives can potentially function so well, and in my case be filled with almost constant joy and happiness, and yet we must resort to actively searching for love on an online menu of candidates because society or our own fears and lack of social interaction skills have failed us.
His first message arrived on 5th May. I remember dates, I cling onto time. He asked me if I could tell him something about myself. I did. He lived in Madrid but also worked here in Barcelona and in London. He sold himself as International. A Financier, an Investments man. Basque. I had no experience of them as people. It has to be said that previous to meeting him I had realized I needed to be with a Brit. However, fate ( or manipulating it via the internet ) got in the way and delivered me up my Basque.
We exchanged various messages, he asked for my number, we began speaking on the phone. He asked when he could ring me. At 4pm on a Tuesday I said. He rang on the dot. His voice was like a radio announcer. He had already bragged about that one. A detail of himself that he was proud of I saw.
The communication via messaging and phone calls grew quickly. He rang me everyday and a habit formed. I soon became accustomed to seeing his name flash up on his inbound calls. It made me smile every time. I was happy. Although worried that I would not find him attractive in person. We got to know each other via a plethora of photos and once a short video. I yearned to be with him. His height, his glasses, how his face changed when he took them off, his clothes, his laugh. I liked his upbeat energy, and responsable attitude to life. He was his own boss, but perhaps only in the confines of his office; his emotions seem now not to have been governed by himself.
We met on a Tuesday evening. He had asked his representative to find him a good Fish restaurant as I wanted to try oysters. He choose the best there was, a local institution of fine dining and a place that I knew from my 30th Birthday. He gained status in my eyes for having such good taste. Maybe I should have dated his representative in retrospect. He promised me red roses too. I sat down at the table and they arrived in the arms of the rotund waiter in his white jacket. 20 red roses and too heavy to carry. I remember laughing nervously and happily with my face obscured from the curious stares of the fellow diners by an aggressive red mass of petals.
It was a perfect dinner and although he wasn´t quite what I expected, I found him attractive. He was affectionate and hugged me. He later on asked if he could kiss me. Should I have said no? Is that what you are meant to do?I wanted to experience that kiss to see if I liked it. I did. We had a lovely dinner filled with anticipation and wonder. He had known he wanted to be with me longterm even before meeting me he said. I had been sceptical but secretly delighted to have met Mr Commitment. I was searching for the same staple requirements.
That night we went for another drink and then to a club. He wanted the night to continue endlessly I saw. Impulsiveness, fantasy. When tiredness took over, he waited for me outside the toilet clutching my roses, petals falling thick and fast and leaving a trail of romance behind us as we left.
Outside on the street a gay guy tried to pluck a rose from the bouquet and was met by a frosty, defensive reception. Was the Basque homophobic? I have always been suspicious of a homophobe´s own sexuality..
He took me home in a taxi and left me and my roses there on the corner of my street. I had made it quite clear that I wouldn´t be spending the night with him.
The next morning we went for breakfast close to my house. He arrived late but dressed in an expensive suit and with a different hairstyle. He was in work mode, he had changed persona somewhat. The phone calls started and he lost concentration but kept his hand on my knee and there were kisses in between calls. It was only an hour and then he left in a taxi and I left for work. He kissed me passionately outside the taxi and it made me embarrassed. I walked up the hill and saw his reflection watching me in a billboard. I turned to wave. He later told me that he had shed a tear as I left. What for?
lunes, 26 de noviembre de 2012
General Strike in Spain; mixed thoughts
Is the fact that most weeks here in Spain we seem to have some form
of strike, holiday or seemingly unneccesary days off rather perplexing for the non Spanish resident?Maybe as a foreigner (albeit one that feels very well
installed in the Catalan society) my views on this subject would
inevitably differ from those of native Catalans or Spanish people.
As a freelancer I don't maintain a 9 to 5 schedule.Therefore taking four consecutive days off for Halloween, (or at the start of December as is planned for next weeks´ ´puente´), is not something that positively affects my bank account, nor my mood.
Here in Catalonia, the sheer mention of the term 'vaga' seems to say it all.A lazy, non laboral day in which hoodied, agitated crowds gather to annoy those who wish to work.Or is it?The press would certainly have us believe so.
On the other hand, and speaking from a personal point of view, if my own children were in school here or if I had a mortgage and a great deal of general stress, maybe I would indeed take to the streets in protest for my rights.
Can we state clearly whether protesting does indeed function effectively?Are those of us who don't participate lacking a social conscience?
Rejecting a days work in order to protest against the unstable work and economic situations here in Spain, does seem rather counter productive.Or are we simply missing the point?
It could simply be a case of losing your own set of values for a moment, and trying to forget how things would work in your own country.Being flexible and willing to absorb another set of principles and way of doing things whilst living in another country, is an almost must.However, the interesting, and sometimes conflicting mindset of a foreigner and it´s host country, is the key to how one responds to such socially explosive activities.
As a freelancer I don't maintain a 9 to 5 schedule.Therefore taking four consecutive days off for Halloween, (or at the start of December as is planned for next weeks´ ´puente´), is not something that positively affects my bank account, nor my mood.
Here in Catalonia, the sheer mention of the term 'vaga' seems to say it all.A lazy, non laboral day in which hoodied, agitated crowds gather to annoy those who wish to work.Or is it?The press would certainly have us believe so.
On the other hand, and speaking from a personal point of view, if my own children were in school here or if I had a mortgage and a great deal of general stress, maybe I would indeed take to the streets in protest for my rights.
Can we state clearly whether protesting does indeed function effectively?Are those of us who don't participate lacking a social conscience?
Rejecting a days work in order to protest against the unstable work and economic situations here in Spain, does seem rather counter productive.Or are we simply missing the point?
It could simply be a case of losing your own set of values for a moment, and trying to forget how things would work in your own country.Being flexible and willing to absorb another set of principles and way of doing things whilst living in another country, is an almost must.However, the interesting, and sometimes conflicting mindset of a foreigner and it´s host country, is the key to how one responds to such socially explosive activities.
miércoles, 13 de junio de 2012
miércoles, 11 de abril de 2012
An unexpected experience one Easter week
A number of months of sporadic emailing. A sense that he would be particularly reserved and formal.A desire to meet him but not over riding.
Months inbetween messages in which lives were lived, and energies focused on other projects and people.Two strangers living in separate countries: one in his, and the other elsewhere.
A casually planned meeting leading up to Easter weekend.The city thriving with tourists and a sense that time was on their side: holidays yearned for and now relished.
Physically no surprise: it was already understood from this side that there would be attraction.Not pleasantly surprised therefore: what had been expected, was indeed delivered.
An almost awkward but strangely comfortable first chat whilst walking through the streets.Trying to watch his face, but instead having to look down to avoid tripping or standing in something less desirable.Eye contact so important, but at times hard to encounter.
A perfectly chosen dinner in his second venue choice.Anchovies and cheese on bread; his own invention, or so it seemed. Ham, olives, white wine and beer. A dry sense of humour, disguised by a reserved and formal manner. Food consumed and particles of personality revealed.
No expectations: the complete opposite infact.Wondering if another drink would be suggested. It was.
Sitting together in the bar where Javier and Penelope had their fight in Vicky, Christina Barcelona. Drinking the strongest drink one could have chosen for a first date.Happy.
Another drink in a French inspired bar, and this time an amusing, more open conversation. Everything seemed so natural. laugther and feeling like oneself. His eyes were beautiful. His hair. His reserved but confident air.
Next stop the kebab shop, his friend´s deserted flat.A shot, some water. Nothing was expected but everything was gladly received.Kisses on the sofa.A warm arm wrapped around. An awkward but life enhancing moment.
.
A shower: cold floor, warm water. Cold floor, warm towel wrapped around a vulnerable but happy body. The mirror. The question. More laughter.Very comfortable. The kebab left to go cold on the floor outside the bathroom.
Someone else's bed. No hesitation. In the midst of such natural romanticism, the ultimate carnal act. Animalistic, yet sweet and beautiful.
Dressing again and about to leave. Change of mind, turning round to see him lying there promising a night of warmth and a mid morning breakfast. Back into bed, fully clothed. His arms automatically there to catch.
Awoken by the endless banging and crashing of the neighbours comings and goings. Heat. Nausea. Three separate trips to the toilet pan. Then back to the bed. A delicious post sickness sleep and then more romanticism. One toenail black with fluff. Pretty eyes. Calm, masculine energy.
Happy.
Surprised to see him walk back into the room after his shower; fully dressed, handsome and smiley.
A breakfast between two new friends. Nice, but tainted by sickness. A lovely fairwell with promises of being in touch. No expectations but a sense of hope.His last comment said in English and somehow out of place.
A sunkissed walk home through the streets, with the remnants of the night before there for all to see; but a satisfaction and contentment that was sorely needed.
Months inbetween messages in which lives were lived, and energies focused on other projects and people.Two strangers living in separate countries: one in his, and the other elsewhere.
A casually planned meeting leading up to Easter weekend.The city thriving with tourists and a sense that time was on their side: holidays yearned for and now relished.
Physically no surprise: it was already understood from this side that there would be attraction.Not pleasantly surprised therefore: what had been expected, was indeed delivered.
An almost awkward but strangely comfortable first chat whilst walking through the streets.Trying to watch his face, but instead having to look down to avoid tripping or standing in something less desirable.Eye contact so important, but at times hard to encounter.
A perfectly chosen dinner in his second venue choice.Anchovies and cheese on bread; his own invention, or so it seemed. Ham, olives, white wine and beer. A dry sense of humour, disguised by a reserved and formal manner. Food consumed and particles of personality revealed.
No expectations: the complete opposite infact.Wondering if another drink would be suggested. It was.
Sitting together in the bar where Javier and Penelope had their fight in Vicky, Christina Barcelona. Drinking the strongest drink one could have chosen for a first date.Happy.
Another drink in a French inspired bar, and this time an amusing, more open conversation. Everything seemed so natural. laugther and feeling like oneself. His eyes were beautiful. His hair. His reserved but confident air.
Next stop the kebab shop, his friend´s deserted flat.A shot, some water. Nothing was expected but everything was gladly received.Kisses on the sofa.A warm arm wrapped around. An awkward but life enhancing moment.
.
A shower: cold floor, warm water. Cold floor, warm towel wrapped around a vulnerable but happy body. The mirror. The question. More laughter.Very comfortable. The kebab left to go cold on the floor outside the bathroom.
Someone else's bed. No hesitation. In the midst of such natural romanticism, the ultimate carnal act. Animalistic, yet sweet and beautiful.
Dressing again and about to leave. Change of mind, turning round to see him lying there promising a night of warmth and a mid morning breakfast. Back into bed, fully clothed. His arms automatically there to catch.
Awoken by the endless banging and crashing of the neighbours comings and goings. Heat. Nausea. Three separate trips to the toilet pan. Then back to the bed. A delicious post sickness sleep and then more romanticism. One toenail black with fluff. Pretty eyes. Calm, masculine energy.
Happy.
Surprised to see him walk back into the room after his shower; fully dressed, handsome and smiley.
A breakfast between two new friends. Nice, but tainted by sickness. A lovely fairwell with promises of being in touch. No expectations but a sense of hope.His last comment said in English and somehow out of place.
A sunkissed walk home through the streets, with the remnants of the night before there for all to see; but a satisfaction and contentment that was sorely needed.
miércoles, 22 de febrero de 2012
Emotional Security in Foreign climes
To live abroad, and to live a single life, has it´s obvious advantages and various disadvantages.
As a single woman in Catalonia three years have passed in which many attempts were made to get to know the locals in a romantic context. It hasn´t been easy, and at times your awareness of being from a different culture is blatantly obvious, and serves as a barrier.
On one hand you are seen as exotic, but on the other, you are too exotic to be fully accepted.
However, throughout the last three years I have learnt endless things about myself, both as a woman and as a British woman.
I have felt fully accepted by the Catalan and Spanish people in nearly every situation, context and manner.However,sentimentally I have lacked the emotionally security of having a partner.This is slowly but surely changing and I believe being open and accepting whilst truly enjoying the culture in which you have chosen to live, helps form long term relationships.
language differences and cultural and moral clashes can of course cause issues. However, although living and working abroad is a constant challenge, it leaves you feeling stimulated and alive on a daily basis.It also serves to distinguish you from those around you, and can at times leave you feeling isolated.
However, once you have formed a strong base in a foreign country, everything else seems to fall into place.
Can you have everything I ask myself?Emotional, work and financial security?
As a single woman in Catalonia three years have passed in which many attempts were made to get to know the locals in a romantic context. It hasn´t been easy, and at times your awareness of being from a different culture is blatantly obvious, and serves as a barrier.
On one hand you are seen as exotic, but on the other, you are too exotic to be fully accepted.
However, throughout the last three years I have learnt endless things about myself, both as a woman and as a British woman.
I have felt fully accepted by the Catalan and Spanish people in nearly every situation, context and manner.However,sentimentally I have lacked the emotionally security of having a partner.This is slowly but surely changing and I believe being open and accepting whilst truly enjoying the culture in which you have chosen to live, helps form long term relationships.
language differences and cultural and moral clashes can of course cause issues. However, although living and working abroad is a constant challenge, it leaves you feeling stimulated and alive on a daily basis.It also serves to distinguish you from those around you, and can at times leave you feeling isolated.
However, once you have formed a strong base in a foreign country, everything else seems to fall into place.
Can you have everything I ask myself?Emotional, work and financial security?
sábado, 26 de noviembre de 2011
TELEVSIÓN ESPAÑOLA
El programa ´´Mujeres y Hombres y Vice Versa´´ me intriga. Hay mucho morbo dentro de mi fascinación con este programa hortera!Me enseña ´´algo´´ de la cultura Española, y más sobre un tipo específico de gente de aquí.Gente con quien no creo que me relacionará nunca.Vivimos en mundos distintos: mundos dirigidos por metas, valores y interes bastante diferentes.
Es un episodio de ese programa, uno de los ´´tronistas´´ se emociona y llora mucho por el estrés de estar en el trono.La presentadora derepente le dice: ´´Ahora tenemos una sopresa para ti... a ver si alegras esa cara´´.Sigue contándole que hay una mujer muy especial en el estudio.El chaval se emociona aún más y dice ´´No me digas que mi abuela está?!´´. Su abuela de 80 y pico años entra en el plató y se abrazan y todo eso.
Suponía que ellos se habían visto aquel día por la mañana o al mejor la misma semana, porque los concursantes viven con o muy cerca a sus familias.
Me impactó mucho eso de traer su abuela al programa de citas.Algo no me cuadró de esa situación, ni me convenció este sentimentalismo extremo.Alucioné con tanta emoción por haberle visto a un miembro de su familia que tiene allí en Madrid cerca, para cuando la quiere ver. No lo veía necesario, ni muy apropiado su abundancia de emoción el chaval.
Me decía algo muy impactante de la co-dependencia de cierta gente joven Española: una cosa que como mujer independiente que lleva años viviendo fuera de su pais y lejos de su familia, no puedo compartir.No me identifico con esta mentalidad.
Aunque según el programa el chico este no sabía que su abuela hubiera estado, él le gustó mucho tenerla allí mezclada con la gente del programa, las luces intrusivas y las miradas penetrantes de los espectadores nosotros.La privacidad es sagrada digo yo.Pero en este caso, no se preocupaban por eso.
Familia es una cosa y la vida personal y sentimental es otra.Por supuesto a veces se mezclan y si que vienen en cuenta una con la otra.Pero no creo en demostrar todo, y menos cuando tenemos una edad ya.El tronista este es un hombre, no un niño....o no es así?
Valoro mucho la independencia, y el mundo en que viven estes concursantes por lo que había visto, es bastante agobiante y llena de dependencia. Viven en una bubuja televisual y no veo mucha conexión con la realidad por su mentalidad tan infantil.
¿Puedes ser muy familiar y cercana emocionalmente a tu familia, pero también independiente y con mundo?????
Es un episodio de ese programa, uno de los ´´tronistas´´ se emociona y llora mucho por el estrés de estar en el trono.La presentadora derepente le dice: ´´Ahora tenemos una sopresa para ti... a ver si alegras esa cara´´.Sigue contándole que hay una mujer muy especial en el estudio.El chaval se emociona aún más y dice ´´No me digas que mi abuela está?!´´. Su abuela de 80 y pico años entra en el plató y se abrazan y todo eso.
Suponía que ellos se habían visto aquel día por la mañana o al mejor la misma semana, porque los concursantes viven con o muy cerca a sus familias.
Me impactó mucho eso de traer su abuela al programa de citas.Algo no me cuadró de esa situación, ni me convenció este sentimentalismo extremo.Alucioné con tanta emoción por haberle visto a un miembro de su familia que tiene allí en Madrid cerca, para cuando la quiere ver. No lo veía necesario, ni muy apropiado su abundancia de emoción el chaval.
Me decía algo muy impactante de la co-dependencia de cierta gente joven Española: una cosa que como mujer independiente que lleva años viviendo fuera de su pais y lejos de su familia, no puedo compartir.No me identifico con esta mentalidad.
Aunque según el programa el chico este no sabía que su abuela hubiera estado, él le gustó mucho tenerla allí mezclada con la gente del programa, las luces intrusivas y las miradas penetrantes de los espectadores nosotros.La privacidad es sagrada digo yo.Pero en este caso, no se preocupaban por eso.
Familia es una cosa y la vida personal y sentimental es otra.Por supuesto a veces se mezclan y si que vienen en cuenta una con la otra.Pero no creo en demostrar todo, y menos cuando tenemos una edad ya.El tronista este es un hombre, no un niño....o no es así?
Valoro mucho la independencia, y el mundo en que viven estes concursantes por lo que había visto, es bastante agobiante y llena de dependencia. Viven en una bubuja televisual y no veo mucha conexión con la realidad por su mentalidad tan infantil.
¿Puedes ser muy familiar y cercana emocionalmente a tu familia, pero también independiente y con mundo?????
HOMBRES, MUJERES Y EL DINERO
Hombres, mujeres y el tema del dinero.¿Cuándo lo debemos compartir con un nuevo conocido?¿Tenemos que ser generosos siempre?O, ¿Podemos olvidarnos de las normas sociales que dicen que la generosidad y el ´´caballeroso´´ todavía tiene peso en el momento en que alguien quiere mostrar como es?
¿A ser tacaño con el dinero, indica que también eres así en otros campos de tu vida: emocionalmente y con tu tiempo por ejemplo?
¿Qué significa la generosidad monetario, o la falta de eso, en una cita romántica?
domingo, 20 de noviembre de 2011
VAMPIROS DE LA FELICIDAD
Es cierto, que en este mundo, y en cualquier momento, puedes encontrarte con gente de todo tipo.
Siendo una persona feliz y alguien que se ha encontrado su propia felicidad através luchando por conseguirla, a veces ( y más bien dicho al principio de una amistad) no veo las señales de infelicidad profunda en los demás.Primero veo lo positivo y mi intuición me guía. Elijo amigos así de esta manera como todos lo hacemos. Si hay algo de feeling y complicidad evidente, pues eso es lo suficiente para que uno se decida a coger esa persona como amigo.
Es verdad que en el momento en que queremos hacer una amistad nueva por ejemplo, mostramos nuestra mejor cara. En situaciones sociales hay que adaptarse a las normas, y la gente demuestra su lado más social, abierto y atractivo.Y nosotros respondemos con el mismo; entrándonos en este juego social. Pero, lo que fascina, es la parte más obscura de cierta gente que queda escondida al principio.
Aquí en este texto estamos hablando de los ´´Vampiros de la felicidad´´: gente que cojes como amigo o confidente y después de un período de tiempo siendo amigos, te traiciona emocionalmente.¿la culpable de ese tratamiento injusto y bastante desagradable?la infelicidad de aquella gente.
Aquí en Barcelona de lo que veo ( y ya tengo suficiente experiencia de esto para poder comentar!!), hay bastante gente profundamente insatisfecha. Eso ha ocurrido por varias razones. Sus eleciones laborales hasta ahora no acaban de hacerle feliz y por eso le hace falta hacer un gran esfuerzo para cambiar su trabajo; que por el momento no está lista emocionalmente para tomar la decisión de cambiar, y tampoco es suficientemente capaz de hacerlo.Por otro lado su vida sentimental queda incompleta y vacia. Falta algún tipo de cariño y amor verdadero, y en lugar de eso, se llena de encuentros esporádicos y sexuales que al final hace que esa gente sea aún más insatisfecha y frustrada.
Esa incapacidad de cambiar su vida por el mejor, ocurre por su extrema falta de autoconfianza.Qué mezcla más peligrosa y desagradable en una persona infeliz: una falta de confianza en si misma, y una envidia de los que sí que somos felices: ¡Vaya peligro!
Este año he elegido un poco bastante mal a algunas amigas ( o quizá me han elegido a mi?!), y al final éstas amistades complicadas digamos, me han dejado triste y cansada. Una amiga, que por cierto es extranjera y lleva cuatro y pico años viviendo aquí en Barcelona, es bastante negativa y conflictiva. Estoy segura que su actitud hacía yo tiene su base en el hecho de que es una mujer con la autoconfianza por el suelo.No puede conmigo porque soy positiva y sobre todo: realmente feliz como persona.Así que intentaba a desanimarme y bueno; lo ha conseguido!Sé que no es mi problema pero me efecta igual.Cuando alguien así entra en tu vida, sus problemas a veces se convierten en tuyos. Te transfiere su furia, su rabia y su negatividad poco a poco ( y no estas totalmente consciente de lo que está pasando..aquí queda el peligro). Eso sigue ocurriendo hasta cuando estés realmente exhausta y sin fuerzas ninguna.Es un engaño emociónal y algo que no esperas al principio de la amistad. Ves lo positivo en él o ella, y tienes las expecativas de que esa persona te va a ver como realmente eres, y con buenos ojos (Aunque por supuesto todos tenemos neustros defectos y puntos menos positivos: ¡somos humanos!, pero en una amistad hay que aceptar a todo).lamentablemente, como los vampiros de la felicidad se ven al mundo con ojos grises y através una perspectiva melancólica, al final te chupan la energía positiva que ofreces, y te dejan hecha polvo.No hay entremedio, porque es gente problematica y no comparte tu pasión por la vida.Punto.
El procesamiento de elegir, tener y dejar de ser amigos con cierta gente es duro pero necesario.Esa gente negativa de quien me rodeaba, es así: te chupa la energía porque no es capaz de compartir tu positividad y el bueno que ofreces como persona.
En fin, hay que tomar otro camino, y aprender de ver las señales al principio. Es cierto q a veces hay personas q nos arrastran emocionalmente y debemos discernir si eso nos conviene o no. Siempre podemos tomar la decisión de apartarnos cuando una persona es "tóxica" para nosotras.
Barcelona para mi, es una ciudad llena de buenas cosas, buena gente y buenas oportunidades.Pero por otro lado, sé que existe mucha tristeza y infelicidad aquí. Hay gente que realmente sufre por motivos económicos y circunstanciales.Pero, los vampiros de la felicidad, aunque me dan pena por su estado, también pienso que si quisieran cambiar por el mejor y ser más felices, lo podrían conseguir.Por eso, me da rabia pensar que se quedan atrapados en sus mundos negativos sin hacer ningún esfuerzo para encontrarse con la felicidad. Es como una droga esa negatividad, y no quieren dejar de tomarsela. Además hacen que los que les rodeamos, cojamos algo de su infelicidad.Y eso se llama: egoismo.
Siendo una persona feliz y alguien que se ha encontrado su propia felicidad através luchando por conseguirla, a veces ( y más bien dicho al principio de una amistad) no veo las señales de infelicidad profunda en los demás.Primero veo lo positivo y mi intuición me guía. Elijo amigos así de esta manera como todos lo hacemos. Si hay algo de feeling y complicidad evidente, pues eso es lo suficiente para que uno se decida a coger esa persona como amigo.
Es verdad que en el momento en que queremos hacer una amistad nueva por ejemplo, mostramos nuestra mejor cara. En situaciones sociales hay que adaptarse a las normas, y la gente demuestra su lado más social, abierto y atractivo.Y nosotros respondemos con el mismo; entrándonos en este juego social. Pero, lo que fascina, es la parte más obscura de cierta gente que queda escondida al principio.
Aquí en este texto estamos hablando de los ´´Vampiros de la felicidad´´: gente que cojes como amigo o confidente y después de un período de tiempo siendo amigos, te traiciona emocionalmente.¿la culpable de ese tratamiento injusto y bastante desagradable?la infelicidad de aquella gente.
Aquí en Barcelona de lo que veo ( y ya tengo suficiente experiencia de esto para poder comentar!!), hay bastante gente profundamente insatisfecha. Eso ha ocurrido por varias razones. Sus eleciones laborales hasta ahora no acaban de hacerle feliz y por eso le hace falta hacer un gran esfuerzo para cambiar su trabajo; que por el momento no está lista emocionalmente para tomar la decisión de cambiar, y tampoco es suficientemente capaz de hacerlo.Por otro lado su vida sentimental queda incompleta y vacia. Falta algún tipo de cariño y amor verdadero, y en lugar de eso, se llena de encuentros esporádicos y sexuales que al final hace que esa gente sea aún más insatisfecha y frustrada.
Esa incapacidad de cambiar su vida por el mejor, ocurre por su extrema falta de autoconfianza.Qué mezcla más peligrosa y desagradable en una persona infeliz: una falta de confianza en si misma, y una envidia de los que sí que somos felices: ¡Vaya peligro!
Este año he elegido un poco bastante mal a algunas amigas ( o quizá me han elegido a mi?!), y al final éstas amistades complicadas digamos, me han dejado triste y cansada. Una amiga, que por cierto es extranjera y lleva cuatro y pico años viviendo aquí en Barcelona, es bastante negativa y conflictiva. Estoy segura que su actitud hacía yo tiene su base en el hecho de que es una mujer con la autoconfianza por el suelo.No puede conmigo porque soy positiva y sobre todo: realmente feliz como persona.Así que intentaba a desanimarme y bueno; lo ha conseguido!Sé que no es mi problema pero me efecta igual.Cuando alguien así entra en tu vida, sus problemas a veces se convierten en tuyos. Te transfiere su furia, su rabia y su negatividad poco a poco ( y no estas totalmente consciente de lo que está pasando..aquí queda el peligro). Eso sigue ocurriendo hasta cuando estés realmente exhausta y sin fuerzas ninguna.Es un engaño emociónal y algo que no esperas al principio de la amistad. Ves lo positivo en él o ella, y tienes las expecativas de que esa persona te va a ver como realmente eres, y con buenos ojos (Aunque por supuesto todos tenemos neustros defectos y puntos menos positivos: ¡somos humanos!, pero en una amistad hay que aceptar a todo).lamentablemente, como los vampiros de la felicidad se ven al mundo con ojos grises y através una perspectiva melancólica, al final te chupan la energía positiva que ofreces, y te dejan hecha polvo.No hay entremedio, porque es gente problematica y no comparte tu pasión por la vida.Punto.
El procesamiento de elegir, tener y dejar de ser amigos con cierta gente es duro pero necesario.Esa gente negativa de quien me rodeaba, es así: te chupa la energía porque no es capaz de compartir tu positividad y el bueno que ofreces como persona.
En fin, hay que tomar otro camino, y aprender de ver las señales al principio. Es cierto q a veces hay personas q nos arrastran emocionalmente y debemos discernir si eso nos conviene o no. Siempre podemos tomar la decisión de apartarnos cuando una persona es "tóxica" para nosotras.
Barcelona para mi, es una ciudad llena de buenas cosas, buena gente y buenas oportunidades.Pero por otro lado, sé que existe mucha tristeza y infelicidad aquí. Hay gente que realmente sufre por motivos económicos y circunstanciales.Pero, los vampiros de la felicidad, aunque me dan pena por su estado, también pienso que si quisieran cambiar por el mejor y ser más felices, lo podrían conseguir.Por eso, me da rabia pensar que se quedan atrapados en sus mundos negativos sin hacer ningún esfuerzo para encontrarse con la felicidad. Es como una droga esa negatividad, y no quieren dejar de tomarsela. Además hacen que los que les rodeamos, cojamos algo de su infelicidad.Y eso se llama: egoismo.
lunes, 29 de agosto de 2011
Un comentario de un amigo....Es interesante saber como te ven los demás
A MI ME HA GUSTADO MUCHO QUE TE ESTES RIENDO TODO EL RATO. SE TE VE BUENA TIA. ERES DISTINTA, ESO ME GUSTA.
....Pero tal vez soy demasiada distinta para los hombres Españoles.Siempre seré exótica aquí, y si una parte no se puede adaptar al otra, habría una falta de complicidad y entendimiento...
....Pero tal vez soy demasiada distinta para los hombres Españoles.Siempre seré exótica aquí, y si una parte no se puede adaptar al otra, habría una falta de complicidad y entendimiento...
viernes, 26 de agosto de 2011
MI QUERIDO BELLVITGE, BARCELONA EN FOTOS Y CUENTOS DEL PASADO Y PRESENTE
BELLVITGE Y SUS INHABITANTES: MIS AMIGOS Y CONOCIDOS
Para mi, Bellvitge es un barrio Barcelonés bastante interesante y vivo. Llevo casi dos años impartiendo clases de danza Bollywood allí en un Centro Cívico.
No solamente he hecho amistades con mis alumnas ( quienes son unas mujeres increíbles), pero también he conocido gente en un bar del barrio.Los dueños ya son mis amigos y sus clientes también me conocen como ´´La Inglesa simpática´´!!! Cuando estoy allí, me siento en casa. La gente del barrio me acepta y me cuida, y eso no tiene precio. La diferencia entre nuestras culturas sirve para fortalecer la relación que compartimos.Es curioso esto, pero genial.
BELLVITGE DURANTE EL DÍA............
Una serie de bloques altos escondiendo las vidas de la gente....
La dueña del bar.
Mi amiga Fina.
Jordi del Centro Cívico.
Un hombre recien viudo..
UNA NOCHE EXTRAÑA POR ALLÍ......
miércoles, 24 de agosto de 2011
MI PROFESIÓN; EL MUNDO CURIOSO, APASIONANTE Y ESPECTACULAR DEL BOLLYWOOD.
MI MUNDO. MI CARRERA.MI PASIÓN: EL BAILE BOLLYWOOD DE LA INDIA, IMPARTIDO POR ESTA CHICA INGLESA INTERNACIÓNAL!!!
ROMANTICISMO EN BOLLYWOOD: la relación íntima y compleja entre esto y mi personalidad, necesidades sentimentales, y mis deseos personales.
El Bollywood forma una parte profundamente importante de mi vida desde hace ocho años.Desde entonces empecé a bailar y formarme como profesora de esta danza mágica.
Pero, llevo mucho más tiempo relacionada con la India.Cuando tenía 3 o 4 años, justamente cuando empezaba a hablar, dije a mi Madre que había tenido otra vida anterior en la India.
Un día ella y yo estuvimos hablando en la cocina de nuestra antigua casa en Inglaterra. Años despúes, ella me contó que ese día le dije que mis padres en mi otra vida eran Hindú. Me preguntó cómo y pór qué me había venido a Inglaterra para ser tu nueva hija.le conté que un día en la cocina de mi casa allí en la India ( que por cierto todavía me recuerdo que esta casa estaba al lado de la vía del tren en el campo de la Inida, y que mi padre Hindú tenía una granja con muchos cerdos?!) tenía mucho sueño y decidí a tomar una siesta.Bajé la cabeza y la puse así encima de mis brazos cruzados, y dormí.Cuando me desperté, estuve allí en Inglaterra con mi nueva familia.¡Vaya imaginación que tenía la niña verdad?!!
Pero creo en el absoluto que el hecho de que me indentifique tanto con esa danza viene en cuenta con mis recuerdos y experiencias de mi encarnación previa.
Mis mejores influencias femeninas: alumnas.Barcelona. 2011
QUERIDAS INFLUENCIAS FEMENINAS: MIS ALUMNAS DE BOLLYWOOD.
BELLVTIGE:
ESPLUGUES:
Mis mejores influencias femeninas.Amigas, alumnas, colegas.Empezando por colegas.Barcelona. 2011
INFLUENCIAS FEMENINAS: COLEGAS.
EVA
Mis mejores influencias femeninas.Amigas, alumnas, colegas.Empezando por amigas.Barcelona. 2011
INFLUENCIAS QUERIDAS FEMENINAS
Kathe
Starting the mission of tackling and decoding a life abroad
I first arrived in Barcelona in Jan 2009 full of expectation and a little teeny weenie bit of dread. I had just returned from a year and a half of hardcore life experience in South America. I first lived alone for 8 months in Buenos Aires, Argentina. I then, for fault of a wonderfully spontaneous but later to become an extremely complex intercultural love affair with a Peruvian doctor, I then moved to Cusco, Peru. I spent a further 8 more months living there with the aforementioned medic. I also give thanks to this experience for allowing me to discover in depth the amazing country that is Peru, and for, without wanting to, losing a great deal of weight due to stress and nervous energy. (Love is a dangerous thing at times, as are Peruvian stomach parasites!)
After this Peruvian/English love experience ended in 2008, I decided to continue my love affair with the Spanish language and Latin culture and moved here to Barcelona. It was one of the best decisions I have ever made. Two years on, I have learnt many things about the Catalan mentality (and certainly about my own). Most notably, their perception of foreigners, in particular foreign women, is unsettling at times.
I have fallen in love... (No, not with a Catalan) but with the no rules barred, seemingly relaxed attitude of the locals. Who, on the other hand, are extremely complex and serious individuals.Behind the facade of laughter and relaxed joviality that exists to varying extents in whichever culture you may find yourself in, lies a complex series of ´´cultural detectors´´. These can be used to decode the characters of the locals. Which is exactly what I am going to be doing here in this blog. How does an English 30 year old woman or señora....(sounds so final and formal in Spanish: as if I really have stepped over the age threshold from girl to mature lady, without even knowing it... In the English language I would still be referred to as a girl!!) mange to absorb the amazing Catalan and Spanish culture, whilst retaining her own nationality and satisfying her unique needs and wants?
You can take an English woman (who considers herself to be a woman of the world first and foremost I might add) out of England, but can you take the English out of the English woman????I always thought you could, but now I am beginning to realize that maybe you shouldn´t really want to do so...
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