Tulia Gonzalez Posts

August 21 / Diary

I see a loose thread, and I take it. It’s my way to start weaving with words. So there is an opening. Did I tell you that sometimes I find myself suspended in an eternal continued moment? When rain drops fall on the roof and I must stay still, suspended, almost holding my breath while listening the knocking against the roof and watching the drops slowly wringing through the window. Yes, is in these small details where I live when a lot is the time in solitude and infinite the freedom.

Great mysteries have occupied my mind these days. I’ve tried to figure out where is the spot where the sun reaches the most to set my island, lie, read or work without moving as time elapses;  I’ve been listening quietly the noise of contraction and expansion of this wooden living house  in order to learn it language.  Unimportant things also happen here. Like forgetting in the morning who I am and by surprise discover in the mirror someone’s face.

Could it be that the word and the writing is a muscle that relaxes and contracts like this house? That one must exercise them? Or may simply be that creativity and ideas are flying around one…? I like to think that the great stories and the most vivid poems hover invisible in the world, waiting for a hand holding a pen in the air, cold fingers on the keyboard, a silent mind, and a heart on  palms, open or cracked, or broken if you want…

I always write about the same things, always ants moving from side to side, beads sliding through the window, how the sun rises and sets, the particular walking of this strange woman, or how people here smiles in a certain way. These things  always absorb my attention and I don’t know where is the space for the big happenings. I could say little about politics and I ignored almost all the news happening in the world. I don’t do it on purpose it’s just that the rain is still falling, then it has occupied a primary focus these days… then I do not know much about planes falling or wars exploding in the East. Therefore might I have to apologize for this, for not watching the news to find out exactly the number of deaths that occurred today. I realize all the rules I am breaking, but it’s just that the rain continues to announce its presence on the ceiling, the warmth of the blanket covering me, the smell of my shirt so mine, and this hand writing.

No that  I ignore the suffering of the world, or I deny it.  Not that I don’t realize it.  Sometimes I also want to cry, sometimes I feel so small,  sometimes I have toothache, and there are nights when I have nightmares about men entering through open wide doors and I have to go out, look up , find a bit of starry sky to know that I am awake, that the only certainty I have is this-moment, is this breath, this beat and I that have cold feet. I feel that everything is inside out, the world is inverted wanting to go outside in … filling things, filling with information, making things, eating things, changing things … It’s like I need to reverse everything, invert it completely. Like flip an orange from the inside out… and that everything internal it feels outside… and the external it feels  inside. “We want to fight darkness when all we need is light.

It’s all quiet here, it seems the only constant. Sometimes the wind moves branches and the sound of the evening cold contracting the wood jumps in the silence. The birds call each other ignoring my presence. If a storm comes from the north, then I let the water run through my face and hair. It’s warm.

August 13 / My Sailing Logbook

24/Feb/ 2013 – Nuevo Vallarta, México.

This would be the Final Test. There it was on deck, made of plastic and with wide rims (looked quite comfortable in fact), nor as large as those big home depot containers  but not too small. Just the right size for…

The very moment to decide if I’m going to cross the Pacific aboard En Pointe is this one.

Tom wanted to have a “serious talk” before I come live aboard. I was a little nervous at first, I thought I would talk about passports, insurance, expenses, or perhaps permission signed by my mom, or something like that. Who could know what a “serious issue” could be in these terms? Not every day one talk about sailing across an ocean and I really have no idea.

I arrived at the Paradise Village Marina, a port in the middle of a very fancy complex of hotels. I walked between some large and luxurious sailboats. Around a corner at the end of one of the wooden docks, between that shiny catamaran and that other brand new motor boat,  with the best view to the mountains: it was the yellow sailing boat attached with a pair of ropes in front and behind.

Tom was sitting in the cockpickt (or area where sailboats usually have the wheel) with crossed feet on air, cap, and sunglasses. He invited me to come aboard and I took off my sandals. Now I would discover the heart of that entire important subject we should talk.

¡En Pointe has no toilet! Well, it has a little one but for “special occasions” when the weather is really bad.  Tom Said, if you have no problems using a bucket then there is no more to say. However I understand if you do not like it because not many girls like to use a bucket as a toilet … and not even talk about the shower on deck. Here he gave a little nervous laugh and waited in suspense my answer…

¿¡To use a bucket!? What a relief! It was this. Of course I do not mind using a bucket!

 

Tips on how to do it on a bucket (board a sailboat):

1) Make sure you have a rope tied to the handle.

2) Using the rope, toss the bucket and fill on third with sea salt water.

3) Put it in a safe and private place.

4) As you sit be careful not to get stuck

5) When you’re done, bring it to deck with EXTREME caution and WATCH FOR:

-NEIGHBORS swimming around or looking at you. (there are several anecdotes regarding this point)
-Someone aboard using the salt water tap to wash dishes.

6) Look for where the wind comes before pouring the content!

7) ) Once you’re downwind. Set it free to the sea. The fish will be happy.

 

The great advantages of using the Bucket:

1) Not having to fix the toilet (relief for captains) or cleaning (relief for crew).

2) You do not have to pump, wait, and look in suspense how is going around and around hoping is not going to return before the captain or the next person on board use the bathroom.

3) You can place it anywhere. If it’s hot you put it in a cool place, if it rains you move it into the roof, if you feel like putting it on deck is fine.

 

Considerations when choosing the most appropriate bucket:

1) You must choose one of perfect size that fit well your butt without you getting stock. If you can test it by sitting on it before buying it, much better.

2) Must be of a durable material that does not bend with the weight.

3) The strong colors are better than light colors. Just aesthetic issues for the sight.

4) Take care that the edges are wide, so they do not injured in the legs when sitting.

5) Try to give it a clean occasionally because if not start to grow moss!

 

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la cubeta

August 8 / Creative Challange

{Day 15 of 30}

I disappeared from Internet. I am back for a while to the archaic times. The rhythm of the days was given by the strike of a laptop along with any intention or concern to procure work, write, or even post on Facebook.

Two weeks in the city of Auckland, a small apartment built on the base of a volcano. Out from the back door I can see the sloping hill covered with trees and grass that once would have been a fiery path of volcanic rocks. Those that are still under my feet.

N wrote me “I have an important question for you: How do you escape from the boredom of everyday life?”
Hmm… I do not get bored, I say, because I drink a lot of tea. In a cup I put a tea bag. Then I put hot water.  In the hot tea I put honey.  In the sweet tea I put milk.  Then I drink sip by sip by sip, and -just- for that instant – nothing else exists.

After this arduous explanation, I went for a walk in the sun along the street that goes to the supermarket. Just for an instant – I get out of the way to step aside, let the people in hurry pass me by, those who want to arrive.  And I look at the sky. They must think I’m stupid. I stood there watching the birds migrating. But they do not realize that they, neither, are going anywhere.

I keep walking and got to the supermarket. All vegetables require my attention but I stopped just in front of one container.  I think anyone has so thoroughly chosen their tomatoes! I watched them, took them in my hands, turned them, as if they were giving me some kind of information and finally chose three of them. At home I sliced ​​them with extreme caution, as if – in this in instant- the entire world depends of how perfect is a tomato slice.

On the garden I spent hours devoted to the study of hens’ behavior. There are three: one white, one dark, and one spotted. And my results of this field observation are translated as follows:
Scratch – peck- scratch
Peck – scratch scratch scratch

Peck- peck – peck (that’s the instant where I am chased by one of them).

Also the time, or disappeared or stopped (which in this case is the same) while playing the guitar. My fingers pressing strings sometimes with rhythm and many others without. But -just- for this instant – I do not think “good” or “bad”, just let myself play in peace.

Later I dive into the foam of a cappuccino. Swim in warm milk and sweet bubbles. Sipping slowly, warming my hands clenched against the cup. That soft pleasure of cotton. That warmth of home, then – just – for this instant- I do not wonder “what’s next”  after having drunk the last drop.

Here hours also are occupied admiring the cat curled up on the couch. I watch her and time is not longer counted by minutes, but for her tummy rising and falling while sleeping. How quiet! With his eyes closed as lines, peaceful, nothing disturbs. Then – just – for this instant- it seems as if nothing in the world could be wrong.

At the end of the day I write with paper and pencil, a blanket on my legs while the raindrops are slowly sliding out the window. Then – only – for this instant – no one write or read. There are just words that could mean nothing too. And feeling happiness for free – just – for this instant, I don’t wonder if is tied to something.

Foto: desconocido
Foto: desconocido
August 4 / Creative Challange

{Day 14 of 30}

They were waiting for at the bus stop in Auckland. I left the village waving from the window with my right hand to a group of elders who came to say good-bye. It was a long trip, a rainy and unexpected warm day. It reminded me of my college days when coming back from Guanajuato to my home town at the end of the week and one of my parents used to picked me up at night from the stop.  Here, in the other side of the world, two big Maori guys wating for me. They took me (again!)  to  Cameron Street, the house where we would find their dad, uncle, aunty,  an extra trampoline in the garden, a new boat in the garage, a potato growing in the window, and two small baby cats jumping around in the mattress where I sleep.

And from that mattress in the living room I hear the waves licking the beach in the distance. This beloved sound is part of me and I could not be more present now… The people and everything there in the village, the sheep, the mountains, all have become blurred in my mind. Like sticking my hand in my pocket looking for something and I just find emptiness. Thinking – Did I forget to put them here? All the memories? I was sure to have saved them in my right pocket – there is nothing. An empty hand.

I think perhaps everything is about the “inner journey” and the “external journey” is another way of that same inner journey. Why people travel to see beautiful countries, exotic places, have experiences? It is simple: To feel ourselves there.  To experience ourselves – there.
Where do I feel that experience? Where do I feel the landscape I see? Perhaps I feel it inside, somewhere in the chest?
Where do I feel the streets of the foreign country for which  I walk? Is it perhaps on my own feet?
Where do I feel the exotic food? Would not it be in my own mouth?
And then we travel to experience these things but in reality is about ourselves, right? What we seek is to experience ourselves. What we seek we carry it already with us.

I crossed the block to go walking along the beach and did not recognize the ocean. Maybe because it is a winter sea. It is a cold sea and I wear a jacket, and tennis shoes, and I can’t feel the sand between my toes, no warmth sun in the skin, and neither the stickiness of sweat under the armpits. Of course! so far I had not seen the sea in winter. It feels weird to see something so familiar and at the same time feels new. 

The next few days passed between movies, walks on the beach and meeting with Thomas’s friends. So many young people! I exclaim which resulted very funny. With Leo we went for rides in the car at night. We drove up the mountain so he could smoke a cigarette. And with the night view of Auckland and wearing huge jackets:

I could call myself homeless if you want to see it like that… I say remembering the TV program we saw by chance was a guy interviewed some homeless in the city.
– Leo laughs.
– Or … I can say that I feel at home everywhere.
Haha, you are funny Tulia. That’s true, you are definitely Not homeless.
– Although, I can’t stop craving for tacos!

Those days between the letters I received and wrote, I tell S:

Exactly where I feel “at home” or “foreign”?
If that feeling of being at home actually comes from inside us… because it is “here” where I feel it, right?  Then …  Is that some country, house, or group, gives us that  sense of belonging or maybe is something that comes from inside of us?

Because the truth is that… often I feel close the family from far away, and sometimes I felt “distant” even being in the same city.

“The Heart does not know any distance or journeys.”

 

Auckland City from Mt. Eden
Auckland City from Mt. Eden

{Day 13 of 30}

Will I remember this place?  The mountains? Shall I look around  wondering for the pine forests … the sheep, visits to the river? So far, the only place I feel sometimes nostalgia is for the Marquesas Islands, Nuku Hiva… if I strongly close my eyes and remember when we being welcome from the open sea. And it’s enjoyable, this nostalgia, to felt it so far…

“Remember” from Latin re-cordis:   through the heart again.

But Taumarunui is different. A village that has come out of the fog to give a welcome hug me for months and I know it will be lost back in the fog. Maybe that’s why I’ve taken so many pictures, vain subconscious attempt to keep something knowing it is a place that belongs among the clouds. I am grateful for my complete hibernation. It’s the perfect time to leave.

I feel so palpable the transience of places, situations, people and also 6 weeks seems such a life full of details, so full of different. Shedding sheep, drawings fog between the houses, different walks beside the same river, bike or ride the mountains alone or with company. No wonder how this time has passed. I feel part while I see from outside – all temporary… everything running on… When I arrived?, I was doing before this? Where was I? And then the feeling of the instant that encloses all (-or that forgets all). As knowing myself standing right here and be in constant motion … like the stream, the stream-time. And the inner understanding that:

Present is eternal.

 

And certainly I do not feel free … forgiven … saved … sure … not if I now that feeling of hang in the balance, of knowing that there is only a very slight line for something to go out of place in the universe, of better say: to fit differently. –  It is so thin the small change in perception and yet it changes everything. Maybe it’s this little tension, of knowing that in a thin inner line makes me feel throbbing and present.

Today I spent a whole day listening to talk C and P about their trip. Sometimes with genuine care, other joking, others only present with a blank mind (not needed anyway response) at the end of the night the point where I wonder if I am doing some effort to pay attention or not to put it? As the TV: I have the inability to watch it.  The TV just does not capture my attention, I see into a meditative state but I’m not seeing more than a reference point in the room.

I’m feeling much love for everyone, Greame, the home owners, Lynn, Robin, Mark, and Kiko the cat … knowing me into them… knowing they show me a part of “me.” One type of love rather neutral.

Last day in Taumarunui I tell myself…

Wash bedding
Shaking subtracted silhouettes
Remove odors of love from the pillows
Ignite memories and diaries
Pack with special care not to get ghosts
Make a deal with the witness cat
Watering plants with fluids leftovers
The last evening in the bath – boiling water
Collect kiwis for friends in Auckland
Say goodbye to my loved sheep
And my rubber boots…
And my work gloves that I will never use again…
Because I am done with being farmer: it’s time to city.
I left a warm and inhabited house.
The owners will never know the reasons for the sudden urge
Of wanting to make out in front of the fire
On the carpet that one day turned into camping, and war and love zone.
Shhh…
Taumarunui the place I’ve lived longer in NZ. Village of fog, so hidden from everything else … populated by a thousand old people playing bingo on Wednesdays and loving walking as much as ice cream and tea.
I leave spoiled, good eaten, and full of kisses.
Another place where I temporarily belong.

What Desafío Creativo is?

Is a Dynamic  that started in Caminomundos.  The challenge is to do some creative work for 30 consecutive days, can be posts, poems, pictures, etc. Do you want to participate?

HERE: This is a creative writing experiment where I’m mixing my dairies. Sometimes I write from the present or sometimes I just post my old dairy that I wrote when I live aboard a sailboat for one year.

*From Mexico to New Zealand aboard a sailboat. Now from ashore I transcribe the diaries of one year living on the sea.

17.Feb.2013
La Cruz de Huanacaxtle, Nayarit. Mexico.

Between ships and land shores, ports and docks, between going or staying… wandering. Among all the chaos of coincidences and new people, I met a man named Tom, who starts with T as Tulia, as Tita, Tus, and Tila back home in my parents’ house. Among he saying:  I will cross the Pacific and I am seeking for crew.  Paul’s idea about advertise myself on the radio gave result and I was talking with the captain of the small yellow sailboat (But that does not matter too much right now… I just met him once and who knows if I will see him ever again).  Among all this happenings… I got a little message from S yesterday: “heart … I think of you … I want to see you” a couple of lines to me sounded as poetry. It was one of those light evenings at  Aly’s home with the guys  in search of sailboats. Next day I woke up with a burning heart, inspirational, in love. I know we have different rhythms and cycles, and only I’m curious if one day we will coincide and live something more…

***

18.Feb.2013

The first time I saw Tom was in the Marina, in Paul’s boat.  He answered my call on the radio, another man came also but did not give me any good impression, so I refused.  Then Tom came, we talked about his boat and I did not understand a lot of terms (for that I asked Paul to help me with the interview.) I assume that there are no suicidal people around here and if someone wants to cross an ocean he’ll have complete confidence in himself and in his boat. The only thing I really care about is the person and if I feel comfortable with (as I saw that live on someone’s boat is about sharing and living together before everything else).

The first thing I said above all was:  I do not seek any relationship, or any chance of this, or the idea of ​something, anything. Well, I will not go in the middle of the ocean having in mind if I misinterpret something or if I feel strange. (And I said this, as if really would  embark on this trip) Surprised and laughing  Tom said he was more than agree since he was not looking for anything neither (Just I have to be clear). He gave me good impression, good vibes, neutral and somehow peaceful. Paul found him nice as well. We agree in going to sail a race for the day and we’ll see. I telephoned my mother to gently starting putting out the idea of ​​her daughter going away to a remote island.

***

19.Feb.2013

I went sailing with Tom and Linda. This is happening … is happening as things that have happened to me so far; passing without me notice them. And when they are already happening I turn to see: I’m already here, I’m going … I’m already doing it.  So I am impressed, and even a little scary, because then, gently, smoothly, without efforts, almost inadvertently, things are fitting on their place to go to the Pacific, in two weeks, three weeks, French Polynesia. OMG.

In the end I’m realizing that there is no place to go. Now I am and have always been in the place or situation to be full, be happy. Paradise is always where I am now, no matter where is this … I seek nothing, I have fun, I like to put myself in situations that move me in, put myself on the edge and is where I can discover-me(whatever that means). I know that maybe I do not need to do all this but it is a way of… seeing the world … see the world inside me.

S wrote me. I was very happy, yesterday and this morning I could just be still thinking about her and what she wrote. I was surprised … Which reminds me that lately my name gives me a different feeling than before, Tulia, sound sometimes foreign, sometimes gives me a loving feeling, or it feels like a past life, or like someone else name, someone who I know well. 

***

20.Feb.2013

This is happening. Really. Tom, Linda and I went to Octopus Garden where Aly works and what a surprise! Aly came sailing from San Francisco but I just found that she almost came down with Tom as a crew, so they knew each other already. Coincidences and good signs. Then at the end of dinner, we ordered a wine and offer a toast.
So, we are going? /  Tom said.
Yes, we are going. I answered.

I do not know what causes me more excitement: the fact that I’m already making plans to move to the boat or to know that S loves me.

I have written her:

…In the end … who cares? If now I feel intensely. I love you in a very free way, without need, without agendas, without wishing that things were different, not “havings”. For me it does not matter, after all relationships are always changing. Like friendship, brotherhood, passion, absence, or romance… that’s not so important.

There is no place to arrive, or no name to lose


What Desafío Creativo is?

Is a Dynamic  that started in Caminomundos.  The challenge is to do some creative work for 30 consecutive days, can be posts, poems, pictures, etc. Do you want to participate?

HERE: This is a creative writing experiment where I’m mixing my dairies. Sometimes I write from the present or sometimes I just post my old dairy that I wrote when I live aboard a sailboat for one year.

{Day 11 of 30}

There are days like this one, when I said -I slept too much. I opened and closed my eyes in the morning … feeling a sensation of have missed something that I do not know. It is winter. It rained all week, a thin, continuous pouring rain. But this feeling of sluggishness may not have to do with it…

And on days like this when the direction of an internal map is missing (and yet does not mean being lost) that feeling instantly takes me by surprise.  As who inspects a foreign object for the first time by rotating it with the hands in front of your eyes, look inside, outside, from below, from behind, flipping it … and just does not understand its true utility …  I sometimes see  man’s life like that – I mean, my life-.

Then I turn the little figurine to find somewhere to put it… on the shelf maybe…. or perhaps it has some purpose unknown to me, some different use…. And with my  fingers I draw the shapes and lines;  and with my mind I intend to imagine its possible  uses or appearance … my life. Then I say I slept too much today, with a feeling I lacked something and I realize that is not mine … that I’m riding clouds between dreams and my pink-flowered sheets in a girl’s – stranger- room. I’m pretending be misplaced (as if I was placed!) and then I see that standing up in the same point in the world I could feel myself both:  lost or founded. So I’m waking up, as I am aware of this. I mean I am opening the eyes behind my opened eyes.

Cloud rider – While riding my fluffy cloud of thoughts … I think there is something I should do, something I am missing… then –suddenly – I jump out of bed naked. And everything is like a faint trail … sometimes … a feeling that fades with coffee and toast.  I stop riding the could-  How I know?

Because space
for  feeling the space.

I remember the conversation with my friends from the sailboat Muktuk. An Austrian family with two children aged 8 and 11 years who lived in Alaska on their sailboat. They said they had to go breaking the ice to move, but there is a problem: Stuck in the ice, stopped boat, and the GPS does not work … you know, because the GPS tells you which direction to go only when moving. (When stopped it marks the location but not the direction). So you need to get going, instinctively give the first step and when there is motion the GPS is able to mark the precise coordinates and indicate the direction. This first movement you may have given it in the opposite direction or falling of course … but you know the direction now and recover …  the GPS is working…. But if you stand still … it never set the direction (and you can even get stuck and frozen).

The movement itself is the direction.

Kaikoura, NZ.
Kaikoura, NZ.

What Desafío Creativo is?

Is a Dynamic  that started in Caminomundos.  The challenge is to do some creative work for 30 consecutive days, can be posts, poems, pictures, etc. Do you want to participate?

HERE: This is a creative writing experiment where I’m mixing my dairies. Sometimes I write from the present or sometimes I just post my old dairy that I wrote when I live aboard a sailboat for one year.

June 29 / Creative Challange

{Day 10 of 30}

No, is not what you imagine …  Standing in front of a group of 40 old ladies in an old house drinking tea. And in terms of Taumarunui, little town in the mountains of New Zealand … this is a Women’s Club.  Today they gather to listen the talk of a Mexican who came for some sort of coincidences … I wonder if this is only in appearance and there are more mysterious reasons behind this meeting of so many old ladies …  maybe they make secret plannings to invade the village with pastries , planting flowers in the corners, or exchanging all plastic tablecloths of the-only- coffee-shop for colored embroidery … maybe even they could be organizing an annual meeting to exchange secret recipes. Or it could even end by me turned into a white little mouse at the end of lunch like in that witches movie.

With all that… I still came. Half an hour before a lady came home to pick me up; I took a quick shower and look for something almost- decent to dress: a formal shirt, belt, pants and shoes… all black and gray. And I even dared to wonder if I would be “over dressed up”? The old ladies seem to have taken out their jewels and dresses (at least 20 years old). One day a week the Women’s Club gives them an excuse to spruce up … But,

What do a group of elder ladies from New Zealand want to know about me??

As I entered the room a delicious smell of food filled me up. They served a pumpkin cream and pastries … everyone talked about his own recipe with more or less pepper but all agreed that they would not even have to do the dishes.

Mrs. Ruth sitting next to me, the only black hair woman since all the others has whites and fluffy like clouds in this country. The “chicken” of  74 years of group dressed in a long black skirt and boots … four or five earrings in each ear and has a form of juvenile talk, “Hey darling, so you better come and sit right here”. Intense blue-gray eyes…

-Dear, do you have already a husband? She asked.
– No, I tell them. Everybody laughing.
– You better enjoy now that you are free my dear… all of them say.
– I do not know if I’m going to marry…
– So you will see if you meet the right one 😉
– Hmm … (roll eyes) … no, I do not know. I say laughing – and not knowing is perhaps worse than saying no, because if a woman says “no” is “yes” and “yes” is often “no” … but if I say “do not know” … More laughter in table.
– Dear you’ll have to speak laud in your presentation here because half are almost deaf. Are you nervous about public speaking?
-Nothing at all, I say. I think it would be easier to be nervous when you take it personal or you want to give an impression of something. At this point I do not care to give any impression more than what comes in the moment.  And of course I don’t prepare a single word beforehand.

I get up, I get to the front – the stories with scripts and orders left behind, there is a spontaneity in this…  the angles, spaces, and words are now different every time. Different tales of the same one thing. Then I flew until the table in the house of my grandmother picking the smells, spices, and the view from the window and to even her… and bring them all to the living room in this old house where elderly kiwis – a hundred thousand miles from Mexico – can meet my grandmother Rosa.

In Mexico we eat at three in the afternoon! Not like in NZ having dinner as the main course … seems funny to them … hence it follows a river of curious things … until the day of the dead I say in Mexico is a colorful day (and my mind goes for a second the idea of touching a sensitive issue as how much they think about death in this age? almost want to ask them but just forget the issue in the next minute …

club de mujeres

-How are the houses?  Does your family drive a car?
-What language is spoken?
-Is New Mexico part of Mexico?
-How are the weddings?
-How many children people have?
-What about the elderly?
-Then you come from a rich family? (Many laughs after this lol! Not rich financially at least I tell)

-How did you get here? How do you cook on a boat? Did you were afraid to go with a stranger?

I tell them a bit about the “whys” and “hows” of traveling slowly, something about sailing and taking care of homes … but what really arises here is when I say:  the real reason I can travel in this way is for the trust . Trust among strangers. Several of them look at me with eyes of proud mom, I laugh … Finally hugs and good wishes of many of them …  There are these things that I get into it … and I sleep early because tomorrow they want to take me to the exercises group…  


What Desafío Creativo is?

Is a Dynamic  that started in Caminomundos.  The challenge is to do some creative work for 30 consecutive days, can be posts, poems, pictures, etc. Do you want to participate?

HERE: This is a creative writing experiment where I’m mixing my dairies. Sometimes I write from the present or sometimes I just post my old dairy that I wrote when I live aboard a sailboat for one year.