Tag: escritura creativa @en

July 11 / Life

Are you sailing back or flying?

The fact that this question can even be made, it means that there are options.
-Flying, this time I’m flying.

I bought an airplane ticket that will take me back to Mexico in thirty something hours by plane, but the journey to come here took me almost a year on a sailboat. The world can be a bizarre place.

Yesterday I dreamt that I finally left the island, that L was taking me to the airport, that my passport was expired, and I didn’t know if Mexico would recognize me.
I’ve changed so much. I don’t even remember how tacos taste.
That’s why I bought a return ticket, because one day I said: “my grandmother’s food” but I no longer knew what I was talking about; seems that I don’t remember anymore, but that I am rather inventing, and this can be scary.

I left behind my home, friends, my brother while he was still a kid , my nephew when he still didn’t know how to speak, my dogs when they were not yet old, my cousin when she was single, my grandfather when he still lived. I mean, children grow, the older get older, the food gets eaten without me, my friends are getting drunk, and my girlfriends are marrying and having weddings with an empty seat that has my name.

These are the big and small sacrifices for the one who goes away and makes small families everywhere. We have houses and dogs, and routines of the day, even if for others this place is far and unknown, to me is close and familiar. Here I have a small family, the wind brought me to New Zealand and  I have woven a life.

I telephoned my grandmother, she was so happy, we laugh
Grandma, I said, I’m calling on Skype,
(Although she does not know what Skype is)
She tells me: Hija, every day I think of you,
and I think: many kilometers behind the sea
half a turn of Earth separates us
but I call you and you still say:
Hija! every day I think of you.

Then I got hungry and bought a flight ticket.

(Photo: Halfway between Mexico and New Zealand 2013, Tom took that GPS screenshot, perhaps in Bora Bora or Mopelia, or one of those invisible islands)

June 19 / Diary

We all have those little parts of ourselves that we like to hide. It may be a middle name, the high school Prom photo, or that you failed the fifth grade.

Margarita didn’t like me probably because is diminutive, and I wanted to be related with something strong, to have bigger hands to hold stronger, to be more “real”. Now I don’t care about diminutives, now I don’t wish that anymore. I see that is not the size of the hands, but its determination.

Why do we need to be taken so seriously?
Perhaps, deep down we want to be anchored to the ground, become mountains, and we are afraid of the lightness of being made of air and blood.

Getting drunk in a bar in London with A (that man with woman’s name) I said: A, I don’t understand why people tell me I should “take it more serious”, while actually I am not able to believe entirely anything that is said in this world; sometimes I feel like a character playing different roles, changing outfits as life needs”. That night we laughed so much, as we always did in the office too. – Do you think that’s why women do not take me so seriously? I laughed with him until dawn. Deep down, A is like me, he doesn’t care if he seems to have soft hands and yet her hands are big and strong. After that time, he went to India to work in an NGO. I took a sailboat and learned another game, one about waves and wind.

– I seem to be so small, so soft, so full of blood,
susceptible to change, the wind, or the sun
I live here in my chest, my hands, my feet that are cold,
within all this vast space inside…
Is it really that being so small, I am so strong?

January 31 / Poetry
We wash out our face in a waterfall
thinking that we’ll be other
who wakes up next morning

But we are all the same

November 29 / Poetry
 I confess I have lived a little bit.
28 years ago someone –my mother- named me “Tulia”
and since then I collect experiences in a handmade wicker basket
that has a hole in the bottom

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
June 24 / Creative Challange

{Day 9 of 30}

Since she arrived I’ve spending days in a  country with no name.  I was going to the library. I woke up late, I said to myself  I’ll get that book of Maori poetry today…  Checking my email -a message – “I’m in the library right now.” I think I was going anyways,  and maybe I could had found her with her backpack waiting  -without knowing – for someone that was going to meet  her -without knowing-.  Do we would have recognized each other? I think so, because secretly we already knew our faces … so that happen when you have a friend in common and descriptions have already been made in advance.

This day I had completed a month living in a lost village in the mountains. Evenings by myself.  Walks in the river. Talks with the cows telling them not to eat so fast because I do not know how to open the next package of food … and the sheep that I already know by signs and sizes.  A life of small – everyday things.

Exploring  in a different way the  New Zealand forest.  A few days ago with the “boys” of the club, those oldies my friends. But this time, I was walking in the rain with two hands on one pocket to keep them warm…  furtive getaways between the trees till be founded by the dogs … we got lost on our way back, but as K says: when she feel lost is exactly when she is not. And the smell! the smell of this tree that I lean over and the sound of droplets seep through the leaves … I could close my eyes I tell you, and  go back home just following the smells… after rain are so crisp, so enlightened, so fresh.

And those pleasures went  accompanied by tremendous meals. This time carnivorous, steaks, ground beef, lamb sausage … and no apologizes cuz I prefer vegetarian food. I am being spoiled. Someone else cooking for you.  Someone turning on the fire at night.  The fire burning without having to take care of it. Abundant firewood without going to search for it.  This has its advantages I think lying on the carpet in front of the fire in her company, a strange intimate.

And while the world is talking about players and balls here the meaning of the World Cup would be Mexico vs. Ecuador on kiwi fields. “Goal” they may shout in the stadium tribune, here the cat is the only witness of this game, he turns the head to one side and the other as trying to understand. Laugh. While Ecuador is beating England (as reported by my neighbor Lynn), and Mexico plays Brazil (according to the guys in the Bingo club) here we did not know nothing but the soaked rain forest we breath trough.

Now I knew why M and I never saw that movie together. This afternoon winter we put it on:  – Room in Rome – with a Russian and Spanish speaking in Italian. I think we have the “tú” in common at least (which surprises me a bit). We then set our flag in this space. Island where we impose the Spanish whispered as the first language. Foreign geography where the maps are not necessary, territory without  passports, neither visa paperwork to cross the border. A country with no name.

Quiet but in effervescence. When there is clarity there is no need for any logic. I think I have lived for so long without logic. I tell you there was a realization and nothing attracts me enough from here, I could not be doing something different (and has nothing to do with the country or with living in a house with sheep) … I turned to look and you’re smiling, you understand, you say it’s beautiful -that’s why I opened the door in the first time – I think.

Living this way of creating deep connections in such a short time is a gift. And although we would like to retain the silhouettes – at the time – they are gone … as will the markers of the games of this year will be a vague trace of odor and countries. We go to the bus stop. I return alone after driving speeds and curves to bring in the –witness- cat and start my own fire. The house is complete.

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 10 / My Sailing Logbook

*One year trip from México to Nueva Zelanda aboard En Pointe and other sailboats.

15 /Feb /2013  –  La Cruz de Huanacaxtle. México

“Sexy 26 y/o nurse 
looking for a boat that takes her
out to the sea”

– Perfect Tulia I’m sure there will be a bunch of sailors in the port lol.
– Well,  better tell me what I should put in the ad then…

Romany Star’s captain Pablo helped me to print ads for putting them  in the marinas around Puerto Vallarta. He says I should try announcing myself on the radio too, it feels like announcing something to sell but I will try. Sailboats communicate with each other on the net, according to the place where they are. Every morning they gather in a single-channel to check in with the name of the boat and then go to different topics: Weather (of course the weather!), who goes, who arrives, sales or exchanges, and crew positions. It looks formal but people on boats is actually relaxed, it’s just another community of people (living in water).

Thus we arrived to La Cruz after two weeks without touching land. It’s a lot? It’s few? I do not know anymore. We went in different bays for anchoring one or two days and slowly up the coast of Jalisco. The last stretch was Cabo Corrientes, famous for its strong winds and big waves. It was a 36 hours trip without stopping. The boat was healing over that I had to step in the seat, and the waves beating on the deck, everything was soaked. Would this be normal?! I thought. I want to be outside, in the air, I am quite salty, is total darkness and the strident sound of crashing waves in the water makes us to communicate loudly.

 

Romany Star sailin in Cabo Corrientes, 2013

Tulia h-o-l-d  o-n! Pablo says serious looking into my eyes but with a half smile in the face when he sees I am all grabbed even with the toenails. It is the first time we travel at night and with waves more than five feet. I do not know much about sailing, but I doubt that this is an everyday situation… Ho well, I’m going to sleep. There is nothing to do, with this weather Pablo will be on watch all night… I roll from side to side; put the mesh which works as a wall to keep me from flying away. I sleep. I open my eyes every few hours with a beating heart, in the dark things come and go, all mixed up … I feel weak … I sleep again, wake up, go back to sleep and so on until dawn. I felt bad for not helping Pablo but he is very proud of my ability to sleep in-any-situation.

Test passed: I’m ready to live on a sailboat.

***

16/Feb/2013

Time is running out in Romany Star and I have no idea what its next of course. Now I understand the very basics of how sails work and I have learned to feel the wind on the nose and say yes, this is the direction.  Today I wanted to cry. Why crying could seem something wrong? Only a bunch of emotions that do not fit anymore, then they break. I do not know why I’m here … I don’t have expectations, no plans…

Sometimes this lightness can shock people, looking whys and logical reasons. Sometimes it also bothers me a bit not knowing destinations, an ultimate goal, a compelling reason, something that says: I’m on my way to conquer -whatever- but then I realize that when something in me wants to have a logical is just to answer questions of others. Because I’m fine without logic.

Here in the community of sailors there is something different in this sense: Nobody has much logic … mo more that the one given by the weather. People sells business and purchase sailboats, make a plan then is thrown overboard, they think I’m around the world and stop and live in Mexico, today  south,  tomorrow north … suddenly falling  in love and two ships become a larger one, with flowers and better food. The first time I went to a race on a weekend with Steve and Sandra we talked about that:

-You will notice Tulia, a sailor’s life  is like this:  The plans are written in the sand.

Now I say yes, I write in the sand the sailing idea … If a sailboat in which I feel comfortable not appears… I will leave it alone. I will do my ad on the radio a couple of days as messages in bottles… and the sea will do whatever it wants with that.

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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.