"Ui ar getin marrid". Pablo's excitement when pronouncing those words in his particular Spanish accent got stuck in Joe's head the following months after he broke the news. But finally June (or Yun, as Pablo would pronounce) arrived. Joe had worked overtime for the last few months so he could get some extra money and afford to go to Spain. He'd never been there before, but the sound of "extrimly nais gueder ol yiar long" that he heard from Pablo always was certainly tempting...that, and...well, of course, bulls! He wondered whether Spaniards would have them as pets. Then he realized that was stupid and shook off that idea of his head.
The bus to the pier was taking longer than he expected. As he looked out the window to another rainy day in Dublin, he pulled his map out of his massive backpack and he did a mental track of his itinerary to Spain. He had a wedding to attend to. He would take a night ferry from Dublin's main pier to Cherbourg, in France, so he would have enough time to catch the train from Cherbourg to Paris. He would have lunch in Paris, then he would have to ask for the next train to Lyon. Once in Lyon, he would cross the Pyrenees and then...well, he was sure there would be a way to get to Alicante once in Spain.
He folded his map, satisfied with himself. He tried to put it back in the pocket where he took it from but his backpack was too full to try to fit anything else inside. Joe looked around his backpack to see if there were any pockets in the sides where he could place his map. As he found one, he realized how big and heavy his backpack was, and remember how empty he had left his wardrobe at home.
Home. He thought about it. He remembered when he told his mum that he had been invited to Pablo's wedding in Spain. She didn't say much. "Well, good luck" is all she said. His dad didn't even look at him, he was immersed in some kind of business with a client. "Dad's always busy", thought Joe. He couldn't remember the last time he had spent time with his kids. "Mum wasn't any better, although she didn't work, she had a house to hold."
What Joe meant with that was that she had to rule over Joe's youngest sisters, who would do everything their mum told them. Clean the kitchen, wash the dishes, make their brothers' beds...On the contrary, Joe and his brothers could focus on other things, such as work, or studies...Joe thought it was very unfair to treat the girls (her own daughters, and their own little sisters) like housekeepers, but he was only one out of nine children complaining, what difference would it make?
BUMP!
A sudden hit to the bus' break made Joe realize he had finally arrived at the pier. As he put his massive backpack on, he had a strange feeling, as if a great adventure was about to start...
lunes, 6 de abril de 2020
martes, 31 de marzo de 2020
A journey of a lifetime (I)
He found himself in an unknown place, surrounded by all-too-similar yellowish buildings in a street he had never walked before. While trying to remember where he was and what had brought him there, he heard a familiar sound. The waves splashing at the seashore was a sound he woke up to every day, although he wasn't used to linking that sound to the heat he was feeling. How hot was it? He was sure it was above 30 degrees. The sound of the sea in the distance magically made him walk towards it. As he was getting closer to it, he started smelling it. Ah, the smell of salty water. Where was he? The temperature made him guess he wasn't in Dublin anymore, and this thought only got reinforced as soon as he reached the view of a massive albeit empty beach...
-Joe, Joe!- Joe woke up to the voice of his boss, Mr. Grenham- Taking a nap, are we?-he implied, irritated-, These young lads nowadays, that's all you care about, going partying then falling asleep at work. You should've seen us working back in the day. We wouldn't stop, not even for a minute until the dawn.
Joe kept quiet while Mr Grenham, who was in his early 60s, kept on telling stories of his youth, and how much he and his brothers worked in the field when his father got ill. "Do not interrupt your elders when they're speaking", Joe remembered his mother telling him and his siblings that as the first rule of politeness. Of course, Betty Sherwin could never be interrupted, not even once, and she made this explicitly clear to her children. "Poor mum," he thought, "having nine children must be a nightmare". While thinking he would never get married and shaking off the idea of having children, Mr Grenham, who had finished his story, urged him to go to the shop to check out whether there were customers waiting or not.
Joe worked in a petrol station, in a remote road connecting Dún Laogháire and Sallynoggin. The nearest city was Dublin, but almost nobody was interested in driving down that road. That's why he didn't think he would find anybody there, but to his surprise, he found a well-known face on the other side of the counter. He was a guy in his mid-20s, with long black hair tied up in a ponytail and a strange foreign accent. Joe knew him well. The customer was Pablo, his Spanish roommate at university. He was smiling like a kid on his first Christmas.
"Hiya Pablo! What the hell are you doing in these whereabouts?"- asked Joe.
"Jai Joe!" Pablo's English was very good, but his accent...yeesh! "Yor sister Meri told mi ai wuld si yu hier! Ai'm glad ai faund yu! Ai haf greit nius, de best nius!"
Joe lifted an eyebrow. Every time Pablo told him he had "nius", it was because he had met a new girl. His Spanish charm had made Pablo a good lover among Irish women, apparently. However, he hadn't told him any other "nius" since he met that girl in the previous summer when he went back to Spain. What was her name again?
-Du yu rimember María Dolores? De guerl ai estarted deiting last yiar?- said Pablo smiling even more
MaríaDol...something, yes, that's the one.
-Sure thing! How is she?- asked Joe politely.
- "Guel, yu nou it hasent bin isy for as, biing sou far aguei from ich oder..."
"Oh great, he's bringing her over" thought Joe. -"Yeah, I bet it hasn't been easy"-he replied.
Pablo smiled even more, Joe could see all of his teeth from where he was standing. He was fearing the worst...
-"Dat's exacli uai. Ui..."
Uh oh...
"...ar getin marriid in Yun! "
Joe suddenly opened his eyes (When did he close them?) Wait, what? He...said...?
"...married?! " he couldn't believe his roomie was getting married! He suddenly felt relieved and Pablo's joy finally got into himself.
"Yes! Yes! Ui ar gein marriid in Espein, in my joumtaun, niar Alicante, guil yu com?"
"Holy Molly! You're getting married! Of course, I will" said Joe empathetically.
"Greit! Cos ai guil nid a best man"
...Oh crap! He had already committed to go, but he would have to deal with explanations to his boss, and especially, to his family...
To be continued...
-Joe, Joe!- Joe woke up to the voice of his boss, Mr. Grenham- Taking a nap, are we?-he implied, irritated-, These young lads nowadays, that's all you care about, going partying then falling asleep at work. You should've seen us working back in the day. We wouldn't stop, not even for a minute until the dawn.
Joe kept quiet while Mr Grenham, who was in his early 60s, kept on telling stories of his youth, and how much he and his brothers worked in the field when his father got ill. "Do not interrupt your elders when they're speaking", Joe remembered his mother telling him and his siblings that as the first rule of politeness. Of course, Betty Sherwin could never be interrupted, not even once, and she made this explicitly clear to her children. "Poor mum," he thought, "having nine children must be a nightmare". While thinking he would never get married and shaking off the idea of having children, Mr Grenham, who had finished his story, urged him to go to the shop to check out whether there were customers waiting or not.
Joe worked in a petrol station, in a remote road connecting Dún Laogháire and Sallynoggin. The nearest city was Dublin, but almost nobody was interested in driving down that road. That's why he didn't think he would find anybody there, but to his surprise, he found a well-known face on the other side of the counter. He was a guy in his mid-20s, with long black hair tied up in a ponytail and a strange foreign accent. Joe knew him well. The customer was Pablo, his Spanish roommate at university. He was smiling like a kid on his first Christmas.
"Hiya Pablo! What the hell are you doing in these whereabouts?"- asked Joe.
"Jai Joe!" Pablo's English was very good, but his accent...yeesh! "Yor sister Meri told mi ai wuld si yu hier! Ai'm glad ai faund yu! Ai haf greit nius, de best nius!"
Joe lifted an eyebrow. Every time Pablo told him he had "nius", it was because he had met a new girl. His Spanish charm had made Pablo a good lover among Irish women, apparently. However, he hadn't told him any other "nius" since he met that girl in the previous summer when he went back to Spain. What was her name again?
-Du yu rimember María Dolores? De guerl ai estarted deiting last yiar?- said Pablo smiling even more
MaríaDol...something, yes, that's the one.
-Sure thing! How is she?- asked Joe politely.
- "Guel, yu nou it hasent bin isy for as, biing sou far aguei from ich oder..."
"Oh great, he's bringing her over" thought Joe. -"Yeah, I bet it hasn't been easy"-he replied.
Pablo smiled even more, Joe could see all of his teeth from where he was standing. He was fearing the worst...
-"Dat's exacli uai. Ui..."
Uh oh...
"...ar getin marriid in Yun! "
Joe suddenly opened his eyes (When did he close them?) Wait, what? He...said...?
"...married?! " he couldn't believe his roomie was getting married! He suddenly felt relieved and Pablo's joy finally got into himself.
"Yes! Yes! Ui ar gein marriid in Espein, in my joumtaun, niar Alicante, guil yu com?"
"Holy Molly! You're getting married! Of course, I will" said Joe empathetically.
"Greit! Cos ai guil nid a best man"
...Oh crap! He had already committed to go, but he would have to deal with explanations to his boss, and especially, to his family...
To be continued...
Un viaje al pasado
Joder. No pensaba yo que empezar un blog iba a ser tan complicado. En qué idioma, de qué hablo, con qué empiezo. Creo que empezar este blog con la palabra "joder" me define muy bien (lo siento, mamá).
-¿Y por dónde empiezo?
-¿Qué tal si empiezas por el principio, Einstein?
Estas preguntas y respuestas no se dicen en voz alta, tampoco es mi hermana quien me responde, soy yo misma. "Signos de clara demencia prematura", diría ella. En algún momento tendrán que parar, digo yo. De ahí el motivo de este blog, desahogo. ¿Y el vuestro, mis lectores? Bueno, no sé cómo habréis llegado aquí, pero os doy mi más sincero pésame de antemano. Este blog va sin filtros, directamente desde mi cabeza. Con o sin fallos ortográficos. Así que prevenidos estáis. Pero gracias por seguir leyendo ❤️
En fin, comencemos.
No voy a plasmar mi vida entera aquí, porque...pues porque no, esto no es una autobiografía. No obstante sí creo conveniente explicar quién soy, cómo soy, y de dónde vengo.
Vengo de una familia relativamente grande para los tiempos que corren. De padre irlandés y madre española (ya escribiré sobre cómo se conocieron) salimos mis tres hermanos y yo. 1 chico, 3 chicas.
Afortunada o desafortunadamente, yo soy la menor de los 4, por lo que me he llevado probablemente menos broncas y más mimos que mis hermanos. Pero también más protección. Mucha más. Especialmente añadiendo a su preocupante protección, la de mi hermano y mis hermanas.
No solía ser mala niña, de hecho, el tener hermanos mayores que la cagaran pero bien antes que yo, me hizo evitarme muchos quebraderos de cabeza (y a mis padres también). Tampoco quiere decir que no la haya cagado. Las broncas también me las he llevado. Pero siempre he tendido a ser más...introvertida.
Mi hermana a veces me llama histérica, yo me llamo pre-menstrual. Y es que ser mujer es una grandísima mierda.
De pequeña me costaba más expresarme, porque quizás tenía la presión de ser juzgada no solo por mis padres, sino por otras tres personas mayores y más sabios que yo. Por eso siempre me ha gustado escribir. Recuerdo que un año en el colegio, hubo una especie de prueba de redacción en la que teníamos que escribir una historia, y como premio por ganar, nos regalaban un libro. Recuerdo que me metí tanto en la historia (una tragedia que pasaba en una isla) que estaba segurísima de que ganaría. Pero no, la perfecta de la clase, Marta, ganó con su viaje "entre las nubes". Agh la perfección. Mi gran enemigo.
Durante muchos años, creí que mi familia era perfecta, pero uno se hace mayor y se da cuenta de muchos fallitos. Pero bueno, eso es lo que hace que mi familia sea única.
Siendo niños solíamos viajar de vacaciones por España, visitar a la familia en Irlanda, y de vez en cuando, viajar a alguna otra parte de Europa, como Alemania, o de fuera, como Túnez. Viajar siempre me gustó de niña, porque ¿a quién no le gustan las vacaciones con todo pagado? Pero aparte de lo obvio, el amor por viajar viene en los genes. Sin ir más lejos, sin el viaje que se hizo un cierto irlandés a España, yo no estaría aquí.
Así que ya sabéis un poco quién soy. En las siguientes entradas contaré algunas de mis experiencias más divertidas, caóticas o increíbles, quizás usando un tanto de inventiva, pero que espero que os gusten. Pero de momento, os dejo con ganas de más.
Hasta aquí la entrada de hoy.
Cambio y corto ❤️
-¿Y por dónde empiezo?
-¿Qué tal si empiezas por el principio, Einstein?
Estas preguntas y respuestas no se dicen en voz alta, tampoco es mi hermana quien me responde, soy yo misma. "Signos de clara demencia prematura", diría ella. En algún momento tendrán que parar, digo yo. De ahí el motivo de este blog, desahogo. ¿Y el vuestro, mis lectores? Bueno, no sé cómo habréis llegado aquí, pero os doy mi más sincero pésame de antemano. Este blog va sin filtros, directamente desde mi cabeza. Con o sin fallos ortográficos. Así que prevenidos estáis. Pero gracias por seguir leyendo ❤️
En fin, comencemos.
No voy a plasmar mi vida entera aquí, porque...pues porque no, esto no es una autobiografía. No obstante sí creo conveniente explicar quién soy, cómo soy, y de dónde vengo.
Vengo de una familia relativamente grande para los tiempos que corren. De padre irlandés y madre española (ya escribiré sobre cómo se conocieron) salimos mis tres hermanos y yo. 1 chico, 3 chicas.
Afortunada o desafortunadamente, yo soy la menor de los 4, por lo que me he llevado probablemente menos broncas y más mimos que mis hermanos. Pero también más protección. Mucha más. Especialmente añadiendo a su preocupante protección, la de mi hermano y mis hermanas.
No solía ser mala niña, de hecho, el tener hermanos mayores que la cagaran pero bien antes que yo, me hizo evitarme muchos quebraderos de cabeza (y a mis padres también). Tampoco quiere decir que no la haya cagado. Las broncas también me las he llevado. Pero siempre he tendido a ser más...introvertida.
Mi hermana a veces me llama histérica, yo me llamo pre-menstrual. Y es que ser mujer es una grandísima mierda.
De pequeña me costaba más expresarme, porque quizás tenía la presión de ser juzgada no solo por mis padres, sino por otras tres personas mayores y más sabios que yo. Por eso siempre me ha gustado escribir. Recuerdo que un año en el colegio, hubo una especie de prueba de redacción en la que teníamos que escribir una historia, y como premio por ganar, nos regalaban un libro. Recuerdo que me metí tanto en la historia (una tragedia que pasaba en una isla) que estaba segurísima de que ganaría. Pero no, la perfecta de la clase, Marta, ganó con su viaje "entre las nubes". Agh la perfección. Mi gran enemigo.
Durante muchos años, creí que mi familia era perfecta, pero uno se hace mayor y se da cuenta de muchos fallitos. Pero bueno, eso es lo que hace que mi familia sea única.
Siendo niños solíamos viajar de vacaciones por España, visitar a la familia en Irlanda, y de vez en cuando, viajar a alguna otra parte de Europa, como Alemania, o de fuera, como Túnez. Viajar siempre me gustó de niña, porque ¿a quién no le gustan las vacaciones con todo pagado? Pero aparte de lo obvio, el amor por viajar viene en los genes. Sin ir más lejos, sin el viaje que se hizo un cierto irlandés a España, yo no estaría aquí.
Así que ya sabéis un poco quién soy. En las siguientes entradas contaré algunas de mis experiencias más divertidas, caóticas o increíbles, quizás usando un tanto de inventiva, pero que espero que os gusten. Pero de momento, os dejo con ganas de más.
Hasta aquí la entrada de hoy.
Cambio y corto ❤️
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