Tormenta

Son esos momentos, esas cachetadas que te da la vida, que te dejan sin aire y al borde del abismo y puedes oler la muerte, sentir el terror, saber que estás a punto de perderlo todo. Son esos momentos los que te hacen ver a tu alrededor y darte cuenta de todo lo que está en juego, te hacen mirar atrás y todo automáticamente cobra sentido tan rápido como un rayo partiendo un árbol en dos pero tan confuso como si todo el mundo transcurriera de pronto en cámara lenta. Te obligan a vivir el presente porque todo lo demás desaparece, y ya no ves un futuro, ya no te encuentras en el pasado ya que no existe más, y no ves luz, y el miedo. Ay, el miedo. Y cierras los ojos y quieres desaparecer, porque ese sentimiento es tan intenso, tan abrupto, tan fulminante, tan ineludible. Y esperas, y respiras, y esperas, y respiras, sabes que algo grande está a punto de suceder, que si no te lleva la muerte en ese instante es porque hay algo aún más grande en juego, algo que no conoces y el terror es tan grande que no atinas a nada más que esperar y respirar y esas ganas de gritar lo inundan todo… Y de pronto empieza la calma, pasa la tormenta, el barco de tu vida deja de estremecerse de un lado a otro incontrolable y persistente, el mar ya no te invade, ya no amenaza, volvió la paz. Con la respiración aún entrecortada, miras a tu alrededor, calculas los daños, repasas los cambios, sabes por primera vez en mucho tiempo que todo estará bien, que ya pasó, que sobreviviste, no te ahogaste. Y valoras tu vida, y valoras a quienes te acompañaron durante este proceso, quienes te miraban asustados y hubieran dado todo por ayudarte pero no había nada que pudieran hacer más que esperar y darte la mano. Era una batalla que tú tenías que pelear solo, con tus propias armas, a tu propio tiempo. Y lo lograste. Y sueltas un suspiro, alzas las cejas en señal de una mezcla de sorpresa y alivio. Y hoy creciste, y hoy eres más fuerte, y no moriste, y empiezas a vivir de nuevo.

My Mancora

“The first time I came to Máncora I fell in love with the place. I was coming back from Ecuador to Lima after a course, perfect opportunity to get to know this town of which everyone talked about. With the little money I had, I rented a room with a bathroom, rather rustic but decent. Alone, with the smile that comes from being so. But my Mancora is not the same as the one I heard about so much at school. My Mancora is the sun that makes me sigh each afternoon, those fish swimming by my feet when I´m getting out of the ocean, the sand that covers me exfoliating even the last sign of stress. My Máncora are the artesans working to continue their trip, the dark skinned kids with yellow hair dyed by the sun, that dark skinned guy that smiles at you and invites you to remember every moment that yesterday is not more important than today. My Mancora are the beach bonfires to the sound of a guitar, two drums and a bongo. My Mancora is to share, laugh, sing, love; because here I love life, my land, my people, my peace.

So my first encounters with this parallel world were days and nights of different melodies, different people, all joined together for one same cause: to share smiles, knowledge and a song. I learned to juggle at the boulevard, to play the bongo at the bonfires, to braid hair from the roots as a volunteer in a school, that one same sandwich tastes better when it can feed ten people. I moved on sure of the fact that there is something more, that at home I forget to search for.

Two years later I came back to this Mancora of mine, with a broken and silent heart. This time it was five weeks: the first of inertia, the second of escape, the third of silence, and I started feeling again. My bitterness healed, my heart started speaking again and the smile came back, with the feeling of wanting to stay forever. But I left, again.

People ask me why I left home, why y left the tender cuddles of a daddy that can turn the strongest storm into a cup of tea, and looks at me like I´m the most precious thing he ever did; the caresses of mum that relax me till I fall asleep and make me feel safer than when I was still in her womb. Why I left the purrs of my cats, which elevate me up to heaven, the smiles of that love that never ends…

And this is why. I go to Máncora because that is where I find myself. I stayed because it became the only place where I knew who I am and who I don´t want to be. Now, in my days, people don’t have names or nations. In one same table, Argentina, Chile, Colombia and Italy share a beer. In another, Holland, Israel, Australia and Canada talk about the beautiful Sofia serving at the bar. And suddenly countries are brothers and we are Latin America, Europe and Asia sharing experiences; and suddenly there are no more frontiers and we are all citizens of the world.

That is my lovely Mancora, where diversity unites in one same flow of energy. Here I remember it´s not about towns or cities. Here I´m not just another resident of the earth; I am also a part of her, who welcomes me gladly, and I am aware of this all the time. It´s something I know, but at home it´s a bit more difficult to remember. Sometimes one needs to go away, see it all from outside. I don´t know if I´m at the stage of inertia, or escape, or silence; I think I´m not able to fully feel again. The bitterness is healing, my heart thinking what to say, what I know is that the smile came back once again, with the feeling of wanting to stay forever. That is why I came back.”

I wrote the above on March 2013, I accomplished a lot during my time in Máncora, lifted myself up, raised my beaten up self-esteem, regained the confidence in myself and established my own little kingdom. I found the love of my life and followed him home, I went through difficulties, I dealt, I learned, I grew. Life has been a bit too hard on me lately; I lost loved ones, I found traumas, I relived fears from the past, I went crazy. I´m home now and I need to heal, I will heal. And I do believe My Mancora might help. What do you reckon?

I´m going home.

I´m going home. I´m going home. And it´s strange to feel no emotion, no excitement, no relief, nothing. I´m going home but I feel nothing. 

I left home 6 months ago, excited about starting a new adventure, not really sure how long I´d be away. Impulsive, brave, in love. We had only known each other for 3 months, he swept me off my feet. Now I´ve known him for 9 months, and he still manages to sweep me off my feet every day. That´s not the point. I left good weather, friends and family, my little kingdom, where I felt safe and home. In my little kingdom I know and understand every saying, every noise at night, every type of person, every flaw in our system. It´s not perfect, it´s pretty bad sometimes, but it´s what I know, it´s where I belong. So I left home to a totally different world, to a place where I can´t predict the weather, I can´t understand what people mean, I am confused on a daily basis, and almost no one has an idea of where I come from.  I am from another world, and I had to relearn all those things a child needs to learn. Things as simple as toilet paper is supposed to be flushed, what goes into the bin and what goes into the sink, when you walk on the street and someone comes your way you stay to the left not to the right, you can´t ride your bicycle with no helmet or you´ll get a fine, even though it´s sunny it doesn´t mean it´s hot outside; green and blue everywhere, wooden houses, some would say it´s better. Maybe it is, it´s not grey like home, it´s not dodgy, but it´s not home either. 

It´s hard to explain how difficult it can be to move from an ocean to a lake, where things like being safer and having a better system and no traffic or crazy combis on the streets means nothing to me.

And then I finally started feeling better, and I could go for a walk without getting lost, and I started laughing more than crying. But then grandma dies, and I get scared to be so far away, my parents aren´t getting any younger, and I feel this immediate need to be home. And then I deal with that, and I´m ok just going for a vacation and coming back to the man of my dreams. And then I go to work and find a dead body hanging from the roof, with a purple and green deformed face, just hanging there, looking at me, threatening to make my world crumble and bring back all the secret demons from my past. And suddenly the world is dangerous again, and I´m confused all the time and I´m scared and I´m nervous. I´m trying to be strong but my mind plays tricks on me, and the pills don´t even help anymore. And opposed to what one would expect I don´t feel like going home now, I don´t feel like going back to my little kingdom even if it seems safer, because right now I have no idea how I am going to be strong enough to leave it all again. I´m going home. I´m in love. I´m crying. I´m in pain. I don´t want to lose him. But I also need to feel safe again.