Storm cloud

I was perched on a sofa last night gingerly eating a salad and talking to an intense Alicantian girl dressed in black. OUr conversation took a few quick bounds from where do you live and what is your name to land on a Spanish version of a kind of Dr Phi crossl existential reality conversation. I don´t know if you´re familiar with those but they seem to happen to me quite often. We were talking about the weightlessness of travel and moving places and leaving history and circumstance behind. Aha she said knowingly but you bring your problems with you - aqui dentro - and she tapped her heart emphatically- because they´re inside you. And she was right.

I had brought the aforementioned salad to the dinner party of a boy student from Valencia called Raúl who is studying environmental science and who had carefully explained to me how close Muizenberg is to submergence under the sea water if global warming continues.

He is a lovely boy and I had been thrilled to be invited to this a genuine student Barcelona gathering but that day I was feeling awful. All day a bit queasy and a bit sad and a bit like the boy frolicking with the baguette vibe of little barcelona streets was not as charming as usual and these were not my friends so I couldn´t really say so. They were the lovely people who had magically adopted me and I started feeling with riduculous doom that my expulsion was surely emminent. This is something I think often.

It comes from a foggy place probably lodged in Std 3 but it is so strong. It has no interest in logic or reason and clouds out everything. It makes my throat hurt and my stomach quease and all other symptoms of the like. Probably being here so baldly just me, context-free with only my talk and my looks and my laugh and my warmth to encourage people into my company instead of any bounds of loyalty making it extra strong.

So I did what I do when I abandon myself so wantonly. I phone a parent or a friend who never abandon me, who like me with consistency. And they give me back the pieces of me in little bits of warm words until I am nearly whole again still soft like the inside of a pigs ear