I pray you can forgive me. I have neglected you. It was not my intention, as doing harm seldom is. I have been so busy these past couple of days that I just realized that I haven’t been blogging on you. I do apologize.
This morning I found out I have a test tomorrow on future and conditional conjugation, as well as pronoun usage. I had to run to the groceria to pick up some fresh pulpo to make my paella for my roommates this evening. As well, I went to a spinning class at a gym around the corner from Mercadona (my new absolutely favorite supermarket-Fairway has nothing on you!) I figured I’m pretty comfortable and all being corpulent, however, I don’t want to overdo it, and the wine I purchased from Paulo, the nice man at the supermarket is a sweeter version of tempranillo, and goes good with desserts, too, believe it or not.
Aga, my youngest, Polish roommate is back on good terms with her boyfriend. They were skyping this afternoon as we all sat around the flat in our underwear studying and listening to Nelly Furtado (whose Spanish album is pretty awesome). She stared into the computer as if her next breath came from the screen. If there had been an earthquake and we had to evacuate, she would have died, sitting there on her laptop, and she would have died happy.
I saw him on the screen. He’s a cute kid. They make puppy faces at eachother and have Polish nicknames that I cannot pronounce (one new language at a time). She told me this evening as we were chopping onions for paella that she saw a nice guy from her class on the beach and he wanted to come to dinner but she didn’t invite him, she was afraid Arthur (boyfriend) wouldn’t approve, even though she wouldn’t even think of doing something. Part of me wanted to rant and rave, but I didn’t, because I knew where she was coming from. When you love someone that much, you cant even imagine touching another man. You don’t even dream of anyone else. And if you do, you wake up and apologize. I was extra proud of us, as we had this conversation in Spanish.
Frederique, my other Dutch roommate, sauntered into the flat after boxing class while we were cutting up onions. She’s having problems fending off all the beach bound Spaniards, as she is 5’8, blond, slim, young, and beautiful. Her voice is deep and sexy; her English has a serious, almost German drawl, and smiles like a young girl eating ice cream. I imagine she is hard to resist for most men. She came in to tell us that she was going to be late for dinner, as she was meeting some Spanish girls at Bar Centro for conversation. It’s a class that we attend sometimes now. Girls from Malaga show up because they want to learn English and speak it, we show up because we want to learn Spanish and speak it. It’s fun, actually. Last week we met some fun girls who went out with us to a disco called “ANDEN”. Spanish people will dance until at least 5 in the morning.
I rushed out to the beach while the paella was cooking (it takes a while) to catch the sun dropping. It doesn’t actually set until around 10:30, but around 9:45, it drops a bit. Its balmy extension settles down and prepares for twilight, like a graceful body ready for aging. I paused there for a moment with my camera, trying to get some nice pics, like I normally try to do, but always end up doing something else-last week I ran into Janina, one of the girls who works at Malaga Si, who is pretty, tall, and sweet and whose laugh makes me feel like I’m eating comfort food. Yesterday when I was walking on the sand trying to find the perfect picture (I needed a break from all the conjugation) I was stopped by two boys I met on the beach during my first week here. They grew up in Bulgaria, but look straight up like they came from the jungles of Nicaragua. They are about 14, 15, and bound about on the beach, sometimes on skateboards, at others on bikes. They throw sand at each other and ask me for Euros to buy ice cream. They remind me of my students back home and I am sure are well aware of the fact that I am completely in love with them. Now, as opposed to our initial meetings, when we see each other, we quip each other in Spanish.
I missed my pictures today as well; I stopped by the beach and saw my friend the weed man. I patronized his wares and sat by a palm tree listening to some young men talk about the chicas.
“Ola, chicas.”
“Que t’al, chicas.”
“Mira, chica, que guapa.”
It seems everywhere the boys here love the chicas. I suppose that is what life is like all over.
It is what it is. Esto es.
Life. That is why I have been so busy not blogging. I forgot, because of my intention with the blog, to stop observing and live. This evening, after visiting my old friend ocean and coming back to my flat, and watching Aga coo and giggle into a computer screen, I was confounded by the fervid truth that life is current, and all consuming, and wonderful. We live it most when we don’t try to compartmentalize a moment into a giant magic supernova and just let it unfold, like tide, ebbing and flowing around us.
Life is what happens, when we are busy making other plans-John Lennon.
That is what is happening now, and I suppose always has been, but now that I have found a niche here, a routine, almost, it seems effortless. And wonderful.
Life. It goes on. Thank God. And it is beautiful.
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