This Sunday morning is different from the one in Maroon 5's song. It's not raining, though the summer is quite English, meaning that we have a shy sun scared to show off to the clouds that this is its time to reign.
Never mind. As usual, I wake up quite early and go for my daily dosis of caffeine. I don't think I could make it without it by now. I am an addict. Not to the coffee itself, but to the moment of peace it brings me, to the quietness and the breeze flying over my double machiato that looses its warmness in this glass filled to the top with ice cubes. I only wanted two. Apparently, the English find this mixture quite disgusting, but what do they know about coffee anyways? Their romance with the far east tea dumped in sugar has spoiled their palate. I am more Arabic regarding drinking tastes.
So here I am , in the coffee shop in Marchmond St where, without wanting it, I ended up listening to the conversation of these two girls who are talking about who they fucked last night.
We women are evil for this kind of thing. The masculinity of this anonymous poor guy who I hope I never have the "luck" to meet and that they are criticising at this very moment has been cruelly put in doubt and in few sentences, he passed from being a potential good lover to be a "austrolopatheticus"!!
He has been mercilessly ridiculed by the girl in a Brazilian jumper. But I have to admit I am with her in this one...Sexual frustration is a serious matter. If you are not up to the task of giving pleasure don't waste time selling the goods you don't have.
Apparently he has sent her a text early in the morning (it's difficult to follow the conversation when you are pretending not to listen...). I feel sorry for this guy, as we all know he'll never get a reply. I am sorry babe...No orgasm, no second date!! But he'll get over it.
In London life is fast and there's no room for second chances.
I am a hopelessly romantic and I refuse to believe that it only takes a bad night in bed to dump a guy just like that. I guess she met him the very same night the catastrophic accident took place. And there it is something i would never be able to do, no matter how much I try.
Fuck Sex and The City...I am not from fucking freaky post feminist New York and I am not obsessed with shoes and muscles. Never mind how many times I hear Carry and her friends talking about the easiness or the complexity of relationships with guys from whom they don't even know their names... Jezz...SO much noise for a cock!!?? In Iran women are still being stoned to death for committing adultery, so get over it and bring on the artillery!
Leaving moral Christianity out of the picture, I am more old school.
Besides, Love fucks you good. Who need sex?? There' s no lover, apart from Cupid, talented enough to give me such a high!!. 2 in 1...I guess it only works with detergents...So me, following the counsil of the famous advert, I keep on looking for and comparing...But when am I gonna find it to buy? And who is gonna give me the money or the time wasted back if results to be a fraud?!
Despite the dissapointments, I hold on there. As Bon Jovi says: Keep the faith!!

Time to switch off from this conversation which has degraded in the comparison of American Pie vs Porkies... Great! just when I was wondering if this could get worse...My question gets answered!!

Later on, when I have recovered from this experience of human simplicity, I'll try to go back to my gripping lecture of "The Book of Negroes", my best investment in Waterstones of the last two months. This is a book that we all should read to learn from the inevitability of human cruelty and ugliness that we are all capable of and try not ot repeat it never again.
The story does not focus on the jusdgement of the culprits. That would be too bold. It's more about the instinct of survival, about the possibility of change from a life style to a completely different one without loosing the essence of the soul in adversity.
So I am loving it.

I love this and I love that... Most of my foreign friends tell me that that's a very Spanish way of expressing things...But I swear it's not jsut a way of speaking. It's the way I give myself to those or the things that inspire me. I am a bit sorry for those who can't feel like this when they enjoy something they really like.
You have to give all you got when the moment comes!! Very extreme,I know...but that's how life should be lived: No limits, furthermore when we talk about feelings.
I hate rules but I demand one simple thing to myself and others when I focus on something: "entrega total".
Otherwise all the trust, and the promises,and the sleepless nights wouldn't be worthy. For some things in life, middle terms are simply not enough. Intensity, brutal honesty and passion are the goal. How could it be otherwise?? It couldn't.
How else could I describe the total connection with the words, the images, the materials that are made of the same substance that my soul is made of?
We are all made of star dust... I am sure that mine is scattered across the universe, some from this time, some from a past time and some from a time I wont live but I sense growing inside me.

Anyway, let's let this Sunday pass by under the bridge. ...My machiato has gone cold and it's almost lunch time.