This is it. The summer striking London streets, pushing its fire into the underground, where people collapse whilst hurrying towards nowhere.
I’m going to listen to the wise counsel of my friends; they have encouraged me to loose control and experiment the painful pleasures of discovering the world untying the foreign meaning of expressions that I still do not fully understand.
I find myself struggling to keep my Spanish voice silenced, but I am afraid you can hear it hanging around this clumsy prose.
Still, this is part of the path I’ve chosen to take when I decided to live in a deserted island, empty of sympathy towards my dreams that now are cherished only by me.
In this land, it’s my duty to take care of the thoughts about my home and forge a new identity that includes many characteristics of this place that I came to love as my own.
None told me how to do that.
It’s a natural reaction in me to miss this city whenever I am away.
It might be also a curse, as this feeling has split my soul in a multitude of pieces that I find impossible to join together.
And this state of being deprives from sense many things that I've always had taken for granted. And all of a sudden, I find myself starting all over again.
I can tell you it’s a hard job looking for meaning once again, when I have thought that the pillars of my knowledge were well settled.
In many respects, this it’s similar to try to find the light after a broken heart; it can be cruel and frustrating at times, but in the long run, all works out for the better.
I know it’s a matter of time to become familiar with the weight of my skin, with the impulses of giving up to the stupid idea that before it was much better, when it was easier and more boring.
Saying to myself that there is no way back that road, gives me strength to keep on going.
Towards the unknown, leaving nothing behind.