When I write these posts, I often think about Kadri, the Estonian
girl on my Camino. For a while I thought she was Finnish, because of
the way she spoke English, and now I had to think twice whether her
name wasn't Siri instead. So much for not working along stereotypes.
She had a blog she started for her family and friends at home, about
her experiences on the Way, but soon she decided to stop posting. She
told me it worked against every purpose the whole walk may have had,
because she spent all her time thinking what she would write about
and how she would phrase what she had to say to make it sound
interesting and smart and witty. It's a bit like the constant urge of
ou r times to take pictures of moments and events and places instead
of just being present in them.
Yes, I also kept sort of a diary with notes. But my notes were mainly about songs that played in my head. So the day we decided to ditch the (relatively, you stop being picky fast in such conditions) hot Irish guy and take the bus to León, I was humming Gina dreams of running away and then the following lines in the unique gibberish every decent Hungarian kid used all through the '90s when singing along Anglo-Saxon hits. What a discovery it was when we understood what those songs meant. And very often, what a disappointment as well.
What I'm trying to say is that I often feel a bit like that: I collect and store every impression and experience with the mental note that this would have to figure in my next blog entry or witty facebook post. And for the time being, I quite like this way of looking at life. Some of you told me that if nothing else, this year is going to be a good opportunity for soul-searching, for finding out who I am, who I want to be and other Big Answers to Big Questions. Thing is, I kinda like who I am, and if nothing else, this all is getting me closer to who I may want to be. Which is, as you all know, a drunk writer in Spain.
Yes, I also kept sort of a diary with notes. But my notes were mainly about songs that played in my head. So the day we decided to ditch the (relatively, you stop being picky fast in such conditions) hot Irish guy and take the bus to León, I was humming Gina dreams of running away and then the following lines in the unique gibberish every decent Hungarian kid used all through the '90s when singing along Anglo-Saxon hits. What a discovery it was when we understood what those songs meant. And very often, what a disappointment as well.
What I'm trying to say is that I often feel a bit like that: I collect and store every impression and experience with the mental note that this would have to figure in my next blog entry or witty facebook post. And for the time being, I quite like this way of looking at life. Some of you told me that if nothing else, this year is going to be a good opportunity for soul-searching, for finding out who I am, who I want to be and other Big Answers to Big Questions. Thing is, I kinda like who I am, and if nothing else, this all is getting me closer to who I may want to be. Which is, as you all know, a drunk writer in Spain.
Nincsenek megjegyzések:
Megjegyzés küldése