Wednesday, November 25, 2009

Back in my country again, darn!: July 2001

Right, the first try failed. I tried to move to London and couldn't make it.

It is 2001, I'm 24 years old and I cannot stay in my country any longer. Spain sounds great for tourists and people who grew up in places with miserable weather or people with miserable moods.

I am absolutely fed up with so much sun and people insisting that there is something wrong with me. I have tried everything, even changing the face of things around me but to not avail. I can't walk down the street without having somebody shouting anything about the way I look, normally making references about "the Matrix". "Hey, you look like the Matrix!" they would say. No, it is not a typo, they actually say I look like an entire movie. I couldn't expect more from such shortbrained people but there is always hope that some day they will say something more refreshing. Probably when they release another Blockbuster tittle with pale main characters wearing long black coats.

It is very tiring to have abuse every day, from the same people all the time. A couple of bleeding noses later I decide to move to Madrid, where I have some friends I met through an IRC goth channel.

It all started with having another piercing done and bang!, big argument at home, my plans of moving to Madrid get truncated because I can't wait any longer. I am heading for England. Free accomodation working on a hotel in Somerset.

Spanish people are sedentary by nature. You would rarely hear from large communities of spanish, or spanish ghettos, since most of the population just stay living with their parents until they are past their thirties, so all their urges to leave to explore the world get numbed. We only move out when we marry (in most cases) because we refuse to pay any rent. We only like to pay mortgages, and they way things are you only get one of those with the help of your other half, and those are tricky enterprises, both finding the one you want to marry and a mortgage to match.

I had a girlfriend in the past who, let's say, 'adapted' my mind into moving to England. I left her because she was mental. Clinically speaking. She also had a very unrealistic view of London. Actually, she had a very unrealistic view of everything.

So, after arming myself with determination, I went for the interview and I got there. I also managed to bring with me the girl I was seeing at the moment, a somewhat gothy girl with an unconscious crush on her father. She was fun in the sack and had exhibitionistic fantasies, but nowhere she could exercise them in such little village.

A couple of months after I move to Somerset I visit London. Two weeks later I handle my notice and I move to London. Two and a half weeks later I have to leave London to go back to Spain because I run out of money. London had captivated me already and had it's "rubberband effect" on me quite firmly.

But for the moment... Darn! I'm back with this bunch of peasants!

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