Time to brush your teeth
I entered through this space of intimacy by locking myself in. This simple gesture always felt like entering a new dimension, leaving all stories behind - by the simple act of twisting this lock. The window was kept open, letting in a gentle breeze whispering onto my neck. The rug tickles my toes, but I know that out of this safe island, a cold tiled floor awaits my gravity center. .I grabbed my toothbrush, and with a thoughtless gesture, applied the paste onto a forest of little hairs. My hand, my arm, my mouth, in fact my entire body know what to do. It acts its usual choreography, and while my body parts converse with each others, the reflection of my funny faces through the mirror dissolves. My head separates itself by thoughts carrying me adrift. Anywhere but here. From now. For now. And by the time I came back, water was already cascading through the siphon, taking with its flow all my wanders away. Towel kissing my lips, fingertips ready to unlock the door, I am ready to forget, and I know that soon, I ́ll wonder if I already brushed my teeth.
One step down the ladder, the water felt colder than expected—an unsatisfactory luck-warm touch on my foot. The chlorine tickles my nose. And a symphony of high- pitched screams and laughter from children playing in the next pool feels like overwhelming rush hours. Another step down the ladder, twisting my hips and holding tight to the sidebars. I am now facing the concrete edge of what separates gravity and unsolidness. The perpetuated movements from all this unsynchronized underwater choreography are rippling to the edges, splashing my collarbones. Third step down the ladder: What am I doing here? Last step left, water up to my neck, a gentle strangling embrace is holding me tight and calling me in. I can feel my ears looking forward to conversing with the water waves, filtering the disharmonies of overexcited kids.
Thirty minutes in a liquid above my body temperature. Water filled up to the rim, I intentionally forget to subtract my volume so that I can watch the water stretch around my bare skin and see the liquid escape and slip onto the now flooded tiled floor. The rag is soaked and perhaps the flood will spread beyond the bathroom, sneaking under the door. Immersed with my feet wedged under the taps, I fantasize about a bottomless world, where the rain would wet myself and freeze my face a little more. When I look at the waves slowly carving themselves onto my fingertips, I wonder how long it would take me to dissolve. Splashed by the swirl of calm water, I can not resist this untamed force.
Tuesday, October 4th
As I am sitting at the edge of a cliff, twenty meters away from the waves crashing on rocks already polished by their determination, I feel the agitation expanding under my hanging feet. There is an echo, a call. And just under the surface of the sea, there must be death. My thoughts are riveted by the possibility of falling. They scream to me the danger of not being able to exist. It's almost horrible. But what a relief it would be to stop thinking. Being with the immediacy of what surrounds me. I can not help but consider all alternatives of falling. Would I die on the spot? Could I survive with some luck? Or, will I just land in glacial water, hoping to find a way out from this hell before finally dying frozen or on the rocks, swept away by the waves? My survival instinct is alert. Even if I stay there. Immobile. I leave all these thoughts to drift. Sometimes I do not succeed in letting them flow. Just a millisecond, a simple moment, an instant, and it's enough for them to entail me with their conditional agitations. My body is very receptive. A rebound, a tension, a tremor. But when it disappears, I plunge back into wholeness. I remain like that for a moment. I could not say how long. The time is not with me. And while this waltz between my thoughts and the present continues, the collision of the waves against the cliff pace the fray. The wind is coordinating the orchestra. The symphony assembles and disassembles, sometimes losing the synchronization. The rate races and subsides. I will have to interrupt it at some point.
Friday, October 21st
Darkness is already here. The lights sparkle like little, delicate pearls on the coast. They seem even more magical and unreal on the dancing surface of the sea. The boats are swinging in their cradles. From the window, it is a new atmosphere that wakes up at sunset. Today, instability. My emotions are weakened. An inevitable end is approaching, and it is impossible for me to avoid it. Denial. The separation will be painful. To watch the waves continue their perpetual choreography, the absurdity of my thoughts escape through this window. As I create a reality filled with loneliness, the lapping of the dark sea will never end. I finally come to realize that nothing dies. Really. The port dances for me and reminds me that everything is in fact, simply full of life.