I think that whoever reads this story will not believe that it is autobiographical; and perhaps it is not, in fact, since it happened so long ago… So many lives have passed through me since then that I do not even believe that I have lived it. I have to go so deep into my memories that I can no longer distinguish whether they are my own memories. I would not be able to fully discern whether it was me to whom all that happened or whether I was simply seeing it, a witness to my own story.
They say that every time we remember something, we don’t remember the moment it happened, but rather we remember the last time we mentally reviewed that story; then, our brain ends up suffering a process of playing telephone games, and that’s why the versions of the stories differ so much from one person to another. They slowly transform until they become legends, where reality and fiction are intertwined and no one can attest to what is true and what is not. That’s why romances arose, so that, thanks to the power of verse, we are forced not to modify the facts so much.
Back then, I was a they can I was quite confused. As Albert Pla says, I thought I was ugly, and I was handsome, I thought I was weak, and I was strong, but above all, I thought I was straight, and I was a faggot. There was only one thing I knew about myself well. I thought I was free, and I was, quite free.
I was free, because I didn’t have a fucking screen in my hand; I couldn’t even imagine that one day, not so far away, I would be connected to a fucking screen 24 hours a day. The day was pretty much based on: being naked, salt water, fresh water, breakfast, and there was no screen to escape from… being naked, salt water, fresh water, reading, and still there was no screen… being naked, salt water, fresh water, bicycle, recaossalt water, fresh water, still no screen…watching the sunset, bonfire, naked, cooking, still no screen, sleeping in the open air, dreaming intensely because of the sound of the sea, storms in the background, stars above; there were no screens, only stars, only sand, sand everywhere; sleeping in the open air, yes orbayathrow down a tarp, sand, neighbors, also naked and covered in sand, investigate, play, discover, learn to fuck, learn to make love.
Always naked, always full of sand, always no screens. The most important thing about not having screens is that there is no temptation to tell others what you do during the day; and more importantly, you don’t know what they think.
I’M TIRED OF KNOWING WHAT OTHER PEOPLE THINK ABOUT EVERY THING IN THIS WORLD.
I don’t care! I don’t want to know what the fruit seller, the baker, the person who does my MOT, the waitress think… I don’t want to know what they think!! Because I don’t care, because it affects me, because it hurts me. I don’t want to, and that’s it.
One day we went to the market. The day of the party. There was only one bike, so we walked. Seven or eight kilometers? No idea. A lot. I got a fever, and I couldn’t walk back to the beach. We had to find somewhere to sleep. Everything was harder than La Playa. prao It was wet, the sky gave water to the corn and everyone knows that “The corn foyatu has a lot of wisdom: it saves the orbayu at night to drink it the next day”.
I had to lie down under an empty stall, spend the night on that cold, hard asphalt, with a high fever. I just wanted to go back to the beach, to be naked again; my clothes were rubbing me, it hurt; the ground was hard. It was the first time I had slept on the street. I wasn’t afraid, because it was a very quiet town; but I was embarrassed and felt uncomfortable, dirty. I wanted to go back to the beach, I just wanted to go back to the beach. But I had to walk so much…
Today that beach no longer exists. Well, it certainly exists, but I don’t go there anymore. Now it’s overcrowded; almost no one goes naked anymore. Now, on that beach, I feel vulnerable, like when I used to sleep under that stall on the asphalt. The news about “the best beach in Europe”, “the 10 best beaches in who knows where…”, Instagram and geolocations to boost our ego and tell everyone where we are trying to reinforce our social status, to climb the cool scale ruined it. Why? Not at all, because we are not cooler.
Today it is no longer a refuge. And I no longer have anywhere to go when my body hurts, when my soul is heavy. Clickbait: I HATE YOU WITH ALL MY SOUL