An Ode to the Ladies: Alex and my Mother

Although I spent a lot of time dedicated to my guy, there was another person in my life who often caught my attention. She was the first spanish girl that I had truly befriended and to this day remains my soul sister. I met her my first night in Madrid. She was sitting in a bar with all the other spanish kids that went to our school. It was orientation week, or as the spaniards knew it, time to show the silly foreigners how to let loose. There was a beautiful, freckled ,brunette crammed between a group of guys in a booth. I couldn't understand what they were saying, but they seemed to have instantly taken a liking to her. She smoked her cigarette as if she was savoring every bit of it. I asked her for her name.

“Alex”, She said, in a surprisingly perfect american accent.

She shot me a bad ass stare with her strong spanish brows and deep almond shaped moss colored eyes.

Wow, I thought, she's cooool.

She was rolling a hash joint underneath the table and after she got the bartender to lock up the bar just for us, she stuck it in her mouth and got up to dance.

“Can you teach me to dance flamenco?” I asked, looking for an excuse to keep talking to her.

“Sure” she said. She kind of looked at me like I was an idiot. And she was right, I was so awestruck by her fearlessness that I was kind of acting like one.

Now granted in the past I was usually the mysterious girl that people tried to befriend, today the tables had turned. I got the vibe that she didn't totally like me and she was not all that interested in getting to know me.

A bad ass, who was hard to reach, with a lot of appeal. My kind of girl. She was a classic spanish beauty, with strong brows, impossibly large green eyes and full lips. Her strong convictions about men were as blatant as the character in her face. She avoided them like the plague, having been one of the smarter spanish girls to catch on to their game. She was a rare type of girl, one that stayed natural and chose not to succumb to the machismo that plagued her country. In this day and age there were few and far between that looked or acted like her, especially in madrid, where women were obnoxiously permiscuous and believed that the eptiome of beauty was bleaching your hair as blond as possible.

Now, I grew up in Switzerland and smoking joints runs deep in my family, but being surrounded by boring swiss people who smoked extremely strong stuff meant we would usually take a few hits and either watch a movie, eat or pass out. It always seemed to me to be a pretty miserable way to pass the time.

Today Alex would change that entire life long perception for me.

With a joint in one hand, she clapped the other and stomped her feet while sashaying her hips to the music. She had broken right through the awkward, silent, weird, stiffness that I had always associated with getting high. There was a warmth in the air, an energetic comfort and a sudden feeling of invincibility.

She never actually started to truly like me until about six months later, it took work to get to know her, but it was definitely worth it.

So how did I ever make her finally come around to me six whole months later, you may ask?

Well it just so happened that we were taking a sociology class together in which we were studying Universal Paradigms, or things which all cultures practiced; such as having a language, religion, famliy etc. Our professor challenged us by saying that if we could think of a paradigm that hadn't already been talked about he would give us an A. Naturally, me wanting that easy A, I began to explore the thought in my mind. I noticed that leisure hadn't been mentioned. Then I began to understand that the psychological implication behind leisure was for people to escape their current “reality” and that the reason for this, was that the human mind was overrun with information which was processed as stress. A mind with too much stress eventually became ill. From there I made the leap that humans, more than leisure, needed to escape “psychological reality” and they did this in times of stress or pressure, big or small. So now, this became more than a paradigm, it became a survival need in some situations. The need to imagine a different world while living in a war torn country, could make the difference between dead or alive.

One night, on a whim, I presented this thought to Alex in the form of questions. I didn't expect much, I was just testing the waters with her because she seemed open-minded, but she totally got it. Her eyes opened up wide and she began to fill with excitement and euphoria. From that night on,Alex and I ventured in and out of our minds together. We explored new territories of thought. We traveled, laughed, cried and philosophized constantly. Which inevitably meant that all, in fact every guy, that I was with while knowing Alex, completely envied our friendship. Asturiano was the first one.

We were entering a new wave of thoughts that we needed to keep exploring, a journey that would take us extremely far, but one that few boys, who lived in their obsolete, rational worlds which they always found to be superior, could handle. And when they noticed that rather than feel inferior thm, I chose to pay more interest in Alex, they all inevitably turned back into a small children and threw a jealous tantrum.

Alas,there are indeed few moments in our modern times, when women are allowed to express true feelings of comradery. A division of spirits is one of the greatest things that the system has robbed as from, as an attempt to keep our kind from truly gaining momentum as a people. I however, grew up in a matriarch and having lost my father at the younger age of ten, I rarely felt the heavy weight of a man's presence in my household. My mother was as strong in will as she was in body, but also wise, artistic and often whimsical. She embodied both male and female, within her tiny, dainty frame. Her dark glittery eyes and heart-shaped lips were a constant reminder of the Regal beauty that she had always been. She was an inspiration for luxury, with the humble heart of a nurturer. My two sisters as well as I, all inherited a little piece of her beauty and a big piece of her “crazy”. But a “good crazy” as she always said, before she roared with cackling laughter. Her out of bed head was a mop of frizz and her grin was reminiscent of a Cheshire cat; as she held a half smoked joint in her sun-baked hands.My sisters and I were always good friends, though we fought passionately, because we learned from my mother that cattiness and jealousy was not the way of the woman but the way of the petty girl. Yes, I grew up in a matriarch and I was sure, by the gift of comradery that I finally found in Alex, that she did too.

Alex and I were certainly onto something more important than just some crazy hippy stuff. One day we would find out just how important that something was.  

El Asturiano-Americano

Now as I sit alone, as I learn to stand on my own two feet and become whole myself I know that I must venture back into all of these memories to truly understand what I have learnt and where it will take me. I am brought back to my very first, innocent, fresh out of high school, college relationship. He was a transitional spaniard, that is to say since he was a halfsie(Half Spanish, half American) he helped me make my first transition into both the country and the guys.

“Do you like Radiohead?”He asked me one indian summer day, while we hung out by my best friends dorm.

Sparks flew. I had never seen such a thing before in my life. And trust me this wasn't one of those love at first sight things; the guy was not that easy on the eyes. But something about him was just so perfect. He had gorgeous ivory skin, dramatically pink cheeks, a 90's bowl-shaped haircut, beady brown eyes and a sexy slender figure. He always wore these perfectly fitted indie rock style t-shirts that were irresistible without looking too effeminate. Did I like Radiohead? Now that was a fucking question. I had only crossed “see Radiohead live” off of my “to do before die” ultimate of ultimates bucket list less than a month ago, and having been trapped in the most retarded, all-american, north face wearing, douche bag, school, known as non-other than Suffolk University Madrid; escaping to my friends international school and getting to talk to this awesome kid for the first time about my orgasmic experience with Thom Yorke was all I needed. He understood me. And he wasn't another one of those skinny rocker geeks that lets you boss em around. The kid had character and a weird fascination for switch blades(which while I was in the “swoon” stage made my panties wet).

Yup, I liked him. He was my escape from a school that I highly disliked(to put it moderately) and the strange uncomfortable sensation that I had from being in the awkward stage of adjusting to both the college lifestyle and a new culture. He had lived most of his life between New Jersey(yes “joisy”) and Madrid, so he showed me the ropes about how to be an incognito “guiri”(outsider).

He was talented too, a great musician. He played the acoustic guitar and often serenaded me with his warm innocent voice. He was of course as any good musician should be, a classic elitist with his music and introduced me to incredible artists like Jeff Buckley, Fleetwood Mac, Imogen Heap, you know the kind that sang “acousticy” songs. You get the idea, the typical college kid that wears loafers, plays guitar and always has slightly messy hair.

But then came his spanish character, lodged in his gorgeously warm brown eyes. Although he was more of an American than a spaniard he remained extrememly proud of his Asturiano heritage. Asturias is a small beautifull region in the north of spain. It is divided into coastal and inland towns which boast extremely lush greenery and impressive oddly pointed mountains which are part of Los Picos de Europa. One of Asturias' main attraction is its delicious food. With cold wet, romantic winters it is only natural that these hardworking people eat a hardy energizing diet. Known for their rich farmlands, nutritious meats are a favorite here. But one of the most popular dishes is a bean stew with blood sausage and chorizo known as Fabada. I tried my first Fabada with my guy, of course, and got so addicted that I just had to learn to replicate it. I was sitting in a restaurant that he took me to, it was on the outskirts of madrid and was clearly a gem that I would have never found without his expertise. He insisted on showing off his cider “throwing” skills. One of the most remarkable things about the north of spain is the influx of traditions adopted from celtic Ireland and other parts of the United Kingdom. InAsturias they took to cider, which must be poured in a special difficult way and bagpipes, which I could do without.

As he poured the cider and splashed half of my clothes with droplets I pretended to be awestruck. You had to love the guy for trying. Then came a huge cauldron which was reminiscent of the ones used by witches in disney movies. You just didn't see things like that in other parts of the world. The entire pot was for us to share. I savored the incredibly delicious been stew which smelled of paprika and blood sausage. Oh how I loved it. The creamy white beans;the crunchy spiced chorizo and the buttery morcilla, all melted in my mouth in a dance of delicious flavors. I attempted to wash it all down with the acidic cider but the combination was beginning to feel like heartburn.

I could stare into his eyes for hours, in fact I did a couple of times, it was weird. 

Introduccion

I was their everything. Their princess, their cupcake, their baby their all. I was their friend, their lover their rise and their fall. I tried doing it right and being honest or doing it wrong and being sneaky. I tried being mature, taking it slow, or jumping all in head first. And what did I get from it all? Good sex, meh' sometimes, but hardly enough for it to be worth it. Companionship? Definitely, but who needs a companion that only ends up wanting to control and compete with you? Why not just have a cat or a friend?

Ms. woods, my college english professor, once said that the meaning of life was to learn. At first, it sounded like a cliché thing for a teacher to say, but as the years go on I realize that I for one am here to learn a good lesson, however brutal it may be. So what I got from these guys, apart from momentary, phony, self-actualization which faded quicker than it came, was not just one, but many lessons. Not just about relationships, you can learn all that just by watching sex and the city. Rather I absorbed whatever brilliance or lack there of they may have had. I learned about cars, about sports or even about the inner mechanics of an electric guitar. I learned to play drums, to kiss well, to give space and to be patient. I found compatibility and beauty in their rational scientific world and used it as an inspirational mash up to my inner creativity.

And now as the ghosts of relationships past come winding down to mere residual hauntings of emotions and random desire for one last sexual encounter, I find myself reflecting on all those moments. There is no better time than now for me to be alone. But for a serial monogamist such as myself, it is still hard to adjust to spending the hallmark holidays without a beau to think of, without a poor sap to save or a project of a man to endeavor on. So I look back because I'm tired of looking forward to a whole new landslide of disenchantment. At first looking back hurt and made me feel like I had racked up a track record of pain and failure.

But as I readjusted my scope to that of a learner, I found beauty and peace within so many series of moments. After all life is just that, a series of fleeting memories. There is no need to “sum up” the span spent with a man as triumph or failure based on such petty happenings such as whether he called or not. Those are just landmarks for the ego to build up on. The more landmarks you get the greater the self-actualization, creating an inner dependency for the ego between you and your significant other. Finally we call upon the greatest landmark of all, one which is manifested through a culmination of pricey events and symbols, being a white poofy dress, a shiny ring and a lavish vacation for two. Suddenly all those past moments with others cease to exist as the lifelong search for landmarks comes to an ultimate end. The search itself is so daunting and the expectations so vast that it kills every moment, past present or future between the self and any significant other. When you look at it that way, is it any wonder that 1/5 of these bizarre cultural bondages end in divorce?

So back to readjusting my scope, which by the way, was very hard for my bratty ego to take. I realized that changing my perception opened up a new world of beauty. A safe place of truth where I could finally see all the hearty goodness, the lessons and honesty that was lain between the inner “frosting” of my illusory bonds with these men. Its not that the bonds themselves were a lie, it's just they were what they were. A series of fleeting moments, some good some bad, which I took with me in my mind and created an imaginary world in which the moment was forever and the man was “mine”. Big mistake. Thats when the moment turns to pressure and pressure followed by lashes of passion, possession and jealousy, turns it all to shit.

As I leave ugly excrement behind I am brought back to the most the pure times that I spent with some of the more interesting men that I've met; The Spaniards. I went to college in Madrid, Spain. Before I even left my home in Geneva, I was warned constantly of the true peril that lay ahead if I should choose to engage in these men. I now know why. It's not what you think. These aren't your classic Type A assholes.

Rather they are a culture of confused adventurers,wanderers; of Don Juans and Quijotes. They are a people that were taught that love and passion lead, whilst responsibility is seen as a form of pressure. Whats more since regions in Spain changes the local culture dramatically(from north, to center to south) depending on where the young man came from, his views on women and relationships was very different. Northerners are normally extremely sentimental and committed whilst southerners are classic chauvinistic, players. So what's the problem right? Why not just go to the south for some holiday fun and then head north to bag myself a good guy? The problem lies in the fact that all of these men live for the moment.

No matter who they are and what their values are. And that this is what makes them just as dangerous as they are extraordinary. The moment, the now, the spacial timeless void between you and another person is a beautiful encounter with the universe. It is playing with god's gift. Whilst making plans and creating a routine known as a “relationship” would kill the beautiful, godly dimension that has been created between two. So after tasting the spanish passion, the momentary bliss, how could I myself ever go back to anything else? It's not the sex, I've had good physical encounters with men from all over the world. Nor is it the gifts, I've been spoiled rotten by all types of men. It isn't the fact that they are unattainable, some are very available and committed. It is simply the fact that they play with God's gift, the moment.