Posted by Raul on March 17, 2011
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Going to the movies used to be something very special; the anticipation for an activity that wasn’t common but just a couple of times a year. The feeling of going to that magical, enclosed big room with what seemed hundred of seats, high wall decorated with old, dark red curtains and some dusty wooden decorations. The long, worn carpet that led us to the seats facing the white screen where some magical world will appear, and would let us live some different life and travel to a distant place for about two hours.
But there was also the other part of the trip; the possibility of stopping by a coffee shop after the movie and have a glass of soda and maybe a piece of cake, pineapple by preference. The small, rectangular, metallic table with a plastic tablecloth in red and white squares; the view thru the windows, watching passers by in their unknown activities for us; looking at their grey faces and dark clothing; their fast paced walk and their anonymity to each other, always dancing with sudden movements to avoid physical contact with each other in their travels by the crowded streets.
There was no need for words…there was so much to see!
The whole world and life became silent and slow moving, so it was easy to stop for a moment and watch the surroundings, the people, the physical things that conformed and created the city, society and of being part of life in itself.
Going to the movies was a moment when daily life stopped for a moment and magic became reality. It was the opportunity to step aside of my own life and self; to have the chance to see the world around with different eyes and what was always there, but never seen from that perspective. It was the opportunity to stop participating of society to become a spectator of life.
Then the trip back home, just like the one at the beginning, waiting for the bus at the stop in a dirty street. Watching the people around, up to their faces marked with worries of daily life and infinite activities; perhaps the ghosts of their future that had to be crafted day by day, and I was apart, traveling in time at the moment, aside of life, even my own.
Seating and holding the metallic rail in front at the worn out bus seat, listening to the infinite sounds made by a tired machine that spent an entire life running and still haven’t got the chance to retire and rest. The wind coming through the window that couldn’t be closed, making the noise that combined with the singer at the end of the corridor of the bus, playing an acoustic guitar with a colored cloth tied to it and some strange sticker close to the cords, with a meaning that probably only he would know and understand.
Houses, stores and empty, dirty lots went by behind other cars, competing in speed with the wooden and concrete poles that remained standing by the side of the street, providing the hold of the electric net of the city. Some graffiti in the walls, sharing space with the posters of some candidate to some political group…adult stuff!
Perhaps the best home work I ever got!
There’ll be days and weeks to remember the trip, the bus, the movie theater, the people seen from a different perspective, as a spectator of life instead of a participant. And the movie itself, whatever the story; the places and time where the story told by the white screen seemed to happen…so much to remember and analyze!
Sometimes living life doesn’t seem to be part of life, but when being a child and taken to the movies, I had the chance to step aside of it all for a brief moment and enjoy the magic of the movie, together with the magic of life and people, by watching from a distance to compare both, at the same time of taking a break of being alive.
Raul
Posted by Raul on February 17, 2011
There was this joke from a Chilean comedian who was really frustrated because every time he told the joke nobody laughed…because nobody understood it, even though is about the concept Chileans have about themselves.
“So there were The Lone Ranger and Tonto, hiding behind a small boulder while shooting to the Indians all around them. Then they run out of bullets and the Indians started to approach them, knives in hand, ready to kill them.
“We are doomed” Said the Lone Ranger.
“You might be doomed” Answered Tonto.
I’m just curious how many people will get the joke. Let me know in the comment section.
Raul
Posted by Raul on January 6, 2011
Standing here in the cold, getting so much snow, freezing! I can’t wait to go again, move, go somewhere and do something! Get this cold feeling out of me while running around.
I wish I had a home like some other lucky ones that have a roof to spend the winter; a roof to protect myself from this blowing snow and wind that always get the best of me. Summer is fine and even that the sun can be really harsh sometimes at least doesn’t get me paralyzed like cold does.
There are times when I get myself lost in my memories of the times when I was young and stronger. Those times when I used to shine in the presence of others, older than me, and thinking that the whole world was waiting for me to see. Those younger years, how wonderful times!
Now I’m old and don’t get much attention and I know, they are mostly waiting for me to die and then get rid of me once and for all. How easily they forget! How many times they needed me and were dependant on me.
I am deteriorating, I know; maybe another winter, maybe not. Everything inside me is dying, I can feel it! Then I’ll be gone.
The kids, I remember, they were so happy to spend time with me, now they have grown and gone; they have their lives, kids of their own.
So what is the meaning of life? To be used when needed and discarded when old? Forgotten, like an old blanket worn out by time. And what is so special about me? Would someone be interested in me at this advanced age? Wanting to take care and make me young and strong again? Would I get to be loved again for who I am and not for what I can do for others? Am I so special for someone to say “don’t let him die”?
I guess is the way things are for an old family car like me!
Raul
(The actual owner of the car)
P.S. Old, battered car for sale!
Posted by Raul on December 23, 2010
She had a smile and bright eyes when walking the trail by my side. We didn’t know where we would end up…we just walked the trail with a faint idea of the journey, and some vague plans for the next steps and the days ahead.
The warm breeze of December in the south hemisphere gave the hopes for the unknown, while the holding hands the reassurance for the times to come.
But winter is always ahead, and although we did know, we kept the smile while feeling the breeze in our young faces, walking the path together to the horizon always farther away on the road.
And winter did come.
Then the trail turned from the colored flowers all around to the brownish land of sadness at fall; and the sun changed to a reddish color for the winter and snow ahead. So the walking became hard with the cold wind in the face and the snow on the ground; feeling how the warm days of summer went away to be replaced by the harsh times of the season that had to be gone through.
Did we have to? And the thoughts of going back the trail to the beginning started to take home. Yet the long distance already traveled and the thoughts of going back cold, tired and sad through the same place that was walked warm and with a smile before…
The beginning of the trail and the horizon at the other end, they both seemed the same. We where standing there, trying to find a reason to keep going.
Then the little bird…the unimaginable find in the middle of nowhere; almost buried in the snow, looking at us, waiting to take it with us in our journey; to protect it and grow it as our treasure for the years to come.
So one hand holding the little bird while another found the excuse to touch the now stranger other hand once again. The excuse of the little bird; the responsibility of taking care of it; helping it grow as a given task; while walking the path to nowhere; to the setting sun.
And the little bird did grow!
Protecting it with our cold hands, together from the wind and the snow, just to find later we couldn’t let it go. The growing little bird became the element that held us together while walking the trail without aim, hoping for the warm sun to come back once again in the sky.
Stopping for a moment to look back and find the long trail walked now, and the horizon at the other end, with the promise of spring ahead and warmer days to keep going in the journey started so long ago.
And while the little bird has grown and trying its wings to fly on its own, the sun of spring announces its return and the colored flowers make the promise of a wonderful path to walk once more.
So now the thoughts of letting the once little bird fly on its own, give us the memories of the times when we started this trail so long ago. The two of us, knowing now there’ll be a bird flying somewhere; happily finding his own path and flying through the seasons of life and the fields of love.
While we, confused by the changes ahead, continue to walk this trail, looking at the horizon, knowing spring is coming with its colored flowers in the field, to be followed by the warm breeze of summer, to be back at the beginning while reaching the end of the road.
Raul
Posted by Raul on December 20, 2010
It’s been a long time since visiting this old house. Maybe the memories are too many; maybe the sadness of the departure is too much, I don’t know.
We used to walk for hours talking about so many things; I holding his hand and jumping from time to time, hanging from the strong arm of the old man. Listening to the stories that came every time we walked down this path, to finally without fault, end up the trip in the old bench under the trees, to listen more amazing stories about every little object and creature that could be seen around.
Fall was the time to go visit for I don’t remember what reason. A child running over the accumulated leaves on the ground, and the smile of the old man intently watching, perhaps immersed in memories of his own childhood, gone long time ago.
The wind blowing leaves sometimes, and the cold air coming in everyday with more intensity, as fall made its grand entrance to the stage of life in that remote corner of the world.
Years later, coming back on my own, just to make a short visit to the old man and have a little chat close to the fireplace inside his home.
I remember the time I came with a big smile and a heart full of hopes, after receiving the white paper with golden letters that certified my graduation to the profession that should be the beginning of an exciting life ahead. I remember the serious look in his eyes while reading the piece of paper, then the hand shaking with some emotional eyes that reflected pride and support.
Standing from the big chair and walking to a closet at the other end of the room, to grab an old bottle of wine reserved for some special occasion. A drink by the fireplace, the feeling of being supported, the continuation of himself through the ways of the little one that wasn’t a child anymore, and could be considered another adult, worth of having a glass of wine with.
Then, years later, driving the old road to the old house, to introduce to the old man the new one, the fourth in line, the one just born a couple of months before. His tired hands holding the baby and looking at him with serious eyes, as analyzing the veracity of his existence, or perhaps the pride of seeing how life gave him another step in his long road, I don’t know.
By the time of the next visit strangers where there, violating the space and the property that used to be the old man’s life. Learning then that he was no more, that he was gone, to the eternal trip to become part of the universe, the whole; leaving a feeling of emptiness in those who remained behind.
Today I came back, to the house of a stranger, to walk the trails with tall trees giving the leaves away to cover the ground one more time before winter takes place. Walking the same path done so many times in the past, recalling so many memories of the time spent with the old man.
The bench is still there, but showing signs of not being used anymore, perhaps for a long time now, but standing strong as a monument to the memories that will never die. The place where the old man and I sat for hours to talk, creating that strong relationship that cannot be explained with words…
