45. Little Deaths/Delights

Bella Ve's Goodbye

It’s December in Madrid and it feels like fall.

I’ve grown used to an angry kind of wind. At college it blew so hard it made us cry. Like it wanted to make us angry too. I wonder how long it’ll take before I’m accustomed to the soft kind that blows like a whisper. It stirs the turned leaves in a delicate dance only a few inches off the ground. I wonder if I’ll be shocked when I return and it whips my cheeks raw again.

I can’t call myself adjusted. I still find myself annoyed with the Spaniards’ lack of urgency (maybe even more so considering that I’ve spent life running around with my jaw clenched).

Part of me wants to stay forever, and the other part of me aches for New York as if it were water and I a desert wanderer, dying of thirst. I cannot be jealous of anyone back home and yet I realize nothing will ever come close to being in the middle of it all. Worst of all, I can’t tell which is right for me. Rather, which one makes my life better. I mean, which one makes me live better.

I’m self conscious of things that I’ve never been before. I wonder if Europeans put their elbows on the table when they eat fast food Cesar salad. Besides, if it's weird to eat fast food Cesar salad.

I’m delighted by things I’ve never known before. I notice myself slowing down, because what’s the rush?

I know that whichever I choose will be the right choice; I don’t think I’ll regret making either one. In Spain this is the dilemma of the donkey. In New York it’s Burdian’s ass.

People tell me that this is what your twenties are for. But the years only seem to go faster as I get older, and I know before I blink I’ll wind up in my thirties. And then forties and then fifties and then sixties. And then what?

At what age am I allowed to call myself an arch old woman? Moreover, how many years left do I have of being a perpetually disaffected young one?

Most of my days are spent searching. For what, I’m not exactly sure. I walk, and look, and I make an effort to feel. I often get lost in my own head while I’m waiting for the light to change and don’t snap out of it until I realize that it’s changed back again.

But I’ve been in the mood of letting go. Letting life play out as it’s meant to, or at least how it's going.

I can’t tell if I’m doing a good job or not. Usually it’s easier to not do anything at all.

What do they call that again? The human condition? The thing that none of us have ever really figured out, even though all of us have tried?

Is that the point?

I’ve realized that I like to ask questions with impossible answers. It’s something of a quirk, reflected in my writing. But then, I guess, that’s how I know I’m alive.

LITTLE DEATHS

• Pizza

LITTLE DELIGHTS

• Paella

• Graffiti

• Writing

• Proximity crushes

• Gift giving

• Anthony Bourdain

FROM THE HOT LITERATI UNIVERSE

UPCOMING (IRL) EVENTS

• Jan 7 Film Club —> link here (password in chat for paid subs)

• Jan 21 Film Club —> link here (password in chat for paid subs)

UPCOMING (DIGITAL) EVENTS

• Book Club schedule will be announced Jan 1

• Until then we’ll be pre-gaming this book (The Idiot, Dostoevsky), with special Dostoevsky and Idiot themed discussions for paid subs)

MERCH

• We’re getting rid of stuff for the New Year —> use code “winter” for 21% off the shop