los indigentes como nosotros

el saque mi cuaderno en público significa, sin duda, que alguien va a venir a curiosear. Nunca falla, es naturaleza humana; y yo, como he dicho antes, atraigo desconocidos y curiosos.

mientras observo a los viejitos de Céret jugar bolas criollas, Miguel se me acerca y se queda viendo lo que estoy dibujando. Miguel es Catalán y entre los dos no juntamos mucho mas que "Bon jour," asi que una vez establecido que el español es nuestro campo común, se instala y conversamos (él habla) un rato. No sé en que momento asumió que yo era pobre y sin hogar, pero lo hizo y me empezó a dar consejos (no solicitados) para los "indigentes como nosotros." ¿Qué hizo que Miguel pensara que yo era parte de su club de indigentes? No estoy segura, pero, ¿para qué corregir? Me dijo donde puedo recibir mi correo (¿los indigentes reciben correspondencia?), y donde me dan carne gratis (no, gracias), también me informó donde quedan los baños públicos (no le paré a la explicación...tipo normal) y lo difícil que es abrir una cuenta bancaria en Francia (¿no hay que tener dinero para necesitar una cuenta corriente?). Un dato mas útil hubiera sido donde dormir, pero como yo no hago preguntas, la cosa se quedó asi. Los viejitos tenían pinta de que estaban por terminar y yo estaba perdiendo luz, asi que sutilmente empecé a dibujar de nuevo, como diciendo: "gracias por tus consejos, pero ya me fastidié."

Miguel entendió, o se fastidió también y siguió su rumbo. Yo me quedé sentada observando viejitos bajitos y gruñones, todos con ropa que parece ajena, y zapatos deliciosos.

diary of a hitchhiker I

january 23, 2012

interesting day for hitchhiking. Started in Dunedin, where Thommy picked me up after two seconds with my thumb out. Good start. Thommy is from India and I'm pretty sure he suffers from something along the lines of short-term memory loss. Every now and then he'd sort of reset and start asking me things we'd already talked about. It could also be that Thommy does not listen; one of those people that asks questions for the sake of asking and then wander off in their brains with no intention of listening to the answer...like me when I ask for directions.

For the whole 40 minutes we rode together, I'm pretty sure these three questions summarize our conversation:

-"Where are you from?"
-"Where are you going?"
-"Do you want some lollies?"

After the fourth time, I had to ram a chocolate bar in my mouth, just to have him ask, seconds later, if I wanted some lollies.

I'm always tempted to start making things up, but I never actually do it...Our conversation could have gone like this:

T:"Where are you from?"

A:"A little underwater colony near the Seychelles."

T:"Where are you going?"
A:"Outer space. I'd like to buy a property closer to the sun."
T:"Do you want some lollies?"
A:"Sure, but I better warn you that I have this condition that will probably make me throw up all over your dashboard."

What would they say if I answered these things? Actually Thommy probably wouldn't mind because he's not listening anyway. The reason I never actually say these things is because I know I can't keep a straight face, I can't commit to being in character. That's how I know I'll never be an actress.

humans

I don't go out much. Anything putting me in contact with other humans I consider socializing. I might not actually speak to these humans, but them being there, present in my bubble, is somewhat social and therefore, unsettles me.

I find most people obnoxious; them, their behaviour, their speech, whatever, it annoys me. Yet, depending on my mood, it can also amuse me. If I'm bored, I go see people. I use "see" in a literal sense, the way you go see elephants at the zoo. I don't want these people to speak to me, or interact with me in any way, I just want to observe them.

What most people find normal, I find, depending on the mood, either peculiar or plain right absurd. If I'm in a "peculiar" mood, I'll go around being baffled and intrigued by people's day-to-day actions; if I'm in an "absurd" mood, I'll find everyone ridiculous and out of their minds.

None of these thoughts get verbal expression because I was raised with "good manners" and the such, which include taking part in these inane rituals of daily life, and keeping what you actually think bottled up inside.