A drop in the ocean

I frequently forget to write in Spanish. I use it to talk with Spanish speakers whose mother tongue is Spanish. If they have a broken Spanish I try to switch to English if they speak, which is usually the case. If I Speak i Spanish with a non-native speaker, I become too self conscious about the situation. I realize when certain words may not be understood. I restrict my slang and pay attention to the way I construct my sentences. It gets so tiring that I rather don't use it with people who are clearly not fluent. This obviously goes against my philosophy of life, especially because this is how I learnt English. Lately I found out that I don't mind to use it either with people that have greatly insisted in the past and thus now I'm used to be less careful when I talk to them. When I try to write stories and especially poems, I cannot write in English. This is because I am used to write these to my very good Spanish-speaker friends. I only write to my friends, with the idea that someone will read it. Sometimes I write to my friends but I never send it to them, because I feel that it's not the right moment or because I suddenly realize that what I've written is not something I want them to know.


ngiphuma Kamhlaba
"I am of the world". This is what I wanted as title of my blog, and this is the way it was translated it to me. Why else would I want to spend two years lost in the middle of rural Southern Africa. Surely I should be able to "be of the world" everywhere. However this is not the case, at least not in the deepest Kantian meaning. 
"I am a wanna be project of the above statements. It is not easy, it never is. I discovered it all troubled, I think it was while picking my clothes, when I looked up and saw melting clouds of the sky of Africa reflecting the earthly color of the hills of Swaziland and realized that I could no longer think of Biochemistry as a viable option to follow the rest of my life, because that was the product of years of very efficient reductionist European indoctrination of my childhood, but now I was in of the world" everywhere. However this is not the case, at least not in the deepest Kantian meaning.
 Embarking of a journey never thought took me far away into the wild of world. Homeless and orphaned from the parents that I had always know I was now lost to the African landscape. I was never fearful, for I knew that the problem of existence would not arise in the land of the unknown, as the problem had already arisen from thousands of years of perfectionist thinking that has forgotten, for most of its part, the greatest of all gifts, that of being alive. We, Europeans, can be grateful for many things, such as a big house, a Mercedes to drive, and of course, an iPod with a lot of memory, but if we can´t have these, there is nothing we see worth of appreciating. It is even sadder we can only appreciate things that are lifeless. Depression is the second most common illness in industrialized countries. You can´t spend your life hugging computers and video games and expect they are going to hug you back. How much time of our lives do we spend taking to the people we love, as opposed to fifty years ago? How many times have I run away to the airport just to find out that my troubles were where I had left them before, untouched.



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