Someone asked me why I stopped writing in english. I said I didn't know. But I did know, I didn't want to be bullied or people thinking I was being a "mamona".
To be honest, I have never liked the feeling of not doing something because of what people will think. And still, I have done it. I get why we do it, don't get me wrong. Surviving, fitting in and finding people we enjoy being with is important. But anyways, I've decided people who like me will probably understand and still like me even if they think I'm a little too "fresa".
Plus, I do think it's a bit of a challenge to express emotions in a language that doesn't run through our veins. Have you heard about that? the "mother language" speech? Some people call it the "father language" I guess it depends on which side of the patriarchy you are. Although it is tricky, 'cause the "mother" adjective also implies that women are the ones responsable of the kids language. Maybe the best way to call it is "first tongue", because if language is part of our culture and as Marcel Strauss stated in his "Techniques of the body" speech, back in 1936: what our body does is not natural, how it moves and acts depends on our context; then "first tongue" would be more suitable since it also has to do with our first surroundings.
We learn from context. Need context. And miss context.
It might be one of the things that we never think about and yet they're absolutely necessary in our lives.
I actually started writing this piece because of a context. I know in english the words might sound a little more poetic than in other languages and I like that. Also, yes, I know I could've written "because of context" or "because of a lack of context".
What I mean is, the reason of me typing words here is: I miss a place that existed during a specific time. It's not that it was a game changing place but it was a place where I felt super connected with...life.
I used to go there after my law course, the place was tiny but had big windows and smelled like coffee. Are you part of the group of people who prefer the smell of coffee than the taste of it? I think I am. The little shop had some bar chairs, high tables, two sofas and two normal sized tables that were usually put together so that investors could chat with young promises.
I don't know if those projects ever worked, I used to zone out their conversations and get lost in watching the sun rising or whatever homework I hadn't finished. I also used to read poetry, write stuff and play my guitar there.
Every time I went to that place I sat on a sofa and every time I went there, there was this long haired guy who wore glasses and worked on his computer. I never talked to him and he never talked to me, we just smiled at each other as known strangers and continued with what we were doing.
I started writing this because I miss that place. I miss having 21 and getting a capuchino and sitting on that sofa while the morning came. I miss feeling confortable on a place where I didn't know anyone and I didn't care if I looked nerdy or if people would tell me to keep it quiet with my guitar. I miss sharing all those mornings with that known stranger.
Yes, there are more coffee shops, other mornings and frankly, a lot of strangers in this world. I know. It's just, today my heart longs that missed context a little too much.