Shangarone: Historias bilingües de la vida misma / Bilingual Accounts on the Randomness of Life

"There is a fine line, between recklessness and courage It's about time, you understood which road to take It's a fine line, your decision makes a difference Get it wrong, you'll be making a big mistake"    -Paul McCartney Hay una delgada línea entre la temeridad y el coraje, concuerdo con Macca. Entrada en la década de los treinta, puedo ser más consciente de la existencia de esta línea y, en consecuencia, tomar decisiones saludables. O, por lo menos, eso me gusta pensar. Por ejemplo, cuando frecuentamos bares, mis blogueras amigas y yo solemos evitar el consumo de alcohol en cantidades astronómicas por razones obvias. Ya no es "divertido" (y nunca lo fue, en mi opinión) el hecho de sufrir confusiones, sincericidios, mareos y resacas. Aquí, en mi cuerpo, el censor de cuerpo-inclinándose-hacia-el-lado-peligroso continúa funcionando. Afortunadamente, todavía soy capaz de desplazarme sobre la delgada línea (a tientas, sí) con pleno ...

Ellos son valientes y les encanta hablar con mujeres de entre 20 y 30. Se defienden en la pista y en muchos casos podés ver la noche en sus caras. Mayoritariamente casados, pero les tiene sin cuidado. Le son fiel a una sola cosa: El chamuyo. Piensan que nos atrae la experiencia, las canas, el poder, el dinero, pero no. No nos atrae. ¿Qué te pasó en la cara? Te pasaste con la cama solar papu. Pero te perdonamos porque te sabés la coreo del meneaito y su complejidad como si fuera el padre nuestro. ¿No pensaste que tenés hijos de nuestra edad? ¿No tenés un hijo de nuestra edad para presentarnos? Sacámelo de encima amiga, que se puso re pesado. Decile algo así se va.

Have you ever met someone who shook your body for just staring at you? Have you ever listened to someone with such eagerness that you couldn't listen to anything else going on around you? Have you ever been so naive to think it could actually last? Well, if you identified with any of these questions you may know what this is about... or not. It was late December. A night out with friends having fun and drinks at the usual bar. I was bursting in laughter when I heard a voice behind my back. He was tall. He was blond-ish. He was American. That was it. I just stopped and stared at him with a quirky smile. It would be the beginning of a great adventure... Everything was perfect. We chatted during the week; we went out to dinner and drinks. However, something was not THAT perfect. Night time. We met at the pub were we first met. We danced 'til early morning and we kissed long and tender. Out of the blue, he suggested THE only thing a guy could suggest at that particular...

I get into his house and everything goes as planned. I probably want things to end fast. I want the security of repeated actions, the tricks that always work, the words that turn people on. So, he helps me. He helps me get rid of my clothes and I complete the task without grace. I even order my clothes since I don't like putting them on after picking them from the floor. No. There's no such hunger for lust this time. This is proper and neat sex. Old school. Adopting traditional postures, a must. Afterwards, I reflect on the memories that are puked by my brain. I know it loves ruminating about one-night stands. Funnily enough, my neurons make connections among my way of getting naked and onions and choices we make in life and children and spontaneity. And I know, (oh, God!) I do know that I could play this game endlessly. I could make a trademark of repeated behaviour and laugh with Pavlov about stimuli and responses. But. Craving for more is what pushes me forward and dra...