From my Window

 

Just like any other spring afternoon, in that precise moment in which the siesta transforms into a mid afternoon snack, a window is opened and the world around me starts to work again. Through that window I can see a universe full of possibilities that, until not very long ago, were boundless for humans. From my many options, I choose to loose myself in an interesting conversation with a stranger who has responded in an altruistic manner to one of my comments on how the news governs all media. From the strings of this conversation I have managed to spin a web of anecdotes, absurdities and conspiracy theories, yes, the kind that oscillate between a conspiracy and mere paranoia. But where do these tribulations take me? Nowhere, they only define a limit, they determine how far my imagination can expand. 

I go back to my room and look out of the window again, this time my senses are flooded by a wave of absurd humour that seems to be closed in a recipient with a label that is hard to read without sounding completely ridiculous. The label is not important here, what is interesting is the content of the recipient that is balanced between the banal and the educational, the moral and the perverted. It is so easy to loose yourself through this window that, what seemed humorous just a minute ago is now the biggest of dramas. Reality has hit me, another human catastrophe, another case of corruption, another reason to loose hope in the human being. 

I have not realised that almost two hours have past and my body has started to ask for a less aseptic product, a more human one. With this, I close the empty window that has so much to offer and gives us so little to apprehend. All in its fair measure. 

I stand up, I walk the fifteen steps that separate my room from the balcony and I open another window. Sitting on my balcony the air smells of something that reminds me of a mix of cherry blossom, coffee and turkish food. A murmur travels down Rodriguez Martín Street and comes back up at the Socorro square, it sits there creating a melody of voices, metallic noises and life. 

Lighting a cigaret I let it consume itself as the cordobean afternoon light also consumes itself and gives way to different kind of illumination. This light does not come from electric sources, this light comes from intoxicated conversations filled with absurdities and beer, of thoughts about life and death. In the midst of all these there is one that shines brighter than any other. One voice asks me to abandon my privileged position and join the lights that now illuminate the city.

I close my window, grab my favourite jumper and slide down the stairs to meet this illuminated world that is now absorbed by every single one of my senses, making it tangible and oh so human.