Living london, though.

I didn´t tell you that last weekend we visited the Tate Modern and we took a bike, and I almost get hit by a car, and then we went to see Westminster Abbey and the Big Ben and finally at night we went to a bar in Piccadilly Circus and discovered some interesting flirting strategies practised by native girls...

And I know that I should tell you about our searching for a flat, the agency, our flatmates and some other stuff... but not today (though).

Yesterday night I went out with my new US American friend Terry, so here are some things that I told him I would post about.

1. HOW I BECAME A NON RELIGIOUS PERSON
So I studied in a very religious school with nuns and such. And they talked about loving eachother and that kind of things that nuns talk about. The thing is that in my school we were all supposed to be righteous believers and exemplary students, and I was ok with that at first. Oh yeah, how righteous and exemplary I was. But as I grew up I came to realise that it was all a fake, and girls from my class went out at night and swallowed some random guy´s tongues (yep, just tongues, we were just 14 or so by then) while I pure soul was home crying Bambi´s mother (oh sorry, spoiler alert). And nuns were so snobbish, and judging, and extremist, and so closed to everything and everyone slightly different from what they considered the Right Path, and they took advantage of their moral superiority for embedding political ideas into our heads, so most of my mates sympathised with the PP and despised those who didn´t. Nuns also made such big deals out of things like teaching your little naïve 12 year old brother a nasty song (yep, I got a punishment for that, blame on you bro! two fingers fuck off symbol for you) or flirting while wearing the school uniform (because girls from our proud school don´t do such things). That´s how I started to be suspicious that some things might not be exactly as they said they were... It took a lot of time for me to fulfill this silent inside rebelion against my admired masters but eventually I would, whereas most of the tongue-mouthed girls and tongue-mouthing guys never did for some reason.
After that, when, in my last year, I changed school into public school I could confirm my suspicions. Guess what I found in there? There were lots of nice friendly non believers who were also very decent people although they dind´t bear the burden of fear to divine punishment upon their shoulders. And there were also some gays and lesbians, and even they were so righteous in their moral and consistent with their principles. There were immigrants (mostly Moroccan), there were hippies, smokers, future workmen and sweepers, future artists and architects, the retarded mayor´s son, a pregnant girl, a girl who had to leave school because her parents needed her to find a job and earn money to support the family, and nobody was rejected for their condition, and the flames of hell were not burning the school down. There were of course some religious people as well. And they had a healthy, respectful but peer-to-peer relationship with the teachers, who were not God´s emissaries on Earth. Wow, it sounds like I came to find the most perfect balanced uthopic highschool in the world...
So I guess I opened my eyes and thought: "If this was all lies, why shouldn´t that be a lie as well?" And when  I didn´t burn in hell for having such thoughts I went like "Oh, man"...
Well, the truth is that in my home there´s never been a very religious atmosphere because, although I think both of my parents tend to be believers, they have never been practicant at least since I was born. I guess it would have made them happy if my brother and I had been "blessed with the gift of faith", but they never forced us to believe because they had their own serious doubts themselves.
So I´m not quite sure if I made my point, but I tried my best!


2. SPANISH POETRY
So, I didn´t remember but I posted about my favourite Spanish poet some time ago. I tried to google-translate it and that was funny.
So I´ll try to translate it, just the poem. It should be something like this:

Castilla, miserable, as powerful was yesterday,
wrapped in her rags, she despises what she ignores.
Is she waiting, sleeping, dreaming? Does she remember
the blood shed, when she had the fever of the steel?
Everything moves, changes, passes, flows or turns,
so change the sea, and the mountains, and the staring eyes.
Did it happen? Over her fields the ghost still roams
of a nation that used to put God over war.

Here is the link to the post, in case you want to take a look at it.. http://surcosenlaarena.blogspot.co.uk/2011/12/y-el-ojo-que-los-mira.html

In that post I also mentioned my other favourite poem, from 20 love poems and a desperate song, by Pablo Neruda.
This is it:


That´s all, folks!