I am a person of strong beliefs. I believe that people that depend on coffee to utter their first word in the morning, “I can’t talk before I have my coffe” style, don’t deserve my respect (i.e. are losers). I have a tendency to ramble from 5 until 9 am in the morning, which I’m not saying is great either. But I do love mornings. I talk shit in the mornings. I feel like the day has just begun (which is true really) and anything is possible. As the day goes on, my energy fades away. Until 7pm or so when it restarts, then by 11pm I need to sleep. I am a simple woman.
So, one of my personal beliefs had to do with change. Turning 30 is a major change. Not a cool one. But not a terrible one either. LIke, you are thirty, yes, but you are still young to everyone above 40 which is still the majority of the population. I am trying to come up with other advantages but can’t find any right now.
Well, I always believed that hitting the big 0 would mean two things:
1) I was not young anymore and since beauty fades with age, I would need to rely on eccentricity to get noticed (note: currently, as far as I know, I rely exclusively on my brain to get noticed). Thirty meant to me that I would get a “radical” haircut. I am very cautious with hair, so I would probably cut it to the ear length.
2) Sharing flat when you are 30 is not regarded as “fun” and “adventurous”. It means you haven’t grown up and your mum is still cooking for you and your freezer is full of her plastic containers with her food. Or that you eat your pasta with beetroot – just that, seriously. Seen it with my own eyes. Worst thing is I still ate my flatmate’s disgusting combination as snack when she wasn’t looking. Shame shame shame – because you haven’t learned to use the stove on the first 30 years of your existence. Therefor I had decided a few years back that by 30 years old, I would have my own apartment.
Most of the times, things don’t work out the way we plan. And these are the news! I got my own place in the heart of Barcelona’s one and only ghetto, El Raval. I live on a fourth floor with no elevator, this means that Lightening spends her nights alone on the streets. Everyone that knows me a little, asked me the same question. “Where is your bicycle sleeping?”. Their main concern while I was going through the mental distress and chaos of becoming independent, was my bicycle.
Which is nice, I guess.
So far, it’s still there, with 2 locks now.
The bicycle above, was spotted in Raval. Just in front this very, very, hipsterish place called “Satan’s coffee corner” where I get my fortnightly coffee (obviously not daily, you know why now). Ran by a very nice dude who appreciates words like “dabuten”. This tells you a lot.
I have a lot of beautiful bicycles in the pantry!!! They will be published soon.
In the meantime…have a beautiful, sweaty summer :-)