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lunes, octubre 8


No sé porque, me pareció apropieado traducir el post anterior... asi que aca va el único Kundalondon en inglés:

London was my first real love.

There were others before: India was a platonic situation that become a summer affaire that I will always remember and hope to experience again.

Colombia was a rebound fling that came to be when Cuba turned me down, but that eventually won me over with its joy and charisma.

Nicaragua was one of those unexpected love stories, when you find yourself too happy without even realizing it. Mexico kept seducing me way after I had left. Brasil won me over several times showing me its several different sides.

London was different. London was the ultimate commitment, it was leaving my life in Buenos Aires, it was the moving in.

When I arrived I barely knew it: I understood part of its history and recognized some of its icons... but I already admired it for its historical, political, economical and cultural relevance and loved it for its music, it`s musical -filled avenues and, basically, because it was the center of the world.

It didn`t take long to see that it was a perfect world: public transport always worked, the streets were always clean, the parks were always beautiful, the little houses in every street were all alike and picturesque and... so english! The buses made no sound, everyone was kind, and even the infamous english weather was not as bad as expected. I had the feeling that I was living in a fictional world, like the ones created by Disney imitating a real city. It was little London, where everything works, where everything works, everything is clean, and everyone is happy.

The only problem is that I think there is something strangely unattractive about perfection. Somewhere along the way I made the decision (let`s call it prejudice if necessary) that truth lies in chaos, charm lies in rusticity and beauty lies in scruffiness. Because those little imperfections are what makes it authentic, which makes something real, which makes it understandable, which makes it lovable.

And though it doesn´t seem logical to go through life complaining because the underground works and the streets are silent and everything is easier in London, I sometimes felt that everything was too structured and too planned and thus I was missing the mystery of intrigue, the adrenaline of uncertainty, the emotion of surprise.

I slowly understood that that was not in fact London`s essence, but it was merely an adjective directly related with it culture, long history and way they do things. I started to catch brief glimpses in between the cracks of that chaos that that perfection was trying to control. And I realized that that combination of structured chaos and controlled rusticity was, in fact, the real London.

This allowed me to truly fall in love with London and loose myself in it. And that`s how the iconic points slowly started became the scenery of my life. I would go to Piccadilly Circus not just for the sake of Piccadilly Circus, but because that`s where I met up with my friends. I would walk down Oxford Street not as a tourist but trying to solve a mundane problem like a broken computer. On my lunch break I would picnic at Regent’s Park. And every time I ran into one of the markets the in the city I would waltz around for a while and buy whatever I needed that week.

As one of the most diverse cities in the world, I was surprised by the number of English people I met. I was welcomed to their homes, ate their food, danced at their clubs,  talked to them, went out with them, laughed with them, hugged them, got drunk with them, and loved them (and love them). And also loved the pub culture: how everybody is welcome, there is one everywhere and one could easily go to one every day of the week.

I arrived admiring it for many different reasons, I learned to overcome some apparent deffects, and I ended up loving it for new reasons. And I was extremely happy.

If I eventually came back, it`s not because I stopped loving it, but becuase I realized that I had a former love: Buenos Aires.

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