“We must forget in order to remain present, forget in order not to die, forget in order to remain faithful.”

Marc Augé, Oblivion

I thought I was ready to write but I wasn’t. When I started this blog last year, it was an “oasis moment “in the middle of a desert of pain and chaos, when I was desperately trying to put my life together. We are never ready to sit and be sincere through words about our feelings. I was also worried about the style and the writing itself. I wasn’t aware none of that matters when you are rebuilding yourself and figuring out who you are after a tragedy; what is left of you; what parts of your heart are still beating or if your heart is completely damaged and there’s nothing else to do but to live with anger and bitterness.

I also thought my travelling days were over and that I had found the place I was going to settle. It wasn’t my choice, I was given that as the only choice. It was painful to walk those narrow streets every day and feel in danger all the time. For some time I found some peace in that little town in Mexico. After all, it was my country, my language and my food…. who doesn’t love tacos? but I realised I wasn’t so Mexican after living in China for 15 years. My habits changed, my taste in food., my tolerance to noise and people speaking endless nonsense just to be polite because that’s what you do in a small town. 

In those days people were staring at me and whispered on my side.-“it’s her sister”, “let’s see how long she lasts here” “San Pancho is not for everyone, it vomits you or traps you” And I was just too busy to pay attention or listen to advise from the locals. I was handling the business, lawyers, paperwork and people.

A year later, I’m in Italy, living in a small cottage in Tuscany, on the slopes of the jagged peaks of the Apuan Alps. It is amazing how after so many years of traveling we keep this knowledge that becomes part of our identity, traveling itself becomes almost a routine, a habit. It was relatively easy for me to jump on a plane and come here. I stopped in Frankfurt where I had a haircut and prepared for my isolated staycation in the mountains. I arrived in Florence, a city I had been before with my family in 1990. I was warned it was still cold but I guess I was too optimistic so I didn’t pack enough warm clothes. Instead, I brought my linen clothes from the beach.

It was nice to be at an airport again, I always remember Marc Augé ‘s ideas about “non-places” and how these are transitory places where humans pass through as anonymous individuals. After living in a small town for over a year, I needed a sense of anonymity. I always hated to be singled out and suddenly I became the centre of attention of a little town and you know what they say about little towns…

During the first weeks, I couldn’t unpack all my feelings. It wasn’t either my priority or goal, I am certainly on no holiday, but I realised with time, I travel with invisible baggage no matter where I go. This place is a hidden Shangri-la in the middle of the forest. Nature in a sophisticated shape; ferns, moss, rosemary, white sage, a natural pharmacy full of alchemy and magic. The landscape shifted from a humid and uncertain jungle to a protecting forest which allowed me to breathe and unwind, slowly “piano piano”.

The first words I learned in Italian from F was “Tutto a posto” a very assuring phrase to say everything is okay. Soon enough, I confirmed that like any other language, you don’t need to say much to communicate. I don’t speak much, I am not too fond of it, and I don’t know what else I could say that is not reflected on the wrinkles of my face. I managed to get around books again and start reading and a few days later writing came. I’m not bothered though, I have learned my truth is important to me, and I can take some time, be compassionate to myself.

 “All good writing is swimming underwater and holding your breath.”

F. Scott Fitzgerald

When I was a little girl we used to go to Acapulco for summer holidays. My parents were young and had a blue beetle that my father drove to the coast. We also had a small Dalmatian and everything was brand new. My father was eager to build a comfortable life and my mother was a devoted housewife who felt satisfied looking after us, my sister and me at that time. She used to dress us the same, like twins, same haircuts, matching dresses and shoes, but profoundly different in personalities.

On one of those trips, my grandmother came with us. She was a strong woman from Michoacán, a place that is well known as “tierra caliente” because was on the Pacific coast and is home to different Etnies. My grandmother was a “Purépecha” or “Tarasca” as my grandfather used to call her, “mi tarasca”. She married my grandfather very young and struggled with an alcoholic husband and a big family. She, however, was a big spirit, she was very religious and had a unique character. She loved to swim and would delve into de deepest with great quickness.

I was her favourite granddaughter, perhaps because we look alike and have the same nature and boldness. She took me to swim with her even though I was little. She held my hand and got me into the water. She told me not to be scared, as the ocean was always gentle and generous if we asked permission to swim. My parents saw us from the shore in the distance, I could hear my father yelling to my grandmother to come back, but she pretended not to listen to him. Inside the sea, at some point, she would stop holding me and let me float by myself. I still remember that moment when I first feel free. She told me the secret of swimming was to learn to float; for that purpose, I just needed to let my body do it by itself. Never fight the water or a wave, just go with the tide.

So, I did, and quickly I became a natural swimmer. I loved to jump into the sea, feel the salty water like a fish, it was soothing, transforming and irreplaceable. I wouldn’t waste a day on the beach without swimming. A few years later I took proper swimming lessons and learn three of the four styles. It became my sport for many years, and I would spend my summers swimming and tanning on the Pacific Coast. It was one of the activities that pleased me the most, and I enjoyed on many islands and paradisiac destinations in Asia. I always craved the sun, the beach, and the sea.

Even during the lockdown in China, I managed to travel to Hainan to learn to surf and swim for a few days, I still remember how enthusiastic I was to see the sea again and I would stay the whole day at the beach by myself. Nothing hurt me and nothing would make me feel more freedom or joy. It was my meditation moment, when I didn’t think about anything else and I went back to my childhood.

When I thought to come to Mexico, I thought this would represent the opportunity to swim forever on a beautiful coast. I was ready to live the lifestyle but suddenly everything happened on New Year’s Eve and my life changed unexpectedly.

Now, I live in this little town on the Pacific Coast, a surfer’s paradise, with a considerable number of ex-pats, yoga teachers, and unfulfilled artists that coexist with the locals. But for some reason, you will find I cannot swim anymore. I lost my ability to jump carelessly into the water and enjoy the sea. I simply float to survive and to keep myself alive . I am frightened of how it looks, the sounds that makes, and how the tide rises with the moonlight.

I stare at the ocean that I was craving for so long with melancholia; I contemplate every morning a flock of seagulls and I envy them because their focus is on the prey, not the whole, while I am trying to find something to focus on other than grief and pain. Sometimes we just float to keep alive and get through another day. I hope one day I can swim again and feel that freedom that defined me and to reconcile with the sea. I know it is waiting for me, after all, we have been mates for so long now.

‘Life begins the day you start a garden’

Chinese proverb

Summers are steamy and humid in Ningbo. You can’t really stay in bed too late specially if you have to walk the dogs; Morning has always been my favored time; I wake up around 6 am and the doggies hop into bed and sleep under the sheets for a little longer. It is a sweet feeling, the three of us snoozing and getting ready to go for a walk. We lived in a small compound in the city centre where there were no parks or green areas in the surroundings, it was all concrete and tall buildings. My neighbors were predominantly elders who went out at the same time as me; some of them went to the market to buy fresh vegetables and fish, others went to taiji and others simply went for a walk. Among them there was a special lady, who was a leader from the neighbors league. She is (not was because people don’t die when we leave a place) very slim, with short gray hair, always wearing a thin trench coat with pants and cute small shoes. She always greet me on the lift and was carrying pots and plants trying to find a place for them.

Next to the compound there was a small green area that she claimed as hers. She started to plant a natural fence to protect the rose bushes and the lillys and wouldn’t let anyone to get close or go through it. She became ‘the plants vigilante’ and I enjoyed to observe her devotion to transform that space into her personal garden. Later, other neighbors brought their own dying plants and it became a beautiful lively garden she nurtured and protected with pots of different sizes, shapes and colours.

I understood then how important was to have a personal space, to claim a place in the world of your own, where you could exist surrounded of the things that you love. We all need a soothing place that we can call home. We need a place to take care of the things that make our life sweeter. I learned my space was in that bed with the doggies, where the three of us are happy.

Here in the other side of the Pacific, we wake up not so early, as I struggle to wake up and make sense of life. Yesterday when we walked through the park near home, I saw a man watering some plants that were in an isolated space within the park perimeter. It seems he planted those plants by himself because you could see how he carefully arranged them in a circle, building a natural fence. The plants look green and full of life compared to the rest of the plants in the park that are dry and dusty, those no one cares for. I passed by and he didn’t even noticed me or anyone around; he was mesmerized, contemplating his personal garden, and protecting it like a gatekeeper.

“Just as the sea is an open and ever flowing reality, so should our oceanic identity transcend all forms of insularity, to become one that is openly searching, inventive, and welcoming.

Epeli Hau’ofa, We Are the Ocean: Selected Works

I lived on the two extremes of the Pacific and it was never my intention. At 33, I thought I had resolved most things in life: I had a steady job in the government and parallel, I was teaching at the university, living in a small Mexican catholic town. I was in a dead end relationship with someone I thought I loved very much. However, I wasn’t happy or remotely satisfied. I cried and curled into my bed every night feeling I didn’t belong there, I had a sour taste in my mouth watching other people happiness. I accumulated a reasonable amount of debt because I couldn’t administrate my finances and I was worried about the future. Is this it? is this enough? is this the way it’s supposed to be? . Somehow life gave me another opportunity and after many nights of struggle, I decided to move far away, and for such purpose, China was the best choice, the Pacific coast of China.

The first point I reached was Narita near Tokio, where I stayed for a layover. It was my first transpacific flight and I couldn’t sleep thinking I had left all my life behind. I brought nothing but an old suitcase with a few clothes and 20 dollars on my bagpack. I remember I took a video leaving my hotel in Narita and walking towards the bus stop . I was with other students, looking for a place to eat, without any clue of where to go, laughing and exploring. That was an exciting evening and I embraced my curiosity and adventurous spirit. The next morning I took a flight to Shanghai, where we were welcomed by the university staff and taken to Wanli collegue in Ningbo.

What was supposed to be a year of studying abroad became a lifetime. The trip to Ningbo was exhausting, I couldn’t cope with the humidity of the coast and I remember my first dinner with the dishes served at the centre, a bowl of rice and a coconut milk. I didn’t know that I was going to pass that colleague everyday for the next 15 years on my way to work. I miss the sound of the dragonflies in the early morning, the recording of the public bus, the nard scent of my neighborhood, and the cleaners who were sweeping the streets and would greet with a smile, gently asking me if I had breakfast.

This morning all those memories come with nostalgia now in the other side of the Pacific, in the Mexican coast. Again, I have left all my life behind and like then, I am ready for a new beginning.

“There is no greater agony than bearing an untold story inside you.”

Maya Angelou

It’s almost 7pm, and I am lying down watching the ventilator spin, sometimes too fast, others slow. I am in a lethargic sleep, unable to move, wondering which should be my route tonight; should I walk through the main street or maybe walk around town and go to the plaza so the dogs don’t get too tired and I can avoid the people traffic. But then, I miss a sunset and that is something I cannot give up so effortlessly, after all, it has been many sunsets I have accumulated in my sunsets bill in a few months, and it is pleasant to sit in the sand, watch the people gathering at the beachfront, and the big dogs walking around. So, after a few minutes of deliberating I decide to hit the main street and go to the beach. It still sunny, a transparent sky and I pass by all sorts of people lingering: surfers, newly wed couples, girlfriends, kids trying to fish and of course the single and desolate. We all wait for the big sun to go down and melt with the blue waves in a marriage that last only seconds and we clapped as we have never seen the sky before like children gathered to see a wonder.

Walking on sand can be liberating, it tickles all those stiff points where your feet were hurting, too much stress, too much pain, too much weight, Women all around the world pay ridiculous amounts of money to feel that texture in a spa treatment, but if you are lucky, you find yourself at the beach where all these little crystals are free. Everyone and everything is free, your entrance ticket gives you unlimited access to the sand, sun, margaritas, sunbeds, waiters with the exotic accent, all the things you wouldn’t see at home. When I walk by, I often hear some tourist saying, “I could stay here forever”, “All I need is tequila and this paradise” and before I could relate. I used to say the same, what an irony now, being unable to enjoy it, or even grasp the taste of a good sip of wine or a good meal. How far I am from being that girl who used to be happy at the beach. I can barely drag myself out of bed to walk the beach for another sunset.

After so many years of traveling and drinking cheap Prossecco, I thought I had figured it all out and I was willing to live “a simple life”; the dream we envision when we are fed up with work, the lifestyle that will give us enough time to do everything that we couldn’t do earlier. Whereas life has always other plans and will take us to other roads.