L'amour a tout les droits

It's been three days in a row writing about things of my past; I am afraid that you get tired of it, but so sorry, I have another story more of the type for tonight. Ok, I promise, tomorrow it will be something different.

Exactly 8 years ago, on March 7, 2003 I defended my final project "Expansion and optimization of the ClO2 mill in the ENCE cellulose factory of Navia, Asturias". The exam lasted a little above an hour and after that, I was officially entitled to the title of Chemical Engineer, BS. Eight years: time goes by fast and unmerciful.

It took me a while to finish the project, you know. I seemed not to find the momentum, no energy whatsoever. I believe that a year back nobody except me was believing myself capable of finishing. I completed the calculations, the writing, the administrative process with my stomach; or rather, with my intestines, such was the big piece of shit I gave birth to.

A friend, L., whom I met in the University choir, someone about 15 years my senior, gave me as a present a CD by Ismael Lo. Pedro Almodovar used one of his songs for one of his movies. I really liked at the time the beautiful L'amour a tout les droits. Still like it; it is a beautiful song. Just look for it and listen to it on the internet. I am doing so over an over while I write this. Bertie is falling asleep on my lap. "I finish my PhD (in Geology) 15 years ago, the same day... Well, tomorrow, the 8th of March, International Day of the Working Woman".

After that day and during the following months, I became ready to go to the States. The gripped years of the project were suffocating, the atmosphere choking, the environment, quite rarefied. And still, had my little, guilty pleasures, my rebel causes and battles, my "outlaw" memories. But when I finished, I felt alive and fresh. Those were the days of the War on Iraq; I guess I was one of the two or three in the Universe actually in favor to it, on the side of the US. (You are to be account responsible for that, dear AMF). I looked in shock to the demonstrations of hypocrisy and stupidity of half of the world, the UNO, EU, the newspapers, the TV, the people, everyone. The University of Salamanca did something and I was asked to read a poem by Alberti, La Paloma or something, a (disgusting) bird, anyhow, with a mind too confused. Surprisingly, I said no... Alberti! Come on! Stalinist, communist and he had a thing for little kids... Is that right? Too much of a irremediable sinner... Well, ok, let's take Cayo Bermudez, one of the characters of Vargas Llosa, rule: never attack people on their vices.

Those were the times of Garufa Teatro, A., F., S. JAHS, of course. Oh, my friend V., and that trip to La Alberca, 10 people in two vehicles. How many times did we add water to J's car and push it back to start? Those were the times of L'amour having tout les droits; the times of C. taking advantage of it and cooling my heart below the brittle temperature; left me dry and frozen up like submerged in a bucket of liquid nitrogen.

8 years, boy... Hard to believe.

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