the weird things you ask for

I´m calling you to ask for a weird thing, a voice on the other side of the line said. It was a friend of mine whose name is Dani. Nothing surprises me coming from Dani. I do not know if last time we met I told you I was with a woman who has a child, he carried on. No, but it doesn't surprise me either. One is certain that everything is healed when someone whom you have loved very much says something like that and your guts do not churn over. I believe my heart is placed very near my stomach.

Go on, I replied. We were talking the other night and she asked me if I had a friend called Monica. Yes, I answered. Has she been travelling around? Yes, I answered again. Has she suffered from Dengue Fever? Yes. Does she have a blog with a really bizarre title? Yes. It's amazing!! I read that blog regularly, it's the only blog I really like, she confessed to him.

While Dani was relating all this number of unbelievable coincidences strung together by the magic of life, I couldn't see his point. First, I thought, due to my melodramatic nature, that his friend was a doctor and she had discovered that the type of Dengue virus that I was infected with had a strange mutation and I had to go under an immediate medical test. Then, I thought she might have been an editor willing to publish my writings about India because of the poetry my paragraphs ooze away. Later, I simply waited for a neon sign revealing the purpose of this phone call.

I´m calling you to know if you would like to meet her. There it was, the goal of the conversation. Eyes wide open. Laughs. I'm flattered. Words. Where are my words? Silence. Coooool! I managed to utter although I was thinking there's not too much to know about me. Thinking that reality needs to keep its secrets in order to leave a little bit of room for fantasy and reverie, that´s why I prefer words to images, they leave room enough for my imagination.

She says she doesn't want to keep on reading your blog because now that she knows it´s you she feels she´s invading your privacy. NO! Tell her not to quit reading! I told him. Vanity is a mighty emotion. If it´s written here it´s not private, it might be intimate but definitely not private. Think it over, he hung up on me.

After my first reactions I ended up thinking What am I going to explain or say if I ever meet her? I do not write with a definite goal nor purpose. I write because I need it. I think too slow that´s why I express myself better writing than speaking. All that it is written here is me but I am more than this. All that is written here is my ancient I, my past, it´s gone. All that is written here is part of my story but it´s not the whole story. All that is written here is just a point of view.