Walked into my apartment and felt my way through the dark to the light-switch in the kitchen. A wind blew the curtains of the open window filling the space with it's temporary coolness and as I stood in the dim living room, I could still feel my heart pumping and the twitch of blood surging to my muscles after running.
Walking back from the English bar after two glasses of rioja and an embarassing loss at trivia, I suddenly had this desire just to run. It has been ages since I last ran but there was something in an unexpected breeze interrupting the August heat that made me want to run. So I took off down the street, passing bars with people still spilling onto the sidewalk. I don't know if they noticed me or not. I meditated on the flip-flopping sound of my sandals clapping on the pavement, flying from the lively nocturnal streets of Malasana to the peaceful, pijo, posh neighborhood of barrio Salamanca, where the streets are wide and perfectly perpendicular and there's hardly a soul out after mid-night. This was not my city. Than what was? I reflected on the streets of Manila, remembering how the tangled roots of the trees along the sidewalk had grown and cracked the pavement creating deep, black crevices. The heat there was heavier than this, with breezes far sparser and stillness more complete. That wasn't my home either, but more than this, and I guess what I'm trying to realize is that home is only inside of me... But I keep on running.
I came to the intersection of a big street and though the light said, "don't walk" the on-coming traffic seemed far enough away for me to make it across, maybe. Oh well, I thought and broke into a sprint. The cars came much faster than I'd expected and just reaching the otherside, I felt a quick rush of adrenaline as the driver of the car closest to me laid his hand on the horn.
Then, on one corner of my quiet neighborhood, stand two benches, and no matter what day of the week I pass them or how vacant the rest of the city seems in summer, there are always people sitting there, sisters having a chat heart-to-heart or lovers exchanging saliva. Tonight there were three men seated on each, each with a laptop in his lap, looking like a mid-night office with no over-head. I smiled at the oddity of the scene as I passed and one of them shouted after, "Hola! Thanks for similing!"
I reached my door, heart pumping, blood rushing to my finger-tips and toes. Farewell, Madrid. Until another time. Yet another city I have to make peace with (but really just have to make peace with myself).
