Mi viaje a Japón - 2016

Me había propuesto ir describiendo mis experiencias a medida que se fueran sucediendo, pero mi estilo flemático (o más bien mi dificultad para verbalizar el aquí y ahora) finalmente pudo más. Tuvieron que pasar casi tres meses para que no pudiera soportar más el sentimiento de inutilidad que me embargaba al pensar que no devolvía al mundo nada de lo que me estaba dando y decidiera empezar a intentarlo.

No estoy segura de poder mantener o de desear un orden cronológico en los relatos, aunque probablemente el inicio coincida con las primeras etapas del viaje; seguramente en algún momento me volcaré a propuestas temáticas, tales como red ferroviaria, baños e higiene, comunicaciones electrónicas (o su falta), o las que los recuerdos me vayan sugiriendo.

Todo comenzó con una llamada de Matías; hacía unos días que había partido de Argentina, después de una visita que, como de costumbre, me resultó extremadamente corta. Yo estaba viajando hacia un seminario de aikido en Buenos Aires, y su llamada me dejó como flotando entre dos dimensiones. El mensaje fue escueto: “¿Qué te parece si a fin de año nos encontramos en Japón?”.

Cierto es que hacía un tiempo veníamos hablando de volver a encontrarnos hacia fin de año, en Europa, donde él vive; pero era un proyecto bastante vago, sin demasiados detalles. Encontrarme de pronto enfrentada a un plan concreto, tangible, que había que afrontar tanto desde lo organizativo como desde lo económico, era otra cosa. Tardé un rato en reaccionar, para finalmente decidirme por un contundente “sí”. Después vería cómo me las arreglaría para financiar el viaje, lo importante era poder visitar junto con él ese lugar tan metido en nuestra propia historia.

Debo confesar que junto con los enormes deseos de emprender este viaje también me invadieron miedos y angustias: ansiedad por la inminente confrontación entre mis recuerdos y la realidad; ansiedad también por saber si todo lo que yo creía haber aprendido del idioma podría sostenerse o se derrumbaría como trozos de cartón. Ansiedad también respecto de mi capacidad de seguirle el ritmo a Matías, y lograr que el viaje sea una experiencia que nos llene de buenos recuerdos. Y por un detalle del que no tomé conciencia hasta que no principió la travesía: hacía más de una década que había hecho mi último viaje internacional, y estaba totalmente desactualizada en cuanto a los usos y costumbres aeroportuarios - sin contar con que mi experiencia al respecto tampoco era abundante. Me costó darme cuenta de cuestiones como las de ir haciendo el seguimiento del programa de viaje a través de las respectivas páginas web, o estar atenta a los diferentes tiempos y requisitos exigidos para cada tramo, no asustarme por el largo tiempo de viaje en cada tramo o los tiempos de espera en los aeropuertos, descubrir que entre la terminal de arribo y la de partida del tramo siguiente podía haber mucho más de diez minutos de caminata.... Por suerte durante todos esos preparativos conté con la experiencia de Matías, que me fue guiando y orientando, lo que finalmente redundó en una excelente y confortable travesía, sin sorpresas, sin imprevistos.

mientras espero el avión hacia San Pablo...

Salí de Bariloche un domingo de mediados de octubre, el martes siguiente abordé el primero de los tres aviones que me llevarían al destino, en un primer tramo corto de algo más de 2 horas, saltando desde Buenos Aires a San Pablo. Llegué temprano al aeropuerto, y aproveché para mirarlo con ojos de turista. Aunque eso no evitó que más tarde me llevara mi primera sorpresa -que no debió haber sido tal-, laque casi me lleva a pasarme del horario de embarque: el abordaje de la nave era por el sector internacional, en lugar del habitual de los vuelos locales; ese sector que en cada viaje de vuelta hacia Bariloche me preguntaba hacia dónde conducía. Después me reía de mí misma, dándome cuenta que, claro, estaba iniciando, justamente, un vuelo internacional!

cielos optimistas

Llegando a San Pablo

Un aeropuerto poco práctico el de San Pablo, algo antiguo, con un sistema de sonido que sospecho debe resultar difícil de entender hasta para un local, ya que se oía mucho ruido eléctrico y las palabras como empastadas. Fue un poco complicado estar atenta al próximo vuelo, me puse un poco ansiosa, pero el tiempo pasó relativamente rápido y lo abordé sin problemas. O más bien debería decir que lo abordé sorprendida. Sorprendida por la enorme diferencia de servicio entre el que acababa de dejar y el que iniciaba, la que se notaba ya desde el mismo momento de abordar. Obviamente, al ser una máquina mucho más grande, también requería más personal; eso no debió haberme sorprendido. Pero sí fue notable la diferencia de calidades en el aire dentro del avión, en los tapizados, en el confort de los asientos, en la profesionalidad del personal de a bordo.

Eurasian Sensation: The complicated history of the song "Sukiyaki"

Buscando la letra de una bellísima canción cuyo título puede traducirse más o menos como "Camino mirando hacia el cielo", y extremadamente perpleja por el nombre con que la divulgaron en Estados Unidos, me encontré con este post, que no sólo cuenta la historia de la canción sino que además trae varias versiones, algunas bastante bizarras:
Eurasian Sensation: The complicated history of the song "Sukiyaki": This is about the power of a beautiful melody to transcend the language barrier, and how a Japanese pop song somehow conquered the world num...

31/12/2013

Continuando con las reflexiones que me despierta el mirar las novelas coreanas que recientemente descubrí¹, quiero hablar hoy de “City Hunter” (“시티헌터”),que terminé de ver ayer. Mucha acción con reminiscencias de Batman, incluído el contrapunto con el funcionario legalista casi a ultranza, y con toques de Bruce Lee. Presentarla de esta manera, sin embargo, aunque sintetiza bastante lo que puede esperarse en la línea argumental, no refleja la fuerza con que puede atrapar esta obra.

La historia ha sido repetida hasta más no poder en todos los tonos posibles, por lo que podría pensarse que no hay nada nuevo ni original para decir al respecto. Ésto es probablemente así; sin embargo, en vista que no decae el interés por el mensaje, parece interesante preguntarse por qué ocurre eso. Y probablemente la respuesta sea que tanto la problemática que plantean estas historias como los deseos de una solución que revitalice los valores de Justicia y Equidad sean universales e intemporales; valores a los que podríamos sumar cualidades relacionadas con la tenacidad, persistencia, sacrificio y deseos de efectividad dirigidos a realizar esos valores.

Además de estar bien escrita, bien actuada, con escenas de acción visualmente interesantes, el contexto en que se mueve City Hunter puede muy fácilmente percibirse como realista, o por lo menos como concordante con la percepción generalizada respecto de la corrupción de alto nivel. Lo que ocurre en lo que sería el tiempo actual de la historia uno bien podría imaginárselo en cualquier país; los hechos que la desencadenan, si bien a primera vista podrían parecer exagerados, tampoco sorprenden después de haber leído historia universal o, más modernamente, las investigaciones de Bamford sobre la NSA^{2 3} y las noticias mundiales.

Se trata de un tipo de historias que a la vez que reflejar problemáticas y búsquedas que parecen ser universales, también provocan un cuestionamiento de las propias creencias y valores, haciendo que uno se pregunte hasta qué punto pueden sostenerse esos valores.

Como persona formada en la búsqueda de la Justicia y habiendo podido ver de cerca el funcionamiento de algunas instituciones de gobierno, este último es un interrogante que me he hecho infinidad de veces, preguntándome si realmente es posbile luchar por realizar una sociedad más justa y equitativa sin caer en las mismas prácticas que se condenan.

La pregunta que se hace el fiscal en el último capítulo (o el penúltimo, ahora no recuerdo bien) sobre la efectividad comparativa de los métodos legales e ilegales -con la casi admisión de que sólo estos últimos pueden erradicar la corrupción o, en términos más generales, la delincuencia organizada-, o la aseveración del Presidente justificando el uso de sobornos para lograr la aprobación de una ley reclamada por todo el pueblo, son muy duras de enfrentar, porque tanto lo que el fiscal termina admitiendo como lo que el Presidente asegura flotan inexorablemente frente a nuestros ojos cada vez que nos hacemos la misma pregunta. Lo cual nos lleva a otra pregunta: si necesitamos recurrir a esos métodos, ¿no nos transformamos en lo mismo que tratamos de erradicar?

Quizás aquí también esté la respuesta de por qué, según otra percepción generalizada, las personas que podrían considerase más aptas suelen rehuir las funciones públicas, incapaces de enfrentar esa contradicción.⁴ 

 

Quizás esa sea también la causa de la reiteración de estas temáticas, una necesidad de dar vida a la necesidad de cambio. Me gustaría como reflexión final citar aquí un par de frases atribuídas a Tarkovsky:

"... la crisis espiritual genera la necesidad de encontrarse a sí mismo. Es a través de ella que la curación puede producirse" y  que "La función del arte es modelar el alma humana haciéndola receptiva al bien. Una gran obra es multifacética e indefinida como la vida en sí misma. El autor no puede fiarse de que su obra haya sido entendida de una manera en particular y de acuerdo a su propia percepción de ella. Lo único que él puede hacer es presentar su propia imagen del mundo para que la gente pueda verla a través de sus ojos, y llenarse con sus sentimientos, dudas y pensamientos" (citado por la Lic. Ana Silvia Karacic en un artículo sobre la simbología de Tarkovsky)

1 Llamarlas telenovelas me resulta un poco difícil, es éste un concepto que despierta en mi mente matices tan degradantes que no quiero aplicarlos a estas series, aunque tengan tantos de los elementos que definen al género

2http://www.amazon.com/Body-Secrets-Ultra-Secret-National-Security/dp/0385499086

3http://www.newyorker.com/online/blogs/books/2013/06/the-nsas-chief-chronicler.html, v. También https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/James_Bamford

4A título informativo, según Transparency Internacional, el nivel de corrupción percibido en la República de Corea del Sur es muchísimo menor que el percibido respecto de Argentina, rankeando Corea en el lugar número 46/177 de los países menos corrputos, mientras que Argentina rankea 106/177.

Algunos pensamientos motivados por tele-novelas coreanas

En los últimos meses miré algunas novelas coreanas, 4 o 5, prácticamente sin solución de continuidad. Todas me resultaron sumamente adictivas, al punto de pasarme la trasnoche mirando un capítulo tras otro hasta completarlas, algunas incluso las he visto por segunda vez y repetido algunas escenas o capítulos por tercera o cuarta vez. Casi no logro despegar mis pensamientos de lo que va sucediendo en cada una de ellas, admirando la capacidad de los guionistas para transmitir múltiples historias de vida y la calidad de todos y cada uno de los actores que les dan vida.

Sin embargo, pese a que ocupan mi mente y mi alma en una forma tan tenaz, hay algo en ellas que me llena de inquietud, por momentos zozobra, y que pareciera ser la causa de tener que mirar una y otra vez algunas de las escenas. Cada vez que llego al final, algo me falta, o quizás me sobra; en la mayoría de ellas he encontrado que hacia la mitad de los capítulos o poco más allá se producen ciertos momentos culminantes con los que la obra cerraría muy satisfactoriamente; sin embargo, no terminan ahí las desventuras de la pareja protagónica y/o de sus companieros, quienes a pesar de haber superado los obstáculos que hasta el momento se oponían al progreso de lo que traían entre manos, deben enfrentarse nuevamente a otros obstáculos imprevistos o imprevisibles y siempre, indefectiblemente, dejar en el camino algo de gran valor; algo que no parece ocurrir en las novelas argentinas o, para el caso, otras latinoamericanas que he visto. Después de pensar bastante sobre las causas de la desazón que me invadía en cada final, me pareció darme cuenta de ésto que acabo de comentar. Es como si el público coreano o asiático no pudiera percibir como creíble que alguien pueda obtener satisfacción total a su búsqueda, y que más bien siempre se trata de elecciones difíciles, sin posibilidad de escapar al sacrificio o entrega de algo preciado. Quien quiere libertad no puede tener reconocimiento, quien quiere amor no puede competir en el mundo de los negocios, quien necesita el control de una compania debe renunciar al amor....

Después de escribir lo que antecede, me quedé pensando si realmente se aplicaban esas conclusiones a todas las que ví, y en rigor pareciera que sólo a una porción de ellas. A ver, recapitulemos...

La primera que ví fue la de la mujer que tras un accidente pierde sus recuerdos de los últimos 10 años (“18 vs. 29”). En ella no parece que sus protagonistas deban renunciar a nada esencial en el camino de su crecimiento, al contrario, recuperan algo que habían perdido (su amor y la memoria) mientras crecen en el proceso de búsqueda.

Luego siguió la del 1% (“1% of Anything”), donde también parece que ganan sin perder nada esencial.

Luego, “PersonalTaste”; los protagonistas decididamente ganan. Aunque en el camino deben enfrentarse a heridas antiguas tan profundas que uno se pregunta si alguna vez podrán desaparecer sus marcas. Y quienes los rodean también van revelando quiebres y heridas producidas en sus relaciones más íntimas, que hacen preguntarse cómo hizo la persona para llegar hasta allí.

Después, un crescendo de intensidad emocional. En “Faith” tuve que enfrentarme nuevamente a mis propios recuerdos, el dolor lacerante de la separación del gran amor, la incertidumbre sobre el futuro de la propia salud emocional. Allí los protagonistas finalmente se re-encuentran, pero deben entregar algo imposible de recuperar: tiempo, pedazos del alma.

En “The Heirs” también, como probablemente corresponde al género, los protagonistas sortean los obstáculos; pero el final si bien en apariencia es optimista, deja flotando una cierta inquietud sobre el posible desarrollo ulterior (qué garantiza que el protagonista masculino no deba enfrentarse a la misma elección y las mismas presiones casi de vida o muerte que su hermano, dentro de 10 años?); y aunque esta inquietud sea apenas perceptible y casi negligible, en vista que él ya la hizo durante el desarrollo de la novela, eso tampoco nos deja tranquilos, porque en al darnos cuenta de ésto nos damos cuenta de la enormidad de la soledad que hace su presa de casi todos los que rodean a los protagonistas, y de cómo su sacrificio al abrazar dicha soledad hace posible el desenlace auspicioso para la pareja principal.

El modo cómo apenas podía sacar de mi mente la imagen de Won (“The Heirs”) que elige renunciar al amor para conservar su empresa y con eso entrar a sabiendas en una eterna soledad, me hizo darme cuenta que ésto es lo que no logro superar, la conexión que se produce con aquellos personajes que pese a tenerlo casi todo, carecen de lo más esencial: amor en cualquiera de sus formas. Visto desde una perspectiva tradicional, la elección de Won parece egoísta y materialista. Un análisis un poco más profundo nos permite ver que su elección salvó a los protagonistas y les dió el aire que necesitaban para sobrevivir y desarrollar su amor, ya que si Won no hubiera renunciado a un amor que se había prometido llevar adelante, su hermano y la madre de su hermano hubieran prácticamente desaparecido sin posibilidad alguna de sostenerse por sus medios.

¿Cómo se traslada este sentimiento a “Faith”? Allí también podemos hablar de soledad. La soledad de la protagonista femenina cuando debe entrar una y otra vez al portal que la conduce por el tiempo, no sabiendo nunca a qué época la llevará, encontrar que superó los más grandes obstáculos para encontrarse de pronto llevada por un ventarrón del destino hacia una época que no era la suya y que tampoco era la que había elegido en su corazón; que se hace presente también en el protagonista masculino, cuando después de sostener en sus brazos para siempre al objeto de su amor, éste le es arrancado por ese mismo ventarrón, con una incertidumbre total sobre si alguna vez lograrán re-encontrarse... Sin hablar de la soledad y las heridas que se vislumbran en el antagonista, con quien uno no puede menos que solidarizarse en ciertos momentos, y en los restantes personajes.

Soledad y falta de amor que se hacen también  presentes en “Personal Taste” y “1% of Anything” y, aunque con otros matices, en “18 vs 29”.

Creo que ésto lo que me perturba de este sub-género, la presencia tangible de una soledad existencial, que me hace preguntarme cómo vive la gente en ese país, si las relaciones afectivas son allí un lujo que casi nadie puede darse.  

Acerca de algunos tests usados para entrevistas laborales

Hoy me levanté retrospetiva, y recordé un test que me tomaron en una oportunidad para hacerme una evaluación laboral. Si bien no fue el único test que aplicaron, es el que más recuerdo por la sensación de incongruencia que despertó en mí y porque desde entonces tuve la sensación que fue lo que allí ocurrió lo que condujo a que la entrevistadora concluyera que no estaba capacitada para hacer el trabajo que venía haciendo hacía 5 años sin quejas de mis jefes, que más bien me elogiaban bastante.

La pregunta era qué animal me gustaría ser si no fuera una persona, y cuando contesté que no se me ocurría ninguno porque me gustaba mucho ser persona me dijeron que tenía necesariamente que elegir un animal. Entonces contesté que se me ocurrían muchos, y me respondieron que tenía que elegir uno solo. 

Me pareció muy ridículo que me obligaran a elegir alguno así al voleo, sin contexto alguno, como si en toda mi vida no hubiera hecho otra cosa que esperar un pase mágico para dejar de ser persona y convertirme en animal; y que por otra parte se invalidara mi capacidad de selección basada en criterios para exigirme que eligiera al tuntun, sólo porque si y sin base alguna.

Evidentemente, cada animal tiene características que lo hacen sumamente apto para los desafíos que encuentra, pero que probablemente no le sirvan si se enfrenta a otros contextos. Por ejemplo, un pingüino o un delfín sobrepasan a muchos otros animales en el contexto acuático mientras que sería dudosa o directamente imposible su supervivencia en un contexto terráqueo (e, hilando más fino, uno sobrevive a las mil maravillas en el frío polar mientras que el otro probablemente moriría); por lo que, de tener que elegir convertirme en un animal seguramente lo haría en función de la problemática concreta que debiera resolver. Si necesitara correr velozmente, probablemente un caballo o un puma, si necesitara volar algún ave, si necesitara nadar algún animal marino, y así sucesivamente...

Entonces la pregunta que se me ocurre es qué busca concretamente diagnosticar un test así.

Quizás yo sea una persona muy rayada e inepta para la vida laboral y en sociedad -suponiendo que esa detección sea lo que se encuentra tras el test-, aunque si a mis 58 años he logrado criar hijos que son excelentes personas, muy creativos y que saben sostenerse sobre sus pies, no creo haberlo hecho tan mal....

Algunas muestras

Últimamente no he logrado escribir mucho, apenas algunas revisiones de lo que ya tenía escrito. Lo rearmo, lo doy vuelta, empecé a traducirlo, pero no logro avanzar en la historia, sólo algunas escenas bastante inconexas. Mi alma aletea estos días entre la música y la pintura digital, para las que tampoco encuentro el tiempo suficiente ni la concentración necesaria para dar los acabados finales, todo queda en amagues...
Pero como es lo único en lo que he logrado algunos avances fuera de la producción estrictamente laboral, quiero compartirlo por acá, quizás al 'sacarlo a la luz' logre mirarlo de una manera que me permita completarlos.
Los primeros muestran la evolución de una figura hecha con  blender para completar parte de lo que estoy escribiendo; la última figura de blender representa otro de los personajes, aunque en la práctica resulta un poco difícil diferenciarla de la primera.

Seguidamente, un vaso hecho a partir de un tutorial:

A continuación, algunas cosas hechas con gimp, experimentando con acuarelados:

Thank you

I wish to thank all of you who kindly read my last posts, putting up with my faulty English, and gave feedback, which was really very valuable. I  am now going to take some distance from this blog, or at least from the musings on other possible developments of my life, although I might occasionally publish whatever thoughts that upcoming events arise.

Regarding the current musings I have enjoyed them a lot; I am not ditching them, it's just that they led me in a different direction. In this regard, they fulfilled their original purpose, which was to get a better glimpse of what I wanted in life. In fact, they gave me much more than this, since I will be using some of its material for a project I am working on right now, which I hope to be able to share with an audience in a while. 

For the time being, I would like to heartily thank all of you again for your patience, as well as the author of the books that set these musings going, Stephenie Meyer, for giving me a new perspective; and, of course, The Free Dictionary, for making it possible for me to communicate in a language that is not my native one.

More on the interleaved alternate futures: trying a new perspective

There is a while since I last wrote on the alternate futures I wanted to consider. Even though I had some material written, it did not seem ready for posting and I could not concentrate enough to go over it. While in Buenos Aires I was overwhelmed by the many threads that unfold themselves before me; afterwards, I had to catch up with work I had been postponing... so in neither case I was in the mood for posting but the little things related to my visit to the Teatro Colón.
My last post on the alternate futures explored the possibility of going into the advertising industry, if you remember. I also hinted that I wanted to do theatrical costuming, but was not sure of it as a feasible way to make a living.
After reading it again, I noticed that even while imagining other ways, another possible futures, I could not avoid compromising, straying away from the things I would want the most towards what I imagine to be more acceptable by society at large, dulling my inner yearnings to an extent that practically ensures boredom. Why is it that even in an imaginary world, where theoretically anything would be possible, I do divert from the things that would give me most pleasure? I cannot help but asking if they really would. Or is it rather that I want to believe they would but in fact I'm afraid they'll lose the magic they hold for me? Do they seem magical to me because of an inner call or solely because they are the opposite of what is familiar?

As a matter of fact, it is very hard for me to imagine other possible outcomes than the one which really took place. It is as if with all the ups and downs of the life I really lived, it was the one and only possible way; on the other hand, we know with a great degree of certainty that present circumstances are shaped by previous decisions. Until recently, I strongly believed that the only sensible development for my life was the one that led me to this place; the wonderful scenery of the Patagonian foothills, with their impressive and steep mountains and green and red forests surrounding a big and icy lake, did a lot to ease my Japan-nostalgia, I became -or so I felt- a much wholer being. But now I am also beginning to question these assumptions in spite of the fact that I can hardly picture myself in the long run in any situation that might differ drastically from the one I consciously lived. Maybe we are bound to see univocal realities.....

I wonder if I had really enjoy a career in advertising the way I tried to sketch it in the previous post. Would it be artistic enough for me? Would I have been artistic enough for it? On a more personal level, would I have married? Would I have had other children? It might seem odd to mix those to levels, professional and personal fulfillment, but what I now know for certain is that both are so much a part of me that it would never suffice to attain perfection on any one of them if the other were to be absent.

On the personal, emotional level, I wanted my son very much to have a father and siblings that shared their games with him, to have a family; the men I had met until a few months I left for the South weren't much into it. I hadn't met the right ones, obviously; but I wonder if I would have seen the right man, even if he was standing right in front of me, or if I would be able to meet him under different circumstances.

It is interesting to see how much I was then torn by the same tensions that have been my steady companions: the longing for a quiet, simple life on one hand, and the burning desire to produce something outstandingly important, such as a piece of art or an insightful essay -the medium didn't matter so much- on the other hand.... It is as if I always were not one but many people all at once: a thinker, an artist, a plain homemaker.... craving for attention but at the same time shunning from it. How could any one of these get enough hold of my being to make me able to choose a coherent path, follow it and be content with the decision? When the summer air got thick with the scent of wildflowers and resin and timber, when the fruit got ripe in the trees, I longed for a natural, peasanty way of life; I wanted to be a homemaker creating homemade preserves and cakes and hand-sewn things for my home, I fantasized with hiking and mountaineering -which, by the way, I never mastered. But after a while leading this kind of life, being in charge of cooking, washing, caring for the children and tending to the animals -2 dogs and some chickens- I would get deeply annoyed and wretched by its plainness and would begin looking for something to strain my brain; there was nothing like the power of the flying mind to make me feel alive – until it stuck against the ceiling, much like a butterfly analogy I remember from a reading in my German class. And then it would all begin again.... Two antagonistic forces, two natures constantly colliding, none strong enough to prevail, not able to coexist unless something bonds them, holds them together. Well, the search for that kind of glue is precisely the point behind these convoluted musings...

Regarding marriage, I cannot picture me at all as having married in another alternate life. I'm sure I would have had a couple of relationships, some better and some not so good, maybe some outright bad, but I doubt I would have ever committed myself to any one of them. It seems to me that being able to express myself artistically and loving my child would have been more than enough, or so I would have told myself – thereby hiding the fact that deep inside I was utterly afraid that any relationship I might devote myself to would eventually hamper the flow of my creative energy.

Going back to the story, let's suppose that I got it right for once and that I didn't allow myself to be distracted from what I really wanted. What was it? The costume workshop at the Teatro Colon in Buenos Aires lured me. Wouldn't I be able to afford myself a little time to try it? It is true that I had a son to support and that my mother wasn't able to contribute much by way of money. But she was a loving mother and she adored my child. I had a place to live on. How long would it take to get a paid position at the workshop where I wanted to be? Half a year? One year? Experience told me that positions within government managed institutions -like the above mentioned theater- tended to consolidate themselves after some time; these time spans could range from a few weeks to about a year. Wouldn't I be able to make do for a couple of months, let's say even half a year? Or a full year? I doubt I could have spent a full year totally unpaid. But on the other hand while performing unpaid for work I would be gathering skills and opportunities to show them, no doubt there would be chances for paid services, like, say, other people at other stages needing help.

No doubt that it wouldn't be easy. My mom would get very anxious, I know. I would have to be extremely careful not to let her anxiousness draw on me. I would have to be very strong to prevail in my decision. I would have to be on guard against doubts -other people's and my own- that might undermine my resolve. Well, could I be all that? Watching me in real life this seems like a long shot. But then, the whole point of this discourse is seeing what made me act as I acted and change it. This one here looks as a very good starting point.

I had not always been as fearful and insecure as I eventually got. When I decided to leave for Japan, for instance, I knew my family and especially my mother wouldn't take it easy; the same when some time before I had decided to move alone. But I made both. And it felt great. Liberating. So it seems that I was indeed able to master some degree of resolve and bravery. What changed it? In hindsight, I think that it began subtly while in Japan. Although I remember it as the best time in my life, the one point in time I always wished I could to go back to, it was not at all a rosy time. I wanted to fit in my new society in a way I hadn't felt in my own country (where, by the way, I never actually blended in). But I was at a loss regarding social norms, counting exclusively on the patience of many. Funny, I never saw it this way before; but watching me through the lenses of today I can feel that without noticing I was slowly slipping in the common pattern of adaptation, of trying to guess what was expected from me and be that. Then, while I wanted to stay longer, again quite practically I decided against my wishes and returned to my home country. At that time it seemed like the only sensible decision; I believe still that it was the healthier outcome. But I also see that I have put some sort of blockade on that episode, repressing any adverse feelings it might arise. Back at my former home I folded again into the role of a sometimes nasty but otherwise obedient daughter. Although I consciously denied it, I became wary of the future; I became afraid of so many things: of not being able to support myself and my little baby, of what other people might think of me, of not being a good mother, of letting my little boy down, of a myriad of tiny anguishes all centered around our future. I had developed a Lebensangst that choked my spirits. And I barely noticed.

More on the Teatro Colón from Buenos Aires

Last time I posted about the artistic beauties of the theater as a building; today I would like to share some pictures that hint at the great quality of the workshops, particularly regarding the tailoring one. First, though, a couple of pictures of the building plan as depicted on a board at the park in front of the theater.

General view of the board

A detail of where is what

More on locations

Next, pictures of some of the costumes in exhibition at one of the main halls:

Anne Boley, from the oper Anne Boleyn
by Donizzetti

Henry VIIIth, from the same oper

Prince Kalf, from the oper Turandot
by Puccini

Princess Turandot, from same named oper

Although the pictures are not very good -flashes were forbidden- you can still see the luxurious details in embroidery and cloth; these pieces are quite old and they aren't used any longer, they belong to the theater's Museum.

The Teatro Colón in Buenos Aires

Although I had a plan to post every Friday a new 'chapter' of my alternate futures explorations this had to be somewhat delayed; I was out of town for a week and after my return I had more pressing matters to attend to... So it might take a while to get going again; but before resuming the story, I would like to comment about the Teatro Colón in Buenos Aires, since it plays an important part in the story. It is one of the most renowned opera houses of the world, in par with its european counterparts, and has been visited by many first opera stars, many of whom consider a challenge to sing there, due to its superb acoustics.

There is much to wonder about the theater, things that go beyond the great musical quality of its settings: the massive building, the impressive panels made of tiny bits of stained glass, the paintings at the ceiling, some of them by renowned artists, the marble that greets the visitor almost everywhere; on a more technical side, it is also noted for housing a number of workshops that create everything needed to stage a performance: tailoring, painting, sculpting, carpenter's, make-up, photography and the like; ballet and music school... It is rare in its kind for having all of this in-house.

I was hoping to see the workshops, especially the tailoring one, which occupied a great deal of my thoughts since I was young and will be the subject of some of my musings into a different future; to my disappointment precisely these were closed to the public due to some restoration work they're undergoing; I think I should schedule another visit for a future time, when they open... but it was nevertheless worth every minute of the tour, you'll see.

The main entrance is located at the Libertad St., Nr. 611, it faces a park where sometimes the Colon Orchestra plays free concerts. The building was designed by an Italian architect named Francesco Tamburini; the construction started on May 1890 under his direction until he died next year; it continued under the direction of architect Vittorio Meano, an associate of Tamburini, who made some changes to the original design; but he, too, died long before the building was finished and was followed by the belgian Jules Dormal. All in all, the construction took about 20 years, much longer than initially intended. The full history is here (Spanish) or here in English.

Once inside, everything is really grand. There are marble sculptures lining the stairs, marble paneling the lower half of the inner walls (there are three different colors of marble), heavy velvety curtains, lamps with hundreds of light bulbs, ancient loveseats, a floor made of thousands and thousands of tiny tiles arranged manually in a semicircular pattern... The ceiling has a cupola of stained glass and there are stained glass panels on other parts of the ceiling and on the walls, as windows, all of them incredible beautiful and proof of a great artisanship, since they are made of small pieces of colored glass soldered in place by lead bars; their assembly demanded a great amount of manual work.

The performance hall has an enormous painting by Argentine artist Raúl Soldi given by him as a gift to the theater; he painted 16 canvases that were afterwards affixed at the cupola, 21 m in diameter. A picture can be found at wikipedia.

The theater also houses an original sculpture by german artist Gustav Eberlein, named "The Secret", portraying Cupid and Venus sharing a secret being told by Cupid, of incredible softness.

mari-ogawa
This is a short story I wrote a couple of weeks ago, in Spanish

Exploring new job possibilities

In the 1980's there weren't so many advertising agencies to look for that I was aware of. Let's continue supposing that after any number of visits to big, middle and small agencies I got interviewed at some of them; some would have openings for receptionists, some for salespeople (ew...), some for beginners at the production desks; and still some of them would demand everything combined for a minimum wage. I would have been to be ready to take anything that might remotely link to my new chosen career path, even to take over some all-terrain jobs -which wouldn't seem such a bad idea, since it would be in fact aligned with my desire to learn as fast and as much as I could – if I could manage to live by the meager pay, that is. My mother received a better pension than the average of pensioner, but it was just enough to support her and her growing medical needs; as many people her age -she was 65- she suffered from heart disease, was diabetic and had atherosclerosis, all of which had to be regularly controlled.

I kind of imagine me getting a job as a receptionist at one of the smaller firms; I would really try to endure it a few months in order to meet the significant people and get the opportunity of helping them, thus working my way through till I landed at the designing desks. I have no trouble picturing myself in this sort of situation, it is not that different from the time when as a lawyer for the Bariloche communal government I developed a very good working relationship with the systems people (a field that I was too eager to command, too), getting even to be friends with some of them, which got me everything I needed from that particular area -software or hardware alike- if it was within their range to provide it; that is, almost always. At that time I had no real desire to switch jobs, even if I frequently fantasized about working in networking or as a sysadmin, because the one I was performing was fascinating and had a better pay than the ones I would be able to carry out there; but I believe that if I really wanted to, I would have been able to go over to systems. In this alternate future, with a great desire to switch jobs, it would certainly be the case: with some background preparation I would eventually get to aid at design, maybe at first without changing nominally my status; that would give me some experience while going on with my studies as well. I'd like to think that from then on my career would be steadily uphill, but I cannot honestly be sure about this, since on the other hand would have required a very different personality...

For one, I still barely felt at home in Buenos Aires, my heart still longed for other places, for other sensory experiences: a colder place, the icy touch of snow, the feathery appearance of cherry trees, the chanting sound of Japanese, the distant warmth shown by my various acquaintances, the soapy sweet smell of the o-furo, the full and round flavors of nabe and tonkatsu and yakitoriyas in winter. I hated the heat and the wetness of this rude city... And I still missed my one and only love, not being able to see other men even as temporary surrogates, no matter how desperately I tried. Not the best mood for a career, was it? I don't know if I would have ever overcome these feelings if in the real future I hadn't gone to Bariloche. Supposing that I had, would I have been able to recover my joy for life? Or would I have become a dull and grey person, one of those many people dragging their feet through their life, doing what they assumed the society at large expected, never daring to ask themselves what they really wanted?

On the other hand, I remember that I enjoyed so much my time at the atelier of Mara Sanchez -what a wonderful artist she was-; she made me feel highly motivated; she encouraged me to go on, she even saw some talent in me. When I was at it, I felt again alive. So, maybe it wouldn't have turned out bad, going into graphical advertising. And maybe I would eventually even get to something theatrical, be it regie or costume design, if not as a job, as a hobby. But that, if at all possible, should have to wait. I had a little son whom I loved beyond words -I don't know if he would know, I wasn't very good at showing people how much they mattered to me. That was the case especially with infants; well, I wasn't very fond of infants in general, only my son arouse such awe in me, that everything else seemed unimportant, and I wanted to give him everything. Only, I didn't know how to be around him; I reckon that I wasn't a very good mother, normal things like taking him to the park bored me enormously, I didn't know any games either. Watching that time from the present perspective, I can see that I sort of deemed him some kind of intellectual freak – he being not over 3 years old!- for whom watching cartoons (Thundercats, He-Man and the like), Star Trek and playing with action figures would be the most enjoyable thing to do (well, in fact he did enjoy it). I wanted to get him every possible action figure, funny gadgets and so on, without noticing that he was a little child and he deserved to play and get dirty at the park. Now I can see that I was the freak!

Had I stayed in Buenos Aires, eventually he would have gone to kindergarten and to school there; that would have been a step towards adaptation, if nothing else. It seems safe to assume that in time I would have been forced to notice him more as he really was and less as I imagined him to be... So, maybe all this mess would have turned into something possible, into something real. I, with a job I liked enough, my soul returning slowly to meet my body, my son growing up in a city he liked...

What the Twilight Saga means to me

More than a year ago I watched the first of the Twilight films; it was a lousy copy with a bad translation but it somehow managed to catch my attention. Rob Pattinson's white face and stiff smile were so enticing, that I wasn't able to tell if it was the actor or the character I was attracted to (time showed me that it was, in fact, the character).  I promised myself that I would watch it again as soon as I could lay my hands on a decent copy in the original language. I forgot about it during a while.
Then, at a time when my feelings where all messed up I remembered about the saga; I dismissed my interest as foolish and naïve; I had spent several weeks doing barely more than watching films in search of whatever it was that eluded me, so it would be no surprise that this, too, was an escape. But nonetheless some of it still crept occasionally in my imagination; at the same time I was aware that the films had been an enormous success, drawing fans all over the world. Being it so I began to think that there had to be a reason for this, that the story must somehow speak to an unconscious craving of the spirit; it made me curious enough as to try to decipher what it might be.
I searched for the films -I was decided to postpone watching until I had the complete saga- and then I remembered that it was based on a novel; so I got the four novels AND the partial draft of Midnight Sun. As the character that interested me the most was Edward and I had a rough idea of the events in Twilight proper, I began reading Midnight Sun. It literally blew my mind as I took in the tangle of feelings that twisted Edward, I felt so identified! Of course, with its 264 pages it was not enough, I needed more; I wasn't much for reading Bella's point of view after having been so thoroughly moved by Edwards cogitations but on the other hand I really, really needed to see how it went on, step by step.
This way I spent about a week immersed in my reading, wanting nothing else than going further into the novels, paying as little attention to everyday matters as I could without letting my surroundings collapse, forgetting sometimes even to eat (those who know me will fully understand what this amounts to).
When I was done with the four and a half novels I had to begin again; I didn't seem able to set aside the world of Edward Cullen and his freaky, wonderful family. I was undoubtedly disturbed by this, it didn't seem at all normal to be in such a trance by a teenager-oriented novel or collection of novels; I loathed myself somewhat. But then I remembered what my motivations had been in the first place and found exactly what I was looking for. All the while I was aware of the intense feelings that accompanied each piece of reading, feelings that arouse from far in the past, from a time when I had experienced precisely those same feelings. Feelings that were so overcoming that I had buried most of them in a hollow chest.
They resurfaced with incredible force making me feel alive again. A sudden surge of creativity swept over my whole being, I felt full of energy -even if I spent the most of it on reading until crazy hours-, I had a couple of significant dreams pointing me in an altogether different direction as the one I had been heading to, I felt an urgent need to write about my feelings, about those emotions and events that had led to my present state; I began to practice again the piano excercises that I had long, long ago tried with the deepest pleasure and where as profoundly forgotten as the emotions that where resurfacing...
And then I knew that the value of Twilight does not lie on the story itself but on the way it expresses and manipulates feelings. The plain story might be construed as a rather shabby description of an abusive relationship; but there is more, much more to it; but the most important contribution of the novel can only be acquired -as far as I conceive it- when one sees it as a description of internal processes, of an eternal struggle between opposing poles, between the forces of nature and of the intellect, all pursuing a higher conscience. With that in view, the human girl might represent the barely conscious everyday mind that tries to blend in all the archaic elements of nature (the sun, the beach, the heat) with the distant elements construed by the intellect (the cold, the overthinking, the restraint), making an unbeatable whole where body, soul and mind are all one.
So, summing up, I am really grateful to the novels and their author for giving me one more chance to rethink my life. Finally, I would like to comment that I found at least one other person that made a similar reading raid, who finished all the four books in a week and had to start again as soon as she finished. Her account is here; she justified her second pass telling herself that she was analyzing the writing technique; I told myself that I was improving my English. But all in all, we seem to have fared quite similarly in that respect ;)

Interleaved alternate futures - 2nd. part

In the previous post I toyed with the idea of imagining an alternate future where I stayed in Buenos Aires instead of moving to Bariloche, trying to figure out what would have happened if I had decided differently. To do this I tried to sum up the state of mind I was in at that time.

In this post I will go on from that point, assuming that I decided against relocating...

“No, I don't want to leave. My mom needs me, my son needs my mom”, would have been the responsible attitude. I still struggled to find a job; I still recoiled at the idea of working at a lawyer's office. I wanted to be an artist; or rather, an artist with scissors, although anything graphical suited me; I wanted to design clothes, I even designed a rather funny looking raincoat, which I obviously was unable to sell. Being this so, relocating to some distant place where there would be apparently more opportunities and also a loose family web as my would be husband suggested didn't seem to be such a bad idea, which is why -among other reasons- in the real world I moved.

If I had instead stayed in Buenos Aires, I would have surely begun to look for jobs in some branch related to my new interests to meet the need of a steady income. I had no experience whatsoever in the clothing industry, so I knew that at most I would only be able to get beginner's jobs at any workshop; and even those wouldn't be guaranteed, since there were many people more suited to them and more in need than I was.

Working as independent designer was out of the question, I knew no one in the industry and even if my designs where sellable -which they were not by a long shot-, nobody would have known; getting past those limitations would mean a great deal of time and investment, which at that time I couldn't afford. So maybe I would be able to get some job at a factory --ew-- and from there on get trained and eventually go to design. Not very realistic, it seemed... Better start looking another direction.

Would I have been strong enough to go through what made me happy but was really hard to do? I don't believe so; but let's suppose for a moment that I was. I wanted badly to go artistic. Designing clothes would be one possibility; designing theater clothing would rank first place in my list. After being shown that there existed something like costume design by a talk held by Roberto Oswald & Anibal Lapiz for the Graphical Design students -at that time a branch from the Architecture Faculty- explaining their respective jobs as scenographer and costume designer for the Teatro Colon opera theater, I liked to picture myself as an apprentice at its costume workshop, led by Mr. Lapiz himself. I still remember how the talk made me feel, it sent my heart thudding as if I were flying! The apprenticeship thing would mean no money and a lot of work but would have as an advantage that I would be swirling around so many fascinating materials – leather, plastic, an unbelievable amount of fancy cloth and designs and whatever Mr. Lapiz might come across!

I was deeply moved by the possibilities luring in that talk, feeling immediately that it was what I most wanted to do for a living. It's a pity that I never made it to the end with that student year nor tried earnestly to apply for an apprenticeship, it might have changed things...

Had I held my own then, things might have fared differently. But it was no easy thing to do. That must have been around 1986, the last year I worked at the Senate. I was getting more and more anxious about my next job; I was pretty sure that one wouldn't last past the end of the year and that I also didn't want to have much to do with politics (this seems to be a repetitive pattern, I'd say: trying to push myself off government affairs but at the same time being attracted to them like they were a magnet, as noted previously....)

Anyway, returning to that specific point in time... I had decided that failing the apprenticeship thing I had fantasized about I would like to make a living in some field related to visual arts; I had been attending an atelier, and I found I had some talent. That year I had begun the Graphical Design studies. It was not easy to keep up with it, since I still had to take care of my duties at the Senate, which weren't enormously complicated but involved strange working hours, and I wanted to take care of my son, too, who at the time was barely 3 years old; sometimes also of my mother, who was aging and not too healthy; on top of it all I didn't want to leave my Aikido practice...

Would I have been able to do it? Mmmmm, it's rather tricky to imagine the situation... Usually my fellow students got on my nerves - “I can't stand it any more, these barely-out-of-school teenagers!” -I was 31 at the time- was a recurrent resentful thought as I tried to complete my assignments in the first of our introductory courses. Remembering that I had so little time left over and that I didn't particularly like drawing squares, they really irritated me with their babbling and petty tensions that led nowhere. It was rather difficult to grasp exactly what was expected from us, why we should repeat once and again squares and rhomboids and triangles and figure thousands of different graphic textures – I wanted to paint!! Well, in fact the reason of the assignments was quite obvious, but still I rejected them.

The teacher wasn't very helpful either, she gave the assignments without much explaining nor giving us other material to compare. “I will stand it, I will make it to the end”, I repeated myself every time I lost my patience; as it turned out, I could not manage it. What if I had been able to put away all the non-essentials that bothered me so much and made it through that course?

It would be fairly reasonable to expect that I would limit my different activities somehow, not without feeling some guilt; for instance, as my distant possibilities at making my job at the Senate permanent steadily fade away, I would try to have a more normal schedule at work instead of the one from 8:00 a.m to 11:00 pm with breaks I had been doing up to then; maybe I would also try to content myself with doing just what was specifically asked for without trying to give much more. It would also be necessary to quit my Aikido practice or at least diminish a lot the time I devoted to it, since the assignments would become increasingly demanding; if I could make it through the whole of the 1^st year introductory courses I would be well on my way to start studying the real thing – or so I should believe.

Although I would try to be accepted at the theater costume workshop, I can hardly imagine that it would be possible. But on the other hand I figure that if I managed to get through the whole introductory course at Graphical Design it would have given me some skills to use in order to look for a new job, probably in graphical advertising. I would have begun my search even before the end of the term, throwing CVs onto the prospective employers' desks. I would have to be extremely careful to hide some of my skills, since nobody wanted overly competent employees; as it has been and to some extent still is the norm, businesses want people with just enough skills to fulfill their duties, disregarding those with additional abilities. It might be okay to state that I could communicate both in English and German as well as my native Spanish, may be it would be also okay to hint at my most basic Japanese skills; but it would definitely be out of the question to state that I was a graduated lawyer. Would the fact that I was a mother of a three year old infant be a hindrance? Surely. But on the other hand, serious employers would be required to know in order to comply with the laws governing labor relations. Well, I would deal with that when I had to...

(next installment: Exploring new job possibilities)

Interleaved alternate futures

Presently I am a middle-aged jobless lawyer, living in a relatively small city in the South Cone, struggling to make a living with my private practice. Until recently I was working as counselor for some lawmakers and before that I was attorney and counselor for the city government, comprising all in all a time span of about nine years. And before that I worked for a union for several years. Never quite letting my private practice get a real start.
 My children, now between 20 and 30, aren't quite happy about my career choices. They have suffered the most, as money never flowed well into our home; since my divorce I have been struggling to support us the best I could think of, and in fact they did great: all finished high-school, learned languages and some other skills and they could live through their childhood without much thinking about it; but they resent the fact that there never was enough money to do fancy holidays or to buy us a house, o even a new car. One of them even resents the fact that I've moved to such a small city...
 Well, that got me thinking, what would my life have been like, hadn't I left the big city? Would I have been happier? More proficient in anything? More able to make money? I really doubt it, for a long time I held the feeling that, had I continued living in the capital, a car crash o some other likely accident would have killed me, since my soul was almost completely outside my body; considering that barely a month and a half since my arrival in Bariloche I almost got burned up, that feeling seems not to have been much far-fetched. I cannot be sure, of course; nobody knows what “would have happened if”, only what really happened is certain.
But nonetheless it might still be an interesting exercise, to spun other possible futures, trying to see how things would have developed if certain decisions had been different. So I feel I owe myself some thinking on it, starting from the most significant turning point, that is, my decision to move to Bariloche. Maybe I begin to intermix English and Spanish, I don't even know why I chose English now – maybe to detach myself enough as to be able to think other possibilities? Or would it be that my Spanish is too tainted by legalese that I can't write in a normal, colloquial style anymore? I don't know, let's see what comes out of this.

I'm not moving
How do you begin imagining other possible future? Most probably by bringing to your memory the events immediately surrounding the one you are not going to let be.
So maybe it helps to remember why I moved, why I was eager to relocate to Bariloche. I had recently, lost my job. A good job, with good pay, at the Legislative Branch; but it didn't make me happy, there were too many downsides to it, I didn't feel like making a political career and abiding by the intricacies and obscurities of political negotiation. So I dind't try to get it back, which might have been possible if I weren't so intent on being myself. (Maybe this would make another interesting turning point, and the question arises again, if a political career is that much not being myself...).
I began looking for other things to do. Beginner's work at some lawyer's office did not seem something suitable, most of the available posts required extended work hours, a considerable investment on bar fees and offered a very poor pay in exchange. As it would be the norm afterwards in the real future, I looked fervently for ways not to put my lawyer qualification to use. By that time I met the man who would eventually be my husband in the real future, and together we did some Shiatsu and distributed new age music. He had family in Bariloche and I wanted badly to move away from the hot and wet weather in Buenos Aires; I guess I wanted also to move away from some painful memories that I didn't seem to be able to get over, and away, away from my longing for Japan. It had been almost five years since I returned, but I missed everything Japanese so much that I wasn't even able to breathe without longing for the smells I had been immersed in for about a year. So many awkward feelings overwhelmed me during those five years! Like feeling that crossing the next street I would appear on some specific spot in Tokyo, or feeling I saw and heard some friend from overseas; all in all it was like living with one half of my body in Buenos Aires and the other half across the divide; or rather, more accurately, having my body in the present city and my soul in Japan; I never got to reunite both at that time; all the while I pictured myself standing across a rift, one leg on each side, hopelessly wishing to jump to the one side I felt my home. In many ways, my return from Japan left me in a much worse state than the broken love before the trip; at least, soon after it became apparent that my love project wasn't having any future, I had the stamina to think about journeying to Japan all by myself – not that I didn't suffer the loss while there, the leaking hole was there, but it somehow didn't engulf my whole being and I was able to enjoy life, too.
Things being so, I was more than happy to relocate to a remote place in the South, where summers where not humid and snow fell in winter; a place with woods surrounding it, where nature was a real presence. But things didn't turn out that well in the South, either. What if....? How would things have turned out if I'd stayed? To figure this out, it's important to remember that my mood was awful at that time, that I had no balance, I had lost my center...

(... to be continued...)

Mis profundidades

Bajar hasta las profundidades más oscuras... Subir... Sentir la luz bañarme con su lluvia de oro...

Violencia familiar

Todo un tema! No es mi especialidad, pero cada tanto me pregunto qué se puede hacer y cómo habría que hacerlo para dar un aporte constructivo en esos escenarios donde ninguna de las soluciones que se ensayan da resultado.
En búsqueda de material para pensar estas cuestiones, y teniendo en cuenta que el violento (o la violenta, si bien habitualmente las situaciones donde la violenta es la mujer quedan fuera del análisis del tema) es también una persona que, a partir de las soluciones habituales, queda marginada, me encontré con unas interesantes entrevistas al Dr. Eduardo J. Cárdenas, pionero en el enfoque sistémico de la familia en el ámbito judicial.
Aquí la primera de ellas y acá la segunda, continuación de la primera.

AIKIDO - Encuentro de Instructores y práctica en Buenos Aires

Un hermoso regalo de fin de año: hace unos 15 días llegó un mensaje de Kurata Sensei convocando a reunión de instructores para este sábado que pasó. En Buenos Aires, claro... a casi 1800 km de distancia de mi lugar, claro... Pero el Maestro convoca y uno debe ir... Y hacia allí fui, dejando en el medio lo más adelantado posible el trabajo, asistiendo a la fiesta de fin de ciclo de Lucy, preparando su inscripción en la Universidad.
Fue lo mejor que me pudo pasar este último tiempo. El viaje largo y cansador se vió compensado con creces por poder estar en el Dojo, respirar su aire, saludar a los viejos amigos, ver exámenes de Dan y, sobre todo, practicar un poco en medio de tanto ki y ver a Sensei.
El sábado llegué cuando ya casi estaban terminando los exámenes, pero pude ver los de Carlos Coca y de Jorge Sánchez para 4to. Dan, cada uno en su estilo me dejó algo para seguir buscando. A mí particularmente me gustó mucho el de Jorge, un estilo muy fluido, muy centrado en su centro -valga la redundancia-, con un lindo contacto con sus ukes, con mucha alegría interior. En mi corazón agradecí profundamente a Jorge, porque me regaló un Aikido que hacía tiempo no tenía oportunidad de ver...
Después de los exámenes, salida a almorzar (aunque eran casi las 6 de la tarde) con Sensei y los profesores que lo habían acompañado en la toma de exámenes, muertos de hambre y agotados ;), más otros instructores que habían también llegado desde otros lugares atendiendo la convocatoria de Sensei. Fue una enorme alegría reencontrarme con algunos de quienes fueron mis mentores cuando empecé a practicar, Luis Guz y Mario Canale, y darme cuenta que aunque no nos veamos muy seguido, el afecto mutuo que el Aikido nos dió sigue vivo y fuerte.
Después vino el encuentro de instructores propiamente dicho, en el que mientras saboréabamos unas ricas empanadas fuimos reencontrándonos los que ya nos conocíamos y presentándonos los que no; impresionante la cantidad de Dojos que se han ido gestando a lo largo y ancho del país...
Sensei nos dió algunos lineamientos sobre la realización de seminarios, brindamos por el año que se termina, deseándonos progresos en nuestros dojos para el próximo (las fotos seguramente serán subidas por Sensei en algún momento), y después nos dedicamos a intercambiar experiencias informalmente, hasta que ya bien entrada la noche cada uno se fue yendo, casi sin ganas de terminar esa reunión. Creo que todos nos fuimos enriquecidos con las experiencias de otros y estoy segura que las podremos volcar en nuestros Dojos para ser mejores profesores...
Después del encuentro me quedé un par de días, para poder disfrutar de alguna práctica en el Dojo de Sensei y en el Shuren. El lunes, sin embargo, me cayó encima el peso de las semanas anteriores y del cansancio del viaje (ya que el domingo lo había dedicado a pasear y no me dí cuenta, jeje...), además del stress que significaba la gran ciudad, a la que ya desconozco, después de más de 20 años de visitarla sólo esporádicamente, así que no logré movilizarme a tiempo para asistir a la práctica matutina de Horacio (Arizmendi) en el Shuren Dojo pese a mis planes de hacerlo así. A la noche -y después de darme cuenta que no recordaba exactamente donde estaba el Shuren y perderme un poco-, logré llegar a ver el final de la clase de armas de Luis Guz. Muy interesante su concepto, orientado no tanto al uso de las armas en sí sino a ver su relación con las técnicas de Aikido y enteder el concepto de "Te-gatana". Me queda pendiente para una próxima (y espero que pronta) visita asistir a la clase completa.
El martes sí, ya era la vencida así que no podía permitirme faltar... me desperté a tiempo -bastante zombie por cierto, ya que había salido a cenar con mi primo la noche anterior-, salí a tiempo y logré llegar también a tiempo para tomar la clase de Horacio, que me hizo volver a mis viejas épocas de practicante. Disfruté mucho y desde aquí le digo, "Gracias, Horacio!".
A la noche esperaba poder tomar una clase de Sensei, pero ese día la delegó en Gonzalo Valencia, quien también tiene un hermoso estilo. Finalmente, la tristeza por la ausencia de Kurata Sensei en esa clase se disipó y me fui con una enorme sensación de plenitud por la práctica bajo la guía de Gonzalo. Sentí que ese día me reencontré con la practicante que yo era hace varios años, cuando todavía vivía allí y practicaba regularmente, mi corazón se llenó de luz.

Continuando con la historia...

Hoy, jueves 21, ya casi tengo a punto el sistema, con actualización y todo. No fue fácil, sin embargo; aunque como casi todo lo que cuesta mucho trabajo, después resulta una anécdota divertida de contar. Así que ahí van, mis peripecias tratando de actualizar a f13 desde f11...
Inicio de la aventura
Como esbocé en el post anterior, después de mucho pelear con el dvd de fedora13 de 64 bits, que no habia forma que arrancara (era una live-image, creo que el problema estaba en mi lectora, que desde hace un tiempo me tira distintos errores, totalmente aleatorios y aparentemente no conectados entre si), me decidi a instalar a partir de una imagen de f11 (tambien 64 bits) que tenía en mi archivo (tontamente habia borrado todas las imagenes descargadas de f13, pensando que ya las había grabado), concretamente buscaba que estuviera en cd porque veia que lo que más me daba problemas era levantar una imagen de dvd (seria falta de memoria?)...
Algunas incongruencias del LiveCD
Al instalar, no me dejó formatear el fs en ext3, la live-image solo aceptaba formatear el root-fs en ext4 (cosa que quería evitar, ya que hasta ext3 existen herramientas para acceder a los datos desde otros OS -err... windoze); por otra parte, tampoco permitía que /boot estuviera en un ext4fs, por lo que obligadamente tuve que hacer una partición especial para /boot en ext2 o ext3 a lo sumo (opté por ext3, ya que estábamos...).
Como presuntamente era una simple partición para alojar el arranque del sistema, no me pareció que fuera necesario asignarle mas de 200 MB, aprovechando espacio para el sistema en si mismo. Ahora bien, como lo que yo en realidad quería era instalar la ultima version estable de fedora (f13, por ahora), la instalación de f11 fue una opcion de compromiso ante el fracaso estrepitoso de mis intentos con el dvd de f13, pensando en upgradear desde el propio sistema (siii, fedora trae -a partir de la v. 10, creo- un modo para hacer upgrades sin reinstalar todo; si es util o no, es lo que todavia quedaba por ver -a la larga demostró ser viable-); en principio soy medio reacia a estos upgrades, que nunca se sabe como afecta a las configuraciones y nombres de archivos en general, y que muchas veces cuestan más de un dolor de cabeza y tiempo arreglando cosas a mano que lo que costaria una instalación fresquita; pero como esto iba a ser una instalación lo mas basica posible (considerando que partía de un LiveCD, es decir, con escritorio y todo) para después mandarme con el upgrade, me pareció razonable intentarlo. Además era una de las pocas opciones que me estaba quedando, salvo volver a arrancar en el S0 antiguo alojado en otro disco y volver a bajar las imagenes, lo que por razones de tiempo y otras que no vienen al caso preferia evitar; como podrán imaginar, esto ya estaba amenazando la armonía familiar...
Preupgrade
Bueno, en definitiva, tanta introducción era para comentar que todo parecia andar bien, instalé el programa 'preugprade', lo arranqué y abrió una hermosa ventanita diciendome que tenia 2 opciones de upgrade y preguntándome cual queria descargar. Como me parecio lógico ir de a poco, elegí f12, ahi nomas empezo a buscar mirrors y bajar paquetes. Mientras tanto, abrí un navegador (konqueror, el unico instalado en esta version tan basica -KDE-, que no me dejaba ni abrir mis documentos de google), trate de leer gmail y las noticias del dia; cuando lo cerré, me encontré con que la ventanita dichosa estaba totalmente gris.
Al mismo tiempo un 'recordatorio' de kde me estaba avisando que tenia nuevas versiones de fedora para descargar. Despues de cerrarlo la primera vez para evitar potenciales conflictos, la segunda vez que aparecio decidi darle una oportunidad y le dije que sí, acepto. Esta vez le dije que elija f13, ya que, jugada por jugada, iba a ir por la distro que en realidad estaba buscando...
Durante unas cuantas horas siguió bajando paquetes, pero al menos la ventana no aparecía 'muerta' o 'dormida' (el estado que me tira ps, aunque es el mismo que me tira para la que vive) y se notaban signos de vida; ah, por cierto, un top lanzado por ahi me avisaba que había 1 zombie, que resulto ser "nepomuk-services" -como se relaciona con el upgrade, todavia no lo descubrí.
Es impresionante la forma en que absorbe los recursos del sistema KDE con todos los servicios intensivos que lanza: nepomuk, akonadi... todos servicios de indexacion para facilitar eventuales búsquedas que después nadie termina usando porque no hay máquina casera que soporte semejante drenaje (para referencia: con 1 GB de RAM, lanzar KDE me deja alrededor de 25 MB libres gracias a esos dichosos servicios) - pero claro, esa es otra historia.
Bueno, parece que no puedo contar lo que queria sin irme por las ramas... Toda esta larga introducciónn era para contar que en un momento determinado el preupgrade estaba bajando la imagen del kernel para instalar, cuando al rato me tiró un error que decía más o menos lo siguiente: "no tenés lugar suficiente en /boot para guardar la imagen del kernel, vas a tener que bajarla directamente de internet cuando rebootees y hagas el upgrade". Ahora digo yo, este estupido programa no podria haber previsto que /boot fuera una particion dedicada justamente a eso, a bootear, y haber guardado la imagen del kernel en otro lado? Claro que una vez instalado la necesitaría en el lugar apropiado, pero no podía prever algun symlink?

No todo fueron pálidas, finalmente (3 días después) tengo un sistema andando potablemente bien (sigue consumiendo mucha memoria, aproximadamente la mitad de la que tengo instalada, tendré que estudiar esa parte). En el próximo post, los pasos finales (que tuvieron lo suyo también).