Thursday, 29 November 2012

When I was 8 years old, a teacher told us in primary school that the air displaced by a butterfly flittering in America could cause tidal waves in China. Or was it the other way? Never mind. That day I tried to be quiet and walk softly and not breath hard to not enrage the sea. If a butterfly can produce tidal waves with its beautiful wings, with its soft and light wings, imagine all the kinds of disasters that my body could cause.

Tonight I danced with a guy. Ok, not a guy, THE GUY, in a typical place in Nairobi for expatriats. And everybody knows that we, the expatriats, can do things that we would never do in our countries. Because the night over the equator is warm and the traveller's fate always involves sins, or flesh, or sex, or drinks.

The air displaced by my smile while I was dancing caused tidal waves in someone's heart.

And as usually I went to my bed wondering why God filled with colours the wings of the butterfly, if in the end what they produce is as devasting as hunger (even when some waves are not sure they are waves and disguise themselves to be free of suspicion).

3 comments:

  1. Quien sabe. Quizá tu movimiento causa sonrisa. Quizá tus bellos colores son invisibles a ojos q no aprecien tu aura pura y salvaje…

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  2. and there´s beauty in waves too. i know.

    it seems that in some way, we need to face destruction. waves, fire, ungovernable wind. our own lives.

    so we can go on, or finally resurrect like others in that forgetfulness.

    dance is a way to do it.

    read your words too.

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  3. La mayoría de las veces, lo más hermoso es lo más cruel.
    Un recordatorio de que las apariencias engañan, supongo.
    Besetes.


    B.

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