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Back Loop Save as PDF
Chapters (33)
  1. Loop
  2. 1
  3. 2
  4. 3
  5. 4
  6. 5
  7. 6
  8. 7
  9. 8
  10. 9
  11. 10
  12. 11
  13. 12
  14. 13
  15. 14
  16. 15
  17. 16
  18. 17
  19. 18
  20. 19
  21. 20
  22. 21
  23. 22
  24. 23
  25. 24
  26. 25
  27. 26
  28. 27
  29. 28
  30. 29
  31. 30
  32. A note on the text
  33. Copyright

Sometimes I remember who I used to be. I feel like I was a different person before the accident, like I might be two people shaking hands when they’re introduced. I did so many things and said so many things in the name of fear. Fear of something changing. As if I didn’t want anything to change, as if I wanted the horoscope to be valid for another month, another year, another lifetime. For Monday to be the same as Tuesday, for Thursday to be the same as next Thursday and for the phrases, like the days, to come round again.

Oh, the need to retain. Being anal. The anus dominates empires. Like fear. Fear of loss. Fear of loving and being loved. Fear of listening and being heard. Come here, Ovid: ‘For love is ever filled with fear’.

It feels so good to let go and be here. Here and now. In the moment.

Change. Unlearning yourself is more important than knowing yourself.

My dad rings the bell. Time to go for dinner. I’ll give him the chocolate bunny rabbit I bought.

I dreamed I was asleep. In the bedroom, alone, on my side of the bed, which is the side where I’ve slept since Jonás went to Spain. The moonlight was streaming in through the big window, just like before I dozed off. A presence, a gaze that awoke me. Part of the dream, of course. A dwarf at the foot of the bed, looking at me. It wasn’t the dwarf on my block. It was a stranger who didn’t seem to mean me any harm, but nevertheless I was afraid. I made a face that asked him what he was doing there. ‘Come,’ he said, in a kind voice. ‘Don’t be afraid, I’m here to show you the future.’ I got out of bed and he told me to open the curtain on the small window, which I remember having closed before going to sleep. I drew back the curtain and saw a child crawling along with his back to me, in the direction of a tree. Before seeing his face, before the child turned around, just before he called me mummy, I woke up.

‘It hadn’t occurred to me before, but what if I’m afraid of the future?’ I asked Julia over the phone. Now I don’t think I am. In the dream I wasn’t scared to pull back the curtain. And, like in the dream, I’m not interested in seeing the face of what’s to come. Here I am, Jonás. The bell for the rubbish truck is ringing and we really need to take out the bags.

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