Instructions 1: Instructions to write a post

Maybe some of you have read Cortázar’s “Historia de Famas y Cronopios”. Maybe some of you remember that Cortázar wrote a couple of instructions to do several things: like running, or going up the stairs, etc. I know that one of you remember writing himself some instructions, trying to retake Cortázar’s project but in a more consistent way. I do not remember Cortázar’s texts any more, but I do remember that I found them inappropriate to be called “instructions”, they were more “divagations”; and we decided with this one person to write down proper instructions.
I think about this project for time to time and build in my head instructions for everything. I had a kinda mechanist way of seeing the world, so it is easy for me to make out of any activity an “algorithm”, i.e., an instruction.
This one person with whom I had the project- for whom I write this post, actually- complained recently about his lack of time and maybe well defined ideas to write, so I decided to write some instructions, with the goal of helping him to do it.
So after this brief introduction here we go with the instructions to write a post…

There are at least two necessary conditions for writing a post: the first is will, the second one is space. The way that I will describe how to acquire the will is pretty tyrannical, but it works for me, so maybe it also works for the reader. If you realize that you could take one or two hours free in your day; or that actually right in this moment you could just lay down on your bed and sleep or read, or go on surfing again the pages you have surfed yesterday; then open your favorite word editor and do not allow yourself to wake up from your seat until you have written half a page (actually once you have started it will be impossible to stop). This “not allowing yourself to …” is what people called self-discipline. It could also be called self- terrorism: you really need to be afraid of yourself, in order to take your warnings seriously. You need to be slightly schizophrenic, to split your thoughts in two parts: the tyrant and the secretary. The tyrant will not let the secretary go until she has written her report. The tyrant is a set of ideas, what you want to tell or what others want you to tell them.

The second condition is much harder, since it does not depend only on you. You need usually a place free of people and disturbances where your ideas (the tyrant) can fly around. For example, I am right now in the kitchen of my house -actually I recommend strongly going to the kitchen to write- the house is alone and everything is quite. My ideas can go around the kitchen, check if there is any coffee, check if the heating is off, check how they want to be written; and I am just here acting like their secretary, waiting them to decide to get into the page, waiting them to tell me with which words they identify themselves better, telling me that I cannot go to take a shower until they feel that they have been exposed in the paper.

Summarizing, after realizing that you can take the next hour to write a post, split yourself into tyrant and secretary and run to some place where you can find some peace. Do not forget to take some cookies of fruit with you and something to drink. I have found out that having something to chew helps you to digest at the same time your ideas. I do not know if there is any physical connection, I actually doubt it, but I always have something that I can chew while I am writing.

The final step is to pin down your message. You cannot allow all your “inner” tyrants to go out at the same time. Try to be as precise as possible. I think the main problem of the “potential writer” (meaning here someone who wants to write anything and has not begun) is that he wants to tell everything, EVERYTHING, in few words. I think that it is much easier to tell almost nothing is many words. Take an anecdote and go through all the details; take a single sentence that you like, that you want to analyze, and exploit all its possible meanings. Try to take always a very small piece of yourself, and digest it in words.
Once you have more or less satisfied the tyrant in most of his points start now being more the secretary; and not any secretary, but a lazy secretary. Re- read your post once or twice, make some few spelling corrections, then tell the tyrant you are done, feel free and enjoy your day.

Memory I: The Fool on the Hill

Nobody wants to know him; they consider he’s just a fool …
The song of The Beatles sounds in my IPod connected to the iHome of a Design Hotel while I am chatting with a former colleague. I remember Samuel in this moment, who used to identify himself with “The Fool on the Hill”. I remember this conversation; it took place in Crabs, a bar in Bogotá. He told me, he used to go to a small hill in Calarcá, where he was born and where his family were still living. He used to sit on the top of the hill- he said- and see the landscape and feel absolutely fool. I told him I was Nowhere Man in his nowhere land, making all his nowhere plans for nobody.
I can still remember his way of talking, like a sicario paisa, like if he had no education. A guy from the province, who loved the Brazilian band “Angra”, who had a pretty black long and curly hair contrasting strongly with his very white ugly face. I remember the first time we talked; it was Friday afternoon, after football training. It was already dark; I was going out of the university and about to take a taxi to go home. I was with the best player of our team; the sister of “Pornito”. Sasha was her name? I do not know it anymore, but she was a very good player, who took us to the glory.
Samuel came to us, and said to me something like “would you do something with me someday?” I looked at him with surprise, opening my eyes widely. He said then “you don’t have to, if you don’t want”. He was absolutely scared, I was just surprised. It was the first time that someone I’ve never been introduced to was talking to me. I said “yes, why not?”, while thinking that it must be fucking hard to talk to somebody just like that. He said “ok” and left very fast. Some days later we met at the university, and he asked me if my answer was still yes. I did not even understand why would have I changed my mind; he was brave, he had deserved what he wanted. He asked me my number and I gave it to him. I noticed that he was left handed while he was trying without success to write down the number in the paper he had, but his shaking hands were tricking him.
When we went out the first time and almost in every later occasion, we went to Crabs.
We also went to watch a movie once. Yes, I remember that his favorite movie of all times was "Terminator II". He told me this before I told him that we were about to watch a French mute black and white movie. After I told him that, he said he hated black and white movies. I think he fall sleep, but I am no longer sure about this.

This was already long time ago, but I like remembering those days. I like remembering the “anti- intellectual” Samuel, who did not like it when I called him like that. He did not get that it was a compliment.
I think sometimes that he was just too honest, too himself for this world. I think it was for him impossible to pretend, to take himself seriously.
I doubt he was having any fun in his life, and well, and if it was like that, I would understand it. I also think that life is kinda boring. But I can anyway most of the time lie to myself, and pretend that there are a lot of things to do and that they are important or fun or whatever.

We stopped doing things together when he started dating a girl of the physics department. We had a coffee a couple of times in the architecture cafeteria; he was not really open to talk though. Sometimes I think about the last coffee we had. It was a very sunny day, and his very white skin was looking almost blue. He told me there, that he was doing really badly in all the lectures and that he could even be thrown out of the university. He was looking so bored. I did not say anything.
I thought a lot about him afterwards, about calling him to do something, to talk, to really talk, like at the beginning, like when he explained to me his reason for studying physics. But the terms between us were weird after he once, very upset, said to me a lot of aggressive stuff in a bar, because apparently I had treated him badly. Since then our conversations where always shaded by a protectionist cloud. I was no longer myself with him, and I was usually more focused in not saying anything wrong that could hurt him that in telling my opinion about whatever we were talking about. So I never called.

It was July, holidays time in Colombia. A friend of mine had birthday and I invited him to watch “The Pianist” in Gothic. Gothic was near my house, it was an alternative lousy theater, really full of those bloodsucking and fucking insects. Before Mario arrived, I got a phone call from one of Samuel’s friends: Diego. Diego told me that Samuel had hung himself up. The conversation was very short. I was really sad though, not about his dead itself but about the fact that I was actually not going to talk to him again.

I think there was even a service in his name at the university, but I did not show up, because I thought that I was not really in his closest circle, and that it might be painful for the others when an outsider believes he deserves to be there and he does not.
Yeah, in a very corny action I wrote him a letter. In a very corny action, Miguel wrote him a letter too… I remember that as well.

Anécdota II: La cena en "El Español"

El martes en la mañana recibí un correo de invitación a cenar en un restaurante español. La invitación no solo estaba dirigida a mí, sino también a los colegas de la misma empresa, quienes trabajan en un proyecto en la misma ciudad en la que mi proyecto tiene lugar. En el grupo de esos colegas se encuentra uno, que ha demostrado cierto interés en mí. Con “interés” quiero dar a entender atención, es decir, este personaje me ha escrito varias veces correos, y cuando hemos tenido el chance de encontrarnos ha estado muy abierto a la conversación. Yo por lo general me intereso en lo que la gente tiene que decir, por lo menos cuando acabo de conocerlos. Así que me agrada que sea tan simpático. Aunque temo gustarle un poco, pero yo tengo cierta tendencia a la paranoia y a crecer que todos los sujetos de ese estilo, quiero decir feos, chiquitos, simpaticones, físicos, ñoños,… tienden a enamorarse de mí (mientras yo en cambio tengo la tendencia de enamorarme de los grandes, no tan simpaticones, que nunca quieren cambiar dos palabras).

Bueno, pero volviendo a la anécdota: este chico también me escribió, casi al tiempo, un correo informándome sobre la planeada cena y sugiriéndome ir, ya que el restaurante es muy bueno, según él. Me he unido al plan entonces. La reunión estaba planeada a las 20.30. Yo llegué a las 20.40.
Estaban, ya en el lugar, el chico simpaticón, el director de su proyecto, es decir, quien primero mandó la invitación general y otro colega de la empresa, a quien yo no conocía y me desagradó a primera vista. La razón del desagrado la puedo aclarar: no me gusta cuando alguien intenta con ahínco el contacto visual. Como a los franceses, me parece irrespetuoso. Claro, de vez en cuando, es importante hacer cierto contacto visual para fortalecer o debilitar los argumentos hablados, dependiendo de la mirada o para otros fines. Pero en cualquier caso es un método de generar conexión y es por eso que me parece irrespetuoso tratar de generar demasiada conexión con un/una desconocido/a. Prefiero la gente que mantiene un poco más la distancia. Aunque claro, peor que los que sólo lo miran a uno a los ojos, son los que sólo lo miran a uno un poco más abajo, pero bueno, eso es tema para otra anécdota.

El chico coquetón, pequeño y simpaticón estaba a mi derecha, el chico de mirada intensa que me disgustó al frente mío, el jefe enfrente del chico coquetón, pequeño y simpaticón. Luego llegaron los otros. A mi izquierda se sentó un colega al que ya conocía. Un sujeto extremadamente honesto, una de esas personas ingenuas, que dicen lo que ven. Este tipo de personas me agradan profundamente. Al frente suyo estaba un colega, que me pareció más bien atractivo, aunque siendo objetiva tal vez no lo es, más yo nunca me he destacado por un “buen gusto”. Este sujeto sentando al frente del chico honesto tenía pinta de norteño, es decir, era extremadamente blanco, mono y con aire vikingo.
Él chico vikingo comentó con sorpresa el hecho de que no nos hubiésemos conocido, por lo menos de vista, en la reunión de verano de la empresa, dónde todo el mundo estaba. No entendí su sorpresa, pues éramos más de 200 personas ahí, más sospeché que lo que quería indicar, es que se hubiera fijado en una chica como yo. Una interpretación que declara mi grado de egocentrismo, pero que también es, claro está, la que más me convence.
Al lado derecho del pequeño había una mujer que no pertenece a nuestra empresa, pero que está involucrada en el proyecto de ellos. A su lado, un hombre que parecía extranjero, pero cuyo alemán perfecto revelaba que debía de haber nacido en las tierras en las que la cena se desarrollaba. Al frente diagonal suyo estaba un chico con aires de seguridad, bien vestido, a su derecha alguien, a quien no logro recordar bien. Ah, sí, el jefe del jefe. Sorprendentemente tímido y sonreidor, pero con quien no cambié ninguna palabra.

La cena se desarrollo en un lapso de tres horas. La comida consistió en una bandeja llena de mariscos, con mucho ajo y mucho aceite. Lo comensales fuimos juiciosos con la tarea. El mayor comensal fue, como yo hubiese predicho, el chico ingenuo a mi izquierda, quien además de comer con ganas, siempre hacía uno que otro comentario sobre la música o el trabajo, siempre dándome la impresión de decir en efecto lo que pensaba, sin roles ni pretensiones. Algo que me pareció que el vikingo no apreciaba, pues cuando el chico ingenuo hablaba ó lo miraba en tono de burla, o miraba hacia otro lado con cara de aburrido.
El chico a mi derecha, es decir el pequeño, simpaticón y coquetón, parecía algo estresado. Como yo me creo que el centro del mundo, mi interpretación es que se debía a la poca atención que yo le estaba dando. Intentó varias veces generar conversación, pero yo no tenía muchas ganas de hablar de mí y prefería escuchar los comentarios honestos del hombre ingenuo.

Luego de un rato estábamos los cuatro: el ingenuo, el vikingo, el coquetón y yo en una conversación sobre camisas y camisetas y leyes de etiqueta. Seguimos hablando de varios temas, más yo me iba cansado de la velada. Prefiero una conversación de a dos que en grupo, en grupo me aburro un poco más rápido. También notaba cierto cansancio con el idioma y tenía ganas de irme a dormir. Más el vikingo no había terminado su vino, el chico parece tener buen talante para la bebida. El honesto mantenía su mirada pegada a la bandeja, viendo que ya nadie comía y de pronto con ganas de darle mate a los últimos pedazos de pescado. La gente del local empezó a organizar, abrieron la puerta, que estaba detrás de mi silla, con lo cual indicaban que sólo estaban a la espera de nuestra partida. Empezaba ya a hacer frío y el chico vikingo seguía sin terminar su vino mientras nosotros tratábamos de armar conversación donde ya no había más tema. Finalmente cuando terminó su vino nos levantamos para partir. El coquetón me preguntó, en esa manera tan simpática que existe en alemán de preguntar en plural si el otro quiere lo que uno quiere, si deberíamos volver a hacer algo la otra semana. El vikingo notó que ya nos conocíamos, miro con cara de aquí hay gato encerrado y siguió hablando con el honesto. Yo indiqué que la semana siguiente no estaría en la misma ciudad.

Salimos todos en un grupo grande y prontamente se separaron los sujetos de mayor edad, quienes no tenían necesidad de caminar hasta su hotel, pues iban en auto. Yo no sabía bien donde me encontraba, así que pretendía usar el tram para no arriesgarme a perderme. Cuando el grupo de caminantes estaba conformado por el honesto, el bien vestido, el vikingo, el coquetón y yo, sugirió el chico bien vestido entrar a otro bar. Yo no quería, me daba pereza ser la única mujer en el grupo, no quería levantarme muy tarde al otro día y no tenía muchas ganas de seguir hablando en alemán cuando ya estaba cansada. Expresé con claridad de que yo iba hacia el hotel y pedí indicaciones para llegar. Ellos decidieron en este momento ir a un bar cercano a la estación de tren, así que de paso podían acompañarme hasta un punto que yo ya conocía. En el camino hicieron comentarios sobre los chinos haciendo sopa de salchichas en tono de burla, yo dije que yo hacía lo mismo, no era verdad, pero, como es usual, quería ponerme del otro lado. El simpaticón notó mi mentira, se burló de mí, yo también me burlé. Llegamos en esas a la estación del tren, yo cogí hacia la derecha, ellos a la izquierda, buenas noches.

Übersetzung 1: kurze Liebesgeschichte

Ein ungefähr 30-jähriger Mann geht in eine Bar, um ein Bier zu trinken. Ein anderer auch ungefähr 30-jähriger Mann bedient ihn. Der erste Mann bestellt ein Bier mit Limo, das man Radler nennt: 50 Prozent Bier, 50 Prozent Limo.
Der zweite Mann holt das Getränk. Er gießt in ein 400 ml Glas ungefähr 200 ml Bier, 150 ml Limo und 50 ml Wasser ein. Das Glas ist nicht so ganz kalt, da es gerade in einer Mischung aus 90Prozent Wasser und 10 Prozent Spülmittel Palmolive (das Spülmittel, das gut riecht) gespült wurde. Der zweite Mann wartet, bis das Glas etwas kühler ist, bevor er es dem ersten Mann gibt. Währendessen schaut er seine gutaussehende Kollegin an. Sie ist konzentriert bei der Vorbereitung einiger Cocktails für den Tisch im Hintergrund. Wahrscheinlich sind es drei Mädels. Mädels mögen keinen Alkohol, aber sie mögen es, betrunken zu sein. Während er die bemerkbaren Kurven seiner Kollegin betrachtet, dreht sie sich um und schenkt ihm ein Lächeln. Er denkt, dass sie denkt, dass er ein Idiot ist. Aber sie denkt, dass er ein außergewöhnlicher Typ ist. Warum sie das denkt, ist nicht erklärbar, da er nicht besonders besonders ist und sein einziges Talent ist, dass er gut spülen kann. Sie ist überzeugt, dass er keine Gefühle für sie hat, denn er hat kein einziges Mal in diesen drei Monaten, die sie zusammen gearbeitet haben, etwas anderes gezeigt. Immer noch hat sie die Hoffnung, dass er ihr irgendwann etwas sagen wird.
Der erste Mann schaut die Uhr etwas unruhig an, sein Gesicht ist gerötet, als ob er lange Zeit unter der Sonne gewesen wäre. In der Tat war er lange Zeit unter der Sonne, denn er war am letzten Sonntag, d.h. ungefähr 30 Stunden bevor er das Bier bestellt hat, beim Grillen mit der Familie seiner Freundin, die er in kurzer Zeit bitten wird, seine Verlobte zu werden und deswegen ist er so nervös. Sie wird nein sagen. Er weiß es, aber er glaubt, er weiß es nicht. Die Gründe warum sie absagen wird, werden nicht erklärt werden, und er wird nicht wissen, warum die Frau, die mit ihm vier Jahre lang zusammen gewesen ist, nicht für immer bei ihm sein wird.

Der zweite Mann reicht dem ersten das Radler, während dieser seinen Schweiß mit einem gebrauchten Tempo, das er in seiner Hosentasche gefunden hat, putzt. Ohne Lust auf irgendetwas trinkt der erste Mann das Radler mit einem lauten Schluck, der aber nicht so laut wie der von dem neben ihm sitzenden Mann ist. Die Mischung aus Bier, Limo und Wasser, die er für eine Mischung aus Bier und Limo hält, ist zu heiß, um den Durst und die Nervosität zu beruhigen, obwohl es nicht bekannt ist, dass kalte Getränke die Nervosität beruhigen können. Er nimmt noch ein paar Schlücke, die nicht so laut wie der erste sind, aber die denselben enttäuschenden Effekt auf seinen Durst und seine Nervosität haben, sucht drei Euro in seiner Hosentasche, legt sie auf den Tisch und geht, während er noch mal auf die Uhr schaut.
Der zweite Mann sagt seiner Kollegin einen Kommentar über die achtzigjährige Jacke, die der gerötete Mann, der ohne Trinkgeld da zu lassen gerade gegangen ist, an hatte. Sie bricht in Gelächter aus. Während sie lacht, legt er seine Hand auf ihre Wange.

Original: Breve historia de amor
Autor: ich

Anecdote 1: a dramatic date

Here is the anecdote of a quite dramatic date. Probably for the normal reader this is the anecdote of a more or less intolerant person that can make out of a date, just a date, a situation hardly to stand up.
And so was it, a situation that still bothers me when I remember it. A situation that I find disgusting, that could make me vomit; that did make me vomit.
Here it goes. I was texted by this guy, with whom I once went to eat. So, this was actually not the first time that we met, but hopefully the last. The text was an inquiry about my plans for that night. I had planed to go to the movies.
I like movies; I try to go at least once a week and in my moviemaniac weeks I can go three or even four times. I like going alone to the movies because I can get into the history easily. I don’t like people talking in the cinema; I like less people talking loud in the cinema, and I like even less people laughing in the cinema. Pretty intolerant, I know, therefore in an 80 percent of the situations I go alone. When those that are talking, laughing and moving are people that I don’t know I don't get upset, maybe a little bit disturbed, but not really exasperated.
The reader has probably already noticed why am I pointing out these issues with the cinema. Let me go on with the anecdote in the appropriate time series, though the reader can already guess where is this going to finish.
I texted this guy back. I told I was going to watch a movie. I mentioned which movie and the corresponding director. I asked if he wanted to join me. I wanted him to go if and only if he had any interest in the movie. I arrive to the cinema, he was already there. He was wearing a very hippie t-shirt. He was looking awfully ugly. I was disturbed and bothered. I was kind of pretty that day. I notice a lack of harmony between my beauty and his ugliness, and I did not like it. I am not really pretty, I was that day pretty, and he is not really ugly, he was that day with his hippie t-shirt and his huge backpack looking ugly. But the whole picture replaced any rational analysis of our differences. I looked at him disgusted, he looked at me impressed.
I bought then some water. At this point this awful feeling of “take me out” that I know very well, was everywhere in my body. I wanted to go. I wanted him to stop looking at me like that, like if I was his date, like he could have me. Feeling too pretty, too much for him. Feeling that I can have something better, or at lest someone that is not wearing that kind of white shirts; that kind of shirts that carry a philosophy with them.
We entered the room, I chose the place. I felt strong, I felt him weak. We sat down. He tried to get closed, I moved to the opposite corner of my seat. I was feeling again in a jail. I was screaming in my head why do I do this to myself, and why this guy is looking so awful today. His face was deformed now that he was closer, his nose was huge, and his smile more stupid that ever. Then the trailers started. Mister “everything is interesting” was laughing and commenting every single trailer that we were watching. Laughing loud, loud as hell to me, showing his naiveness, his romantic stupidity.
Some propaganda about the children in Africa was also shown, he put his face of a suffering dog, and commented how awful the life in Africa is. I was pissed off. Coming from a third world country I always get pissed off, when people make that kind of comments. I did not say anything, I had not said anything since we entered the room actually, because I knew in which situation I was, because I know myself pretty well to know, that if had open my mouth I would have only insulted him, so I avoided it as long as I could.
The movie finally started. Mister “I need some attention” did not stop moving his ass in his chair. I do not like people that need too much attention.
The movie started and he and his “intelligent comments” too. His stupidity was an insult to me. I was pissed off and I am still pissed off. Was he trying to impressed me, or is he really so stupid? I do not know the answer, but I do hate him for insulting my intelligence. He had no idea with whom he was there. I am not the brightest person in the world, but slightly intelligent that the average people, and he was certainly an average man. Out of my mind because of this insult, I turned around and told him very rude “I don’t talk in the cinema, ok?”. I moved back, went on watching the movie. He shut up for some minutes, 10 or 20 minutes. And then he started again, moving, laughing commenting, sighing, breathing loud. All these sounds that he was making were really driving me crazy. I was there in the corner of my seat, upset, upset with myself. Why do I do this to me, I was thinking, while I was trying to avoid any contact with him and he was always trying to get closer.
The movie was a comedy, a comedy about some people back in the 60’s. He had of course an appropriate shirt for the movie.
When the movie finished, he started commenting about how cool it would be to be free, like people on those days. And he went on with his speech for almost half an hour. What the fuck! It was just a fucking comedy; it was just a picture of a romantic idea of the past. Just an excuse to laugh! You don’t start with a speech about freedom after watching a comedy, or maybe you do, but with you good all mates, with whom you talk about all kind of bullshit, not with someone you hardly know.
I was desperate to go, but he was blocking my way. I was there in the corner of my seat, trying to avoid his eyes. He was trying to make eye contact while making his speech, apparently searching for “the romantic moment”. He did not realized about my absence and try to take my hand; I moved away and said “I am sorry, I can’t”. My reaction was maybe too nice, but the problem with me is that, or I say things mildly or I am a bitch. His comment was “hands are very interesting”. Again, what the fuck! What does that mean? I was doing my best to contain myself; I did not open my mouth because I was scared of what I could have said. I stood up and moved my head indicating that we should go.
His way home was in the same direction that mine; bad luck for me; we had to go walking together. He kept talking. This guy is amazing; he could not stop talking and talking all the time; all the time talking about himself; trying to sell himself; try to show who he is; disgusting me with his “here I am, this is me”.
At the entrance of my building, he was still trying to make some eye contact. I did not know how to run away, so I just said “I really have to go to the toilet, good bye”, in order to make him stop talking. It did work.
In the next two days he called me and texted me. Poor bastard! Every action was a reminder of this ridiculous, embarrassing situation. Reminding me the waste of time; reminding me his hippie shirt, his stupid smile, the spoiled movie, his “interesting” hands.
I had a hard time, and maybe I am unfair with him, he is just a sensible guy, who wants to fall in love, but I cannot forgive him, or maybe me, for making me go through such a painful date.

Dialogue 3- Denying the reality

A and B are talking about "generic bifurcations", C does not know too much about the topic
A- Well, yes, I know what you mean, but there is a very strict definition of generic
C- What is generic?
B- Generic is just typical... well, a sloopy definition of generic is typical.
A- Well the mathematicians would be very upset with you if you say that.
C- What's the mathematical definition of generic?
A- It's a set with a countable number of subsets which are dense. So you see, the irrational numbers are generic in the reals but not the rationals.
C- Well, they are dense and countable, so why not?
A- mmm, eh, mmm
B- I don't know the exact mathematical definition, but i know generic means typical, and the rational numbers do not "occur" typically, one can show that their measure is zero, even when they are dense.
C- Yes, then there is something missing in your definition.
A- (Slightly upset) No no, the definition is that one, I am sure.

Dialogue I- Just make it easier

A- What's up?
B- Nothing.
A- Come on, tell me.
B- No, really, it's nothing.
A- It's clearly something, tell me.
B- Well, there is a problem with you. You do always what you want, and you never care about me.
A- Sweety, you have to care about yourself, you are a grown person. I can love you, but I cannot look after you.
B- Well, I think loving is also about caring, and you know... (looks around, short silence) I don't know...
A- Well, darling, it's a matter of definition then.
B- I don't know (looking sad and dissapointed)...
A- So, what is it?
B- I don't know, I don't know if this is working.
A- Do you want to leave me?
B- Well, I don't know ...
A- Well, you should know (slightly desperate). Don't ask me to decide for you. If you want to leave me, do it, I don't want you to, you make my life better, but if I do yours worse, well, go away.
B- So you want me to go away.
A- Never said that.
B- Yes, you did.
A- What are you trying? Why do you want to push me against the wall?
B- No, I am not trying to push you against the wall, but if you want me to go away, you just have to say it, well, you just did ...
A- I don't know why do you do this, don't push too hard, cause I love, but I cannot hold that, and you know it.
B- No but I
A- (interrupting B) Wait! (with an affectionate look) stop, please... please, just think, ok? Just wait and think.
B- Ok ...
(Long silence)
A- So?
B- Do you really love me?
A- Sure I do.
B- I am sorry.
A- (smiles) You should (in an affectionated tone of voice).
(B hugs A and everybody is happy)