I have turned Sachiko's house into a pancake factory. I have just made my last one before I hopefully go to Mara's place. I have to call her roommate to let me in cause Mara went to Pisa today, and I didn't make it to her place last night due to an intense discussion with Sachiko that went too late.

I am starting to have cabin fever. I wake up too late and then talk a lot with Sachiko. She has stuff to do in the outdoors but the only thing I really need to do now is get resumes done and research stuff online - and wait until I can start living properly, move into my new place tomorrow.

I have inherited some clothes and a suitcase from a friend of Sachiko's who went back to Japan and left the suitcase full of her things for 2 years at some Spanish friends' place. They finally told Sachiko it had to go. Hence, I have some odds and ends and a bata de cola (flamenco dress with a long tail that drags on the ground). I don't have any desire to learn to dance bata de cola, despite many people with less experience than me trying out classes in it. To me it is ridiculous to bother with such a difficult and complicated thing when you haven't yet mastered how to dance tangos and bulerias, improvised, listening close enough to the cante. Anyways, each to their own. Not sure what I'm going to do with the bata, but I always feel there must be something I can use it for, if not for its intended purpose - even re-designing or using the ruffles.

Diego Agujetas sang on Friday night.

Seeing any Agujetas is a treat, because they are a rare breed - they all channel some kind of frightening, raw energy which seems connected to something of another time. Diego is more suave (softer) than his sister Dolores and his father Maunel. Unfortunately, since he drew a big crowd that filled the peña, the atmosphere was not as good; there were some people there to see the show that I wished would have shut up and been more serious. It seemed like he only started to get going - to really get across the energy, halfway through the second set. He was pretty casual and would make random funny comments between numbers, and once had to spit out a candy in the middle of a song, after the break. He kept trying to leave the stage several times near the end, and his son and various people in the crowd told him to do a little more, and then a little more.

I could sense some serious duende, but felt that it was slightly wasted in that atmosphere and would have been better to see him sing in a private fiesta (which of course is almost always better). His voice had a range of sounds and timbres which are not really known to other western types of singing. This happens with good flamenco singers, but you feel it especially with the Agujetas. It made me think of his father who was illiterate by choice or rebellion or whatever - if one cannot depend on reading and writing for communication, how much more expressive the voice might become. Well, this is also carried down in the family, from ancient traditions when there was no other way to entertain oneself or escape from reality, except to gather and sing. It connects to storytelling, for me; I got a sense of that when he sang.

Sudden costurera/modista

Thank God for good friends. They have helped me a lot, or I would be insane. Besides that, I have a project.

So here goes: I am going to attempt to make a dancing blouse for Sachiko. It will not be for money, as I proposed the idea to her to get practice - I don't know what I am doing yet. It is going to be a super-challenge: not only do I have to go beyond the drafting of a basic, plain old bodice, by putting ruffles on a v-neck and big ruffles on sleeves, but the harder part will to be to draft a pattern for stretchy material! Obviously it must be fitted but not burst when she moves her arms rapidly around above her head or wherever. Anyways, this is something to sink my teeth into.

Sometimes I wonder if it is worth it trying to change your life, trying to pursue something you want. Sometimes anxiety and paralysis happen. Not having very clear goals and even less clear ideas about how I am going to accomplish them makes decision making hard. The problem was deciding where to live and having spurious suggestions from friends, making the decision process harder.

Eventually after a painful day, I decided to just call up the original apartment that I felt comfortable with. Now I am really not sure if I made the right decision, because I went over and over it in my mind, and doubted it so much. The problem is fear of making a mistake. The mistakes have cost me too much in the past - mental health. This place lacks light. But it is an old, interesting building and the girl who is the owner's daughter is a very artistic person, seems really relaxed - like she exists in a different world from mine, kind of, and seems cool. There will be two others - I don't know who they are yet. All of that might be a bad idea. I can still change my mind before Monday, or even before the 1st.

Who knows. Hopefully this won't be another bad judgement thing like the pee lady. But my problem is this: I am at a crossroads where I have to start living. That means actually being consumed by something else other than thinking and worry. The only way forward is to start letting something I love take me over. It is going to take re-training to do that. If your conscious and unconscious thoughts and emotions during the day are taken over by some pursuit that you truly love and are passionate about - that has taken hold of you from the inside, then small issues with people or silly problems with physical surroundings will not matter very much. Or at least you can bear them until such time as you can change.
I don't really know how to do this yet. It seems so obvious but never knew it before.

There is no simple way to become like that. You can't just wait until you have more confidence, or wait for something to fall from the sky. You have to just DO something. No wonder that large multinational company that has factories in China and produces shoes is so successful. Their slogan that everyone knows is the key to success.

Whether this apartment turns out to be totally wrong and my entire time here turns out to be a tonteria, is beside the point. I need to take action, I need to start doing what I love and as for the rest of the incidental decisions, like which apartment to live in or which crappy job to support myself while I pursue what I want, I just need to grab one and go.

Yum, the best pancake I've had for a long time; better than the ones I managed to make at home.

Yesterday Sachiko asked me if I could please sort out my stuff that she'd been keeping for me in her closet. I got a little anxious, because I don't know where I'm going to live nor what on earth to do with all that stuff. But it contained some Harina Integral de Trigo (whole wheat flour) and azucar moreno (brown sugar), so I made pancakes.

Last night we put on helmets and whipped along the river on Sachiko's scooter and went to T-Triana - one of the touristy flamenco tablaos, where you can see flamenco free. It is frequented by other flamenco student dancers, because their friends are dancing. This was the case last night. We met another very together Japanese professional friend of Sachiko's there. There are a lot of silly, showoffy flamenco dance students, but then there are some amazing people as well. She was one of the latter; someone who had left unsatisfying work to risk it all for flamenco, and was just getting by, teaching dance in Japan, coming here whenever she could to study more. Sachiko and this woman are both really inspiring. It is something like certainty in the face of total uncertainty; belief in being able to do it - whatever "it" is.

Sachiko and her friend got up and danced impromptu bulerias at the end. She invited me to come, but my eyes were only half open, so I really didn't feel like attempting it; besides, this is Spain and it was crowded. I could have done it, as it would not have been too extremely far over my head, but there is a next time.

The interesting stuff

I saw Mara two nights ago. We hung out at her place and traded stories of what had happened since December 5th. She had some interesting ones about travels in Vietnam. She shared midnight dinner with me, and then walked Faro out to see me off.

I met Salome (fellow Vancouver flamenco dancer) and her brother Milton (from Costa Rica, as is she originally) by the cathedral earlier that day and we decided on stuff to go see.

Last night I met them again and we went to Torres Macarena. We squeezed in beside the lady who always dances at casual singing nights, and Carmen Ledesma (a dancer with solera) and some gentlemen at another table, around a real fire. An hour late, the show finally started.

So I guess this is why I'm here. I need to follow what keeps my soul and heart alive, and this is it. Again, I sit with an overjoyed friend, both of us shaking our heads and trying to fight back tears. Riveted is the word that always comes to me, about shows there. I think I am in an altered state of consciousness while watching. What I most want in the whole world, and the core thing inside me is being engaged by what I'm seeing and hearing.

I wish I could share the real flamenco with you all. I am sure there is not anyone alive who would not love bulerias, if they could hear them done here in Andalucia, by a group who knows what they're doing and isn't playing just for tourists.

I have never noticed palmeros so much (the guys who stand behind the singer and guitarist and clap). Their art can be quite subtle - the rhythm so complex, but changing constantly in exactly how they mark it, and in volume, and stopping exactly with the end of the phrase the guitar makes. It is totally enthralling, compelling, the steadiness and strength of their rhythm, and "catchier" than any pop music melody.

There are no rules but the rhythm, and the tone and overall structre of the particular type of song, along with some typical ways of strumming and melodic elements that the guitar and singer need to incorporate. Inside that it is all what moves the singer, with phrase endings being emphasised by a sudden shrug of the shoulders, a stamp of her foot or some feisty piece of dance move that just surges up from her gut.
It would not be possible not to be moved by this art form that breaks the rules of my culture and upbringing. The singer wears a huge, hot pink cloth flower smack in top center of her head. Sometimes she struts, other times collects her arms and shoulders and energy inwards if she sings about "luto que llevo en mi corazon" (mourning that I carry in my heart), with her voice breaking and her face contorted. But it is not fake, and that is why you are riveted. My Canadian peers have come to distain any art or music that is so obvious; so "dramatic". Pop singers that have done that kind of stuff over the ages are a dime a dozen, but you don't feel anything because it is trite and all bad acting and fails to touch you anywhere close to the core; it is merely sentimental and comfortable. But here they have not lost the ability to express it sincerely (well, if you see a good singer); or perhaps they have not let the triteness of what many people do badly, cause them to become cynical and disdain intense expression of any kind, or quit trying.

The guitar is equally as blatantly dramatic, with lightening quick, rhythmic pulses that speed up and then stop suddenly. The palmeros stamp their feet making the whole stage shake, and accent the guitar with erupting shouts.

Laura danced, as do many female flamenco singers, between her letras or slowly during the end of phrases, in a manner sometimes completely controlled, other times utterly unhinged; on the edge of appropriateness. Both palmeros did a tiny bit of dancing at the very end. Male dancers are so uncommon at home, I still have not seen very many of them live. The small, younger guy was all unbelievably controlled, quick movements that are like a moving piece of art.

An anxious ramble on my troubles and decisions. Just ignore this - it's probably uninteresting reading.

I am trying not to get stressed by everything I have to do. Writing to you all is a way to keep sane.

Figure out a decent resume, go around looking for both restaurants and hostels that might want to either do an unpaid exchange or pay me. Look for an apartment maybe, instead of an interchange, work on my English teaching certificate, so I can give classes. Think about my visa, which runs out in May, and if I end up wanting to stay (or even to leave and come back) friends say it takes forever. Try again to figure out if there is any possible way I could actually apply for a work permit myself, if I can convince someone to hire me. Think about whether I should instead go off looking in small towns in the mountains for shoemakers and see if there is some way to survive there because this might be closer to what I really want.
Look at shoemaking workshops online and try to decide if this is the way to go, and perhaps end up studying in Hungary or in the US. Try to stretch and not forget about flamenco which helps keep me going.

Listen to what seems like the wisest advice: do what you love. So then do I just get an apartment and buy a sewing machine and start drafting patterns and looking for shoemaking supplies and start trying to make them? And try to teach a bit of English to get by until I can sell some of these? Right now I am utterly envious of people who have a definite plan, however good or bad, and don't have to consider 1000 options, trying to decide which one will work.

The worst is having people give their opinions or judgements about what they think is a good idea or isn't, and what is or isn't possible. All my life I have listened to them, for a sense of duty to heed them, lest they think badly of me for not listening. That is why I have been so utterly lost and turning in every direction. No amount of education or talent will help you in this life if you cannot stand on your own two feet and say, "I am going in this direction, damn you all and your predictions and warnings!"

The most difficult is trying to make a wise, strategic decision about how best to use X amount of money, to do Y, considering other limits such as how long I can legally stay here. I have never had the ability to think strategically about my life. I meander about in a half-ass way, afraid to really commit to any real step, without a concrete plan for how to get where I am going, hoping that an answer will appear out of the blue.

I think the absolute number one is not to get freaked and start running around like a chicken with my head off, passing out resumes to every place and feeling terrible about myself. No one can succeed by freaking out and grabbing at the easiest/lowest possible way of surviving. Dominic told me it will be hard to bear difficulties and to make decisions and go forward if you don't have a goal that excites you - that is really coming from your heart. No wonder I have been wandering in the desert. But then told me he felt the most energy and a complete change in me, when I talked about my former abilities and interest in music. This is a crushed dream that I don't think can be resurrected, and I definitely cannot start making a living with it right now, and don't know if I ever want to. It's weird and unsettling when someone else mirrors back something else to me - music - piano, playing music, that I am not in touch with right now. I feel that perhaps I am missing out, am going in the wrong direction, and it makes it hard to take concrete steps I need to take in this moment.