Monday, April 13, 2015

Moved to a new home

 I'd be more tan happy if you follow my adventures at my new home and bookmark it in your list of favourites:
As dangerous as a loaded gun

 See you!

Sunday, November 10, 2013


One of my dearest blogfriends, Ms MJ, a nice Canadian lady author of the blog The Infomaniac is having a break and she hasn't decided whether she'll be back or not (before you click on the link, I must warn you that it's an adult blog, not for everybody).

The reason for that is a series of recent issues she had with Google. The last one happened a couple of days ago when she tried to log into Feedly -her feed reader- and she got a pop-up window saying that she should create a public Google+ profile to do so. In her own words, it was the straw that broke the camel's back.

MJ has been blogging since 2006 and over the years she created around her blog a nice community of bloggers. 3 years ago, her blog and comments disappeared unexpectedly due to some technical problems with Blogger. She couldn't use her profile to comment and she had to do it anonymously. 4 years of her life had been washed out in just a blink.

I was affected by the same problem at the same time and if not for the Infomaniac Bitches, that flooded Blogger's forums with complaints, neither MJ nor me would have our blogs and comments back. Only bloggers can understand what it feels like having your blog deleted and losing your virtual identity without leaving a trace.

When everything was solved, I was so annoyed that I decided to export my blog to Wordpress. Some months later, I left Blogland and deactivated my two blogs. Two years later I decided to continue blogging. I reopened this old blog, only to find out that Google is still a pain in the neck, taking advantage of its dominant position.

Due to all the abovesaid, I have decided to go back my Wordpress blog an continue blogging there, so I would really appreciate your changing my blog adress in your blogrolls and feed readers, replacing it with this one:

I have also deactivated the Google+ account I opened some months ago.

Hipster Yaya has been recently attacked by the blogging virus and is pleased to invite you to visit her new house, full of glamour and southern hospitality:

I'm sorry for the inconveniences caused and really hope to see you all again very soon.

Thursday, November 7, 2013


Knock knock.I heard her walk towards the door at a snail’s pace.
Knock knock.

-         I’m on my way! –she shouted, answering to my impatient knocking-
 She stood behind the bolted door and asked:

-          Who is it?
-          It’s me Yaya. Let me in please –I whispered-

Some seconds of silence followed before she slowly opened the door. She stared at me with great surprise. Her eyes were as big as tea saucers.

-          Leni! –she shouted-
-          I’m very happy to see you again, sweetie. Everybody thought you had disappeared forever! Your face has been on the milk cartons for months!
-          Chill out, Yaya and drink some water.
-          I need something stronger. That bottle of Moonshine over there will do. I brew it myself, hehehe.
-          Yaya! This is dangerous!
-          What doesn’t kill you makes you fatter, honey.

I had a gulp from the bottle myself.

Did you think my Yaya looks like the funny smoker old woman on the left? No. She’s the nice lady on the right. But beware: her harmless look hides the naughty joker genes of the Qinans.
-          I’ve been hunting high and low for you but  I couldn’t find you, baby. I’ve got loads of phonecalls and emails from your boss, from your boyfriend, from your friends, from your ex-boyfriends...
-          I ran away, Yaya.
-          Could you please precise me where and why? –she asked-
-          To North Sandwich. Because I was fed up with everything here.
-          I’m pretty sure that “everything” in life can be fixed, Leni.
-          Yeah. With duct tape.
-          Come on, stop being silly! Be more positive!
The living room was freezing.

-          Yaya,  isn’t it very cold in this room?
-          Yes, honey. But I can’t afford the heating bill, so I just put a couple of sweaters and a blanket on. –she said, lowering her gaze-
-          What about your retirement pension? And your piano classes? Don’t you get enough money to live comfortably?

She sighed.

-          Honey, since you left, things have got only worse in Sandwich. My pupils couldn’t pay me and I ended up selling the piano, so the classes are over. My pension has been reduced, so I had to fasten the belt, just like everybody else. I must watch what I spend sweetheart or I’ll end up having tomato soup every day.
-          Is it really that bad?
-          5 million sandwichians have lost their jobs and 100 small businesses are shut down every day. People can’t pay for their mortgages and 600 families are evicted from their homes every day. Every now and then some jump off the window in desperation before they’re forced out of the house. Kitchen soups are packed full. Taxes never stop rising while salaries never stop shrinking. Elders spend their pensions to provide for their grandchildren. Social unrest is on the rise.  Young qualified people have no choice but emigrating to look for a better future. And now our doctors and engineers are cleaning latrines in the pubs of Burdishland and Orsinia.
-          Talking about being positive...
-          That’s what there is, Missy! Haven’t you heard about the subprime mortgage crisis, the real estate bubble, banks’ failures, bailouts, corruption and political scandals?
-          No.

I didn’t dare tell her that I had been intoxicated by poisonous dust while working as a cruise waitress and suffered from total amnesia for several months. She wouldn’t believe me.

-          Are you hungry, honey? I’ll make you a sandwich.

I opened the fridge like I used to do when I was a kid expecting to find some tasty delicacies but it was almost empty.

-          Don’t worry. Tomorrow I’ll get a box of groceries from the Blue Cross.
-          Do you live off charity, Yaya?
-          No, Leni. My income is not enough for the cost of living, but I get by with a little help from the food bank. I was a bit ashamed at first, but not now. Anyway... let me offer you a warm cup of tea and a sit down. Now tell me, how come you took French leave without notice? I’m all ears, honey.

I sighed deep and took some seconds to think how to explain I had screwed up my personal and professional life in the blink of an eye.

But before I could even open my mouth, the doorbell rang.

Friday, November 1, 2013












Wednesday, October 16, 2013

Friday, October 29, 2010

Thanks for all the fish

Saying farewell is never easy, especially after 3 years of dedication and commitment.

I started blogging on the 11th November, 2007 and am now taking a break. Maybe for some months, maybe forever. The decision to take this step is a carefully thought-out one, although I make it under an atmosphere of mixed feelings.

Over this time, Dangerous Writer evolved from starting as a Spanish-speaking site with the purpose of publicising my writing, to becoming an English written blog where I posted a serialized fictional story and a number of short tales.

However, keeping such rate of work has proved to be too time-consuming for me and too demanding for those who stop by. I must now move on to new projects, new commitments and new horizons.

Despite the circumstances in which I leave, I will always remember Dangerous Writer fondly. Over these three years, I made new friends, met excellent people and I wish them the best in their lives. I have been touched, moved and overwhelmed by the response I have received and I thank each and every one of you. I also wish to thank those who struggled to recover my disappeared comments from Blogger when my old blog was removed. I will never forget this.

And last but not least, I’ll always treasure the memory of those who inspired the best pages of this blog. Sadly, I haven’t heard from them for a while. I wrote each word, took each picture and edited each video for you.

Hasta la vista my friends, wherever you are.

The Author (a.k.a. Leni Qinan)

Monday, October 25, 2010

First time I do one of these

These are my two first memes since I started blogging, in 2007. Hence, the enthusiasm. Please don’t blame it on me: it’s Mago’s and xl’s fault.

Mago’s questions:

1) Do you believe in ghosts? Of course I do. In this blog there are ghost butlers, late wives and deceased ancestors who come back from the afterlife to change the destiny of some humble mortals.
2) Are you content with your life?No. I had great expectations, but to my shame also sundry failures that I will never overcome.
3) Have you ever been at or close to point blank?
I can count on the fingers of one hand the number of times I’ve lost it.

4) Is philosophy necessary? As a method of asking, wondering and knowing, it’s the basis of science.
5) Do you live with books?
Some of them live in their shelves and others -the ones I have written or are in progress- live in my laptop and in my mind, eagerly waiting to come to light.
6) Have you ever been on stage?Just once, on a school Christmas theatre play when I was little. Guess who the proud author was. I had my minute of glory.
7) Do you regularly read a printed newspaper?
No. I check the news on the internet and listen to the radio while I drive. It’s comfortable and updates are real fast.

8) Are you afraid of the future?
No. I’m more concerned about short time issues and worry about the ‘here’ and ‘now’. Who knows what will happen tomorrow. Maybe nothing.9) Do you know yourself?
I thought I did, but now I’m not so sure. I’m discovering through others some personal features about myself that remained unnoticed to me.

10) Will you play on?I’ll do something better: I’ll answer xl’s meme, if you can get an overdose of me.

Xl’s questions:

1) Coke or Pepsi?
Always Coke. I find Pepsi too sweet for my taste.

2) Do you play a musical instrument?Unfortunately not.
3) If you could go back in time, would you make a different decision in your life?
Yes, a few ones: personal, academic and professional.
4) Which sport do you consider to be "football?"22 guys in shorts kicking a ball on a grass field: i.e. soccer.

5) Do you like to travel?That’s one of my favourite activities.
6) Do you like Piña Coladas and getting caught in the rain?I'd prefer to make love at midnight, in the dunes of the cape
7) Surely you like cats, right?
Sorry to disappoint you: I’ve never been a cat person. But I’m recently changing my mind.

8) Beatles or Stones?
Stones, of course.
9) Which foreign languages can you speak (regardless of fluency)?French, English –I think-, Spanish, Catalan, German –when I'm inspired-. I tried Italian and Japanese some years ago, but I gave up.
10) What special meal would you prepare for me?Some Mediterranean specialty, especially for you.

Thanks, Mago and xl!

Sunday, June 6, 2010

Ready to be the party queen

The morning after when I woke up, Ed was not there. I lazily rolled over, tummy to back, to his side of the bed. It was still warm. The pillow had his scent. And it smelled so good.

I yawned and stretched. There was a sentence written on the mirror in red shiny characters: “Time to get going, sleepy head”, it said.

Hmm. What a funny awakening after a night of love and passion. I would have expected something more romantic from him, kind of “A day without you is like a day without sunshine”. But maybe it was a matter of Burdish humour (the type of humour that makes you laugh for five seconds and think for five minutes; something that most Sandwichians -like me- will never get).

I looked out the porthole. It was a genuine spring morning and I smelled the salty sea air that blew through the fluttering net curtains.

And I suddenly remembered… it was the day of the awards ceremony!!!

There was an impressive mannequin in the middle of the cabin, all dressed up like a princess in a magnificent red tulle dress, a pair of shiny red patent leather shoes, red opera gloves and black mink stole; it wore beautiful drop earrings, a ribbon choker and a tiara worthy of a queen.

But there was something oddly funny about that mannequin: a pair of silk sheer stockings, a tiny beaded black g-string and a rhinestoned bra were hanging from its right hand. I smelled a rat.

- You can’t attend the awards ceremony in a French maid outfit, Leni –said a familiar voice-
- Hellgirl! Are these clothes and sexy undies for me? –I asked her-
- Of course, my dear. You’ll look pretty as a picture in this fabulous red dress. Have a look at the jewels. They’re real: genuine Burmese rubies and legendary South African diamonds that I borrowed especially for you from the Tiffany House in Madhattan. I know red is your favorite colour and diamonds are your favourite gems.- What do you mean you “borrowed” the jewels?- Well, I had to cast a spell on the shop assistants that made them a bit groggy, so that they didn’t object when I asked if they would be kind enough to lend me their best ruby choker and diamond tiara.- Hellgirl! That’s is a robbery!
- Oh my, this is too strong a word to say, Leni! We don’t use money in Hell; our economy is based on deals, barters, swaps and borrowings. So what’s wrong with it when both parties agree on such a private agreement?
Ah, she was impossible. Meanwhile, I was blinded by the brightness of the red fabric, the real rubies and the diamonds. I couldn’t take my eyes off the dress.

- Did you know, Leni, that the reporters of “The Sandwichian Chronicle” have nicknamed you “Ed’s missing urban Cinderella” when you disappeared? –she asked, as she was leafing through a newspaper-.
- Yes. I became famous when they caught us kissing last summer at the Arena lobby.

I had been stalked by the Sandwichian reporters for months until I disappeared. It all started when Bob Gausmann, my ex-boyfriend, invited me to the tennis cup finale. The crème de la crème of Sandwich was there to watch the event and of course, Ed was there too. When he saw me with Bob, he became so jealous that he lost his cool and phoned me to meet him at the lobby on the spot. I managed to calm him down and when we patched things up, we hid in a dark corner to kiss. Right after make up sex, there’s nothing like make up kisses. But as soon as his lips touched mine, three reporters came out of the blue flashing their cameras.

- Tonight’s the night to show them that you’re not a poor thing. –said Hellgirl- It will be earthshattering news when it’s official.- What? What will be official? –I asked, very intrigued-
- That you’re Ed’s girlfriend.
I collapsed on the bed.

- AM I??? –I asked in shock-
- I think so. It’s pretty obvious that he has some expectations about you, isn’t it?- He’s just protecting me. I’m now in a difficult position, unemployed and far from home.- Of course. And you have a mission in life that has a lot to do with him.- What mission???
She was about to answer when Percy, her inseparable servant, made a star appearance in the room, wearing his tacky red top hat.

- Long time no see, Leni. I still can’t understand why you date humans again, least of all Ed. He may come up with a marriage proposal and impregnate you five times before you realise it. So honey, my condolences. He’s a hottie but he’s old and immortal also. He has been twice widowed; he’s dark as a dungeon and weird like a twilight vampire! What a nice history you will inherit, luv. You surely deserve someone better. –said Percy-
- Stop the verbal diarrhea, Percy. We all make mistakes. –said Hellgirl, smoking her long golden cigarette-. As the say goes: “If you marry you will regret it. If you do not marry you will regret it. If you marry or do not marry, you will regret it.” –she laughed-. I already had 15 husbands when I started to regret, so it can’t be that bad!- OOOOOH SHUT UP! I’M NOT MARRYING ED!!! –I shouted while they killed themselves laughing-

I was very worried.

- Leni, pull yourself together. I’ve known Ed for 250 years now. He’s neither a dork nor a freaky guy and I’m totally sure that he’s head over heels in love with you. I predict you’ll end up marrying him -and you’ll marry well- but all in goodtime. –said Hellgirl-
- Arrrrgh… will you come off it, please? –I mumbled-
- What? Isn’t he good-looking? –asked Hellgirl-
- Yeah he’s really hot. –I answered-
- Isn’t he filthy rich? –asked Percy again-
- Yes, indeed.
- Then what else can you ask for? If not for the fact that he’s older than God, darker than black and busier than a three-legged cat, he would be perfect. Oh and he gets up to some crazy antics quite often too…
I raised an eyebrow. Percy went on.

- But for better or worse, you love him, Leni. Poor thing. You’re sick of oldermenitis and that turns you into an oldephile.
- What???- That's the opposite to a paedophile.
–said Percy- You know, one of these perverts and vicious individuals who like to shag with the older generations… I’m 535 years old, Leni and very open minded to any sexual options if you'd ask… -whispered Percy into my ear-

- You would be the last one I'd ask! -I said-

I was about to shout out again, utter a curse, a harsh abrupt scream. But before I did, Hellgirl warned him:

- Percy, if you don’t shut up right now, I’ll send you to ride the wings of pestilence and doom you to dwell in caves filled with creepy worms and biting bats till the next millenium.- Your threaten sounds like the hackneyed libretto of a bad opera rather than the punishment of a she-devil, Hellgirl. How come you never force me to march naked among the applicants for the title of Miss Universe or arrange a threesome for me with Angelina Jolie, Megan Fox and Lucy Liu, instead?
- That’s a foursome, hamster dick! You’re so stupid that you can’t even count.- Hey guys, stop it. Now. Or I’ll get mad. You sound like dumb and dumber!
They could spend hours fighting over the most stupid things one can imagine.

- I just need to look pretty and witty tonight! Prettier and wittier than Misty! –I cried in despair.-
- Aww… poor thing. Look what you’ve done, Percy: you made Leni cry and you’ve pissed me off. I’m gonna freeze you for a while.
Hellgirl pointed out at him and Percy was frozen on the spot in carbonite, like Han Solo in “The Empire strikes back”.

"Party girl" (U2)

Saturday, June 5, 2010

A natural way to get a great night's sleep

I spent a couple of days resting in Ed’s suite, still dozy in the mornings, tossing and turning in bed in the evenings, experiencing horrible nightmares in which I saw myself swimming in that recurrently familiar hell of blood.

I was terrified of the dark. The temporary disruption of my body's normal biological rhythms was causing me a great deal of inconvenience: I simply couldn’t sleep.

On the first night, I woke up in the middle of my bed screaming and crying. Ed was sleeping next door to mine. When he heard me, he rushed into my room very alarmed.

- What happens, Leni? Did you have a nightmare? –he asked-

- Yes. A horrible one.
He sat beside me and held me.
- You’re now healed from your temporary amnesia, but you’ve gone through a lot of suffering in the last months and you’re still afraid and nervous. Tell me, what's worrying you now? –he asked-
- I can’t sleep, Ed. I mean I'm just scared that if I close my eyes... when I open them... I'm gonna be back in that horrible sea of blood, drowning, running out of air, with all these kids pulling my feet into the blood…- Okay. Then stay with me.
Oops. I didn’t expect that offer.

- Come home with me. When you open your eyes, I'll be there. I won’t touch a hair on your head, if that worries you.- Oh no! –I said, very embarrassed-.

He raised an eyebrow.

- You mean “Oh-no” to “stay with me”? To “I’ll be there when you wake up”? Or to “I won’t even touch you”? –he asked, pretending to be curious but actually teasing me-.

I am absolutely convinced that in a few thousand years from now, the evolution of the human brain –if there is any- will lead to total elimination of language. Men and women will replace verbal communication with telepathy; misunderstandings will be old reminiscences of their long forgotten primitive ancestors. But until that moment arrives, the language and our limited ability to sense by intuition what the others mean will prevail.
As it shows, we were still clearly stuck at this confusing primary stage of verbal communication.

- Ed. I thank you for everything you’ve done for me. I said ‘Oh-no’ because I would be very disappointed if you didn’t even touch a hair on my head from now on. –I laughed-. But I’m afraid that your kind invitation will bring you lots of trouble. You’re a public person. Reporters and photographers will stalk us; the press will start spreading false rumours about you and me and make our life hell if we’re caught together again.
- Do you care about it?- Not particularly. I’m a nobody. But I worry about the consequences that it may bring you.- Firstly, you’re not a nobody. And secondly, you must leave it to me. Tonight we’re celebrating the Kynkybooks’ annual awards ceremony, here in the ship. Would you like to join me to the reception party?- Sure, but…- You will sit beside me at the presidential table. I want everyone to admire you.
- I feel flattered Ed, but I’m not just an ornament…- Of course not! I want you to show everybody that you’re not just a pretty face!
Jeez… I would be rubbing shoulders with the Sandwichian, Orsinian and Burdish top societies and I couldn’t disappoint him: I could neither look like the back end of a bus nor sound like a prize idiot. Not only that: I had to pass the acid test with honours; everybody would be judging me. I suddenly started asking myself what Ed would expect from me.

What do men want from women? Maybe someone whom they can show off to the world? I don’t mean a trophy wife, but someone who makes them proud to be their partner? Does that include necessarily brains, beauty and a nice personality? It’s nearly impossible to be perfect, but guys want everything good to be packed in the same container.

And what do women want from men? Some activity, not only in bed? The big memorable things in our lives along with these little things that really do matter too? Women are demanding indeed, aren’t we?
Just for curiosity... which tribe do you belong to? The one of those that overlook birthdays and anniversaries? That of those who are too busy to return the calls? Or rather the one of the owners of an inbox packed to explosive capacity with unanswered e-mails or sms? Dudes: EVERYONE’S BUSY, so SPLAT!

Little things do matter for women, so if the response time is poor, you haven’t got a snowball’s chance in hell: your women will think you’re not interested and move right along into the loving arms of another male predator that proves to be more romantic and attentive. This is the law of the urban jungle: you’ve been warned.

But back to the conversation…

- We’ll be on front page of all the newspapers in Sandwich, Orsinia and Burdishland. –I said-
- That’s is exactly what I want. You’re wonderfully volatile and dangerous like dynamite, Leni. Just be yourself and strike them hard. –he replied-
- What…?
- You heard me. You’re not going to hide anymore.
And what if I wanted to hide? I knew that as soon as I appeared publicly with him, I’d be the target of everybody’s looks. The tabloids and gossip magazines would have enough material to publish for a while.

- Leni, I can get you a personal shopper and my driver will take you to the most exclusive shops downtown. Buy yourself a beautiful evening dress that really suits you well and a pair of high heeled shoes. Go to the hairdresser, to the beauty salon. My secretary will arrange all the necessary appointments for you. - But…
- Please, do it for me. Today I have some delicate matters to solve concerning what has happened to you lately, and you should not be around.

- Why not, if I may ask?
- Because the people I’ve sent to look after you have failed lousily. I need to have a few words with Moebius and Falkenberg and I still have to get even with that bloke who blew amnesic powder on your face. Ruud… whatever the fuck his name is.- Have you… sent people to take care of me? You don’t have to be my babysitter! I can take care of myself!- Sweety… don’t take offence at my remarks but it’s pretty obvious that you can’t. You’re getting into trouble all the time and I won’t discuss this matter with you. Now let’s go to bed again, please. It’s 3am already and we’re tired. I’ll stay with you until you fall asleep.- No. Sleep with me. Here. In my bed. Please.
He smiled, got into my little twin bed beside me and we started kissing, desperate for each other. I rolled on top of him and quietly gazed into his eyes.

- Ed…
- Hmm…?

- This hard thing here… is it a banana in your pocket?
–I asked-

- No, cheeky. It’s a genuine erection in my pocket. Don’t expect a banana if you lay naked on top of me.- So you’re happy to see me, right?- Yes, indeed. I’ve been missing you badly.
Have you ever slept with a curious explorer of the universe, an adventurous tracker by nature? Well, I have. The less he knows, the more he wants to know. And he started some nature observations on me, slowly spreading my legs wide apart and taking his time to have a look.

- You have a nice little pussy, Leni. So tight and soft. And I love it when it’s shaved.
He slid two fingers into me without preliminaries, gently rubbing up the walls in slow circular motion, hooking them deeper inside, as if he were looking for something. I moaned with pleasure. I didn’t know what the hell he was looking for, but in a few seconds he could tell from a look on my face that he had found it.

- Gosh you’re so wet –he said-

He searched deeper with his fingers, until he hit the most unbelievably sensitive spot inside me and I strangled a scream. He tapped it repeatedly, softly, mercilessly, every time a little faster. I let out an even greater moan of pleasure. It wasn't long before he gave me a mind-blowing orgasm. But he didn’t stop there. That magical night the air smelled of desire and curiosity.

I started shagging his fingers like a wild mink, as we kissed. His tongue touched my tongue and entered my mouth, rubbing every corner, sucking on my lips. I went over the edge and squealed with pleasure while he made me come once, twice, thrice... I lost count of how many times. Thank God he stopped after a while or else I would have drowned in a pool of sweat and fallen in total exhaustion.

Scientists would just describe it as a huge endorfin shot in a human brain, but in reality I was back from a trip to the stars; I had been swallowed by a black hole, emerged on the other side of the galaxy and the whole world disappeared in an explosion.

I laid back on the bed in sweet languidness and lassitude with a wondeful feeling of well-being. The intense pleasure sensation hadn’t left me yet. He spooned me, wrapped his arms around me and whispered magic words of love right into my ear until he fell asleep.

I closed my eyes. The sea of blood, the evil kids, the nightmares, the fuzzy dreams never came back.

That glorious night I slept like a baby.

"If only tonight we could sleep" (The Cure)

Monday, April 19, 2010

The Burdish soul

When I opened my eyes I felt as if I had come back from a trip to Hell, emerging at last from the worst hangover of my life. The vividly horrifying images of my nightmares had left a bitter taste in my mouth and a very sad feeling in my heart. That was the cathartic process I went through before my memories finally found back their place in my mind.

I was naked in bed, covered with thin silk sheets and soft blankets, wrapped in semidarkness. My waitress outfit was carefully folded on a chair. Ed was sleeping on the couch, right in front of me. I had the feeling that he had been right there beside me from the beginning of time, long before I had drunk the sorcerer’s potion.

I didn’t dare wake him up, but I felt I had to let him know that I was myself again. So I got up, gently laid my hands upon his chest and kissed his forehead. He opened his eyes slowly.

- Good morning, honey. How do you feel? –he asked-
- I feel good, thanks. –I answered-
- Tell me … can you remember your name?
- Yes. I remember that my name is Leni Qinan, but unfortunately I forgot how to play landlord and maid. What about a refresher course?
–I laughed-
- We will play again naughty games very soon, Leni. Let me now enjoy the pleasure of having you near me. I thought I had lost you forever and I need to know that you’re not just a dream.
He was happy, but not in the mood for jokes. I carefully unbuttoned his shirt, straddled him and rested my head on his shoulder.

He enfolded me inside his big leather jacket, wrapped his arms around me and we stood still and quiet for some minutes, skin to skin.

That day I learned what the Burdish soul was.

The good people of Burdishland have endured terrible hardships over the years and borne historic burdens with endless patience, just as they regularly stand the adverse effects of extreme climate, which pretty obviously has an influence on their reserved and shy character.

The average Burdish men and women are quiet and formal; attentive and disciplined. Unfortunately, they don’t much like strangers, as I had been able to notice myself when I visited the country. I felt rejected and ostracized. I've been considered an outsider, an alien, a gaijin, treated like a stranger in the most offensive and derogatory sense.

The Burdish people inherently lead a sad existence: it has long been argued by historians whether or not Burdishland is to blame for causing the major disasters that the world has suffered, resulting in war, death and age-old hatred. But whatever the controversy conclusions might be, the Burdish quietly bear their cross, remaining firm under suffering without yielding, still knowing they will be blamed for ever and ever.

The Burdish are not exactly warmhearted people, but they are emotionally honest. They don’t fake what they feel, which makes them look sometimes harsh, sharp or even rude.

Their language is discouragingly hard to learn; but underneath that barrier and their apparently unyielding temperament, the Burdish people hide a strong sensitivity. They are devoted, committed, sensible people, but unfortunately they seldom show their emotions. Only penetrating deep into the intricate ways to their soul and finding out the exit from that labyrinth, they can become very lovable and endearing.

How do I know all this? As a Southerner who easily laughs, cries and blows up pretty fast, but goes down just as fast, I had to overcome my impatience and take the time necessary to find my way to Ed’s heart. In the core of his essence, and scratching deeper than the surface of his identity, I knew that deep down he was capable of affection and intense warmth in spite of his apparent coldness and lack of feeling.

Rather than just an ordinary Burdish citizen, he was a complex man still in touch with his zeitgeist and mysterious past. This added an irresistible magnetism to his personality.

I had seen him embracing the dark and falling in endless melancholy pools. No human force could drag him out of the blues; he refused my offers of help. He had to overcome it by himself, seeking shelter into his infinite loneliness. But time healed his wounds. And at that precise moment, time was healing a very bad one: extreme fear of losing someone he loved.

So there I was, all naked in the arms of that Burdishman who had been getting on my trail for months and had just found me.

- Don’t ever do that again. -he said-
- What? -I asked-
- Disappear. Promise me you won’t.
- Promised.
- I have something for you.
- Great! I love surprises!
He showed me the wonderful diamond ring he had given me some months ago, when I travelled to Mawi-Mawi.

- You threw it in the well of my house, in Burdishland; then you pawned it in Grytviken. I found it and redeemed it for you. There you go, it’s all yours again.–he said, putting it on the palm of my right hand-

How typical of him to understate his feelings. I always thought that such a beautiful diamond ring should go together with a love proposal.

In my country -the South Sandwich Islands- when a man declares his love to a woman, she expects him to kneel down and tell her that she’s the sweetest woman on earth; that she has a certain je-ne-sais-quoi that makes her unique and special; that he can no longer live without her. At home, this is what we call to be clear.

Well. Each to his own. I wouldn't be discouraged so easily.

- Oh, thanks. What am I supposed to do with it now? -I asked-
- Whatever you want. -he calmly answered-
- Maybe I can pawn it again. I’ll surely need some money when I’m home. I’m now unemployed, you know?
- Leni, I’m not the genie in a magic lamp that you can call as you please to ask for three wishes. I won’t get you the ring back if you pawn it again. If you’re too greedy you’ll end up with nothing. Buddah said: "There is no fire like passion, no shark like hatred, no snare like folly, no torrent like greed".
- Oh, Buddah. You knew him? –I asked, laughing-
- I’m old, but not that old, silly.

Excellent. He was in a good mood again.

- Please tell me what is it you want me to do with the ring. -I asked him seriously-
- I've already told you: you can do whatever you wish. -he answered in an undertone-
- Wrong answer. But I feel generous today and I’ll give you a second chance: please tell me, what is it you want me to do with the ring, Ed?

He laughed, but didn’t answer.

I looked in his eyes and asked directly:

- Would you like me to wear it?
- Yes. -he answered-
- Does it mean that you love me?
- No. It means that I hate you.

I couldn't help wondering whether he was speaking seriously or just joking.

- I hate you like I never hated before in my whole life. I hate you to the top of my strength and more than my words can say. This ring means that I don’t want to wake up in the mornings and see your face beside me; that I don’t want to make love with you; that I don’t want to take care of you for the rest of my life; that I just hope you hate me as much as I hate you.


He put the ring around my finger and stared deeply into my eyes for a seeming eternity without even blinking. I couldn’t resist his gaze, but I wished with every fibre of my being that I could melt into him.

- I hate you too, Ed. More than anyone else in the world. –I whispered, smiling-

"Can't take my eyes off you" (Muse)