Let me set it straight.
I take no responsibility for this. If you wish, blame it on my friends Cristina and Inês (I know I do!).
The first for always telling me how funny my writing is and reminding me of this episode that I texted several years ago where on my way to a wedding I tripped on the train platform, my bag opened and my underwear got all scattered in plain sight. I’m sure in all my embarrassment I wrote a tragedy, she found it quite comedic.
The latter for replying me several months ago also after receiving a text related with something that I experienced in a subway that I should just start a blog. My immediate reaction was to think that blogs are very 2005. I’m sure if I search the internet I’ll find blogging became popular way before 2005 (yes, it did. I just googled it.), but that year marks my first incursion to the blogosphere. I had just had a baby and I was longing for contact with the outside world. I accomplished one spectacular post before realizing that there were lots (I mean LOTS!) of baby blogs out there and leaving it to the other newly mothers.
From what I just shared, you can draw two conclusions. First, I’m quite the texting aficionada; and two, I use public transportation. I do text a lot, but never while driving because I don’t own a driver’s license (let’s not start on that subject just now) and I use many public transportations due to the aforementioned handicap (see top line) and because I come from a place where the public transport system works (despite all the recent cuts and complaints). And I like riding buses and subways with other people. Not the sweaty smell you’re sometimes showered with early in the morning (actually, showered with isn’t the best way of putting it because if those people showered there wouldn’t be a sweaty smell in the first place.), but there’s just so many things happening, so many characters and interaction or lack of it that I get easily distracted.
I especially like to watch teenagers to remind me just how stupid I used to be. The boys all doing the right stuff (which is obviously the wrong stuff, because they’re 15 and they’re guys), like ignoring the girls giving them the long lashed-cow eyes while pretending to go through their ipods. And the girls getting really loud if they’re with a group or cooing if they’re alone, seeking attention. It’s like watching animal behavior. Like a trip to the zoo only cheaper. I just can’t see it and smile and think that they are cute. Maybe because I feel like I grew out of it not that long ago (I’m convinced that my teenage years lasted until I was 25) and I like this superiority sense (which just goes to show that I might not be completely over it yet).
But I derive.
I decided to start this sort of diary because I moved. From Europe. To Trinidad and Tobago. From a non-English speaking country to a broken-English speaking country. From the home of fado to the birthplace of soca. And although I won’t be riding many public transports here I expect the transition to be filled with episodes and remarks that while not really comparable with teenagers’ behavior (nothing is), should be pretty interesting.
Also I'm growing bored and I need the practice in written English.