The unwanted luck of changes

We all fear changes. It's a reality. It's a fact. And it's okay.

We are comfortable in our simple lives, without too much excitement, zero surprises, and absolutely no disappointments.

And changes may be a bit uncomfortable when they happen, but you either learn or win.

I´m not even going to mention Canada. I don't need to. It was where I learned that changes are always good, but I even tried to make more changes here.

I've been in the same school for 13 years. I started in kindergarten as a 3-year-old, and I stayed there until I was 16. My intention was to go back to that same school after coming back from Canada, to finish high school there. It was one of those small schools where everyone just expected you to graduate there, and you assumed there was no other way, so you never thought you wouldn't. But, before coming back, I realized that my best friends were all in the same school, not my school, but other one nearby. The few friends that I had in my old school had moved to that same school because they needed a change. And then I realized that I had been uncomfortable in that school for the last years because most of my friends were in that other school. What was I doing?, you may be wondering. Why hadn't I changed school before? And that brings me to the whole point of this text, or essay, or whatever this is. Fear. I thought everything would be harder in other schools. They made me believe so. It doesn't matter who, because our society makes us believe that we shouldn't move too much, complain too much, change too much... They tell us that we have it easy, so why fighting for something that may be worse than what we already have? But we need to fight, it's in our blood, we started fighting for food and shelter, and then we built cities, and countries, and culture... We shall never stop fighting, building, wondering. If we fall in the trap of conformity, we will never improve, learn or grow. No cause is lost if there is but one fool left to fight for it.

So, as you've probably assumed, I changed school. Now I'm in a much bigger high school with more subjects to choose, more friends to hang out with... and it's just so great. The two most important decisions of my life were probably going to Canada and changing school, and I know that I'll never regret them. It's not because Spain and my old school are worse than Canada and my new school. Not at all. It's just that I'd had enough of them, and I needed a change.

An explanation

You may be wondering why I'm doing this. I mean, THIS. A blog in English, a foreign language for me, talking about... whatever I'm talking about. Well, it's not a long story, nothing exciting, but I'll tell you anyway. Just to satisfy your curiosity.

One year ago I took a plane to study for a year in Canada. No family, no friends, just me and my suitcase. I've always liked writing, so somebody suggested me to write a blog. Following her advice, I started a blog in Spanish talking about what being a Spanadian (Spanish + Canadian) feels like. It was a success, as everybody that I used to know where stuck on the other side of the Atlantic Ocean, and reading my life was easier that way. Then somebody said that I wasn't that bad at writing in English, and that I should start a blog in English too. But it wasn't the right moment. Not yet.

After the huge success of my other blog (not to show off, but it got 10,000 views, probably half of them from my parents), I couldn't write about Canada anymore. The experience itself was over, but the learning had just started. Maybe because I didn't want to lose my English, perhaps because it just felt the right way, or it might be just a huge mistake... anyway, I decided to write it in English. Canada and my experience there will probably be mentioned, but this is not about my experience as an international student anymore. After the last page of a good book, you close it and look for another good book, but at the same time you save a special spot in your mind for the finished great book.


Paper planes, what a childish topic, right?

Maybe it's not approached with the right attitude. Think of a paper plane as a letter with the magical ability to fly. It can fly with the wind, overcoming impossible obstacles, despite its fragility. It's a letter with a sender but not an addressee, sent from an anonymous writer to the unknown reader. And it can have anything written on it, even attached to it.

I once wrote a story about paper planes. They could fly over a blue sky to land under the same blue sky, as their senders were just separated by a few meters. Oh, and a wall. Yeah, the Berlin Wall was also in between them.


I wonder if this is a paper plane. I wonder if somebody, maybe on this or the other side of the ocean, will find this message and read it, keeping its secret for him or her. It certainly is a nice thought.

But if nobody ever finds this paper plane... Well, a plane is safe on the airport, but that's not what planes are for. And as this is made of paper (metaphorically, I'm not that crazy), there's very little chances it'll make it to an airport, but I'm willing to take that risk.

A good start

A good start.
What is that?
I guess some kind of perfection or utopic beginning that I will never write.
So let's forget all that overestimated fake beauty.
Forget all you think you know about me, stereotypes included, so that the truth can actually sink in.
Yes, it's much better now.

I like thinking that you'll imagine a world unknown to anybody but me when you read my words. I personally enjoy that picture: a man, woman or child building a castle up in their minds using nothing but what I provide them. It's probably harder than that, mainly because not even I can understand my own mind, so what a torture would be trying for everyone else! Not to mention the countless grammar/vocabulary/punctuation mistakes. But if you like, I can show you a story.

If you come with me, I will show you a story.

I'll tell you something.