Curtains and a mosquito net

I am noticing a shift in the patter of this dumpster fire I call my blog. I am no longer writing often because I'm dying of anxiety nor want to analyze and report stuff but rather because I am enjoying it and want to put into text remembrances and feelings, and thoughts. 

So, today I went to the mercadillo with my grandmother and the colombian nurse. It was a great experience; I took part in this peaceful ritual of choosing tomatoes and fruits and aubergines with granny, and how she taught me about which to choose taking into consideration color, size and texture; like, for example, you have to get a black aubergine and not a purple one, because the purple one won't be as tasty because it isn't full developed yet.

After that, she went for some clothes she saw; we both liked some blue pants with suns and symbols on them and she bought them. During the walk, we talked about everything and nothing: how was living on my own, cooking recipes, furniture, and I liked that we crossed some people (elders) that called my grandmother by her nickname, "Valentina", which is not due to a name but rather about family heritage and her character; she's always been full of energy, like a thunderstorm, and I can even recall a time where she literally screamed to a guy twice her size in the middle of the street because he said something inappropriate and the guy was the one in fear. She's a young spirit, cracking jokes while pushing her late 70's, and of course, as caring as a grandmother could be.

Later on, while heading to grandma's, we saw my grandfather, who was going on a wheelchaired walk with his nurse, and actually managed to prank me or, as the youngsters say nowadays, farmed aura; I went to greet him and hugged him and he did a total blank stare and told me totally cold: "who are you?" only to smile and smirk towards me seconds after. Even at the verge of death he's still got it.

The colombian nurse told me  about a good furniture shop that was on this über sale due to reasons (not being able to compete with fucking IKEA) that I should visit, as she knew that I was looking for a bedroom for me and my fiancée. I managed to pull a great bedroom at a 50% discount with wood and good materials.

Anyway, the thing that drove me to spend my saturday night listening to lofi while writing and after preparing some lentils stew, is my parents.

Yesterday I left the greenhouse proud, as I was able to end the work load of two days in one using logic (a system with charriots to work as twice as fast that would be so complicate to explain here without images that I won't bother, so it's up to the potential readers this text has to imagine it or just to stay like this for the achieve) and my father said that it wouldn't be possible.

That afternoon, I had a revelation after a good siesta and dad helping me getting some stuff home from the bedroom (the bed's base), to call dad and tell him to go to the Obramat (a giantic store related to construction materials and home appliances, I pronounce it like a japanese would do just for the love of the game, oburamatu, I find it so funny) and IKEA to buy some stuff. To which he said yes.

We went to IKEA, I sent back some things at the devolution area, bought some crystal bottles and tupperwares and went to the Obramat. The car ride was mostly silent but we managed to crack some jokes, he asked me about the choir and I invited him to come to our concerts, and we both hated on the police (picoletos) which is something always nice to do.

At the Obramat we both bought stuff we needed - in my case, a giantic mosquito net for the bedroom's window, and he told me he would help me today getting it installed.

So, today arrived and mom also came home to help me sew the new curtains. 

They both told me how they missed the flat and I went helping both of them with both the sewing and the net thingy.

At one point, mom and I got anxious and started yelling to each other (which has been the norm since I can remember and it's just the way we communicate and express ourselves), and then, like 2 hours -ish after we didn't manage to sew the height of the curtains correctly due to a little mistake putting the curtain bar, I stopped and realized what was happening, which is something I've reported before here: I was being loved through actions by people who could never tell me how they feel, and it's always been like that.

Two people pushing their late 50's went to spend a whole saturday evening helping his son with his new life.

My mother has always been a pain in the ass. And I do not tell this as an insult,  but as a mother-quality I've learned to appreciate as years went by: She's sure loud and insistent and even insane in some occasions, but she also gave her youth and health for me and the sake of giving me an opportunity. Nowadays she's severely injured (bones, back, etc) and while able to walk and take care of herself, she's not working anymore, has gone through risky operations and going through and abhorrent amount of pain. And even while not being able to stand still due to being sit for too much, bearing an absurd pain, she still came here to help me sew. I've been in pain, and honestly in my worst moments I've been horrible to sit with, so I can understand what she's going through, and only makes me realize even more about the importance of that simple action.

We've never been too close: I grew up distant as she was always working and she didn't had the "leader" or decision making role of my father, so she was the person that yelled at me because something was dirty or hugged me from year to year. Still, when I was little she always read to me before bed so I could sleep. I can still remember the tales and her ever going to bed with be after a hard day at work, also teaching me how to pray.

During all my life she's been doing little things as her love language: bed, cooking, come visit me when I was studying abroad, laundry, driving me to school and music school... And all of that just came to me in a second and I promised myself that I would never yell again to someone who loves me so deeply, even when she's truly unbearable sometimes due to pain and an anxious personality.

Afterwards I sat on the sofa at the living room, and fully realized about all of this, and cried, silently, just a couple of warm tears, driven by the overwhelming feeling of knowing that there are people, imperfect people, people who has made mistakes, but still people, who would literally do anything to support me when in need, that I am really and truly loved, and that I wasn't able to realize about it until now.

 I do not know if I could make it to stand her when she gets to yell and tell me the same question or thing 10 times (which made me develop a tick of  getting incredibly pissed of if asked to repeat the same thing multiple times), but I will do my best; go visit from time to time, call home, and pray for her.

For I am a heir of the sun, their sun, their imperfect, loving and stubborn sun, and I shall thank them for it with the very only thing that I've got: love.