PD.003 — Parkinson: Don't Leave Anything Half Done.

“Al mal tiempo, buena cara.” There’s no exact equivalent in English, but I think it’s quite a beautiful way of describing an attitude towards life. The way a friend of mine put it was even better: hay que molar. And I try to live by it. The illness is already here. Now the question is: what do we do with the verbs. Because maybe life is partly about that. Making it fun. Minimising the bad and amplifying the good. Putting attitude and action into the fucked-up parts. Conjugating the verb molar.

Giving up doesn't mola. Complaining about everything doesn't mola. Being boring doesn't mola. Isolating yourself doesn't mola. Waiting for life to start again doesn't mola. Cancelling everything before you try doesn't mola. Turning your illness into your only conversation doesn't mola. Talking only about what you've lost doesn't mola. Stopping being surprised doesn't mola. Stopping desiring doesn't mola. Stopping touching doesn't mola. Stopping laughing because it no longer fits doesn't mola. But honestly, neither does turning all of this into another obligation. Because some days crying mola more than pretending. Some days staying home mola. Some days doing absolutely nothing is exactly what you need to do. This isn't about winning a competition against sadness. It's about not giving it exclusivity.

También mola

Because also: kissing mola. Making your parents happy mola. Making your nephews laugh mola. Disagreeing with someone mola. Dancing like shit mola. Making something mola. Learning mola. Having an idea and watching it exist mola. Getting dressed up to go out even when you have nowhere important to go mola. Travelling mola. Eating something ridiculously good mola. Touching a body mola. Feeling desired mola. Desiring mola. Saying te quiero mola. Someone telling you how good it is that you're here mola. Doing something for someone without anyone knowing mola. Feeling useful again mola. Attitude mola.

But not the Mr. Wonderful mug attitude that pretends everything is wonderful if you smile hard enough. No. The attitude of looking at something that is completely fucked and saying: esto es una mierda. And then asking: qué hacemos ahora. Because the illness is already here. The body will do what it has to do. There will be better days and shitty days. Moments when the levodopa works and moments when it doesn't. There will be fatigue. There will be fear. There will be a part of me that probably never comes back. But there are still verbs. And as long as there are verbs, there is something to conjugate.

No reservation

When you listen, escucha. When you hug, abraza. When you kiss, besa. When you make love, make love. When you eat a coño, cómetelo. When you chupes una polla, suck it. Don't be thinking about the next thing. Don't do one thing while your head is already on the next. Don't save a part of yourself for later. No dejes nada para la vuelta. Because maybe one of the things the illness has taught me is that later always seems to have more energy than you do. Later I'll take that trip. Later I'll call. Later I'll write. Later I'll rest. Later I'll live. But later is a strange place. It always seems like we'll arrive with more time. More strength. More body. And sometimes we don’t.

So when you're there, estate. When you listen, escucha. When you hug, abraza. When you kiss, besa. When something deserves your energy, don't do it with part of you outside the room. Do it whole. Don't save so much life that you end up dying with it intact.

The other way around, too

And maybe it works the same the other way around. When you cry, cry. When you're sad, be sad. When you're devastated, let yourself be devastated. Don't turn every emotion into a problem that needs solving immediately. Some days there is no lesson to find. Nothing to learn. Nothing to grow into. Some days you're hecho polvo. Then be hecho polvo. When you feel like breaking something, break it. Well. Not a building. Though in your imagination you can become Godzilla and knock the whole thing down.

Maybe the satisfaction is in that: not leaving anything unexperienced. Not loving with part of your body outside the room. Not laughing while thinking about when you have to go home. Not crying while apologising for crying. Not desiring something with shame. Not saving a better version of yourself for a future occasion. Life already takes enough from us. We don't need to live what's left at half gas.

Reasons to spend it

Honestly I don't know what the fuck moves me. Maybe it's too much levodopa and pramipexol. The need to still feel useful. The need to contribute. The need to enjoy. To feel full. To pay back a little of the love debt I owe my parents, my sister, my nephews. Maybe it's the urge to contradict. Maybe ego. Maybe rage. Maybe a part of me just wants to shit on the faces of everyone who thought it was over. Maybe it's a constant hunt for dopamine. A chase of moments. Make something. Publish something. Think something. Kiss you. Laugh. Leave. Come back. Feel that something is still happening. Probably all of that together. And maybe it doesn't matter much.

I don't need to know exactly where the energy comes from in order to use it. I just need something to do with it when it appears. Because maybe the question isn't how to conserve energy. Maybe that's one of the big traps of being ill. Measure. Administer. Dose. Save. As if life were about reaching the end of the day with the battery as full as possible. I don't want to die at 80 percent. I want to spend something. I want days where I arrive exhausted because it was worth being tired. I want to spend energy on things that give something back. On people. On ideas. On kisses. On a dinner that runs too long. On making someone happy. On trying to change something even if it goes wrong. Because maybe the goal isn't to protect capacity. Quizá el objetivo sea tener razones para gastarla. The illness can take things from you. I already know that. But it doesn't have to decide what you spend what's left on.

Live Less Half-Heartedly

So for now my plan is pretty simple. I don't want to do more things. Quiero dejar de hacer las cosas a medias. When it's time to listen, listen. When it's time to hug, hug. When it's time to kiss, kiss. When it's time to laugh, laugh until it hurts. And when it's time to cry, cry without trying to turn it into an opportunity right away. No dejar nada para la vuelta. Because maybe there is no return. And if there is, better to arrive without the feeling of having saved something. With passion. With dedication. Without too much restraint. And if possible, with style.

Because in the end conjugating the verb molar might be exactly that: do what needs doing. But do it whole. Not live more. Vivir menos a medias. Because maybe living isn't about conserving what you have. It's about knowing exactly why it's worth spending it.

I love you all

This is for the ones who loved me. For the ones who feared me. For the ones who hated me. And for the ones I hated. For the ones who made me laugh until my stomach hurt. And for the ones I fought with as if there were no tomorrow. For the gilipollas who didn't believe. And for the gilipollas who did. For the ones who stayed. For the ones who left. For the ones who should have left earlier. And for the ones I wish had stayed a little longer.

For the loves I've had. For the ones I lost. For the ones that almost were. And for the ones I don't know are coming yet. For the hijos de puta I've met along the way. And for all the hijos de puta I still have left to meet. For the ones who hurt me. For the ones I hurt. Perdón. More or less. For the ones who saved me without knowing it. For the ones who tried to sink me and, without meaning to, gave me one more reason to swim. For the ones who thought I could. For the ones who thought I couldn't. I probably needed both.

Because in the end a life isn't built only with the people you love. Also with the people you told to go fuck themselves. With the hugs. With the punches. With the dinners. With the goodbyes. With the kisses you still remember. And with the ones you don't remember, but suspect were pretty good. I don't want to reach the end having saved too much. Not a cry. Not a laugh. Not a te quiero. Not a que te den por culo. So if we still have something left to live together, let's not do it halfway. En fin. Que os follen, hijos de puta. I'm going to the beach. Os quiero.