Ad illa tempora

Events like yesterday make me realize how tall the cultural barrier can grow between me and my colleagues at the project. How a matter of words or expressions can bring a whole text down, just being one after the other, eventually ending in an absolute nonsense of Art History concepts and pseudo-Spanish grammatical constructions. So, it is not valid. So, I have to start again. 

Indeed the readers are on the same intellectual level as me. Moreover, they do stand in a higher level, since 19th cent has been their topic for many years, and it just started to be mine. Sometimes I do not find the confidence to write or speak about obvious points, just because I still don't dominate de field. I wonder if I ever will. But cultural barrier due to the language has a strong role in this play. I can express myself in English and be understood not so bad. But academic concepts, scholar circles... that is something different. As not every spaniard could write an academic volume just due its knowledge of the language, I cannot still consider myself capable of produce content in another language, in another country. I have to learn, yet a long way ahead. 

That is how I am trying to see this, as a way of learning. And hopefully I won't end thinking of myself as the dumbest one at the project, what I do deeper in my heart. I had quite a few problems with the god-damn thesis that bring me so down, both intellectually and emotionally. I cannot help but think this could had been easier if I had stayed... here. Where I am, but involved in different circumstances. Like my friends and colleagues on the field. Just because, at the end of the day, what real difference lies in me? I cannot prepare classes, I am not going to trips, I just go back and forth from Europe once a month. The doubts have its roots so deep attached in my heart. In my brain. Despite my interest in congresses and conferences, what is the real difference with me? The language? Not so, I could be writing in Spanish. 

And, at the same time, this brings strong possibilities. For me, for the real me, waiting impatiently circled by the cage of my ribs. 

"Don't give up", you say. "I believe in you". Although you are so far away, you can still bring to my eyes the tears that heal me. Double way street, the one I am strolling. Thank you, truly. I need somebody that believes in me more than I do. I fucking miss you. 

But I need to stay strong for my little nephew coming. I saw is tiny face, and his tiny hand. The one I cannot wait to hold. I need to teach him what a warrior is, since you told me that you will speak about me as the Western soldier, the warrior from al-Andalus. The one with fire in her blood and no fear in her eyes. I need to stay true to those words, and teach my nephew we come to this world to learn, fight and evolve, both inside and outside. I already love you, Tariq, even if that won't be your name, and most probable it will be a while until we meet each other. And another bigger while until you are able to remember me. But I already do. Trust me, I already do. 

I can do this. I can. Not only a five-pages article. I can do the rest. I can and I should.
As professor Hillenbrand asked me a year ago, "will you drown or swim?", I need an answer. 

Off with lamentations. To work with me.