Carlos Matallín

A part of my life has been stolen

From some time now I’ve been working in a quite big project that took me away from blogging. In fact, I would have rather redesigned the blog (something I have in my mind and in my To-Do list) before taking up my posting habits.

However, yesterday occured something that couldn’t keep me shut anymore. As the title says, I was stolen.

I was taking part in the Grup Jove activity that almost every weekend is carried out by the Centro Excursionista de Valencia. It wasn’t just another activity; we were painting the facade of the building after all the paperwork and difficulties that we might encounter since we live in Valencia: the city of the America’s Cup or the Street Circuit, but not the “let the people make theirs a better city”. Shaming.

So, we were almost finishing it all: taking some photos, giving the last strokes, picking all the paints and brushes up… when I received the fateful phone call. Since the very beginning I knew something wasn’t going well; but I couldn’t know what. The lady in the other side of the line told me that my wallet with all my papers (NIC, Driving Liscense…) inside, had been found miles away from the place I was.

I couldn’t believe her. I took a quick look around and my bag was indeed stolen. I plunged into a feeling of powerlessness and fury. Why? Do you want to know what was I carrying that day in my bag? Yes, that bag.

• My graduated sunglasses: Useless for a non-myope person.
• My moleskine: The place where I write down EVERYTHING. My daily log in the summer camp, the minutes of the Grup Jove meetings, the notes I took at FOWA, my inspiration for some projects, my feelings… MY FEELINGS! Somebody could be reading my open heart right now at the same very moment you are reading this! Those feelings that only some people that I can count with one hand’s fingers know…
• My wallet: No money. “Only” my identification and a photography. The photography of the most important person in my life, who grinned at me every time I opened my wallet.

That’s what I carried in my bag that day. So, here I am. I’m nobody, I have no feelings, I have been stolen priceless (in all its meaning) little parts of my life.

Tomorrow I have to go to the bank, pick up my new credit card, pay the money (that one friend owed me and I miraculously declined to take before being stolen) I will spend in Sevilla into my savings account, call the Venecia Hotel and notice they will have to charge me from another credit card… lots of last minute complications caused by somebody despicable…

At least the mural painting turned out great!