The message

Gandhi once said "My life is my message".

Dear fellow explorers, have you recovered from walking up and down the dunes of Fuerteventura? Did you get a chance to dive with your eyes into the blue blue Atlantic? Did you hear Lara Maria's laughter as it was being swayed by the breeze?

Last two weeks were very tough at work.I became ill before the end of the first week.I was thinking: "You will make it, two more days... you will make it, one more day...". I was surprised, when, in the midst of my struggle, someone seemed to whisper on my ear:
Have faith, have trust in yourself. You can overcome many obstacles. Just ask for help whenever you need it and those helping you can be your voice.

This was a message that instantly comforted me and gave me new strength. This is the truth.

It is already cold cold winter in Barcelona, the trees in Gandhi's Gardens are losing all their leaves and they huddle together to beat the freezing wind. Even if their branches are nude and shaky, they keep telling their stories. Gandhi's statue is gelid, warmed up only by the blanket of leaves laid at his feet and it's difficult to get him to talk these days. He seems distant. But the trees continue whispering, and Gandhi, with an almost unnoticeable grin, keeps listening. It's the turn of the Plane tree, or as it prefers to be called by its Spanish name, Plátano.

"I have seen this boy several times, he comes following the little group of friends from the high school that's around the corner, did you know, Gandhi?. He follows them at a certain distance. He wants to be let in the group, but they tease him. Tease him badly. They twist their words to hurt him. There's nothing I despise more than humans who twist their words, they are carried by the wind and hurt my leaves too, then dry up and fall helpless to the ground -I know, I know, please continue, mutters Gandhi- Well, I hear his name is Manel. He follows them because they know a secret about his family and he's ashamed. He thinks they will tell the rest of the class and everyone will then mock him and laugh at him. And he will have no place to hide his shame anymore.

Manel sometimes comes with them even at night on Fridays and Saturdays. They stay on the benches on both sides of the path that crosses the gardens, smoking, laughing, sometimes drinking until two or three in the morning. Some nights they go into the bushes and do things they do when they hide. Not kissing or hugging, like the lovers on the benches or the couples passing by. They do things they wouldn't like having done to themselves.They sense the fear in the weak one, point  him out and do these things to him. Most  times the weak one is Manel. He goes into the bushes with an air of resignation, hoping, breathing heavily, wishing, trying to look for compassion into the groups' eyes. But groups have neither empathy nor compassion, just fun games. He hopes, breathes, wishes that this time would be the last time and his secret would be safe forever, but too many people know. And Manel keeps paying, hoping, breathing heavily and following the group at a certain distance, about two meters behind his own shadow.

Two Saturdays ago, late, they came around and settled noisily at the far end of the path. Manel sat at the bench next to them, hands between his knees, sweaty fringe over his eyes and backpack of shame on his shoulders. They started to laugh whilst taunting him, unaware that there was an old lady in her fifties observing them from a balcony, maybe forty meters away. They started pushing Manel from side to side into each others' arms, chanting twisted words, laughing histerically, until one of them threw Manel into the bushes. Two more followed. And the others stayed by them, watching. The old lady, wearing a sudden bitter expression, went quickly in, put on her shoes, grabbed Xisca, her chocolate labrador, leashed her and shot downstairs at full speed.

She began to shout as soon as she stepped onto the path -Leave the kid alone, you bastards!. Xisca started to bark aggresively, sensing the desperation in her owner's voice. Three emerged from the bushes and, as soon as they saw the lady and the dog, hit the road. Twenty meters more and the lady and the labrador met face to face with the other two. They were still smiling -Leave the kid alone, sons of bitches! Or I will unleash the dog and she will kill you. I swear she will kill you!-They shouted abuse at the lady and tried to grab her but the dog's gnarling and sharp teeth made them think running home was suddenly the best idea in the world. And, before she could think about it, the lady had unleashed Xisca, who shot like a certain dart after them and made their feet hit up to their buttocks.Instantly, she broke into the bushes and hugged Manel while whispering soft words to him -It's over, my son. It's over. They are gone.

Neither Manel nor the lady could sleep that night, but she hugged him all the time and whispered calming words to him while in her living room sofa.Xisca lay at their feet, her heart still pumping hard. Next Monday, and after talking to Manel's parents, the lady went to the high school to speak to the teachers and the headmaster, then to the police. Manel stayed at home that week, but also, early every morning, I saw him walking Xisca in these gardens. Have you seen Xisca, Gandhi? She's certainly not afraid of the bushes."

Have faith, have trust in yourself. You can overcome many obstacles. Just ask for help whenever you need it and those helping you can be your voice.


Your life is your message.