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Logbook to the middle ages. END

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I sit at the Nene Theresa airport. It is early in the morning and I wait for my plane to land, turnaround and take me back home. As I suspected, the Nene Theresa is clean and shiny but at this time of the day it offers very little. My next meal will be in Germany.
It has been a nice 7 weeks. They have been mellow and I have enjoyed Albania and Berat. And as I donít know if I will come back to Albania, but I am certain it will not be to my sleepy town, when I bid goodbye to it I felt a little pang. Berat, as I said, was gentle to me.
I started this blog talking about God the sadist and I canít go back on that statement. But I have to qualify it after these weeks. I firmly believe that if he even exists he is indeed perverse to the core. He is the god of childrenís cancer and of senile dementia, the god of parasitic diseases and of degenerative ailments. He is a god so full of hate and resentment that even at cosmological scales he creates black holes to devour his own creation. If he goes by a name, it is Shiva.
But I cannot blame him for everything. I cannot commit the same sin of arrogance that I blame all believers of committing and believe that all that happens to me is because of him, that he is maniacal in his implacability towards me. Yes, he provides the torture. But like any good torturer he knows that one gets used to the pain eventually. So the torture must be of the psyche. Room 101 is of no use if people donít know about it or if they know there is no chance one will ever end there. So the fear of what may come is key to the ordeal. Maybe it is him that provides the stove and the fire but it is this fear that puts the lid on the pressure cooker and seals it tight. And these worries when I am away from these settings where I work slowly start building up the pressure, because there is always the fear that nothing good will come. Not in the next five minutes and not in the next five centuries. It is my nature, I admit, and I have to learn to control that. At my age it will be a tough trick for an old dog to learn, but I have to try.
And Berat helped me with that. Here I was fine. I will not say that I was happy because that is not my disposition and the job was very demanding but I was in a state of tranquil contemplation. I was able to breathe with a little bit of more ease, the weight on my shoulders was simply the back pack in which I carry my camera and the gait on my walk was longer, more fluid, less draggy. Berat, to me, will always remind me of a time in which my sole thoughts were not defeated, a time in which, for example, I was able to again do some of the things that while I may not be as good as I would like to be, I am good at enjoying them. Amid this tranquility, I can create a little bit. With a shot here and there, these words here and now.
But there is something else too. When I go long stretches without a job it is my nature to start doubting myself. I start looking at that most terrible document that so many of us need to keep up to date and I wonder if there is something missing from my Curriculum. That terribly incomplete summary of not WHO I am but WHAT other people expect me to be becomes sadder and sadder.
And here in Berat I was able, as I came back into the fold of the industry, to see the reality. Whatever it is that keeps me from being employable by other people, it is not my skills. Here I saw the terrible intellectual shallowness in which this industry dwells. I saw my colleagues fumble with the most basic spreadsheet problems, be paralyzed with simple decision taking issues, contemplate for hours a problem solvable in minutes. And I hate to be arrogant but I cannot also be self defeating to the point of lying to myself. I may be a man with the hubris of a rodent but I have to state it to myself: sure, not everybody here was worse than I am.
But there was nobody that was better.
So I leave this land. I came, I saw, I ate, I plundered its sights, and I conquered nothing but its kindness. But I thought I was coming to the middle ages and in a way of thinking, I did. And the good thing that Albania did for me was to let me depart. I joked that I came expecting an age of darkness. But I leave slowly drifting into my own renaissance.

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Updated 09-24-2019 at 04:20 PM by ponchi101