It happens. It would be strange if it wouldn’t. Some days are just bad. They are awful. Terribly unbearable. Seems there is no reason for that, but that’s a fact. The Bad Day has come. And as this pitiful day miserably drags itself from morning to the bed time, you start looking for the reason of your pathetic mood – is it the retrograde of the Mercury? Or maybe I’ve put up some weight and hate the reflection in the mirror? Or somebody whom you wanted to meet so much and was jumping excited anticipating the meeting has just cancelled it, twice actually. Or maybe you are again ‘amazed’ at the narrow-mindness of the embassies sending you all the way back thousands kilometers away back to home country for the visa to the country which is thousands miles closer than your home now.
But then you ask yourself, why should it all be happening in Argentina? In Buenos Aires, a dream city, romanticized by me through the eyes and stories of so many people. Well maybe because Argentina is not a happy country these days. The economic default hanging up ready to fall any moment on the neck of the country reminds a thick “bad mood” veil covering the faces of argentinians wiping the smiles off.
Or maybe… all that together. It happens. And it’s OK.