If Spotify Hadn't Lost My Password

Cousin Paco: Yeah, I'm the best, I always win!

Me: Mom, Paco always cheats at Cornhole!

Cousin Isra: Look, look, a cannonball!

Me: Oh, you splashed me!

Also Me: I'm going for a ride on the bicycle with Elena and Maria. What time should I come back for dinner?

And that's how the best days of our summer lives went by...

I'm sitting at one of these incredibly massive cafes in Bali, with cheerful waitresses, spa aromas, and relaxing music playing in the background. Surrounded by other nomads leading quite different lifestyles.

I was about to start writing about my summer camps as I promised in my previous story when all these other summer memories came rushing back to me.

Those are always the best memories of our lives, aren't they?

How could they not be?

My brother pestering me, me trying to break free, my sister requesting songs, my mom attempting, unsuccessfully, to maintain order, and my dad gazing out the window instead of focusing on the road while driving.

That's how we traveled in the camper where my family and I used to live for about two months every summer.

I loved that camping life!!

Nights at the campsite were very special to me. We would hop on our bikes and explore the town with our friends, laughing until late at some bench. It was a feeling of adventure and freedom all at once.

On some nights, my father, my siblings, and I would go fishing in the nearby village, which often turned out to be a complete failure, by the way. But we kept going just to spend some time together.

During the day, going to the beach across the street was the absolute BEST because there were actual dinosaur footprints there!

My father, being a biologist, used to tell me about how those "terrible lizards" (that's the meaning of the word "Dinosaur" in ancient Greek, in case you didn't know) became extinct, along with other fascinating stories. I could picture them vividly.

Without a doubt, what I loved most about summer was spending time with my dad.

We enjoyed sitting under the umbrella, reading many books, and then diving into the sea... What a wonderful life!

Living now this hectic life of meeting new people, going to the beach, exploring waterfalls and volcanoes, and feeling the freedom to the fullest is truly incredible.

It truly is.

It makes you be so present without missing anything.

I rarely feel nostalgia here.

Which sometimes, and only sometimes, can lead to losing sight of your past, forgetting that in the end, that's a big part of who you are today.

Anyway.

Anyway, I am aware of why these summer memories came flooding back now. It was because of something that happened to me yesterday.

Let me tell you about it...

I was going to meet up with some friends at the beach a little later and wanted to create a playlist first.

Laptop open. Google "Spotify."

Your account has been disconnected. Please enter your password.

Oh, shoot. I hate that.

Okay, let's recover the password... ...great, the account is linked to that email account I haven't opened in 200 years.

After several tiresome attempts that I'm sure you can imagine because we've all been there, I managed to log into my old email.

I was amazed as I stared at the screen.

A bunch of emails that I had exchanged with my father over 10 years ago showed up.

I didn't remember the way he talked to me. I didn't remember how I used to talk to him. And I certainly didn't remember that we used to communicate by email every day!

He would write from his office, me from Italy, London, Salamanca...

"Dad, can you help me with some paperwork for a university scholarship?"

"Sweetie, can you translate this into English for work?"

We used to help each other.

Among the emails, I found something I didn't remember doing at all. It's funny how the mind works...

Apparently, in every place I went, I would write a little document for him, including pictures and telling a story about what my life was like at that new place, introducing the people I was meeting.

In this photo, we're eating at the best place pizza place in Italy. We always go on Fridays. The redhead girl next to me is Laura. She's from Valencia, and she's going to visit us at home this summer...

He would respond happily, knowing once again that I was doing well.

I used to tell stories to my dad more than 10 years ago, but that completely slipped my mind!!

It's funny how this resurfaces now that I am telling stories again...

Also yesterday, after finding those emails and obviously still with that in mind, I was writing a quick proposal for a client, and to help her understand something I wanted to convey, I told her a story that I had never spoken before:

When I was little, my house was chaotic. My sister was always causing trouble, my mother yelling, my brother locked away playing video games at full volume, and my mother yelling again.

My father and I were pretty alike so I often sneak into his office to find peace. He would light incense, teach me meditation, and often take me exploring the mountains. At night, he would say, "Tell me three things you're grateful for today," and above all, he insisted that I always keep a journal.

When he wasn't there, my refuge was that journal. I could write about everything and understand that besides my father, I was the only other person who could truly understand me and with whom I could be real. That's where my love for writing was born. I wrote It for so many years, even though I never showed it to anyone.

My father died young, and I abandoned the journal.

Not long ago, I started feeling an irresistible urge to write.

And I did.

When I write, I connect with myself and with him, and I strive to always stay true to the values he taught me: honesty and authenticity.

That brings us to this moment.

I wrote that, and once again, I was amazed.

How is it possible? We are with ourselves our whole lives, we think we know the reasons why we do what we do. And suddenly, you discover that there is a whole part of yourself that you had buried and forgotten.

Because we need to survive.

I know all this has come back to me because I started writing again.

I know I started writing again because two years ago, I decided to get lost in uncertainty, change course, and seek my truth.

I know I wouldn't have become aware of this part of myself as long as I believed that writing was for others who did it better and I had just given up.

And, and this is for sure, I know that part of me would still be buried if I had continued to shy away from remembering a father I miss.

No doubt, just a year ago, I wouldn't have dared to open those emails.

Yesterday I learned why I write and why I travel. Both bring back those summers.

I carry them within me, and I can't deny them.

The truth is, it's not about having a better job, a better house, a better partner, a new nose, or a dog that can do a somersault...It's about remembering who you are instead of who you should be and allowing yourself to be that person when suddenly your pieces start connecting.

Yesterday was a GOOD day.

Btw, my playlist also gave us a great time at sunset by the beach.

Cheers to Spotify. Thanks for losing my password!

Now, If you want to stay with my stories scroll down and SUBSCRIBE if you haven't yet. – and have an adventurous day!

Next week Bali will weave a spell for us.

For adventure, it's here