Tea Shop Love

Up until now

As a child my mother always said the worst people were those who laid low, those who you made a mental image of where they were incapable of harming anyone, unable to break you.

For a while I thought she was too harsh, she used to have great days where we were a happy family, we went hiking, had picnics and drove to the most beautiful places I have ever seen. However the rest of the time she was depressed, distant and cold. I recall her telling my father she would never be normal, that she was broken and could not be fixed.

When my tenth birthday came by she packed her bags and left, disappearing and leaving me behind with a father who could not bear the pain. From then on everything went down, what I once called home turned into a place were I cooked, cleaned and slept.

While I focused on building a future far away from there my father focused on his work and a good set of women who would constantly come and go. He was a good man, I can say that, I knew he loved me, but he never got passed my mother leaving, and me being so alike her left me as a constant reminder of the love he lost and would never get back.

When I turned eighteen I was ready to leave, I had worked hard to earn a scholarship at a college in Barcelona (Spain) to study photography. It had always been my passion, I see photography as a tool to capture a moment I'd like to be eternal, a way to remember all the beauty surrounding us, that's why I only take shots of natural scenarios where nature is my background and random people my unknown models.

Four years later and a master degree on light and perspective where enough for me to break all ties with my family and the few friends I had back in London. I was never the popular type, I was the freaky, shy girl always with a camera hanging around her neck who tried to blend in without being noticed. For years I blamed my ways on the mental damage my mother's actions had done on me and my family, however with time I realised I had chosen this life, that my mother had only planted the seed and that I had built a iron wall that blocked everyone out, I was an outcast, but a painless outcast.

Sometimes I opened those memories I kept at the back of my mind, letting my feelings flow around and imagining what my life would have been like if non of that had happened. The outcome was so destructive I decided to run away, leaving behind all those memories, I chose to forget and accept the loneliness that came from it.

Once in Barcelona I found a huge apartment near the centre of the city over a Mojito Club were I worked all through my degree as a bartender at nights. I remember falling in love with the building, it had tall walls, craved ceilings filled with mosaics and marble stairs. It gave a sense of authenticity which made you feel those walls held memories only time could give.

The flat was full of light and I had a room bigger than the one back in London with a separated room I used as my studio. I would spend all day in my room, I had my best shots hanging on the walls as my own private gallery which I loved. A side from that I kept it pretty simple, a kingsize bed, a wooden table and a matching wardrobe.

At first the idea of sharing a flat with three people terrified me, however with time they became the closest thing to a friend a ever had. Us five we were a team, all different but we knew how to fit together.

First was Puck, his real name too complicated for those who had no idea of Catalan, he came off as a distant and cold guy, but deep down he was a sweet guy who would always managed to make me crack a smile. He taught me Catalan which I could say was like the Irish for the British, and we usually spoke a mix between English and Catalan which made it impossible for others to follow our conversations.

When I met him for the first time he was studying Business and Economy seeing as his parents wanted him to take the family company once they retired, anyways he would always complained about wanting to study history. He loved to talk about it, sometimes I would see him stressed with homework and I would sit on his bed and ask him to tell me stories and he would always come up with the most interesting events, some of which I had never heard of.

Puck was secretly part of a catalan republican pro-independence movement and at nights he would sneak out and attend meetings which you could see he loved from the smile plastered on his face when he came home.

On my second year he came one day running to my room screaming he was free, he was jumping on my bed while I was shocked at the twenty-one-year old guy that had turned into a kid the morning of Christmas, Puck had manned up and had told his parents he was studying history, that he wanted nothing to do with the family business and wanted them to let him be whatever he wanted. Surprisingly, and I know because his parents were scarier than Chucky itself, they apologised for forcing him and blamed their actions on wanting him to have a better future.

Then there was Yane, you could say she was the opposite of me, she was the realistic hot headed. Her words held no fear, she would state the truth no matter what, her opinion always turned out honest but sometime her sincerity cost her too much and she would hide in her room for a whole day telling us she did not want pay her pain on those she loved most.

I always thought she was was too mature for her age, that her past was as messed up as mine, but she just knew how to hide it under a hard armour and a bright smile. Yane's personality was a rollercoaster, but she was my best friend. She was there for all of us even when she was at her worst saying her problems would not go away just now and that being there for us kept her from a boring and depressed life.

Yane had currently graduated from her degree in Public Relations and had managed to find a job as an party organiser. She loved the job, she complained constantly about the lack of sleeping hours and the snobs she would have to smile at everyday, but deep down she was living her dream, and she knew that.

A few months after I moved in Marc rented the room next to mine. He and Puck would make home a debate room any second. They would never share the same opinion but they found a way of making every subject an intellectual conversation of facts and data which Yane would always laugh and say was her current events daily class.

Marc was the most sophisticated one, he always attended charity events, fashion shows and business parties which he said were his exchange for the rent and freedom of living on his own. At home, however, he let loose and became a whole different person, he would wear the most casual clothes which he kept separated from the ones his parents bought him and smoked joints which kept him in a constant high that, and I quote, "keep his creativity as fresh as a little kid's".

Marc owns his little business which he started three years ago when quit college to sell skate board T-shirts which he designed himself. In less than a year he had an online shop which his parents had no idea of and gave him enough to live a luxurious life.

All together we have formed a family, we told each other everything and those small secrets we kept were only known by us. We never judge, always listen and we fought every once in a while which we ended up realising was like our release of steam.