On reading between the lines.

They say reading between the lines is vital. One can always learn more from what is not being told, rather than spoken words. Perhaps it's true, or maybe it's just a ploy to cause the overuse of one's brain, thus giving people an occupation. It's a fine art, knowing when you're 'reading between the lines' and when you're just overthinking every word, every gesture, every pause.

I've always been gifted in this department. It has always been extremely easy for me to read people. Interpreting body language and anticipating certain moves or reactions have been a part of me for as long as I can remember. It was never particularly interesting for me, I just seemed to be good at it. So good, that now I can even guess what strangers will do, if I have a few crucial details. People I've never met, seen only through the eyes of my close friends, they all become predictable.

I thought it was a good thing. For years, I told myself that knowing people like the back of my hand can't ever be a bad thing. But here's the thing that no one told me. With people's predictability also comes the inability to be surprised. I walk around knowing more or less what people are going to say or do and that takes away some of the fun of finding out things as I go along. I can't even remember the last time I've been surprised or shocked about something. And as much as I want to say that it's for the better, it really isn't.

For being able to predict something, particularly something disappointing, doesn't actually take away the feeling. Being exceptionally good at reading between the lines doesn't take away the pain of being abandoned by friends. Or the knowledge that people you love don't exactly feel the same, although they do care about you a lot. Not even the few moments of happiness when you wake up and she cuddles you in the same way as she always does. Knowing how to read people helps with expectations. Because when people end up doing exactly as predicted, you find out whether or not the expectation was really there.

Sometimes, it's best if it's not. Other times, expectations are good. If you get hurt, at least you had a clue. Even though it doesn't hurt any less simply because you 'read it between the lines'. The anguish is still there.

A Marrakesh dream.

On a cold Friday morning, after spending a few hours in an impersonal London airport, we finally boarded a short three hour flight to North Africa. Visiting Morocco has always been a dream of mine, ever since I was able to read a world map. But then, what place isn't...? The excitement had been bubbling for weeks and whilst on the plane, it finally spilt and spawned in expectations of what we would find on another continent.

North Africa is highly different from any other continent I've been on. Marrakesh is the liveliest place I've ever seen and not always in a good way. From the airport, we made our way to the little riad that would host us for the weekend, in hopes to find a home away from home. Which, to an extent, it was. While it didn't have any of the comfort we have at home, it was magical. The winding, dusty, always unpredictable alleyways kept us company as we explored the maze that can only be Marrakesh. The lounge upstairs showed us views of sunsets poets only speak of. The colours, the atmosphere, the life infused into everything as the evening falls... That can only be witnessed in a country so socially repressed as Morocco.

I spent quite a while fighting it all. I'm not so easy going when it comes to holidays, so it took me some time to adjust to being so far out of my comfort zone. So far that it was scary. But I like to think I did it, with her help, of course. I let her guide me through it all and we ended up having a good time, despite the few annoyances we had to deal with.

The old town, the Medina, is an authentic bazaar. You can find anything and everything in these souks, regardless of what you might or might not be looking for. Somehow, things have a way of finding you. The panoramic cafes gave us a chance to see how Moroccans get ready for the entertainment of the night: the food stalls, the people playing different instruments, the ladies offering henna tattooes, the vendors bargaining for every dirham. It is more than just the entertainment of the evening, it's a lifestyle. Even with a stubborn attitude such as mine, resisting anything unfamiliar, I couldn't help but be completely amazed and mesmerized.

It is a poor country by any of the First World's standards. But it has something that we have lost long time ago: pure, authentic liveliness. Seems as though people there live, rather than just exist in an environment. They're not confined by any Western rules, nor the technology we so desperately seek. Far from Marrakesh being uncivilised, though. Yes, men are rather rude and women are often invisible. Yes, the level of cleanliness was far from ideal. But the knowledge that we were walking around in North Africa, exploring a Muslim country, observing and taking in all it had to offer, all that goes beyond any modern rules.

We came back after three short days. But we'd seen Marrakesh, who was simply magical, albeit hard to convince me in the beginning. We saw Ouarzazate, the door to Sahara and it was intriguing to see how people lived there, in an 11th century city, which they have to build and rebuild every year, with new soil. The devotion they have to their religion, their culture and the passion for people is something the Western World has long forgotten. For the better or worse.

P.S. Must remember to take ear plugs next time. The prayer call at 5am is still ringing in my ears! I think that's my only real complaint.