THE LITTLE BLACK BOOK

THE LITTLE BLACK BOOK

Stockholm, 5 years after

What a depressing feeling, sitting here and realizing that I can't do anything to change the unchangeable. Nothing but Bill Withers serenading in the background, soothing me while I lick my deep wound like a cat fallen from the 10th floor after its eyes closed and fallen in afternoon nap enjoying life in a sunny day. But no, what is life at the end but a constant hesitation of joy and disappointment? Never take it too easy my friends.. You never know when you too can fall from the 10th floor taking a nap from the 10th floor. We humans like cats, can fall, get a slight injury and stand up again on our feet again as nothing happened. We are built to do just so. Are made to be stronger than glaciers, oceans, rocks and deserts. Our purest strength within our mind and soul. The weakest you are, the stronger and better chances you have to restart and leave everything behind you. Yes, what a discouraging beginning to such a beautiful and startling story. Leaving behind the Dostoyevskian affection, I will tell you about the day that changed my entire existence and the travel leading me to finding finally the essence of my purpose, my fate.

Nana’s legacy

On March 31st, just a day after my birthday, I received the call that I was always scared of receiving and nothing could prepare me for it. My dad at the other side of the phone, with a sad voice and almost shy to tell me, that my Nana (my grandma) has passed away. We all knew that day would happen soon but really nothing could compare to the stillness and sorrow that invaded my body. She was sick for years and wasn't the Nana we all cherished but, I always thought the naive I am that as long we took good care of her and made her happy, she would never taste death. But as in the Quran, God promises: “Every soul will taste death. Then to Us will you be returned” (29:57)”. She battled with Alzheimer during the last five years, the exact same numbers of years I didn't travel to Morocco and pay her my visit as I used to do with my parents when I was a child. I didn't want to see her change and become someone who couldn’t recognize me and remember our moments of tenderness. Nana was THE best grandmother one could ask for. The kind of cool grandma who always took my side and defended me only like the Dream team could success to do. The call was too heavy so I ran outside and crying my eyes out. I was working then at the Global Seed Vault in Svalbard, Norway. Svalbard was just coming out of winter at that time with the air still imprisoned in -13 degrees and the pack ice has not started to melt away yet. I am a Biodiversity engineer and I remembered then more than ever that it was thanks to Nana that my passion for nature and my instinct to protect it blossomed. Her only request to my parents when we moved to Vancouver was to send me to Morocco every summer. She loved to take me to the country side and submerge our senses in the nature. We would hike and camp in the nearby Atlas Mountains or sleep at night looking at the desert starts. I was young but I still see it in front of my eyes how she reached me to plant the seeds of potatoes and onions. When we would go in search of herbs, she would describe every herbs and show me how to dry them out and save in glass jars for when it was time to take some of them and cure colds, inflammations or bring down fevers. She would always tell me that nature provide us with everything we need to cure and heal. Choosing my profession was purely made as un untold promise to her. I promised myself to keep on spreading what Nana taught me. At the need, I will be able to stock and select backups for when mankind disappoints and fucks up the original habitat. The following day I booked a flight to Marrakesh because the preparations for the funeral have already started. After Nana’s funerals, Mom gave me a letter and a quiet heavy wooden box sculptured in arabesque. It looked ancient and with an established past. Mom left the room soon after as if she was instructed to gave me complete privacy while reading it. The letter was dated to six years before and Nana wrote it when she started to remark some drastic holes in her memory.

Fatum liber

Fatum liber is the book’s name. The little black leather notebook that Nana made sure I receive when she passed. Black is the only color who could represent the immense responsibility that was sent from above. It has a latin name because it was ancient and filled with history that only make sense when you open its pages. It contained the story and purpose of every human who lived, lives and will live. Why you are born, what are you destined to accomplish in life, what will be your greatest tacks and how good or bad you will execute it. Everything. Whether you are born to be the researcher who will find the cure for cancer or a mother meant to give birth to the first female colonizer of Mars. Yes, because that is one of the greatest purposes indeed. It is listed in the book as one of the toughest and major duty for a human being. Being the nurturer, the perfect formula of love, empathy, warmth, kindness and support. Taking care of a small creature and making sure you don’t fuck his or her future wellbeing. God, society is full of good people who torture themselves emotionally for not being loved enough when they were small. Or for lying because they tried to avoid beatings of harsh and unreasonable parents. What I learned from the book is that, unfortunately those people were supposed to go through what they went through, for a good purpose. They were meant to accomplish great things aside of their issues, become stronger parents and more tolerable when they become at their turn parents. They employ unintentionally psychologists in modern society, by going to them to seek help and relief. They grow self-confident kids able to stand up for themselves, become good friends and understanding partners. We all have a purpose in life. Knowing your purpose would make life suck less and give you more hope for what is coming. Maybe just settle and convince yourself that you are here to do something. To accomplish something greater than you. Realizing why you were brought to this planet, would give an extra push of motivation every morning to start your day. It gives you hope whether you believe in God or not. This book is a grand blessing but also a terrifying curse. Fatum liber can’t fall in the wrong hands. The wrong hands are the dark minds, and the dark minds are the darkest plotters. Nana’s purpose in life was to be the Guardian of the little black book. It was the honor of her life, she wrote down in the letter. But the purpose that fulfilled her heart was to be a mother and a grandmother. She was destined to inspire and guide mama and then me. That maybe explained why she only had one child, she wanted to focus on her master piece , my mama, and give her all the attention she needed. Because see, the book doesn’t give free clues. She only knew that she was destined to be the Guardian of the Little Black book, a good Mother and Grandmother. She understood the task quickly and wisely as only she would be capable of. She couldn’t risk to spread her focus and energy. Our mother was her great pride and when she met our dad, he became an equally loved child. Nana left me the letter explaining what the book was and transferred 20.000 dollars to a mysterious bank account. The comment left to explain the transfer said: Find the Black Book. That money would help the recipient come and reclaim the book and find be the new Guardian. Yes, because the book wasn’t meant to stay with me. I wasn’t the natural inheritance of the book. It doesn’t get passed by bloodline. I opened it. The letters were written in an unknown language, a mix of Aramaic and Sanskrit. Even give the fact that I am a linguist in my spare time and growing up as a polyglot, I could never be able to decrypt its scriptures. Only the Guardian of the book could read it fluently. The only thing I was asked to do, was to wait for someone to come looking for the book. How long would that take? How will I recognize this person? What should I do?.. Only God would knows.

It was him from the start

I went to the Majorelle garden, contemplating in the air of newly painted blue walls and the moroccan cactuses. The café of the botanical garden was full of people from all over the world. I was in deep need to occupy my minds, I searched for a busy place because the silence of Nana’s Riyad was giving me chills. Where should I start? Why didn’t Nana give me any clue? Why couldn’t she help me?I was drinking one strong Moroccan macchiato after another when I saw Avant approaching like a splendid creature. Avant, my childhood best friend. I was five years old when I last hold his hand. His face hasn’t change but his body was now the body of a tall young man. I was shocked how he recognized me. When I started making my own money, the first thing I did was dying my hair blonde and start training cross fit. I was more masculine and determined. Selma, the little sweet girl with black silky, thick straight hair has adapted herself to the rest of her class when she was studying in north cold Umeå. Life tore us apart and he left to Japan, his father was appointed ambassador. It was always known that he was going to leave Morocco at one point, his parents were danish and travelled due to his father’s diplomatic role. He run towards me, hugged me delicately and for what it seemed to be an eternity. He told me that he came straight from Kyoto, when he received a letter written from Nana. I held his hands for a long time, leaning my head on his shoulders as if I was blaming him for leaving me all this years and never trying to find where I was. Avant told me that he never stopped thinking about me. He asked me pack some clothes and prepare myself. He received the clue that would bring us to Scandinavia, a location handwritten in white in a little piece of black paper which later happened to be Stockholm. We travelled to Sweden, optimistic and impatient to know where we would find the next clue. What started as a duo, finished with our biggest blessing. My daughter, the Guardian of the book. She is now five years old and just a minute ago I was overwhelmed by seeing her read the first letter of the Little black book: ”Fatum meum est”. It is my fate.