The Beautiful Relations

Under the roof of a small little hut, slept a little girl named María. She lived with her grandfather, Marcelo, and a 4 months old kitten, Cinta. María’s parents died when she was three years old in a car accident on their way back from the airport, her grandmother had just arrived from Vienna, where she owned several art museums and a theater. Her dad missed a truck coming out from a left alley. In a blink of an eye, María found herself, holding Marcelo’s right hand, in the middle of her dearest vigil.

That night, María went to bed astonished of the day they had lived, she wasn’t going to eat fresh baguette made by her mom anymore or play pétanque with her father, nor going to explore Salvador Dalí’s painting with her grandmother. Life wasn’t going to be the same after this event.
A tear in her check replaced her mother’s kisses that night. The sunrise woke María from a dark nightmare, to check the time, she pulled the curtains and noticed something strange on the far center of the sky: her mom’s floating blue eye, a nose bigger than her face, red lips like her grandma used to wear, and an air balloon. “Cinta look! look Cinta! I have to get inside the balloon!” – she screamed immediately. María jumped from the window and started running towards the floating image. Wet grass and tickling ants cover her legs and a cobweb struck her face – “Get out of my sight! I need to reach the sky!” – Cinta was trying to run next to her but little spiders crawled all over its furry skin. Both struggled against nature obstacles. “Cinta please don’t let them turn you into stone! They are as dangerous as trucks!” – but Cinta could not listen to her, its ears were full of dust and spider eggs – “Momma, pappa, please please help me out here. Cinta is almost reaching the ballon and I can’t see anything but its fur”. María’s eyes turned into black buttons and her legs had stretched enormously. She saw that as an advantage, every step she made counted as five small steps she used to walk, but her eyes were blocking the view ahead. “God, it’s me, María, if you can hear me clap once” – no sound of clapping appeared, instead, she heard a voice coming from the right side of her shoulder – “María it’s me, the bug inside your head. On your left hand, you have a scissor and a knife. Be wise. Those tools can help you cut the button from your eyes, but they might also make you blind. Remember pappa’s advice and decide”.  María went back to the day her dad taught her how to cut silk, she intended to be a fashion designer, just like Christian Dior. “If you cut straight and slow you will make perfect combinations” – said her dad. María picked the scissors and pulled the left button, she could see little strings bursting of her eyelid.

“Voilà!” – she yelled.

Carta a ti

Querido amigo:

Si hoy no hablamos, no quiere decir que no te piense.
En mi diario vivir, a veces, hay pequeños momentos, ciertas personas o situaciones que me hacen viajar en el tiempo, volviendo a aquellos días que compartí contigo, con ustedes amigos que hoy ya no figuran en mi vida.
Cuando digo ‘no figuran en mi vida’ no me refiero a que hayan desaparecido de la faz de la tierra, no señor. Me refiero, sin más, a que hoy, por equis o zeta motivo, hemos perdido el contacto que teníamos años atrás. Lo cierto es que en realidad ese contacto nunca se pierde; solo se guarda en un rincón de la memoria, del corazón. A veces es lindo recordar las viejas amistades, esas que alguna vez te hicieron sentir. Es trabajo de la nostalgia enseñar, años después, que realmente eran vida esos insignificantes momentos que ahora son raíz de felicidad, prosperidad y anhelo.

Acabo de asistir al concierto de Amancio Prada, para los que no lo conocen, es un cantautor español muy reconocido. Y sentada en la quinceava fila recordé cuando cantaba en el coro del colegio. Específicamente, recordé un concierto que dimos en la Casa de la Cultura a cargo de la profesora Karina Troiano. Me tocaba cantar de solista en la canción tres del repertorio y a pesar de haber ensayado un millón de veces, no lograba concentrarme. A mi lado, estaba de invitado especial un amigo de la infancia que no dejaba de hacerme reir. “¡Que papelón!”, no podía mantener la cordura en escena. Estábamos jugando a pisarnos los zapatos pulcros que llevábamos puestos. En tercera fila de soprano, la seriedad del coro se corrompía por nuestras carcajadas disimuladas. Por suerte el teatro era pequeño y el público muy amable. Las luces en escena camuflaban nuestras sonrisas burlescas. De no haber sido así, todos hubieran sido cómplices o enemigos de nuestro ‘chiverío’.

Qué hermoso mirar atrás y tener tan lindos recuerdos contigo. Así como los tengo con él, los hay con muchas otras personas. A todos les debo un gracias infinito y un humilde perdón. Gracias por todo lo que vivimos juntos, estoy segura que cada quien tuvo algo que enseñarme. Tal vez solo a reír o quizás solo matemáticas pero sea cual sea el caso, mi gratitud es inagotable. Perdón por hoy no tenerte cerca como quizás una vez lo imaginé. La vida es realmente un remolino de situaciones sin rumbo. Nadie sabe donde va a terminar hasta que te encuentras en Pamplona estudiando periodismo, y aun asi, ¡No tengo idea dónde esto me llevará! Pero eso es también lo hermoso del existir.

 

One day at a time

“I woke up thinking the work was done
I would not have to practice today. How naive to think healing was that easy
when there is no endpoint.
No finish line to cross.
Healing is everyday work” – Rupi Kaur.
So im sitting in this new vegan cafe I just discovered and for the first time in almost a week, I feel calm.
Walking around the streets of Copenhagen with nothing else but the thought of my mom caring me around – “home is just around the corner” – I kept repeating.
Then when I entered this cafe, magically was this little poem that spoke to me.
It hit me harder than regrets due to an awful night out.
It’s true. It’s absolutely true. Healing is not an over a night thing, no-no. Healing is a lifetime process. – Why do I like to run away from it? – Maybe its part of being in my comfort zone, protecting myself from being hurt again – Or not? Or maybe is just my mind being afraid of facing feelings – Agh.
Conclusion, one day at a time.
Today im going to heal a little bit more than yesterday and that’s it.
I will put myself up, step by step, time by time.
One day at a time.