Never thought that it was going to be a real challenge to prove or justify my abilities to write. It’s a challenge not only because it´s not in Spanish but also because I need to face my own monsters, insecurities and guilt ingrained in my Catholic upbringing.
Only one third of the challenge and I´m already exhausted. My brain might explode soon but I have to continue
Since I don´t have anything rounded so far, here are some slices that, like any great sandwich, they are still in need of a middle and an end.
Possessed. I’m possessed by Neruda. I can only write sad things because my soul is withered. At what moment of my life did darkness come to the obscured hidden places of my spirit? I would like to say that I am happy, but a stone lurks in the distance and is tied to my neck with a rotten anchor rope. How to get out of the deep well of my loneliness? Sleeping, crying maybe? I am very coward, even to suppress my own grudges. Duérmete mi niña, duérmete mi sol.
The Japanses soprano. Elisa woke up late on Saturday. The day before had been very agitated. She picked her phone with reluctance. She had 15 missed calls from her boyfriend and 119 unopened whatsapp messages. All of them were saying basically the same thing. They had arrested the janitor of the community center. Charges? Having slaughtered the Japanese soprano the previous day.
What happen to you at twenty-seven? Still wrestling in my bed last night, I began to think that something must have been about that age that gives the beat of the following years, because definitely I had not died at 27.
Suspended. She picked up the pill her mother handed her. In the toilet she spat it out while sipping a mixture of withered tears and snot. Pedaling inside her, grew new and deep roots that gave her an unimaginable energy. She arrived at school where she saw the list. “Suspended.” She felt the electric shocks in her fingertips. She looked at the teacher and knew that he couldn´t suppress her spring. This one would come some day.
My mother always…My mother always wanted me not to leave her side and today I was holding her hand after 22 years of not being with her. This time, I was the one who did not want her to leave my side.
Finally, just little bits of mustard or ketchup that I don´t know how to put on my slice…
When I look back I see my childhood as a happy space but empty of many details.
I hate to dress for others.
I have always believed that becoming a nun was impossible. I used to say that I would not be one even if God´s call was a scream.
I have never known if the madness of my family is a created lie or it is true
It horrifies me to stay paralyzed, or blind, not to hear your voice, your laughter or your hugs in the distance.
I’m surprised that not even a grateful smile came from me.
I remember that the bitter smell of semolina cookies baking slowly in the oven were just one of the few bad memories I have of that house.
Have a colorful week!