FunCulturalIs it a thirst that can wait? (Saturday afternoon...

Is it a thirst that can wait? (Saturday afternoon stories)

There are answers and scenarios that sometimes don’t quench your thirst. What a mess.

That the twilight of looking does not come

As there is no train that takes me back to memories, I chose photography and walking to embrace my nostalgia. I return to the Magdalene town where I spent my childhood and I cling to the camera. I look for scenes that bring me closer to that time of happiness, that happiness that was not related to the material. Damp and earthy scenes. Scenes that do not interrupt the birth of other memories. I focus on the children who bathe in the swamp and those who run in the streets.

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As far as the eye can see, the town is full of the shadows of the houses, the trees and the people who walk. I walk and I feel haunted by the conversations of the villagers on the street corners. I take a photo of them. I try not to be perceived so as not to destroy the naturalness of the scene. I know that daily story written with light does not give me instant satisfaction, but perennial. I feel that when I see each photo my segments of forgetfulness lose weight.

Along the way I remember what Marion said at the end of the movie The Other Woman : “And I wondered if a memory is something you have or something you have lost.” Whatever it is, I don’t want the twilight of looking to come. And I hope that the silences of the other days in which I have been away from homeland, accompany me on a next trip to reclaim the past by looking without blinking.



My 8-year-old niece Sara came into my room very restless.

“Who created God?” -I wonder.

I wanted to buy time by taking off my glasses and lowering the lid of my computer. I felt cornered; I didn’t want to give her an answer made up by me (she wasn’t going to believe it, she’s very smart) or tell her not to interrupt my activity and that we would talk about it later.

“That’s a question many people ask ourselves.” I don’t think there is a definitive answer, ”I replied.

-Why? He insisted.

“It’s a difficult subject …

He was silent for a few seconds. Then he looked at me and said:

—I want to know God, but he doesn’t even appear on television.


Office scenes

In this chair I earned a scoliosis. And it doesn’t matter, I’m still sitting here wasting my eyes. Silence is thick in the office. Sometimes my thoughts hijack me, but I have to put my feet on the ground, well, not the feet themselves, but the heels, because that is what I have to wear from Monday to Friday. And elegant dresses. That thick silence is always defeated by the clicking of the other teammates, the sound of the keys and the click of themouse. The sound of breathing does not play a leading role, neither does the sound of the heartbeat. The light is harsh. The sight gets tired. The body adapts to the environment. We are eleven people in different cubicles. The setting is poor in interruptions. We hardly speak. You have to perform and be efficient. When I have to be nice, my laugh is bitter, even if it looks sweet outside. I don’t feel happy. That silence always returns, that silence without a world, yes, because we forget about the outside because we are concentrating on work. I do not drink coffee. Sometimes, only sometimes I put on my headphones and listen to salsa, it’s the only thing that lifts my spirits, and inside I say to myself: “What are you doing shaking your head. Stand up and move those feet. ” Aha, as if it was correct to do so; my boss would not hesitate to say that I am absolutely crazy. Oh yeah, my boss, that character who often drums on the desk while we talk in his office about chores for the week. I try to imagine that it is Ray Barretto so as not to feel saturated with information, that clears me up. After lunch, I feel the longest way to the office. I sit down again and the blank page of Word awaits me, that page devoid of compassion. And time, time cracks my illusion of running away. Every so often I look at that lower right corner of the computer to see if it is already six in the afternoon and leave. That corner, or rather that corner, is where my disappointments pile up. The beginning of the week becomes thick as silence. That this does not sound like a complaint, I decided to be here, it is like having a water chain. I do not know. I’m just describing what a Monday is like at the office. Now I must erase all this and start writing newsletters …

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Are they to blame?

Distances do not exist to leave us alone.

The distances do not exist for the absentees to increase.

Distances do not exist to tire the legs.

Distances do not exist to die trying.

The distances do not exist so that the whispers are lost.

The distances do not exist so that the memories are extinguished.

The distances only give an unspeakable thirst.

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