Books Nostalgia Uncategorized

Un regalo del pasado

Estas navidades recibí un regalo de una amiga de infancia. Mientras buscaba libros en el trastero de su madre para su hijo, encontró un libro de la colección Barco de Vapor que leíamos de pequeñas. El libro era mío y tenía una dedicatoria.

Me hizo mucha ilusión recibirlo y ver la dedicatoria de mi padre en el año 88.

Para Brezo, con cariño de Papá.

Madrid 2/Febrero/88

Lumbánico, el planeta cúbico, es un libro de viajes y aventuras, de no aceptar el orden actual de las cosas, de indagar en la historia. No me acuerdo muy bien de la trama pero me acuerdo que me gustó mucho y probablemente se lo dejé a mi amiga para que lo leyera también.

He empezado a leerlo a mis hijos, con bastante nostalgia, acordándome de mi padre que siempre me mandaba un paquete por Navidad.

Muchas gracias amiga por acordarte de mí y dejarme disfrutar un año más de un regalo de mi padre.

El enlace en GoodReads:


Memories from 2018

When you go to a restaurant, do you always order the same? Or do you try something new? I heard somewhere that if you always order the same, you enjoy anticipating an event. If you usually try something new, you like to build memories.

I don’t really believe that, but is  funny, and a good conversation starter at restaurant. As I usually try something new, here you have some memories from 2018:

Three books.

An exhibition:

A course:

A romantic getaway:

  • Weekend in Paris

A building:

A dish:

  • Spaghetti carbonara in Rome

A catalyst for growth:

A game:

  • Scape room in Antibes

A new home:

A friend’s gathering:

  • Weekend in Madrid

A heartbreaking goodbye:

  • To my father

On Moving

Here comes again. That sadness of leaving mixed with the butterflies of a new adventure.

It starts with a possibility that opens somewhere else. You fall in love with the idea of this new place, and as love does, you see it through enhancing glasses. Everything is brighter, neater, more colorful.

The place where you are now has made itself discreet. But it is there, holding your hand. It is the road you know by heart, that winks at you when you have to look. The doctor that remembers the name of your children. The neighbor that calls in because your gate is open. The restaurant with that dish you like. The parking spot that always waits for you. The light switches that move to your hand if you are awake at night.

You will not have that where you are going. All roads will be unknown, all similar and shouting for attention. You will have to find a new doctor, and meet your neighbors, and try new restaurants. Parking spots will ignore you and the light switch will play hide and seek.

It is going to be exciting, interesting, playful. And tiring, so tiring that you will not have time to miss what you had, fully alert to your new reality.

Then comes a day when patterns and familiarity start to form. Most parts of the road are silent, a new doctor number has found its place in your phone. Your neighbor says hi, there is a parking spot you can rely on, the light switch is moving around less.

You think you have made it, you are happy, this is the right place.

Until you miss a turn and get lost, your doctor is on holidays, your neighbor is busy with family over, there are construction works on your parking spot, you wake up at night and don’t remember where you are.

You miss the old place, it was better before, this was a mistake.

You try to call, you try to visit, you compare, you tell others how good it was, you are mourning a loss.

As days go by, silent roads form a net, connecting the dots. A doctor replacement is now on your phone book. You have lunch with your neighbors family. You know there are more parking spots behind the construction works, you can find the light switches before the count of one.

You call it home.