Temática Otro Idioma
"life
is precious" always reminded me my grandmother, no matter what, she always
manifested a calm face, just occasionally you could perceive a slightly gesture
able to reflect a worry, something hidden she never dared to reveal to nobody,
a reason I always wondered why but never had the courage to ask for. As days went by, in every stage of my life
since being a kid to my current 35 years I never hesitated about looking for
her in order to get inspiration, to feel comfortable, to breathe some clarity.
Back in the days, all the times I could come to her house, I always found her
with that amazing apron pastel coloured, cooking something special. She always
said what she was cooking was only for me, that she felt I was needing another
of her creations to make me feel better or enhance the excitement I already
could had. Anyway, regardless the case, her astounding meals added up the magic
to boost my life, but with the pass of several decades, she started to look
tired, her eyes glistened every time a bit less and she lost the forces to go
on with her favourite hobby: cooking. Nevertheless, even throughout her
wrinkles and her white hair, the happiness seemed to remind intact.
Sometimes,
I was ashamed about letting her to put up with my problems but she never
minded, actually always she had a good story to pull me apart from bad
feelings, but never gave me a direct advice, which was interesting because I
always deducted them from these stories, I suppose the morals were so clear
that she led them up to me to find them out and maybe apply something useful.
She always looked after me but now it was me who had the responsibility of
never let her feel not even by a second she was alone. Whether if it was rainy,
cloudy, stormy, sunny, I didn't give a damn, cause it was way more important to
be along her side, beholding her while going back and forth in her rocking
chair, always with a landscape woven under his trembling hands, her new
avocation: to weave utopian places while expecting the time to run out at all.
She told me once she never aimed to have kids but despite of that, to have
given the gift of life was the best thing she could have ever done, because
nowadays the harvest was bloomed in front of her eyes: a successful grandchild
full of love to give away with a great conscience about the meaning of being
over this world. Although she repeated
it to me many times, I couldn't help but asking myself what she was intending
to mean but I just smiled in each occasion though.
It
was curious because I never went to university, I Never had a great amount of
money neither went after it, I never had any children and it was always a fact
for her that I liked other men but none of those things represented any barrier
to her love and yet somehow she always trusted me blindly. Apparently, it was
my own complexes and fears whose were heading me across confusion. Even when I
made real mistakes, when I thought it might have been better to pass away, she
held me and whispered softly: “it doesn't worth it my dear, death is going to
come towards you sooner than later and it is better to think cool headed. At
last you will end up desiring more time, the time you already have but maybe
you aren't noticing". Those words, that sensation of human heat made me
want to embrace life again like if it was her.
Lately,
I have been repeating to my deep down that everything is going to be ok. I try
my best to get rid of tears which start gushing up in my last visits and I hang
onto my best countenance to run into her. I'm terrified, the idea of being
without her in this world takes my breath away, but life goes on and there's
nothing we can do. The other day I discovered in her small jewellery box a
note, maybe she was planning to give me a last sort of guidance but forgot about
bring it up, although since a while to now she stare at me as expecting
something, and sometimes she even makes a grimace, but this time instead of a
lost look sunk in a serious visage it seemed like a signal of security and
satisfaction, like confirming throughout me what she was waiting for; perhaps
it has something to do with that note :"being alive is about jumping
joyful in the swamp".
No hay comentarios:
Publicar un comentario