miércoles, 4 de octubre de 2017

Carta al nuevo inquilino.

Tema encontrado en Pinterest

Hola, nuevo inquilino.

No te conozco de nada pero Teresa, la casera, me ha dicho que ibas a venir. Espero que no vea esto, nunca le caí bien, sólo me dejaba quedarme porque le pagaba religiosamente el alquiler cada mes. Si quieres un consejo, intenta que no te descubra llegando borracho a casa a las tres de la mañana. No tengo ni idea de qué hacía ella levantada a esas horas, con la edad que tiene, pero el caso es que abrió la puerta justo cuando yo pasaba por delante.
Es posible que no leas esto, lo escondí en el primer cajón del escritorio, hecho una bola. Si no lo has encontrado ahí es porque ella lo ha cogido y lo ha leído, la muy cotilla. No importa, probablemente nunca la volveré a ver.
Ha sido maravilloso vivir aquí, a pesar de Teresa (PAGA SIEMPRE EL ALQUILER), estos dos últimos años han sido increíbles. Es muy cursi decirlo, pero cada rincón de este piso lleva encima un recuerdo. Espero, querido nuevo inquilino, que los tuyos también se queden pegados aquí.
Hablando de cosas que se quedan pegadas, yo que tú no daría la vuelta a la alfombra. Le dije a Teresa que en su momento lo hice porque prefería el color marrón al rojo del anverso, pero la verdad es que hace meses mi sobrino vomitó la mitad de sus chuches de Halloween sobre la tela y, por mucho que limpié, no logré que esa maldita mancha amarillenta desapareciera. Lo siento, yo también prefería el rojo, pero era demasiado para mi.
Para compensar por las molestias, he dejado puesta en el pasillo la pintura de los caballos galopando en el río. Me lo regaló una señora que pintaba en la calle, como agradecimiento por darle el café que acababa de comprar en un Starbucks. Le hizo tanta ilusión tomar entera una bebida tan cara que me obligó a elegir el cuadro que más me gustara. A mi, desde luego, me mereció la pena perder el dinero del café.
Espero que te guste. Carlos, un camarero del bar de enfrente, me ayudó a colgarlo y dijo que le encantaría instalarse en una casa decorada con una lámina tan bonita. No sé si lo dijo por intentar instalarse en mi cama, porque antes de que le dijera que soy lesbiana le gustaba coquetear conmigo, pero aun así espero que haga tu estancia aquí - y sobretodo tu mudanza - más agradable.
En el bar de Carlos, desde luego, sí lo conseguirán. Todos los empleados, incluso los parroquianos, son gente maravillosa. Me ayudaron y me apoyaron cuando llegué aquí y no conocía a nadie, y ahora para mi son mis amigos. Te lo digo desde ya: las fiestas que hacen los viernes son increibles, y el chorizo que sirven también.
Ve a verlos, si quieres, y diles tu dirección. Les he dejado encargado que, si te pasas por ahí, te traten como si fueras mi hermano.
Espero que seas muy feliz aquí, tanto como lo he sido yo. Si te digo la verdad, en realidad no quiero marcharme, pero no puedo rechazar el trabajo que me ha salido en otra ciudad. Al menos tengo la sensación de que dejo este lugar - más bien lo va a hacer Teresa, pero mi vínculo es más sentimental - en buenas manos.
Quién sabe, quizá nos veamos cuando vaya a ver a mis chicos del bar. He prometido que los iré a visitar en unos meses y ya me muero de ganas por hacerlo.
Bienvenido, nuevo inquilino, cuidate. 



XOXO,
Silvia


PS: Me acabo de acordar, la mesa del comedor cojea. Un folleto de comida rápida doblado viene perfecto para nivelarla. Son fáciles de encontrar, cada día aparece uno nuevo en el buzón.

lunes, 4 de septiembre de 2017

"Do you still love her?".

'Do you still love her?'
He thought about his answer for a few seconds and she waited patiently, but also she could feel the nervousness inside her.
He shrugged.
'Yeah' Hope tried to hide the sadness in her expression, but he, focused in telling her what he was thinking, didn't seemed to notice that. 'I mean, you know, she was special for me. Actually, she still is in a way. I loved her, a lot, and she was the first girl who meaned all those things to me. I think... I think you never stop loving a person who had this impact in your live, this good impact. But no, I don´t love her in a romantic way anymore. I did, but I think those feelings disappeared time ago. I will always care about her and knowing that she is okay make me really happy, but what I´m starting to feel for you, no, I don´t feel it for her'.
Hope kept silence for a seconds, noticing how she was blushing while he was staring at her, with a sweet and quiet smile in his face. Finally, she laughed, letting her happiness free, and kissed him on the lips.

sábado, 15 de julio de 2017

An advice from a dead man.

Siento los fallos que haya cometido al escribir este relato. Salvo en dos ocasiones, me he valido de vocabulario y estructuras gramaticales que ya conozco, así que seguramente la calidad disminuya bastante con respecto a mis relatos en español.
De todos modos, me apetecía compartir con vosotros mi segundo intento de escribir un texto en inglés.
Un beso, mis niños. ¡Sed felices!


We were sitting by each other at one of the dirty tables in the town's bar, the one most distant from the door.
I could hear the uncomfortable noise of the men yelling at the waiter as if it was being produced near my ear, but the man who was with me didn't seemed to care about it.
He drunk a sip of his beer and then, gently,  put the mug back in the table.
"I didn't think of the storm when I decided to come here".He said it without looking at me, but I knew he was talking to me.
I wasn't even expecting him when I entered the bar, evenmore, I didn't even knew him before.I was drinking my first beer of the night when he came in without been perceived and sat by my side. I not usually let strange men share my table, but this old man looked like a good person, gave me confidence, so I didn't protest.
"There's always rain in here, you should had count on it. Did you come here before?" He looked at me, confused and interested. I realised that, despite he had talked to me before, he didn't was waiting for a response.
"Never. Coming here it's something I should have done before, but I never was in the mood". That was an strange answer, like he was telling me secrets he really wasn't interested in share. "Are you from here, young lady?"
I thought his question was too familiar coming from a man who was an stranger to me, so I took time before answering. "Yeah, I have been living here for years, near the North Path".
"Are you still an outsider for this people?", he asked.
I looked around the room, paying attention to the drunken men.Although I could have said the name of most of them, I was sure I have had talked to only two.Somehow, most of the people at town still thought I was a stranger, an unwanted visitor who could put them in danger at any time.Usually, the mothers didn't let me talk to their children, and the sellers were unconfident when I wanted to buy their products.I only had a friend, Sehila, the wife of one of the farmers, who apparentely didn't care about my red, fuzzy hair and my pale skin.
"I don't know", I said, looking at my glass.
"Do they accept you as one of them?".
I looked at him, and his grey eyes were kind and wiseful.He understood and nodded."Do you feel bad about it?".
Sometimes, alone in my house, I really felt sad and lonely, like I had been exiled by my own neighbors at the center of the town.I loved talking to the kids, teaching things to them and learning at the same time, and I always definitely enjoyed meeting new people, going to parties and local meetings.I losted most of these things the first moment I moved into my house, and I missed them terribly."I don't want to, I know I don't have to".
"You're right, kid, but it doesn't mean thats not a reality".
"It's just, unfair, most of them don't want to even talk to me" I realized I was complaining like a little, angry child.
"Strange, you look like a nice girl", his words sounded innocent and friendly.
I smiled, shy, and then a lock of red hair fell in front of my eyes. I sighed. "They think I'm a witch".
"Believe me, I have met a lot of witches, and no one looks like you".
I stared at him, shocked. "Have you met witches? Where? How?".
He laughed, and the sound was cozzy and warm, like a laugh which a caring father would express at home. "If you want me to tell you about that, we are going to need two more beers".
When we finished our drinks, I ran to buy two more, ignoring the insistence of my new friend about paying them himself. I put them at the table and sat like a curious kid, facing him directly and looking into his eyes. He burst into laughs. "Okay, okay. I'll tell you my story".
His name was Poll, and he was a traveller. He was born in a place which I have never heard talk about, and when he was old enough to leave his home he started to walk across cities, woods and whole civilitations, living on thousand places and triying to learn all that he could. He told me that, slowly, he was reaching his objective, although it was a goal that he could never definitely achieve. Through the hours, he told me his incredible adventures, stories filled with spectres, witches and amazing people able to make magic and horrible misfortunes. He said that some of this people were his friends, other his enemies, and a few of them only marvellous strangers.
When he stopped talking, I kept in silence. "Do you think you'll find this kind of people here too, if you stay?"
He smiled, "Well, I'm not going to stay, but I already met a really special person".
He looked at me and I smiled, blushed. "Thank you". I letted pass some seconds in silence "Why are you not going to stay?"
He shrugged "My heart tell me not to".
"Like an intuition?", he nodded. "Let me go with you".
He smiled, moved "Do your heart tell you to go with me?"
I didn't know, but at this moment I didn't care about what he has to say. I just wanted to live with Poll some of those beautiful adventures. "Is it really so important what my heart says?".
"It's the most important thing! What does your heart want?"
"How am I supposed to know that?"
"Just think. If I asked you right now to come with me, to let everything you have here back, would you do it without regrets?"
The answer seemed to be obvious, but I thought about it anyway. I thought about my uncomfortable neighbors, the looks which hurt and the displacements, and I could hear my heart yelling a big "yes" to Poll question. But then I thought about Sheila and her daughter, their smiles and the smell of wood and hot cake which invaded the town every sunrise. My heart suddenly shut up. Again, he seemed to know what I was thinking.
"Listen to me, I'm going to give you an advice. There's nothing more important than listen to your heart, accept and follow his desires. If you go against them, the only thing you will achieve is hurting you. I don't want you to do that".
I nodded, silently, and he squeezed my shoulder. "It's the best for you, I promise, you'll see it someday".
"I'm sure". He smiled tenderly and took his glass to his lips.
When the waiter closed the bar, we got out to the street and I enjoyed the feeling of the nocturnal wind on my face. He looked the path during a few minutes and then looked into my eyes.
"You are a good person, kid. It had been really nice to meet you". "I'm glad, too" I answered. He smiled  and grabbed his bag, sighing "I want you to be happy, okay? As usually as you can. Take care of yourself, have a good live".
"I'll try", I was moved, and I could feel a few tears on my eyes "You too". "Don't worry. I promise I will".
We smiled, and he faced the path and started walking. He was just a profile in the darkness when I decided to yell: "Good bye, Poll, good luck!"
"Bye, young lady!"
This was the first and last time I saw him.
During years, I lived in the town, finding ways to be happy over the adversities and, when my heart told me to do it, I left. I started walking, just like Poll used to do, and I never forgot to use my intuition to make every decision I had to face.
I was happy, mature and free and, when my heart told me that Poll had died, I assumed the fact the best way I could, remembering him at every step I take.

viernes, 2 de junio de 2017

Microcuento: The world´s end.

Un grito de júbilo mientras el mundo termina, mientras el cielo se parte en dos.
A cualquiera podría parecerle extraño, estando perdido en aquella plaza abarrotada de gente, pero nadie le conoce.
Él puede ver más allá: un punto lejano tras el horizonte, la figura oscura que se esconde tras el cuerpo del inocente.
Por eso sus ojos ahora se encuentran tan abiertos, contemplando el firmamento con ilusión, por eso sonríe con la boca abierta en una silenciosa carcajada.
Lleva esperando esto largos años, está preparado.