Coimbra, in memories
Nacho, and Alicia were there, at the funeral. I wanted so much to see them, but not under such circumstances. Nevertheless, it was good to cry together. Tonight, I called Sara, partially because I realized that the bullshit about Tim's death being related to food poisoning was still floating about cyberspace and upsetting people from afar, but mostly because, she reminds me, "no están solas". I just wanted to hear a voice of somebody that cares. She didn't let me back out of the conference, like I had wanted, but rather convinced me to write my paper this weekend. I can do it, tomorrow.
Martina has settled into our house, she is sweet, and mostly gentle, though her one shortcoming is a propensity for biting/sucking ears of unsuspecting sleepers. I. said she was happy to be able to live with her sister, now that her daddy is gone. She doesn't cry until I do, and then she wails, and I wish I could comfort her, the way that I want to be comforted by my mother, but instead, I just hold her and we cry together. "Sara," I ask, "What do I do with all this pain? Where do I put it all?"
It is 9 pm, and instead of reading Cabrera Infante, I find that my book was lent out (not by me) months ago, and resides with a woman who won't answer my phone calls. There are days when I curse caller id, and the casual way we just flip up our screen, see who it is, and push a button if we deem them unimportant. I'll admit, I have done the same, and not only for lack of importance, but if there is something else that needs to be done before we speak, for example. It saves us from the classic, "You answer, and if it is for me, tell them I'm not here!" urgently hissed at friends and family members when avoiding a certain person.
Seeing the Nachos, as we affectionately refer to them, made me think of Coimbra, and Nacho was even debating returning this summer. I felt tempted to join him there, keep studying. I don't know. I could make it work, maybe, if I find funding as of now? For now, I will just peruse its streets with my memories.
And for those of you who would like to peruse with me, here are the pictures.
Martina has settled into our house, she is sweet, and mostly gentle, though her one shortcoming is a propensity for biting/sucking ears of unsuspecting sleepers. I. said she was happy to be able to live with her sister, now that her daddy is gone. She doesn't cry until I do, and then she wails, and I wish I could comfort her, the way that I want to be comforted by my mother, but instead, I just hold her and we cry together. "Sara," I ask, "What do I do with all this pain? Where do I put it all?"
It is 9 pm, and instead of reading Cabrera Infante, I find that my book was lent out (not by me) months ago, and resides with a woman who won't answer my phone calls. There are days when I curse caller id, and the casual way we just flip up our screen, see who it is, and push a button if we deem them unimportant. I'll admit, I have done the same, and not only for lack of importance, but if there is something else that needs to be done before we speak, for example. It saves us from the classic, "You answer, and if it is for me, tell them I'm not here!" urgently hissed at friends and family members when avoiding a certain person.
Seeing the Nachos, as we affectionately refer to them, made me think of Coimbra, and Nacho was even debating returning this summer. I felt tempted to join him there, keep studying. I don't know. I could make it work, maybe, if I find funding as of now? For now, I will just peruse its streets with my memories.
And for those of you who would like to peruse with me, here are the pictures.
posted by ilana at 9:51 p.m.
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