pass a man sitting on a bench,
alone, but accompanied by a radio
carefully nestled in his hands.
A song by La Nueva Ola was playing.
I wanted to take a picture of him, but I couldn’t.
I write to you this letter because there is so much I’d love to tell you.
First, that I love you so much. I believe (or want to believe) that
the reason I don’t say it enough is because I very easily get emotional (and so do you). I know I am this person because of the way I was raised and the teachings of all of you (my mom, my sister and you), and I feel that my identity has as base this rich, complex and unique link with you. We not only share likes, but we also perceive and live our world the same way, with the same sensibility and sensoriality; I even, without attempting to, repeat your rituals, for it’s in them I feel comfortable: the way of eating, the way of experiencing music, the curiosity for the new and the eternal doubt and questioning as to why things are the way they are. The way of loving. And it’s this connection that keeps calling my attention for all the silence that there is between us.
There are many things I know about you, about your history because someone else has told them to me. And sometimes, in the everydayness, you find out about how I’m doing and what happens to me because someone else tells you too. And the rest, we just perceive from each other. I’ve never told you this, but when I look into your eyes I find a middle point between happiness and sadness. I’ve always noticed it, or maybe searched for it, because it is the feeling that has always been in me. And because I don’t know how to say this, I think we just share it through a song or movie and me, lately, more on my own, through photography.
They told me of the theory
in which one chooses their own parents,
almost magically, when you’re barely
a little cosmic seed.
Lately your eternal curiosity inspires me to look at everything again: the world, my house,my life and, almost as a game, rearrange stories and roads. Your curiosity makes me listen to you and learn so much more about you. Did you know I’m getting more grey hairs?Apparently it’s a hair mole because they told me that’s what it is when the grey hairs grow just in one spot. But yes, they’re there, and I always say those greys are you and I refuse to take them out.
I don’t like calling you ‘dad’ (unless there’s stressful or worrying situation). I always do and I always will call you Cocoliche because I think it suits us more.
Thank you for supporting me always, and yes, it’d be nice to make a photobook together someday, soon. Maybe I’ll give you a camera and we’ll see what happens, eh!
I love you so much, like the immensity of the cosmos.
Text 5 – Thank you
To René, Tania and my friends, each unique like every star of the cosmos. And to my Cocoliche, whose sweet curiosity for our universe inspires me to kee imagining and creating.
I love you, dad.