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Como tal vez ya sepan, empecé otro blog para la creación literaria en inglés. Por lo tanto ya no enchincharé aquí con escritos, a menos que sean en español. :)

El otro blog

saludos!

Malestar innecesario y pazcua

Por qué seré tan complicada. El martes pasado fui a mi diplomado de creación literaria, leí mi cuento y luego me sentí mal porque el feedback fue demasiado positivo. Me dio pena, me quería esconder abajo de una mesa, y salí de ahí sintiendo un malestar innecesario y difícil de describir. Algo así como casi culpa, como casi sentir que hice algo mal... fue muy raro. Esta sensación estaba mezclada con euforia, porque al mismo tiempo, me siento muy bien de recibir críticas tan positivas. Qué extraño. Sentí que podía entender a los maniacos-depresivos.

Se me ocurren dos cosas:

1. Mi ego es demasiado grande. Pienso que le doy demasiada importancia a lo que hago, y a la reacción de los demás. ¿Qué importa si escribí un cuentito que fue bien recibido? ¿O sea qué importa, de verdad? ¿Por qué sentir pena? Otra pista es que creo que sólo la gente con un ego demasiado grande se deprime por circunstancias personales, lo cual también ha sido mi caso.
2. Chale, me hago la vida más difícil. Si recibo feedback negativo, me traumo y me obsesiono. Si recibo feedback muy positivo, me siento mal y culpable. Lo único que me queda es recibir feedback moderadamente positivo para sentirme bien.

Entonces he decidido trabajar para lograr no sentirme tan afectada por estas cosas. Especialmente por las positivas. Si les doy una perspectiva más realista, se irá la euforia, pero también ese malestar extraño.

Si alguien tiene consejos con respecto a estas preocupaciones, échenlos, se los agradeceré mucho.

*

Cambiando el tema, este domingo que es Easter, iré a comer a casa de Ambili y Martin. Llevaré chocolates y helado, y NO estaré a dieta :). Normalmente en Inglaterra se come english roast este domingo, pero dado que ellos son vegetarianos, pues no sé que comeremos. Tal vez curry jejeje.

¡Chocolates!

Hace unas semanas, cuando invité amigos a jugar juegos de mesa, compré una caja de chocolates. Ese día un amigo me regaló una cajota de chocolates... como estoy a dieta, esas cajas siguen casi llenas, y ayer nuestro jefe nos regaló una lata con huevos de chocolate cadbury's!! Así que en mi sala, donde vivían las tarjetas de navidad, ahora viven cajas de chocolate. A ver si les tomo una foto.

THIS BLACK OCEAN

Dear Svetlana,

If I’m not mistaken, today is the first Sunday of spring. It is now very unlikely I will ever be found: it’s been months and hundreds of millions of kilometres since I exited orbit; I am still ploughing the undeniable profundity of space. You must be attending your daffodils and watching from the window when the sparrows and the rosefinches land on the birdfeeder in the back garden.

I write to you today as always. I like imagining how one day, in another life or another universe, we will snuggle together next to the fire; I while read to you from this diary while we drink vodka in those hand-made crystal glasses that belonged to your grandmother.

I wonder if I still exist. As I float, weightless, in this small capsule, I am a particle in a dark, unending ocean of infinite depth. I am the only now, and outside are the waves, fractions of past and future, not flowing but reflecting, splashing, caught timeless in mirrors of a space that has no meaning in its immensity.

Some time ago, when I was assigned to this trip, I was tremendously happy. I was full of pride: I was going to be a hero. Now I am only a ghost. Or maybe a modern Orpheus, roaming without a lyre, trying to stir a deaf and blind Hades out of its silence. But even the most enchanting song could not move this hermetic universe; all it lets me hear is what is already stored within my mind.

I miss you. What hurts most is that you are slipping away from me. I picture your face, your brown eyes, your sweet voice. Every time I do, the image is less precise; as if it wears with the use. Now I am trying not to think of you. I want your memory to last more than the rations; until the end, which will be more like existing than this nothingness.

By the river

It’s late at night, and all the slaves are back in the senzala (the house where they sleep). Shebeh is making rice and wondering where Kami is. After returning from the plantation the girl went out to the house fields instead of going to rest. Eventually Kami enters the kitchen, and tells her what she saw by the river.

*

"He pulled her by her foot, until she was close enough and then he leant over her and grabbed her shoulders and pulled her half out of the water. Then he tied that big rock on her chest, and lifted her with both hands, and then he pushed her back into the water".

Shebeh stopped her vigorous shaking of the rice pot and looked down at Kami "Who was he, do you know his name? Was he from this senzala?" her voice had gone high pitched.

Kami shook her head. “He was white. He was wearing soft, bright clothes, beautiful like the dress of the lady in the water”.

“It’s not our problem, then. Best you keep quiet, and don’t talk to anyone about it. If they want to kill themselves, that’s none of our concern. ” Shebeh’s voice was steady and slow once more. She wiped her wet hands on her cotton dress and put her hand on Kami’s hair. “And now go to bed, get some sleep, and forget what you saw. It will seem like a dream in the morning.” She resumed her rice washing.

Kami pursed her mouth and didn’t say anything. She thought about it, and she very much doubted that she could forget what she had seen. The lady had been so peaceful in the brown river, floating in the lazy, curly ripples that the wind pushed out. Her face had been beautiful and her long black hair extended away from her, moving in the water, as if breathing together with the river. It looked like she wasn’t dead, but dreaming; like her dream went out of her and into the river, and then further, to touch the trees in the riverside, with their leaves reaching for the water. Why did Shebeh want her to forget, she asked.

The old woman lowered her eyebrows and her voice. “This attitude of yours is very risky, girl. Don’t you realise the danger we’re in? We can’t go on as if we never left Africa, go running in the field, spying on the masters, and then telling everyone we meet that they are murderers. We stick to our work, and we take care of ourselves. And you best listen to me if you want to grow up and become a woman. Rest. Eat. Do your work. Give them no reason to notice you, and no reason to regret having bought you. The more invisible you become, the safer you will be. Do you understand?” Her black eyes were fixed on the girl’s.

Kami slowly nodded her head.

“Now. Did he see you?” The girl shook her head, her eyes closed.“Could he hear you? Did you leave any sign that you were there?” The head shaking went on. Shebeh used both hands to hold Kami’s head in place. “Good, now go to sleep. And remember not to talk about this with anyone”.

The girl left the kitchen, and wondered if she would dream the lady’s dream. Her hand reached under her shirt and touched what she had found in the grass by the river: a silver necklace with a ruby in the shape of a beetle.