inverse tilt shift

»4|5|23

Exhalo.

Hola gordiii... No. Amor, no sabés lo que pasó... Mmm... Che, tenemos que hablar un temita... No... Amorcito, tengo buenas noticias... malas noticias... ¿Noticias? Tengo que contarte algo. ¿Cuándo nos podemos juntar? Ay la puta madre... mejor un audio. Hola Dami, estoy saliendo de la ofi, ¿Querés hablar... querés vernos? Así, espontáneo, mejor. Uh, ya me está llamando, raro. Inhalo.

Hola amo- ¡GORDAAA HOY NOS LA DAMOS EN-LA-PE-RA LOS PIBES LLEGAMOS A PROVINCIALES VAMOS BRO! Aaay... ¡¡Ay gordii qué lindo!! Qué grandes, se estuvieron matando entrenando lo tienen merecidísim- Sí, boluda, sí, boluda, no sabés una emoción... te digo me puse a llorar. Todos, todos llorando. No sabés la felicidad que sentimos nosotros. Ya estoy acá en lo de Tonchi, con los pibes, estamos armando el fueguito ya obvio, así que venite, aah no, vos estabas trabajando hoy, dejá- No, pero ya salgo, estoy arrancando el auto justo, así que menos mal que me dijiste- Bueno mirá, viene Luz y la última chonga de Piter, ni idea el nombre, así que vas a tener otras minitas para hablar- Bárbaro, Dami, bueno, te extraño mucho, te felicito gordo, nos vemos prontito. Dale gorda, nos vemos... chau chau.

Exhalo. Siento esta pelota, esta pelotita de rugby en la panza que me pone nerviosa, de que hoy no le puedo decir nada porque es su gran día y no le puedo contar hoy, no boluda no empecés a llorar ahora que si no, no parás, vamos Sara, vamos Sarita, vamos, vamos.

Inhalo. Toco el timbre. Luz me abraza, me abraza fuerte porque da abrazos fuertes, porque vive la vida así. Saludo a la banda, saludo general, Damián está con los choris que ya salen, me ve, no se acerca, me ve, se acerca, me levanta en brazos, me zarandea, me vuelve a tierra, me besa, me grita casi en la oreja que está feliz, que está feliz, que está feliz. Nos sentamos todos a la mesa. Damián vuelve al lado del fuego. Hace calor, sin pensar me arremango. Luz, al lado mío, se sobresalta y me toma el antebrazo, señalando un moretón. Siento la mirada de mi novio. ¡AY BOLUDA! ¿Qué te hiciste? Ahh, ¿Eso? Eso no es nada, boba eh, fue un bochazo. Ah re boluda, ¿De qué bochazo me hablás si hace mil no venís a hockey? Ay, cierto boluda no, tenés razón, eso fue con el auto, sí, el otro día me agarré el brazo con el auto, tranqui. Che gorda, ¿Está rico el chori? ¿Por qué no comés? Acá está el chimi. Ay, mi amor, sabés que me va a caer mal... bueno, pero te sale tan bien, dale pasame un poco ¿Vos, Luz? Dale, yo también te acepto el chimi, Damián, gracias. Hacés bien en aceptar, Luz, a mí me puede llegar a fajar por negarle algo... Ay, qué exagerada amiga, qué salame. Sí, boluda, ¿por qué no te guardás esos chistes? Exhalo.

Los pibes pelan el escabio para brindar a su éxito. Estamos todos a punto de chocar vasos cuando Damián me clava la mirada, alarmado. ¿Qué hacés, tarada? ¿Vos pensabas brindar con coca? Agarrate una birra como la gente, haceme el favor. Bueno, ¡Ahora sí! Los pibes brindan con gran estruendo, yo empino el vaso pero toco la cerveza con la punta de la lengua nomás. Él lo nota. Flaca, es para tomar, ¿Sabías? Ay, es que, es IPA, no me gusta... Bueno tomá la mía, es rubia. No, no, Dami, gracias. Bueno estás en caprichosa, boluda, ¿Qué querés, fernet, campari? Hay de todo. No, no, Dami, realmente hoy no quiero, no puedo tomar. Los demás escuchan en silencio. Damián me clava la mirada, y algo me dice que acaba de comprender.

Inhalo.

»9|3|23

Yo-Yo

Yo era joven.

Yo tenía la piel tersa y no era problema maquillármela, si bien siempre me criticaron por los tonos de labial que elegía. Ahora nadie me molesta por eso porque la poca gente que me visita sabe que de todos modos no podría avergonzarlos en público con mis labios naranjas.

Yo llevaba mi largo cabello, sedoso y abundante, apenas sujeto detrás de las orejas con broches. Las pocas otras mujeres en el laburo me lo envidiaban con locura y por eso no me hablaban. Si tan sólo pudieran verme ahora, pelada y con la cabeza envuelta en un pañuelo... ¿Me hablarían?

Yo caminaba erguida y no estaba confinada a esta silla de ruedas por la mayor parte del día. Me contoneaba grácilmente al caminar, como me hacían notar varios en la oficina.

Yo pesaba 15 kilos menos y entraba en mis faldas y vestidos entallados, en ese entonces habría provocado un revuelo entre mis colegas si hubiera usado los pantalones holgados que ahora uso todos los días.

Yo podía soportar arduos días de trabajo en los que me exigían quedarme horas extra, que eran casi todos. Fui considerada una institución en esa empresa por mi compromiso y lealtad. Ahí empecé y ahí quedé hasta enfermar. El poco tiempo que me sobraba, se lo dedicaba al tejido. Parezco estar compensando últimamente, incluso tejiendo en este momento, mientras recuerdo.

Yo llegaba al departamento en pleno microcentro que siempre me costó alquilar, y mis únicas compañeras eran las palomas y las cucarachas. No me dejaban tener mascotas. Ahora mismo siento a Lucero ronroneando sobre mi regazo, haciéndose la inocente, como si no gustara de enroscarse entre la lana. Vesper corre que te corre de un lado al otro del patio. Venus estará durmiendo adentro con sus crías.

Yo tenía larga fila de pretendientes, me llamaban la versión siempre decente de Gilda. Me llamaban de todo, con tal de obtener mi atención. Me llamaban de amarga si no salía con ellos. Me llamaban picaflor si tenía varias citas al hilo. Me llamaban frígida para presionarme para hacer el amor. Siempre dolió.

Amanda me extiende un Earl Grey recién preparado en mi taza favorita, un tazón que se parece más a un bol de sopa.

Nos sentamos en el porche, con estar a la sombra ya hay resguardo del calor. Nada que ver con Buenos Aires.

Respiro un respiro cargado de recuerdos, y a pesar de estar entubada a esta máquina me llega el nítido aroma de los jazmines.

• ¿En qué pensás, amada?
• En que ya no soy joven, Amanda.
• Menos mal, ¿No?

«

→ ｇｒａｃｅ ｊｏｎｅｓ , || ｐｒｅｓｓｕｒｅｄ. ||

It was such a wonderful feeling, walking through this wide and high cavern, not feeling cold at all. Of course, the land beyond the mirror isn't always nice and charming to her. She's seen killing, believed she herself would scream to death when falling off a cliff, and even had her heart broken. Now, it was the beautiful lapse when she forgot she was not dreaming, or rather, she didn't care about this fact anymore for a while. Outside, it rained, and tall trees stood in front of her.

Behind a tree, Michelle's head appeared. She was a girl from her ballet classes, perhaps a bit too chubby to ever aspire to perform that dance perfectly. «Well, you're no white swan either, be polite, say hi». So she got closer to that girl, who awaited for Grace with an expecting gaze.

“Hullo, Michelle, what brings you here?” the brunette asked friendly. “I've kissed someone”, the blonde confessed. “Kissed?!” Grace asked incredulously, her tone a little too sharp, unfortunately. In her eyes, her dancing partner was not the goddess Aphrodite, but Ugly Betty, not much more than that. “Well, yes-” the other replied in a defiant tone. “-I'm kissing Paul right now, so you might as well leave me alone.”

Poor Gracie watched as her admired secret crush held the big blonde in his arms and both joined their mouths happily. She turned away and ran deep into the forest. «I must hide from them! I can't bear to see them!», she thought desperately as bitter tears stung her eyes and ran down her cheeks. Sometimes the land beyond the mirror had her heart broken.

As if she had just woken up, she forgot all that had just happened. Before her a thin and quiet stream flowed, dividing the woods. On the top of her head, a reddish-brown squirrel with a purple striped tail and short teeth sniffed the air. The girl took its presence for granted, until she set it down on her palm and stroked his head. She knew who it was, and it knew who she was. “Where to now, Whoop? Where to go?” She could walk back to where she had come from in the first place, all over again, or she could try to cross the stream, to find more forest then.

Whoop was waiting for her at the other side of the stream. Grace didn't wonder about how it had arrived there, and she let out a snorty laugh. “Now, Whoopie dear, seriously, what if there are dangers in there?” she asked the rodent, as she stepped down onto the water where it was most shallow. She saw she had got wet up to her knees when she came out of the stream. One of a tree's knotted roots read: «play». Instinctively Gracie pressed on a knot, and a fragment of John Lennon's “Happy Xmas” was heard. The sensitive brunette grinned and continued her way into the woods, humming, yet singing the “War is over!” bits with special emphasis.

#Prose

»26|9|19

Farewell to the Midwives

Jennifer Worth, now a senior citizen, was bold and kind enough to write a series of pseudo-autobiographical books about her young years as a convent midwife in post World War II East London; a devastated, most vulnerable area. The first book in the series is “Call the Midwife”, and the last one, “Farewell to the East End”, in which Worth describes the closure of the convent. But how was this brought about?

Nonnatus House (a pseudonym) was nun-run and housed novices and other girls that volunteered for midwifery. These hardworking women had pledged their lives to God and the helpless, by offering various forms of healthcare, though their specialty was midwifery; pre-and post- natal care, and carrying out deliveries. Their skills were renowned and the rich solicited their services also, for a fee (on which the convent depended to aid the poor for free). The midwives were continuously on the run, riding their bicycles all around East End, safe even in the darkest areas, protected by the respect they had earned.

The generation that Nonnatus House served had been mostly raised by parents afraid, or at least wary of anything concerning hospital institutions, and had therefore successfully passed on the fear to their children, who rejected almost all kinds of professional help: doctors, drugs, vaccines, or hospitalisation, even when a complicated delivery required them. Thus the midwives' presence during these years was crucial in the East End.

However, hospitals improved exponentially over the years and won, together with the NHS, a reputation of efficiency and reliability, causing not only Eastenders, but all Brits to flock to the hospitals as a first resource. Consequently, calls at Nonnatus House spaced considerably in the span of a couple years: the amount of calls decreased from a staggering hundred a month to a meager five a month.

The logical conclusion was for Nonnatus House to shut up shop, and so it did – yet the nuns were not left without a job! As mentioned in the second paragraph, the nuns had pledged their lives to God and the poor. Worth records at the very end of the very last book, that thanks to the former, these women could continue to help the latter, through education, drug rehab programmes and soup kitchens, wherever they were needed to be – until it was time to say farewell again.

#Prose

« Dear Sir or Madam,

I regret to inform that I have misplaced a cherished object of mine inside the premises of your establishment. It is a most singular thing, so I do not believe there will be any trouble in identifying it. It is a Japanese notebook to be stamped at shrines, and the description is as follows.

The notebook in itself is res, but it is protected by a sunny yellow paper case, which is the first thing to be seen. When slid aside, the notebook is revealed, which cover has kanji inscriptions on it, on white and gold labels.

Perhaps the most interesting characteristic of this notebook is its lack of a backbone – indeed, it is a folded notebook. To me, however, it is the stamps and writings in red and black done by Japanese monks that are irreplaceable and priceless.

Thanks for your time and help, if you have any news about my notebook being found, I would be very grateful to hear them.

Many thanks again,

Miss K.

#Prose

«

The Eternal Rain · I

The fog covered us in a thick white blanket. It is so strange, I thought, how as children we're taught heaven is way up there. But today I feel I could reach my hand out and maybe take hold of my granny's thick glasses and put them on. It did seem that the sky was just above our heads and all around us, but I didn't feel my gran was any closer to me than any other day.

It was on that very morning that Harry arrived, just a few hours before lunch. He greeted me and embraced me tightly. As soon as he had hugged every member of the family, he asked if he could help in any way, and when he was answered no, he went all the same into the kitchen and started cutting up tomatoes as red as his hair.

It wasn't long before he took the weather as an opportunity to crack out some jokes, fed by his characteristic enthusiasm for word play. “We were planning our meal outside, but just look!” “Yes, that certainly puts a damp on our day.” “This thick fog... I hope it clears away soon...” Harry shrugged and put his best Cockney accent on. “Well luv, we'll jus' 'ave to... white.”

I rolled my eyes every single time he tried to be funny, but still he managed to get me in a good mood. My cousin was a pleaser. A dreadfully obnoxious one, but a pleaser nonetheless. That night he brought me a hot cup of tea while I sat in my favourite sofa. Harry stood by it, hesitating with his own steaming mug in hand. “Is there space in the Nest for me?” he asked in the end. I curled up on one side and Harry managed to squish himself next to me.

#Prose #TheEternalRain

«

A Little about Me

I am an avid reader, the more a book makes me ponder over its contents, the more I like it. Because of my English roots and passion for England's artists, authors and musicians, I may be described as what in social media is called an “anglophile”. I'm keen on Irish culture as well, even to the point of learning its language. By the by, language learning is one of my greatest passions, I know at least the basics for six languages, and am acquainted with four different alphabets, besides morse code. Therefore, I sincerely hope English language this year is ridiculously challenging regarding content. I get so frustrated when studying stuff I already know, it is boring and discouraging.

#Prose

«

To Bee or Not to Bee

Bees are wonderful wizards. Among their many magical skills, turning nectar into honey is by far the most known and appreciated. Humankind, as well as other animals like bears, have learnt to harvest it – the difference is humankind has also learnt to make a profit out of it, unbeknownst to bees, who just keep on producing honey.

Poor innocent bees. If only they had the mental ability to understand their exploitation they would fight back as one, just like us humans would. Or would we?

Before the rumours of Cambridge Analytica profiting from data user selling were confirmed, many believed it to be a conspiracy theory. Even now, after important witnesses had given their testimonies, some remain cynics or indifferent to this fact. Many companies are still harvesting our sweet data honey.

#Prose

«

Boarding the Train to Boarding School

Graham was the first to get to the platform, and so he enjoyed this privilege by taking in all the different aromas surrounding the place: steam, leather and wooden trunks, brick, the soft scent of the recently washed woollen scarf around his neck. A big, gentle hand placed itself on his shoulder. It belonged to his dad, whose hair had long since started greying. Graham came out of his sensory trance to look up into his coffee eyes as he was asked how he felt. His stomach lurched. He was anxious, excited, frightened, nervous... This last year at school would mark the end of childhood for the rest of his days... Father and son greeted each other and Graham boarded the train to boarding school for the last time.

#Prose

#UPD #AhRe

«

The Princess

This morning was no different from the rest as the princess woke up. She disregarded waking up at a strict hour every day, and she enjoyed the luxury of rolling around in bed for ten minutes, half an hour, or a whole hour. She washed her face and waited for her maid to call upon her. After a moment, someone tapped on the door and called her: “Princess, are you up?” The Princess jumped down from her bed and, purring, joined the maid, who had already left her breakfast in the cat bowl.

#Prose