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sábado, 13 de febrero de 2010

YOUR EYES, MOM JULIA ELSA.

YOUR EYES, MOМ JULIA ELSA.



As in a dream, I saw the thin shape of your body in the doorway of the house where my brothers also houses. Until then just remember my father and my grandmother, who lived well into my puberty. I did not know she had a mother and never in my life gave me a pat with his brown hands to my face pink. I lived in the solitude of my house without knowing that he had siblings. My toys only had in my hands and I could not share with someone else, who shared the same meal. My grandmother told me I was awesome to know my brother. So we did and take the green car, known as American Indian, who roamed the sands of a newly established town with immigrants from around the department and other sites that were much farther than our native Santiago de Chuco. I was very disturbed by what I had learned just that day. I had trouble understanding my Mamacona Herlinda was not my biological mother and my father was really his son. You went and you had so many privileges as the principal wife of my Father, with so many servants in your house who ordered with the meal you had in the terrace to donate, so we thought, when it comes to your house that you shared with another man . And then to see so thin, so shy and so dark and sweet, just started loving you. I wanted to break the long silence of the years in which only lived in my silver spoon that was my prison. From your womb I had gone, the love of an Indian tradition and you who were the wife of the man who represented a multitude of nations. He was between two crossroads, between the two women who gave me life, but I felt that I loved them both equally, because I loved too much. Although only in those few opportunities could feel the love and resignation for me.

How could we forget my brother. He ran from me. At that time there was a huge difference, because my clothes denoting a standard of living and status, that my mother and my brother does not bore. My mother was very proud with his gaze in front of my grandmother. The woman who took away their first child to raise him as commanding the tradition of the ancestors of our nations. But in his eyes betrayed the hope of seeing me after not having been to almost all these 12 years I lived with my grandmother as her son. There, despite chasing my brother to meet him, I felt at that moment I was not alone, that I had the opportunity to share.



This happiness I only lasted a few more than two months, I would know when my grandmother came from school to school rush. I did not understand why she came, never used to, because my godfather and godmother were always cared for my schoolwork and my training. Until then she had dreamed of having my sister at home, I knew my mother could not do it because he was already married to another man, after mourning for my father about five years as mandated by the tradition of our peoples. Believing he had kept the memory of my father, decided to rebuild his life probably, this commitment where I have two brothers. But they do not keep hardly any sense, perhaps what I represent your father in my life. Then my grandmother told me straight: I have asked permission from school. I said: For Mother?. She said, your mother is dead. At that moment the world collapsed in my fantasies had built. It only remains to me the taste of his eyes, the warmth of her hands on my adolescent face, so I rarely prodigal. I'm sorry and I always have felt many times in the solitude of my affliction and still more with a hoarse voice saying that Johnny planted in the purest my feelings to her memory. But hearing the manner and circumstances of his death the hate toward the man who was their second, was the hatred that fueled my whole life, since I take my mother. With us also saw when I was already father and I felt sorry for the storm of his soul where he lived.

I learned to forgive even though he was the cause of her death.



Tupac Isaac II
Juan Esteban Yupanqui Villalobos
http://juanestebanyupanqui.blogspot.com

Here I am...