One of the best things in the world is listening to a good speaker. Now there is always a good speaker on your life, for instance my Grandfather is someone who I love to hear speak, especially when he is talking about the past. His voice is low but sweet, the tone just invites you in, and when you listen to it, you would probably enjoy hearing it forever. It is like having a good book but instead of you reading it, he reads it for you. It may be the way he narrates the story he speaks a though he were there watching the person make decisions, I don't know if I have the words to describe it, but he always starts with the word "cuando". The simple soul is a book that I would love to hear my Grandfather read out loud. The book uses these words that I don't normally hear, and the tone that it has reminds me of the nights I used to sit at my beach house with my Grandfather at living room discussing politics with his friends. Some of the books sentences even start with his words, "When he went downstairs, he rested his beak on the steps, lifted his right foot and then his left one; but his mistress feared that such feats would give him vertigo. He became ill and was unable to eat. There was a small growth under his tongue like those chickens are sometimes afflicted with."(Chapter IV). When I was little I used to picture myself narrating just like him, and I have tried but I have trouble with words, they are so many and mean so many things that I don't know how to use them and if I do, I can't help wondering if I used them correctly. One of the worst things is the mal practice of words, sometimes I am afraid to write because I don't know what I am doing. Writing is something scary to me, the idea of someone judging you or the thousand ways to fix a paragraph, how can I, have it the right way. I have heard that practice makes perfect but I practice, I have journal and I still can't get the good grades in the class or have the effect on people like Gustave Flaubert or my Grandfather do. Their style and choice of words is something that I wish I would get to one day, they make the things that are very common and give them life. In my family where writing is something you have to relief emotions, award winning writing and newspaper columnists, like my Great aunt, who's writing got her a trip to Europe and some chocolates. Her use of words is breathtaking. Style is something unique to every person but I am afraid is don't have one yet, but I enjoy the different types I get to read every day.
Carta a dios:
Te llevaste a mi niño, nuestro niño, el hijo de mi marido y mío, el hermano de su hermana, el amigo de sus amigos, el compañero de su amiga, el cuñado, el nieto, el tío, el sobrino.
El profesor, el bailarín, el teatrero, el escritor, el dibujante...
Te hacía falta quién te llenara el cielo de cuadros coloridos, quién te escribiera cuentos y te los leyera, quién bailara y actuara para ti.
Quién te divirtiera con su ingenio, con su risa.
Quién te ordenara y decorara el cielo, quién hiciera las fiestas de bienvenida para todos
los nuevos inquilinos.
Quién se encargara de los libros, las velas, la música, los postres, y de mover la luna.
Quién diseñara lo que aún no se había inventado.
Quién llenara ese vacío de santa monotonía, y acaso de falta de novedad que a lo mejor respira por allá.
Jorge llegó con Pafi, su osito de felpa, a barrer las nubes y a poner las estrellas en su sitio.
A sacudir la lluvia, a formar copos de nieve.
Y a hacer que el sol brillara más claro por su propia transparencia.
Jorge llegó con su verdad, según tu voluntad. A conversar contigo.
A oírte...y a que lo oyeras.
Una vez él había escrito una 'Oración a Diosesito', tú debes conocerla...
Él te llamaba así, 'Diosesito', y escribió en su diario: "Yo sabía que tenía que darle el regalo de mis danzas a la gente y a Diosesito".
He oído que mucha gente te da las gracias a ti, Dios, por una cosa, otra y la de más allá.
Pero esta vez toca que Tú, Dios, me las des a mí o nuestra cuenta sigue pendiente.
Formal saludo.
Mariluz Uribe de Holguín.
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