The return to a our country back in Democracy, left in my mind sharp memories of boxes, suitcases, airports and especially the great figures of my grandmother. I believe this starts the list of women that would mark my life forever.
My grandmother lived with my great-aunt together in a big house in the middle of the city, one of those houses that has that rustic style I love, with nooks, senseless spaces, extravagant flavors, smells, plants and flowers everywhere.
My grandmothers divorced when they were young and had raised their children single. United by their sisterhood, my mother grew up in the same house with her brother and cousin. Years later, my mom’s cousin would show himself to be more a brother than her own brother.
My grandmother was strong but cold, loving but distant, generous but strict. She did not have an easy life and she raised my mother in a relationship full of suffering. The wound had heal thanks the the great effort from my mother during the last days of my grandmother’s life sharing as much love as a being can share. My grandmother’s strong preference towards my uncle would leave a mark of neglect in my mother that stay in her soul all the way until our generation. The links were broken by my sister and myself with a lot of effort.
I have memories of playing with dolls alone in the morning before anyone wakes up and above all, the memories with my sister. She knows my story almost as well as myself. It’s like a bond that unites us and says look I’ve seen what you have seen. I know your soul more than what your words can say, nothing can hide one from each other.
Unlike the vast majority of children, who spent their childhood going from the school in the morning to home for lunch, we did not, after school we went to “beteinu” a Jewish institution based its recreation in a strict, but fun pedagogical manner. This would mark my passionate need to differentiate myself from the others, especially in the spiritual beliefs.
In Beteinu, we eat lunch, played, studied, learned, cried, sang, swam and performed; basically everything that a child needs and craves. I spent very happy years there but it wasn’t the same for my sister, she was older that me and the contrast between countries was just to much for her . At six in the afternoon my grandmother would pick us up with her Renout 6 vehicle and with her usual slowness, would take us all the way back home exhausted after a long day full of adventures.
What I call home was over the years, changing a different color. Although the base were my mom, my sister Mara and me. The stage and the company changed from time to time. First time we lived with my grandmother. We slept in a tiny room full of decorations strung across the walls, abundant sea snails and a wicker-like aroma that will stay with me forever.
Then we live in a small apartment,
mom slept in the living room, Mara and I shared a single room. We used to take baths together and from there we watched cartoons on the huge old TV that my mom would bring into the bathroom. We had a balcony with plants and flowers and a neighbor who once invited us to a chocolate fondue. I remember looking V alien invasion and scare up the gut. I remember waking up mom some mornings and find tears in her eyes, but not tears of sadness but tears of tiredness, the kind that blindside you in the morning. I also remember all phosphorescent stars stuck on the roof every night became a surprise after a good night kiss when she turned off the light.