A columnist of this newspaper once told me that he had saved a woman’s life without knowing her. When she went to pay the bill for the meal, the waitress refused, he invited: it was her way of making amends, because one of his books had stopped her from committing suicide…
A columnist of this newspaper once told me that he had saved a woman’s life without knowing it. When she went to pay the bill for the meal, the waitress declined, he invited: this was her way of making up for it, as one of her books dissuaded her from committing suicide.
I don’t know if Maruja Torres saved anyone from death or not, but she saved me from a life I didn’t want. A teenager’s and, therefore, exalted existence, surrounded by grayness and incomprehension, of an intimate alienation so daily that it seemed natural. Being a fish out of water, because I didn’t know, I didn’t even know there was an ocean. Opening this paper, and reading it, was to understand Emily Dickinson’s poem, which titled one of her novels—the first of hers I read—”A Warmth Like the Sun Shining on a Hand”.
take pleasure in Evole Cheese has taken me till then. to those Oscar chronicles, to those sorry to wake up that he signed his email—yes, I sent him E-mail To which he responded carefully – to reports, to interviews, to books, to signings, to his television appearances. Starting to peep through the cracks of the life I shyly wanted, like so many young people desire, and now I’m lucky enough to be able to enjoy it. Because if I am alive today by writing, the credit goes to him first. The pain that life gives you, as he said in the program, “you have to take it on a short leash and carry it with you, because if you start running, you get lost.” But happiness must be enjoyed and given with wide sleeves. Maruja, thanks a lot for so much.
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