First act: A little town in the Pyrenees. Nuns and morning prayers. Hide and seek and soccer. Sister friends. Sophisticated strategies to get to the teacher’s room. Lonely streets and smell of lilac. Sopa de Cabra, Els Pets, The Police and not knowing it Queen. Skiing and basketball. Spain’s Championship in Sierra Nevada. The first Levi’s and the first Roller Coaster. The first kiss after a Baylies’ add. La Llesca, Sbarjo, Clochard and 32. Unconditional party, all of us, always. Vital transition, floating, no direction. University.
Second act: La Vila, Carlsson and hot chocolate. My perfect couple, a blondie. Carnival in Palamós. Night diaries, long hours writing confessions in silence, filling up Miquelrius notebooks. Huddersfield, a year in a month. The first scholarship, absurd transcriptions at 2,40€ per hour in a luxury office. The first winery. A glass wine tasting. New York for the first time tattooed in my brain. Atlanta: A new window, huge and multicolor that would dye me forever. Eduard Hopper and Georgia O’Keefe. American Ink: The first article. Running miles with The Strokes. The Newyorker. The vulnerable writing. Hawaii. Catalonia, more solid and more ephemeral. Screenwriting and headhunters. Doubts and more doubts. Argentina. A trip: wine. A deeper trip: words.
Third act: The firs “20 years ago…” and I already had consciousness about life. Taking a decision with my eyes closed and believe it. The first friend’s son. Feeling the start of adult life, looking for a place to keep dreaming and realizing that I still have time, but not all of it. Taking life seriously, and not achieving it. Gràcia and Formentera. Labels. Mishima, Jorge Drexler, Manel y Caravaggio. La Barceloneta with a curly brunette. It has been a while that it has started, but every day is a new day. What is coming I have no idea. Free and random words that together make sense. But now: Let’s have breakfast in Barcelona.
Regina Rodríguez Sirvent