You were cold I blamed you You were dead I blamed me You looked mute I felt deaf I blamed her Or was I deaf? You were gone No one to blame I was alone With you still there. I went back home And you looked The other way.
Yesterday I visited the birthplace of Sandino in Nicaragua: Niquinohomo. Yo soy del pueblo que un niño en Niquinohomo soñó. Soy del pueblo de Sandino y Benjamín Zeledón —Yo soy de un pueblo sencillo, by Luis Enrique Mejía Godoy (see the complete lyrics and my translation below) Benjamín Zeledón’s fortress —the political prison We
Somebody makes a pseudo-stupid joke at my son Quique in the street —something I’ll never understand.
Pablo looks at me with his best “what the hell just happened, did you get it?” and our telepathy fails for a moment, and I have to make do with expressing my thoughts with words, and in front of the kids to boot.
[In English, because this is not for the delicate ears of my Spanish kids]
“Let it be. Just an idiot. Motherfucking drunk.” [In Spanish, because… well, you’ll see]
“Mooooom!” Lucía, my 10 year-old, scolds me “that’s a swear word, I HEARD YOU!”
“Darn. So now you do speak English and you understand it when it’s convenient for you. So I won’t be able to swear even in English, now?”
“You could swear in German. But… well, then when I heard you speaking in German I’d know you’re swearing.”
Lost. We’ve lost here.
Should I compile all the Quique and Lucía stories in a single document? This is a serious question for you as my readers. Do tell me in the comments. I’ve also asked my patrons on Patreon: https://www.patreon.com/minibego. If you’re late to the party, it’s a system in which people help me pay for my writing costs, and maybe, someday, for my writing itself. Go have a look. It starts with as little as 1$ a month and it really pushes me to write more.
By the way, we’ve reached the next goal we had, to get 2 pretty ebook covers a year:
The next goal is getting two pretty layouts a year:
It feels like the seed of a new, cool thing growing in my life. I’m really looking forward to see what happens next. 🙂
Somebody makes a pseudo-stupid joke at my son Quique in the street —something I’ll never understand. Pablo looks at me with his best “what the hell just happened, did you get it?” and our telepathy fails for a moment, and I have to make do with expressing my thoughts with words, and in front of
Hoy llevo 69 días haciendo deporte todos los días, y los chicos de La Calle es Tuya me han regalado un ukelele de cartón para celebrarlo.
Es duro no poder ver lo que pinta tu pareja, más aún cuando a tu alrededor no paran de llamarlo para que muestre los cuadros, dé conferencias, o envíe fotografías. Hubo un tiempo en el que quise operarme, pero me dijeron que tendría que dejarlo todo durante diez años. Que iría de quirófano en quirófano,
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