Esta entrada...

El año pasado escribía en inglés para que alguien me leyera. Estaba leyendo esto que escribí y me di nostalgia, así que lo vuelvo a publicar.

My favorite thing.

So... this is as good as it gets. So peaceful, hearing nothing but the wind, the savage wind. So... this is as fortunate as it gets. Seeing a bunch of strangers and trying to recognize me and my beloved ones in that toes, or those eyes.This is as great as it is. Looking at "Chapultepec" and believing in the mexican roots. Being in contact with history and being conscious it all has a story. Evolution is the story of nature. A biography is the story of a life. My hands are stories: because my mother married my father and no other. Because if that hadn't happened, then I would have never been me. And my hands are story because I write stories. They materialize them in words written in paper. Otherwise, I would forget these moments. Words are such wonderful reminders.My favorite things in the world, above dry leaves or coffee and cigarettes, are words. I often wonder why is a leaf called a leaf instead of meat. And why can't meat mean house. They are so great that express either thoughts, either human lack.They are words. A sume of letters put together to make sense. We can hear them, read them, feel them. When we feel hope we can say it's hope. We feel it. We feel words.I'm so in love with words. I love them so much I treat them as I would trat a lover: I cherish them. I always want to know more and I feel so warm and tender when they approach. I even get nervous, and I feel the need of being a better person, at least an articulate one.Wittgenstein said "the limits of my world are the limits of my language". And I agree. We think in words, and as someone knows more words, is like knowing more people or having more expierences.If I used a word to call myself other than Charbelí, I would use Clemency. It is not because I'm merciful. It is just because I love the rythm of that word, and that is what I aspire to be.Words are like people: imagine a person called "dry", I would think of and old lady, a spinster old lady, a little bitter with nostalgic smile and small blue eyes, with a yellow-old skin, and thin, skeletic hands.Sweet, I'd imagine a doll. My first meaningful doll who was a person, a friend to me.What would you imagine?Imagine: the word that describes even the impossible is possible. Is the freedom of mind.I want to write a short story in English. But I don't know if Y'm capable. I can write in Spanish, but I want you to understand it, J (or T, or whatever your name is).