Walking down the road holding hands with my 5 year-old. He wants ice-cream. There is not ice-cream today, too much sugar! He throws himself to the floor and screams as if someone is eating his eyes.
I think in all those men stuffing the Bible. Men and more men. Jonás, Matusalén, San Marcos, Lázaro. My son spies on me hiding her watery look behind her fingers. He shouts. He and I, we are alone. I am everything for him. The silence, the sound, the decisions, the clothes, the medicines, the sleeping-time and also, the ice-cream.
I think in all those men, presidents of all the countries in the planet, during all times in history. Washington, Kennedy, Mitterrand, Hirohito, Gorbachov, Idi Amin. And the head returns to the supermarket. Bananas, milk, oats, ice-cream… It is going to close, and my baby does not want to stand up.
I think in those women which are not lonely planets to their children. Women without names, without Bible and without countries to carry to disaster, but with one hour a day. One hour in which not to take decisions, in which they are not responsible for another life, a life that you love more than our own.
The supermarket is going to close, and I have a deadline for a paper and another deadline for a grant. I need to hurry.
My little one has passports from Spain and the US but he lives in France. He is going to be so proud of me one day….
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Yes! Oui! Sí! The language between mothers and daughters is the same, all over the world. Someday your daughter will definitely feel proud of you.