WHY?

Carole and I fell into one another's arms, as Albert was taking a sip from his drink. He cleared his throat and said: 

“I spent hours and hours chatting with my daughter. We had lost so many things in the way. We had so much to catch up.

Looking at her was like looking at me in a mirror. Her Spanish was perfect, no accent at all. She looked so Mediterranean with her black hair and her black eyes, with her tanned skin… She was awesome!

I apologized to her for all the time I had been missing in her life. I told her that I really didn’t know anything at all about her birth and her existence.

I was unable to give her any explanation at all for my silence and my absence.

There was no anger, no bitterness in her; she was just so happy to have found me…

Carole and I went to Germany to meet R’s family: her husband and their two sons – my grandsons -.

I cannot find the words to express how wonderful and how painful that meeting was. I still don’t know how to express my emotional feelings and sensations.

I was just wondering WHY?

WHY? That was the key word to another part of the story. I had to ask my mother – an old lady in her eighties – and my eldest brother.

So Carole and I travelled to Barcelona.

I will never forget my brother’s reaction when I told her I had finally met my daughter. He just sank into his armchair, opened his mouth to answer but was unable to pronounce a single sound, as tears were running down his cheeks.

“Forgive me Albert. Please forgive me. Mother and I just thought it was the best for you.

-The best for me? During 39 years? Wow! I deserve a little more explanations, don’t you think so?

-You know that Mother was extremely upset about your relation with R. and that she had forbidden you to see her. You were a child, Albert! You had to finish your studies and she was ten years your eldest! But you were so much in love with her! This is why Mother and Uncle S. gave her money to leave our country: they were really generous with her, you have to trust me.

I have to say that my mother became a widow when I was twelve years old and it was my father’s brother who was our testamentary executor.

And my brother went on saying: “A few months later, Mother intercepted a letter addressed to you, where R. was telling you about her pregnancy…"

At that point of our conversation I was livid and voiceless… My mother and my brother, my flesh and blood, had kept that secret during all those years! I was crying silently and so was my brother.

-Go on please.

-So Mother and Uncle S. send her more money asking her to be patient and to be generous. They promised you were going to know the truth at the end of your studies…

-You know it was not the case! What happened?

-We were told it was a baby girl, and Mother appealed once more to R. generosity begging her to understand her now that she was a mother too…

-And? Go on for Christ’s sake!

-Their correspondence last five years… more or less, and then Mother told her that you had a new life and that you didn’t want to know about your daughter… Could you ever forgive me?”

The real question was: would I be able to forgive my own mother!

EL FLASHBACK

Tenía tantas preguntas que me moría por hacerle a Albert, pero en vez de ello, permanecí silenciosa, esperando educadamente a que continuase su historia, y así lo hizo.

“Estaba petrificado, incapaz de reaccionar, de moverme… mi cabeza estaba procesando las ultimas e inesperadas noticias, mi corazón estaba desbocado y me faltaba el aire. ¿Era aquello un sueño? ¿Me estaba volviendo loco? ¿Tuvo realmente lugar aquella conversación telefónica?

Cuando Carole llegó a casa, aún seguía en estado de shock. Me pregunto qué era lo que pasaba y le conté todo lo sucedido. Su reacción fue extraordinaria; cogió mi cabeza entre sus manos y me dijo dulcemente: “ya pasó, cariño, ya pasó. No pasa nada ¿vale? Vamos a averiguar todo esto juntos. Ven, deja que te ayude a ponerte en pie. Veamos si nuestro teléfono ha conservado el número que te ha llamado, y pondremos todo esto en claro… pero por hoy ya has tenido bastante… no sufras ni te preocupes, no estás solo y nada va a estropearnos las fiestas de Navidad. Nos ocuparemos de todo esto en enero, y que sea lo que Dios quiera… toda saldrá bien, cariño, ¿vale?”

¿No es increíble? ¿Verdad que es generosa? Le estaba contado a mi mujer que tal vez tenía una hija de 39 años, mientras que nuestro matrimonio no había sido bendecido con ningún hijo, y no estaba ni enfadada conmigo, ni me estaba montado un Cristo.

Carole le sonrió y añadió: “Vamos Albert, que vas a conseguir que me ponga colorada, vamos cariño sigue con tu historia”.

Así que empezamos el nuevo año con un montón de llamadas, un montón de emails, un montón de documentos escaneados, un montón de fotos, un montón de faxes… R. era mi hija. Tenía 39 años, estaba casada y era madre de dos niños, lo que me convertía además en abuelo.

Su llamada, antes de Navidad, ponía fin a diez años de búsqueda…

Su madre le había dicho que su papa había fallecido poco después de su nacimiento, que era un príncipe español que la quería con toda el alma.

Me mando todos los dibujos que había hecho siendo niña y su papa figura en todos ellos con una corona en la cabeza.

Empezó a estudiar el castellano para así estar segura de poder entendernos cuando nos encontráramos, ya que estaba convencida de que estaba vivo y de que me iba a encontrar.

Le costó diez años de su vida. Sabréis más tarde el por qué fue tan largo.

Cuando la vi cruzar la puerta de Llegadas del aeropuerto de Heathrow, tuve otro shock. No cabia ninguna duda, Era mi clon en un cuerpo de mujer. Me estaba mirando, en un flashback, 40 años antes, y 40 años más tarde podía por fin abrazarla y besarla.

Me había encontrado.”

THE FLASHBACK

There were so many questions I was anxious to ask Albert, but instead of that I remained silent, waiting politely for him to go on with his story, and so he did.

“I was flabbergasted, unable to react, to move… my head was processing the unexpected news, my heart was out of control and I could not breathe. Was it a dream? Was I starting to become insane? Did the last phone conversation ever happen?

When Carole came back home, I was still in a state of shock. She asked me what was going on and I told her about the whole conversation. Her reaction was extraordinary; she took my head in her hands and said softly: “Ush, baby, ush, it is OK. We are going to check out the whole thing together. Come, let me help you to stand up on your feet. Let’s see if our phone has kept the number of your speaker and let’s clarify the subject… but you have had enough for today… so don’t worry, you are not alone and nothing is gonna spoil our Xmas celebrations. We will check this on January, and come what may… Everything is gonna be OK, darling.”

Isn’t she amazing? Isn’t she great? I was telling my wife that I might have a daughter of 39, while our marriage had not been blessed with any children, and she was not mad with me, and was not making a fuss about all that.

Carole smiled to him and said: “Come on Albert, don’t make me blush, go on darling, finish your story”.

So we started the brand new year with lots of phone calls, lots of emails, lots of scans, lots of photos, lots of faxes… R. was my daughter. She was 39 years old, she was married and had two sons, which meant I was also a grandfather.

Her phone call, before Xmas, had put an end to a ten years search…

Her mother had told her that her dad had passed away shortly after her birth, and that he was a Spanish Prince who loved her beyond reason.

She sent me all the drawings she had made as a child and her dad was on them with a crown of his head.

She started studying Spanish to make sure she would be able to understand me when we met as she was absolutely sure I was alive and that she was going to find me.

It took her ten years of her life. You will know later why it was that long.

The first time I saw her coming through the Arrivals gate at Heathrow I had another shock. There was no doubt! She was my clone in a female body. It was like looking at myself, in a flashback, 40 years ago, and 40 years later I was finally able to hug her and to kiss her.

Reunited!”

LA LLAMADA TELEFONICA

Me resistía y al mismo tiempo estaba deseosa de hablaros de Albert. Finalmente me he decidido, así es que voy a compartir con vosotros, con todo mi amor hacia él y su esposa, Carole, su historia.

Aquí va el primer capítulo:

Me parece que todavía fue ayer cuando nos dijo que deseaba presentarnos una persona muy importante para él, y con este motivo planeaba organizar una fiesta con todos sus amigos. Estábamos en verano, era el mes de agosto para más precisión.

Me sujetaba por los hombros, en un gesto que era muy suyo, cuando nos confeso a mi marido y a mí que desea presentarnos a su hija.

¡Fue un shock tremendo! Algo realmente inesperado, ya que por aquel entonces nos conocíamos desde hacía diez años y jamás habíamos oído hablar si quiera de ella.

Lo mire directamente intentando encontrar algo en sus ojos que confirmase el hecho de que se trataba de una broma, de que estaba bromeando, pero no, no era el caso, hablaba muy en serio. Así que solo pude repetir en un susurro “¿tu hija?”. Fue entonces cuando se nos acerco una sonriente Carole, su esposa durante 25 años. Albert le cogió la mano y añadió “Si, eso es, mi hija” y la preciosa Carole asintió.

Así que Albert siguió contándonos la historia de su hija.

“Tenía 18 años cuando me enamore por primera vez. Ella tenía diez años más y era nuestra recepcionista alemana en el hotel que llevaban mis padres en la playa. Estábamos locamente enamorados el uno del otro, nuestras noches estaban llenas de pasión y de risas, pero un buen día desapareció sin ninguna explicación, sin dejarme si quiera una simple nota.

Le pregunte a mi madre que había pasado, y me contesto que había decidido volverse a Alemania. ¡Aquello no tenía ni pies ni cabeza! ¡Aquello era imposible!!!

Tenía 18 añitos y mi mundo se hundió conmigo en el fondo del océano con su inesperada desaparición.

Terminé mis estudios, conocí a Carole, nos casamos y me fui de España para vivir en Londres, donde como bien sabéis seguimos residiendo.

El invierno pasado, el día antes de Navidad, sonó el teléfono y conteste yo. La voz al otro lado era una voz femenina. Mi interlocutora me hablaba en castellano. Empezó preguntándome si era Albert N., si mi cumpleaños era el… y si estaba llamando en Londres. Yo estaba sorprendido y mi curiosidad crecía con cada una de las preguntas que me hacía.

Nuestra conversación llego a un punto en que me puse algo brusco diciéndole que no me gustaban esta clase de bromas, que estaba invadiendo mi intimidad llamándome a casa y que exigía saber quién demonios era ella.

Se hizo un silencio al otro lado, tras el cual, me dijo en un tono alto y claro: “Soy R…, la hija de R… ¡y tu eres mi padre!”

Caí sentado en el suelo, incapaz de hablar, mareado y le colgué”

THE PHONE CALL

I was reluctant and wishful at the same time to talk about Albert. Finally I have made up my mind and thus I am going to share with all my love towards him and Carole, his wife, his story with you.

So here goes the first chapter

It still looks like it was yesterday when he told us that he wanted to introduce us to a very important person, this was why he was planning to organize a party for all his friends. It was summer, August to be more precise.

His arm was lying around my shoulders in a gesture which was quite usual to him, when he confessed to my husband and I that he wanted to introduce us to his daughter.

That was a shock! Something quite unexpected as we knew him for almost ten years at that time and have never heard about her during all those years.

I immediately stared at him trying to find some clues in his eyes to confirm the fact that it was a joke, that he was kidding, but no, it was not the case, he was really serious. This is why I was just able to repeat in a whisper “Your daughter?” And then Carole, his wife for more than 25 years, joined our little group, smiling and Albert took her hand and said: “Yes, my daughter” and beautiful Carole nodded.

So Albert kept on telling us the story of his daughter.

“I fell in love for the first time at 18. She was 10 years my eldest and was our German receptionist at the hotel my parents ran on the beach. We were madly in love with each other and our nights were full of passion and laughters, but one day she disappeared without any explanation, without leaving me a single word.

I asked my mother what was wrong and she just told me that she had decided to go back to Germany. That was nonsense! That was impossible!!!

I was 18 and my world and I sank into the depth of ocean with her unexpected and silent departure…

I finished my studies, met Carole, got married to her and left Spain for London, where we live as you know.

Last winter, the day before Christmas, the phone rang and I answered it. The voice at the other end was a female one. My speaker was addressing me in Spanish. She started asking me if I was Albert N., if my birthday was … and if she was calling London. I was puzzled, and my curiosity and surprise were growing with each question she was asking me.

Our conversation came to a point when I was rude to her, saying that I didn’t like that kind of jokes, that she was an intruder calling me at home and that I wanted the know who the hell she was.

There was a silence then at the other end of the line and then she said in a clear and loud voice: “I am R…, the daughter of R…, and you are my father!”

I fall on the floor, speechless, dizzy and I put the receiver down.”

A BLOGGER'S WINK

Let me beg your pardon, I am so sorry, I apologize for my delay in posting new stuff on my “Nothing Special” spot.

I know how keen you are to keep reading me – gosh that makes me feel so good – but alas I’ve been kinda busy lately and as a matter of fact I still am.

You know living between two houses – more difficult than sitting between two chairs, you should have a try believe me – can drive people crazy and this is my case I’m completely nuts. So here goes my first excuse, but I might also face the fact that my writing skills are drying and that will be a real pity, yeah I know. Awe, I will feel so sorry for you – my secret readers, my silent followers, my fans – I can easily understand how desperate and scary this possibility can be!

We all know that my posts are nothing special, don’t we? I am the first to admit that it is not simple to define my style, that my blog does not follow a structure or any guiding lines.

I am aware of that disaster and this is why I am asking myself lately “Why did you start a blog? What are your goals? Why?” Because THAT IS the question. WHY on earth do people feel the need to start blogging? Don’t ask me I have no answer! Whatever! Snooping around I have found such interesting ones about: History, Arts, Paintings, Dolls, etc… and it is also true that I found others less interesting that are really… ahemmm… let’s say inventive, surprising and unexpected… about the most unbelievable subjects.

But let’s focus on my spot again. A look at my older posts doesn’t help defining my style, no clues either about the type of blog it is… It might look weird but that’s the way it is.

As a matter of fact, the real genius inside me has not pointed out yet, though I am pretty sure that I’m gonna be a real revelation and that I am gonna make a real fuss with Nothing Special – don’t know why but the title of Shakespeare’s play “Much ado about nothing” has just crossed my mind right now, and that sounds promising – is it a kind of omen?

Anyway, right now I will not be surprised at all if the following conversation comes to my ears: “Don’t waste your time reading “Nothing Special” as the most interesting thing about it is that the blogger has made a pretty good choice with the title. NS is just so accurate as its contents are nothing else but special, just cheap chat.”

Well OK guys, you are right again, but I am not going to wallow in self-pity and you have to trust me when I say that the day will come when my blog will be for you like a drug; you are going to be real “yoladdicts”. Wow, now this sounds terrific. You are going to need me in your everyday life! As simple as that.

Though, in the meantime I still have to write thousands and thousands of words and hundreds and hundreds of posts. This is just another true statement, I agree.

You probably wonder what kind of subjects do inspire me, and up to this point I can tell you that I’m not interested in: cooking, kids, patchworks, knitting, pregnancy, motherhood… and nor in mechanics, astrology, horoscopes…

I’ll rather turn toward: literature, movies, arts, psychology, photography, music… as I am more the artistic kind.

Anyway, I read somewhere that a blog needs to be attractive, that its title has to light out your curiosity, that its presentation has to make people feel comfortable and that subjects don’t matter as much as how the blogger writes the things he or she wants to says, thus talk about anything you may like but do it in a simple way, entertaining readers and making them have a good time.

So to put it shorter: flirting with people’s likings, charming them and winking at them ^_*** .

EL GUIÑO DE UN BLOGERO

Deseo pediros perdón… lo siento tanto… disculpad mi tardanza en la publicación de nuevo material en mi rinconcito de “Nada Especial”.

Sé hasta qué punto estáis ansiosos por seguir leyéndome – caramba esto sienta tan bien – pero lamentablemente he estado algo atareada últimamente, de hecho sigo ocupada.

Vivir a caballo entre dos casas – mucho más difícil que estar sentada entre dos sillas, deberíais probarlo de verdad – puede volver loca la gente y este es mi caso, estoy como una cabra. Bueno ya tenemos la primera disculpa, pero tal vez debería afrontar la posibilidad de reconocer que mis habilidades de escritora se esten secando, lo cual sería realmente una pena, sí, ya lo sé.

Ains, lo siento tanto por todos vosotros – mis lectores secretos, mis silenciosos seguidores, mis fans – puedo entender muy fácilmente hasta que punto esto es desesperante y el miedo que podéis sentir ante esta posibilidad.

Todos sabemos que mis posts no son nada especiales, ¿verdad? Soy la primera en admitir que no es fácil definir mi estilo, y que mi blog no tiene ninguna estructura ni sigue ninguna pauta.

Soy consciente del desastre y es por ello que últimamente me estoy preguntando “Por qué empezaste un blog? ¿Cuál es tu meta? ¿Por qué?” Y ESTO es realmente la cuestión. POR QUÉ demonios siente la gente ganas de empezar a bloguear? ¡No me hagáis esta pregunta, pues no tengo respuesta!

¡En fin! que husmeando por ahí he encontrado algunos blogs muy interesantes sobre: Historia, Arte, Pintura, Muñecas, etc.… si bien también es cierto que me he topado con otros menos interesantes, es decir realmente… rmmm… digamos inventivos, sorprendentes e incluso inesperados… sobre temas de lo más vario pinto.

Pero volvamos a mi. Una simple mirada a mis antiguos posts no es de gran ayuda para definir mi estilo, ni contienen pistas sobre qué tipo de blog puede llegar a ser… Puede parecer raro, pero es así.

De hecho, el autentico genio que llevo dentro de mi aún está por salir y estoy convencida de que voy a ser toda una revelación y que voy a hacer mucho ruido con Nada Especial – mira tú por dónde, sin saber porqué me viene ahora en mente la obra de Shakespeare “Mucho ruido y pocas nueces”, lo que promete, ¿será un augurio?

De todas formas ahora mismo no me sorprendería nada escuchar este tipo de conversación: “No pierdas el tiempo leyendo “Nada Especial” ya que lo más interesante acerca de su bloger es que ha estado muy acertada con el título. NE define a la perfección que su contenido no tiene nada de especial, solamente jiji jaja”.

Bueno, vale, tenéis una vez más razón, pero no me voy a revolver en mi auto compasión y tenéis que creerme cuando digo que algún día llegará en que mi blog va a ser para vosotros como una droga; os vais a convertir en unos auténticos “yoladictos”. Ostras, esto suena grandioso. Me vais a necesitar en vuestro día a día. Así de sencillo.

Pero mientras tanto, aún me quedan miles y miles de palabras por escribir y cientos y cientos de posts por colgar. Cierto acabo de hacer toda una confesión...

Y se estarán preguntando qué tipo de temas me inspiran, y de momento solo puede decir que NO me interesan ni la cocina, ni los niños, ni el patchwork, ni el punto, ni los embarazos, ni la maternidad… ni tampoco las mecánicas, la astrología, el horóscopo…

Soy más bien de letras y por tanto me gusta más la literatura, el cine, el arte, la psicología y la fotografía…

De todas formas he leído en alguna parte que un blog tiene que resultar atractivo, que su titulo tiene que picar nuestra curiosidad, que su presentación tiene que resultar cómoda y que los temas no son importantes en sí, sino que resulta más interesante lo que dice y como lo dice el bloger, por lo tanto se debe hablar de cualquier cosa, pero se debe hacerlo de forma sencilla, para entretener al lector y hacer que disfrute.

En resumidas cuentas, flirtear con los gustos de la gente, seducirla y guiñarle el ojito ^_***.