La Liberación de mi Alma

                      **Primer Acto**

There is a metamorphosis reventando to come to life inside me. I am not becoming someone new. Estoy regresando al mí quien ha existido at my very core pero no sabía que tenía el derecho de liberarse. Profundamente dentro de mí vive una mezcla de amor, tristeza y aceptación moviéndose, revolcándose, estirándose, desesperadamente tratando de salir, de gritar, de correr… de liberarse.

I remember that in El Salvador había un mí who believed that one day I would be saved. Ese mí quien, cuando yo usaba mi cuerpecito como mercancía, esperaba con cautela a que mis brothers llegaran, charging in to rescue me. At the worst times, en esas noches en las que trepaba los árboles and hugged myself to las ramas para esconderme de los soldiers marchando below, mientras acallaba las palpitaciones de mi corazón and willed my breath to be still, me perdía en la fantasía de que llegarían charging through like knights, como caballeros de alarde, lanzándome en sus brazos.

But it never happened…

Sin embargo, la parte de mí quien soñaba and hoped, that is the part of me quien añora ser liberada del mar de whiteness que me ahoga and suffocates me. Now, as I stare into the twilight of my life, reconozco la evolución taking place. Una metamorphosis, tal vez. I recognize que siempre ha estado allí, but not entirely. There had to be space first.
Era necesario crear un espacio in which ese mí pudiera estirarse, expand, breathe.

                              ****
        I don’t remember a time or place in which he 
        sentido que pertenezco. A place en el cual puedo 
        afirmar, “este es comodo. This is safe y puedo 
        simplemente ser y existir”. 

                              **** 

When I was a niña en España, vivía dentro de mí the disdain of those around me por la sangre de mi madre que corre por mis venas. That part of my childhood feels lejana and foreign, y al mismo tiempo familiar in its isolation. The love I received de mi padre was conditional y cruel. Mi propósito era ser su accomplice, his spy, la que proveía lies para que él torturara a mi madre. Me enseñó a ser cruel celebrando las palabras dolorosas con las que la bofeteaba. Cualquier mínimo momento tierno and intimate que recuerdo having con mi madre está embarrado con sadismo and pain.

Mi madre would pay my brothers and me un centavo por cada cana we plucked for her. Mi padre entra one of those times, y standing over us, pregunta: Nena, pregúntale a tu madre cómo se hizo esa calva. I felt mi madre tense y gasp. No le pregunté. Instead, me burlé de ella and told her lo fea que era. Ella se quedó quieta con lágrimas empapando sus mejillas, quietly, mientras sus manos se aferraban a su regazo as if willing herself to disappear.

Por supuesto que yo sabía how that bald spot came to be. Mi padre la había arrastrado por las mechas across the room después de que yo le dijera que se la había pasado susurrando with the vecino mientras él estaba in one de sus business trips. Esa imagen está burned into my memory como una marca ardiente que forever grava mi culpa cómplice.

Mi padre used me para hacerle daño, humillarla and ridicule her. His love required que yo performara como títere. Su expectativa era que yo delatara a mi madre si ella coqueteaba with men cuando él no estaba. No existia la opción de decir she did not flirt, or talk, or interact in any way with men. Por lo cual, I had to make up shit. O mentía o sentía the coldness y el vacío que dejaba su rechazo completo. Esa era la dinámica de nuestra relationship y probably donde nació mi imaginación.

además de ser su cómplice, I had to perform for him como una marioneta. A puppet he could bend and posar para demostrar his brillo. When I was about five years old, Don Jose, el cura del pueblo took the first grade children a misa en antcipacion de la first communion. Mi madre gave me un duro and instructed que era para el “Angelito” when he asks for it. El sermon that day tenia que ver con el greed and la humildad.
“…Más fácil es pasar un camello por el ojo de una aguja, que entrar un rico en el reino de Dios. Esto me afecto tanto that as I tried to make sense de que queria decir esto for us that I missed the collection plate. Mostly, por que no vino el angel. Yo esperaba a un a heavenly que no existia.

Afuera, le dije a la teacher del Segundo grado, doña Pilar, que no pude darle el Duro al angel. Me regaño and sent me back inside the church a depositar el Duro in the collection box by San Vicente Ferrer. Once inside, me mesmerize el gold chandeliers and fixtures. Vuelvo la vista outside a don Jose con su resplendente vestment Sagrado y anillos. Everyone luciendo su major vestuario, suits y vestidos de estilo. Nadie appeared humilde. En aquel entonces, La Cañada was a summer pueblo de vacacion for the affluent. In that moment congelada en el doorway looking at la extravagancia inside, turning a ver la opulencia outside, comenze a hypervente. Nada made sense… tenia tantas, tantas questions. Podra don jose entrar al cielo? y doña Pilar? Nome caia muy bien but I didn’t want que no alcazara heaven. How about mi Padre? Y yo? No tenia sentido todo esto. Como puede God’s house ser tan riqua y al mismo tiempo decirle a la gente “Bienaventurados los pobres de espíritu, porque de ellos es el Reino de los cielos.” How does it work? “Esto no esta bien, no cala” I thought. I needed que alguien me aclare the contradiction clawing at my chest. Era obvio that I was la unica afectada y la unica perdida y confused. Como no se dan cuenta? Not notice? It felt como si de repente I was the only quien podia ver el paradox. Surely, I no es possible that I be the only one, pense.

Comenze a sentirme dizzy and nauseous, so corri. I ran home sin parar, temblando, screaming in my head, “Esto no esta bien. There is no god.” Once home, busque a mi padre and between gasps for air y derramando lagrimas, explained mi confusion. He took my face en sus manos and said, “No pasa nada, Nena. You are not wrong and religion is not going to help you. Life will be a bit more difficult for you. You will have to find your own answers. You won’t be satisfied with don Jose’s, or his bible, or the rosary. After that Sunday, I would stay home with Father playing chess as we talked about what answers I’d found in the encyclopedia. Every week, I had to have a question and find the answer for us to discuss. This is how he got the brilliant idea that I could perform for him.
He started having me read philosophers, Sartre, Hume, Locke, and others I could not even name today. The performance happened after dinner, when he brought his “business associates” into the library for cigars and cognac.
I was the entertainment. A niña standing in a haze of fine smoke, the sweetness of del Cognac de mi Padre floating in the air, performing brilliance on demand. Una sonrisa and recite, “Caballeros, if we exist before we have essence, then what is this essence? And how can I know what is right and what is wrong?”

They would clap and laugh.

“Hombre, what are you going to do with her? Take her on tour and show her off? Sell her to the circus?”

Mi corazón pounding en terror. I was an introverted little girl forzanda to perform and pretend que me encataba. Asi I secured el amor de mi Padre.
Lo que comenzo como un guidance spiritual se deformo en una cosa ugly and performativa. Our church de los dominguos de chess and investigaciones transformed to rehearsals.

The irony is that el se cego to who I was. Mi Padre truly was a genius. He had graduated from university at sixteen, and cargó su brillanza como un scepter. Un hombre convencido de su superiority, he reminded us amenudo, dia tras dia, que mi hermanos were diamantes in the rough por lo cual he was responsible for polishing to surpass his brillianza. Yet the truth is that mis hermanos were simply muchachos ordinarios. Mientras he was busy buffing and breaking down coal, enfocado on proving his intellect a todos a su alrededor, fracasó ver what was in front of him. In his self-absorbed mind, la mujer existed como possessions and decoraciones, en poses a su alrededor to serve and admire him. Jamas se le occurrio that his muñequita was nada mas que un novelty. He dressed me up and placed me en la vitrina como titeré, never noticing que yo era the one who had inherited his brilliance.

                              ****

Dejamos a mi Padre February of 1974 cuando el ya no era ni un cuarto del hombre he used to be.

Juan y yo I had been playing with the gitanillos del restaurant above our piso in Paterna, Valencia. We heard the fire sirens y corrimos detras. Al llegar notamos the hose y pensamos que el restaurant was on fire. As we got closer, nos enteramos that the hose was going down, no arriba, and realized that the fire was at my home. By the time it was done el daño fue minimo as the fire was contained in one room. La concidencia fue que one day prior, despues de una fight con mi madre, mi Padre had us move toda la ropa de mis hermanos, mi madre y la mia into room donde the fire happened. Unos meses despues, once the smoke damaged furniture had been replaced, mi Madre nos sento a mis hermanos y a mi on the new couch, as I stared at mis pies colgando, and told us she was leaving mi padre. “Lo uniquo que tengo para darles es amor. Vuestro padre podra darles seguridad economica. No los voy a forzar ni decirles a quien tienen que escoger. Ustedes decidan si vienen conmigo o se quedan con vuestro Padre” I was 7 years old and I did not want to go with her. Apenas la conocia and she hated me. I wanted to stay con mi Padre but it became evident que mis hermanos had made their choice y no podia ser la unica que se queda. I didn’t want to disappoint mi Hermano mayor, Tete, so I agreed a irme con ellos. Menos de una semana despues, mi Padre left early for one of his “viajes de Negocios” y mi madre se activo. People started arriving y compro the new furniture and art pieces. At some point, mi padre grito del primer escalon that he’d forgotten his handkerchief. Mi madre, apurada, me mando up the stairs to make sure he didn’t come down and see lo que estaba pasando. Su intencion, must have dawned on her shortly after and corrio a alcanzarme. She caught up as cuando estaba tocando the car door. She leapt y me agarro del brazo derecho to pull me out. Mi padre me agarro my other arm. It’d be comical si no fuse tan tragico, mis padres playing tug of war with me. Cerre los ojos y deje que el que gane take me. Tanto que queria que mi padre jalara mas fuerte so I could go with him but just as he let go to get a better grip, mi madre yanked me out, cerro la Puerta y me llevo de regreso back inside. Esta fue la ultima vez que I saw mi padre. In mi ser de niña, veo la decepcion que le cause.

                             ****

On April of 1975, we left Salamanca, Spain and flew to San Salvador, El Salvador porque mi madre could not find work.

Looking out the small airplane window, as the wheels separated de la tierra, me empapé en el conocimiento de que nunca jamás seré la princesa de nadie. I felt a part of “me” peel off under those wheels. La niña de vitrina, the muñequita brillante que existía para los ojos de mi Padre. I didn’t cry. Solo sentí un vacío que ahora es very familiar and would become mi compañero fiel, mi testigo presente, in silence. Sin que esa niña supiera, dejar mi patria natal was the first fractura. The first whisper of the woman I would one day become.