These lines are dedicated to my family ...
Today I woke up thinking about the thousand and one things I have to do for the University, from reading tests to developing records for research. I did not take breakfast, because in Lima as usual, one live up to lunch. Yesterday, two friends came to visit me and I had to fix the rumpus that was in my department, that's when I realized after half an hour arranging, the great responsibility I have in my hands.
Anyway, today I'm ready to go to breakfast, lunch, and take the decision to go to Pueblo Libre, about 5 blocks from my house because of laziness, and lack of mobility itself, it makes me want to go further . Just left the apartment, the song rang in my Ipod was "Color hope," as does my family, that's the song my sister Sophia and mine, with which we sing both for a while the sound of the guitar that my dad gave me a few years or the "surviving" my grandfather's guitar with which I began my musical adventures.
After that shot of nostalgia, take a tiny freezer as those in Cusco to free people and pay 50 cents, a passage between normal and average degree in Cusco, and came to "The pot criolla", a restaurant run by a man very similar to my grandfather, but less friendly, but with great air family man like him in this restaurant serves the best menu for that part of Pueblo Libre.
As soon as I entered the restaurant, I observed and had a bowl of soup with noodles that reminded me of the soup, usually only in Cusco, prepared by my grandmother Vilma, with rare whim and a slight sunburn Lima this spring, I ordered that and a chicken the plate that reminded me what my mom prepared when I did not like tomorrow's lunch. Second stab, doubly nostalgic.
As if it were little, I was eating and what happened had to happen. In this restaurant always tend to put songs on CD, but on Sunday family put a radio quite familiar "The Unforgettable", and in that the conductor's voice announced "the Morochucos" with song "My Guitar" indeed this was the strongest nostalgia hit of the day, it includes in particular my grandfather, my father, and my whole family, for, typing this with tears in my eyes, I come to mind on Sunday at noon when we all sat down to eat at the table of Manzanares, that is the family I have always in my heart and here I have not.
To this must be increased, the previous hits I've been holding: first, when I came as a surprise a picture of my sister (Winnie Pooh piglet in a city) and the phone asks me where I put it, when I Grandma got crackers Vilma, another strong, when I got a piece of cake for the birthday party of my sister's first birthday where his brother is not, and those are things that the best law school, and the better future, even the best friends, or girl I like, nothing can justify, I'll never forgive me. Also, the lack of my dad who is always my guide and that always helps me in my legal ignorance by phone, if you were with me, and even away from me, I'm sure he is my best teacher, it also made me miss my dad the other day when I finally learned to play "Ojala" by Silvio, our favorite song together. And last but not least, also the absence of my brother, his sibling fights and stupid. All hits with a home stripped of Cusco to bear.
Two ideas to end, as Chacalón says: "I am a provincial boy" looking for a better future in the absence of good universities in my career in Cusco, and as Vallejo says: "There are blows in life so strong I do not know!"
André
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