The Secret That Medlars Kept*
Vamos bien. Lo mejor de todo es que al final sí que me convalidan esta asignatura por Traducción Especializada II, así que probablemente se me quede una nota bastante interesante. Ya que Steve no me va a dar clase, por lo menos conseguiré algo bueno.
Como estoy contenta con mi nota y también con mi trabajo, aquí os dejo un cacho del personal essay, que por cierto me tocó leer en clase [:$].
“I was playing in front of my house, as I used to do almost everyday after school. It was Spring, because I remember that potatoes were being harvested. The sun was still present and its warmth could be felt. The fresh and crystal clear water that would irrigate fields was running through the irrigation ditch that was at the left of my house. I lived in the outskirts of the town, and my two-story house was surrounded by cultivation areas. My cats were lying down close to the medlar tree, which was in front of the building. They loved the breeze in the spring evenings. The tree was already giving us its yellowish sweet and sometimes sour fruits. I loved medlars. I could eat hundreds of them and not get tired of it. My grandfather's car was close to the door, as usual. It was small and red, and it had a roof-rack he would use to carry his hoes, baskets, bags... He was a country person and he used his car mostly for his job. That afternoon I was playing alone. I just had the company of my cats, since my mother and grandparents were inside; probably talking, watching TV or eating something. I was arched on the irrigation ditch edge. I was throwing little rocks to see their effect in the water. I didn't understand why the water made little waves when you threw something into it. Because of the sound they made when they splashed, my cats came to see what was going on. They stayed on the edge staring at the water with playful eyes. Then, a man approached to me. He had dark curly hair and his skin was a bit dark. He wore old dirty clothes. He was working the land with other men. They were harvesting the potatoes. He asked me “What's your name?”. “Vanessa” I answered. “Nice name” he told me. He smiled and then, he left. I didn't know who he was, but I didn't attach importance to it. So I never told anybody about it. For one reason or another I remember that scene pretty well even though I was a child. Years later, I don't know when or why, I figured out that he was my father. I was told that he left when I was born. Therefore I grew up without a father. [...]”
Me despido anunciandos que dentro de nada es el mid-term break, así que tenemos cuatro días seguidos de vacaciones (que coinciden con el puente del Pilar). Al final, y después de buscar un montón de destinos y comparar precios, ¡nos vamos a Chicago! ¡Estad atentos a futuras entradas, que el viaje promete!
Comentarios
Publicar un comentario