Memories...

I don't know why I started to write in English at the end of my notebook... maybe the language as a barrier with the person that was next to me was a reason. I remembered a comment I left in one of the pics my first grade teacher posted on teacher's day. Yes, I have her in Facebook. We don't talk much but sometimes she puts likes to my pictures and I do the same with hers, especially those from the schools and the kids or maybe pics of her grandson when is vacations time, he is such a sweet boy.

So in this picture she posted, that was actually a collage with six pictures 3 of her and 3 of an English teacher which whom I also had class, all of them with a different kid, I wrote something like. "How pretty! I had class with both of you like thousand years ago, happy teacher's day". And she replied:

When I read that I didn't know what to reply but then I think I didn't have to give her an answer, the way it was was just nice or perfect. Not every comment has to be replied, you know? so keep it that way.

So yesterday, at some point of the class/course, I review that comment in my mind and started questioning... this is what I wrote at the end of my notebook, it was like a conversation between two of my selves, I may add some stuff as I transcribe what I wrote in the notebook:

- Really? Why?

- Why not?

- I don't know, just why would I be or was a person worthy to be remembered among a bunch of kids? We were 23, according to the group pic we had for the year book... and you know, several years have passed, this was 1996 is 2014 now... how many students through all that years? Ok, we were her first group at the school, it was her first year at La Salle but still... When we are little our conscience is kind of numb, so I know I'm missing something and I would like to know what that is. Why would I be or was a person worthy to be remembered? And then, that year, maybe the first surprise I can remember, I won a silver button, the only one in my whole school life. The day of the closure I was an innocent girl who had just performed at a play so she was wearing a really weird dress, and after performing my teacher, Vilma, came to me, I remember her, maybe with a shocking precision, she leaned forward, her hands in her lap and with one of them she made a sign to me, telling me to come, I guess I moved forward and she grabbed me by my hand... I was getting a silver button. I had no idea it was coming, my goal in first grade wasn't to be a good student but just be... what could I say? I won a silver button because I was good at reading and maybe I was outstanding at that? I simply don't know but that recognition was a whole surprise and it really made me happy despite the fact of be wearing a really weird an uncomfortable dress. Maybe I would like to ask Vilma "what did you see in me so that you say you always remember me? why you chose me to get that silver button?" maybe is pointless to ask now...

The next year things got complicated I had some difficulties for being messy and untidy and I also failed some classes, my memory is not so exact but I remember being at classes to improve my grades (tuve que recuperar). So silver button became a point of crying or lament, maybe not in second grade but in third: "why if I got a silver button once I'm so messy now?" I guess somehow I felt broken, but anyway... keep going in this would be deviate a little. This is memory number one: A) teacher says they always remember me. B) out of nowhere in the most unexpected or unrelated moment I think about her comment and ask myself why would she remember me. C) I remember the silver button I got that year. D) I remember I lamented on that later, since I felt I was no longer the same kind of student but a failed one.

El segundo recuerdo vino hoy y es algo un poco más feliz. No tanto por el recuerdo en sí mismo sino por lo que me plantié a partir de eso. Me colocaste en un contexto que me es fácil imaginar y que de cierta manera añoro: "entonces, Caro, por ejemplo estás en La Salle (...)". La primera vez que consulté con un psicólogo... no, eso no, más bien el día en que me lo presentaron... estaba en clase de educación física, quinto de primaria, Luz Mary, mi titular me fue a buscar con él y me lo presentó. Estábamos sentados en el suelo prestándole atención al profesor y... no recuerdo si ellos se agacharon para hablarme o si yo me paré pero sí creo recordar que él me dio la mano... Lo que escribí hoy al final de mi cuaderno:

¿Te imaginas una escena similar en la que cambian los papeles? ¿En la que ya no te van a ofrecer una mano amiga (ayuda) sino que tú vas a ofrecerla?

Wash... qué bacano, muy interesante, me gustaría vivir ese escenario. 

Ese man dónde andará? fue la primera persona...

Agustín... en algún momento de la U, durante mis primeros semestres, antes de que cambiaran la plataforma del correo, logré contactarlo y por ahí le escribí y me contestó... no pasó mucho más allá de un par de correos, literal, él me respondió y creo que yo no le contesté nada, creo que no había mucho que decir más allá del simple hecho de "oye, no sé si te acuerdes de mí pero logré contactarte de nuevo"... y con el cambio de plataforma ese correo lo perdí... creo que el man estaba por Bucaramanga.

Solo amé esa idea... me encantaría conocer a algún chico del cole al que pudiera ayudar de alguna manera o tan solo escuchar como él me escuchó a mí. De su boca vino el "si te cuesta hablar, escribe", y aquí estoy hoy, amo la escritura más que a mi vida... Me muero por ejercer como counselor o algo así (por aquello de la formación pendiente para acreditarme, sin contar lo que he leído) en el colegio, yo no soy ni seré psicóloga, pero estoy caminando hacia algo un poquito parecido y me encantaría extenderle la mano y ofrecerle mi ser como punto de apoyo a algún niño o niña...