We have heard the stories; those that once put us to sleep. No matter where the wind took our laughs, we all anticipated the moments in which our thoughts would be taken to fantastic lands, and in which our memories shaped the most innocent features that determined our cultural personalities.
For some, they started as a “Once Upon A Time…”, others heard an Irish toned “Fadó, fadó…”, or a harsh yet hopeful German sound of “Es war einmal…”, some others had a more romantic Italian “C’era una volta…” or a more pragmatic Greek "Mia forá ki énan kairó..."; but for me, it was a simple and warm “Érase Una Vez…”
These were the magic words to the hidden corners of my mind, in which I carefully placed my heroes, fantasies, fears and unattainable dreams.
We shared the fantastic memories of dragons, princesses, talking creatures, scary tiny heroes, and fearful villains, but in our own way, we made them ours, hoping they would come to the rescue when the right moment in our lives called for it.
Just as leaves do in late autumn, we flew away with the strong blow that just our imagination was able keep. Making up the faces, forests, castles and swords inside our heads, bringing them to life, letting them be.
Érase Una Vez the time in which we believed we could, in which there was more to a story than just the side we were told to listen; in which we cared for a cat wearing high boots, or in which we wanted to be a tiny mouse to be able to find the village where the gnomes lived.
Suddenly, I touched the old book, covered in dark hard leather with golden letters that smelled like time; slowly I felt its protuberant surface, thinking on the young minds that once, heard attentively the words that laid inside, latent, sleeping, but ready to come to life.
And lifting its heavy, front cover I saw, the first words that once upon a time, thrived my system and awoken my imagination “Érase Una Vez”; and the old smell of its pages combined with the washed illustrations on its counter-page set a smile on my face, that smile that I know was the exact same I had years before, printed in my childhood dreams.
SDIH
June 9 2008
3 comments:
Nice "ode" to childhood stories
:-). Who told you the stories when you were little? (Or maybe you read them yourself?). Is it an actual book you have there?
Well... actually many people, I used to love stories, many I read, many others I got at school, or my nanny would tell them to me, people in general, not so much my parents tho, I also used to LOVE watching this super cheap TV show on the national arts channel for children in which they will read stories and they would illustrate them, also I was a sucker for the radio as there was a show called "La Hora de los ninos" or the hour of the children, in which they would narrate stories.
And about the book, I actually saw it at Trinity (the coffee shop/book store on Hollis street)
Cheers!
interesting.. =)
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