[Esp./Eng.] Un viaje a través del auricular. || A journey through the handset.
If you prefer the English version, click on the following link đ HERE
Hoy es jueves y, como bien dicen por ahĂ, el cuerpo lo sabe. Es ese dĂa de la semana en el que la nostalgia se permite un espacio en nuestra rutina para dejarnos viajar a travĂ©s de los pĂxeles. Me sumo con entusiasmo a la invitaciĂłn del amigo @lanzjoseg en su estupenda iniciativa âTBT: Una foto, una historiaâ, porque recordar no es solo volver a vivir, sino tambiĂ©n honrar las raĂces que nos mantienen en pie, sin importar cuĂĄn lejos hayamos volado.
El telĂ©fono vibrĂł sobre la mesa, rompiendo la inercia de una tarde cualquiera. Fue un mensaje de Gilda, mi sobrina, quien desde la distancia de Caracas me enviaba un tesoro digitalizado. Al abrir la imagen, el presente se desvaneciĂł. Un jueves de TBT se convirtiĂł, de pronto, en un portal hacia el ocaso del siglo XX, un tiempo donde el mundo era mĂĄs grande y las voces tenĂan un peso que hoy, en la era del mensaje instantĂĄneo, parece que hemos olvidado.
Un viaje a través del auricular
En la fotografĂa, una niña nos sonrĂe con la picardĂa de quien posee un secreto universal. Es Beatriz. Lleva un delicado vestido de jean sobre una blusa blanca, su cabello oscuro recogido con un lazo rojo que corona su cabeza como un pequeño faro de alegrĂa y pese al tiempo, recuerdo su delicado aroma a colonia Mene muy e la Ă©poca. Pero el protagonista de la escena, despuĂ©s de ella, es ese auricular de color crema que sostiene con ambas manos. No es un celular, no tiene pantalla; es un terminal de telefonĂa fija, con su cordĂłn en espiral que se enredaba en los dedos mientras uno hablaba, estirĂĄndose hasta el lĂmite para ganar un poco de privacidad.
Esa imagen captura la esencia de nuestra infancia. En aquel entonces, Caracas estaba dividida para nosotros por la geografĂa, pero unida por la sangre. Mi madre solo tuvo varones, una casa llena de estrĂ©pito y juegos rudos en Vista Hermosa, Catia. En cambio, mi tĂa MĂĄgula, allĂĄ en AntĂmano, solo tuvo mujeres. Ăramos los polos opuestos de una misma familia que se buscaba constantemente.
Beatriz y yo tenĂamos una conexiĂłn que desafiaba los mapas. Yo, siendo casi cinco años mayor, la veĂa como mi cĂłmplice absoluta. Como no habĂa internet ni redes sociales, nuestra red eran esos cables de cobre que atravesaban la ciudad. Recuerdo que, en nuestra imaginaciĂłn infantil, no nos limitĂĄbamos a hablar; "surcĂĄbamos los cielos" para visitarnos. El auricular que ella sostiene en la foto era nuestra cabina de mando, el dispositivo que nos permitĂa volar sobre el trĂĄfico de la Francisco Fajardo y aterrizar mĂĄgicamente en el balcĂłn de la otra.
Mirar su sonrisa hoy me oprime el pecho con una dulzura amarga. Beatriz se marchĂł hace un par de años, vĂctima de una enfermedad que no pidiĂł permiso. El dolor de su partida se agravĂł por la distancia; estar lejos de Venezuela me impidiĂł darle ese Ășltimo adiĂłs fĂsico, ese abrazo final en los servicios funerarios que todo corazĂłn necesita para cerrar un ciclo.
Sin embargo, esta foto que me envĂa Gilda me devuelve lo que la muerte no puede tocar: la vitalidad. En la imagen, Beatriz es mĂĄs que una ausencia, es una presencia vibrante que nos recuerda que hubo un tiempo donde la felicidad cabĂa en una llamada telefĂłnica. Hoy, aunque ella no estĂ© para contestar al otro lado de la lĂnea, su recuerdo sigue viajando por esos hilos invisibles que conectaban Catia con AntĂmano, y la tierra con el cielo.
âđ đđđŠđŁđ€đ đđ đđčđ - đđ đđÌđ đđ đđ€đ đ€.
TambiĂ©n pueden revisar las Ășltimas publicaciones en la casa de la Comunidad #TopFamily
Portada de la iniciativa.
A ver si se animan, las amigas @cirangela y @issymarie2, y el amigo @theshot2414âŠ
Today is Thursday and, as they say, your body just knows it. Itâs that day of the week when nostalgia finds a place in our routine, allowing us to travel through pixels. Iâm delighted to accept the invitation from my friend @lanzjoseg to take part in his brilliant initiative âTBT: A photo, a storyâ because remembering isnât just about reliving the past, but also about honouring the roots that keep us grounded, no matter how far weâve flown.
The phone vibrated on the table, breaking the monotony of an ordinary afternoon. It was a message from Gilda, my niece, who, from faraway Caracas, was sending me a digitised treasure. As I opened the image, the present faded away. A Thursday marked by #TBT suddenly became a gateway to the twilight of the 20th century, a time when the world was bigger and voices carried a weight that today, in the age of instant messaging, we seem to have forgotten.
A journey through the handset
In the photograph, a little girl smiles at us with the mischief of someone who holds a universal secret. It is Beatriz. She is wearing a delicate denim dress over a white blouse; her dark hair is tied back with a red bow that crowns her head like a little beacon of joy, and despite the passage of time, I can still recall the delicate scent of Mene cologne, so typical of that era. But the star of the scene, after her, is that cream-coloured handset she is holding with both hands. It is not a mobile phone; it has no screen. It is a landline telephone, with its coiled cord that would get tangled around your fingers whilst you were talking, stretching to its limit to gain a little privacy.
That image captures the essence of our childhood. Back then, Caracas was divided for us by geography, but united by blood. My mother had only sons â a house full of noise and rough-and-tumble games in Vista Hermosa, Catia. My Aunt Magula, on the other hand, over in Antimano, had only daughters. We were the polar opposites of the same family, constantly seeking each other out.
Beatriz and I had a connection that defied maps. Being almost five years older, I saw her as my absolute partner in crime. As there was no internet or social media, our network was those copper cables that crisscrossed the city. I remember that, in our childish imagination, we didnât just talk; we âsoared through the skiesâ to visit one another. The receiver sheâs holding in the photo was our cockpit, the device that allowed us to fly over the traffic on Francisco Fajardo and magically land on each otherâs balcony.
Looking at her smile today fills my chest with a bittersweet ache. Beatriz passed away a couple of years ago, a victim of an illness that took her unexpectedly. The pain of her passing was worsened by the distance; being far from Venezuela prevented me from saying that final physical goodbye, that final embrace at the funeral service that every heart needs to bring closure.
However, this photo that Gilda has sent me brings back what death cannot touch: vitality. In the picture, Beatriz is more than just an absence; she is a vibrant presence that reminds us that there was a time when happiness could fit into a phone call. Today, even though she is no longer there to answer on the other end of the line, her memory continues to travel along those invisible threads that connected Catia with AntĂmano, and the earth with the sky.
If you want to take part, I think youâre still in time â youâve got until 11.59 pm TODAY, THURSDAY, so hurry up and remember to obey the rules.
With TBT contest - One of those days.
You can also check out the latest posts on the #TopFamily Community page
Cover of the initiative.
Letâs see if my friends @silher and @castri-ja, fancy joining inâŠ
TambiĂ©n pueden revisar las Ășltimas publicaciones en la casa de la Comunidad #TopFamily
Portada de la iniciativa.
A ver si se animan, las amigas @cirangela y @issymarie2, y el amigo @theshot2414âŠ
Today is Thursday and, as they say, your body just knows it. Itâs that day of the week when nostalgia finds a place in our routine, allowing us to travel through pixels. Iâm delighted to accept the invitation from my friend @lanzjoseg to take part in his brilliant initiative âTBT: A photo, a storyâ because remembering isnât just about reliving the past, but also about honouring the roots that keep us grounded, no matter how far weâve flown.
The phone vibrated on the table, breaking the monotony of an ordinary afternoon. It was a message from Gilda, my niece, who, from faraway Caracas, was sending me a digitised treasure. As I opened the image, the present faded away. A Thursday marked by #TBT suddenly became a gateway to the twilight of the 20th century, a time when the world was bigger and voices carried a weight that today, in the age of instant messaging, we seem to have forgotten.
A journey through the handset
In the photograph, a little girl smiles at us with the mischief of someone who holds a universal secret. It is Beatriz. She is wearing a delicate denim dress over a white blouse; her dark hair is tied back with a red bow that crowns her head like a little beacon of joy, and despite the passage of time, I can still recall the delicate scent of Mene cologne, so typical of that era. But the star of the scene, after her, is that cream-coloured handset she is holding with both hands. It is not a mobile phone; it has no screen. It is a landline telephone, with its coiled cord that would get tangled around your fingers whilst you were talking, stretching to its limit to gain a little privacy.
That image captures the essence of our childhood. Back then, Caracas was divided for us by geography, but united by blood. My mother had only sons â a house full of noise and rough-and-tumble games in Vista Hermosa, Catia. My Aunt Magula, on the other hand, over in Antimano, had only daughters. We were the polar opposites of the same family, constantly seeking each other out.
Beatriz and I had a connection that defied maps. Being almost five years older, I saw her as my absolute partner in crime. As there was no internet or social media, our network was those copper cables that crisscrossed the city. I remember that, in our childish imagination, we didnât just talk; we âsoared through the skiesâ to visit one another. The receiver sheâs holding in the photo was our cockpit, the device that allowed us to fly over the traffic on Francisco Fajardo and magically land on each otherâs balcony.
Looking at her smile today fills my chest with a bittersweet ache. Beatriz passed away a couple of years ago, a victim of an illness that took her unexpectedly. The pain of her passing was worsened by the distance; being far from Venezuela prevented me from saying that final physical goodbye, that final embrace at the funeral service that every heart needs to bring closure.
However, this photo that Gilda has sent me brings back what death cannot touch: vitality. In the picture, Beatriz is more than just an absence; she is a vibrant presence that reminds us that there was a time when happiness could fit into a phone call. Today, even though she is no longer there to answer on the other end of the line, her memory continues to travel along those invisible threads that connected Catia with AntĂmano, and the earth with the sky.
Today is Thursday and, as they say, your body just knows it. Itâs that day of the week when nostalgia finds a place in our routine, allowing us to travel through pixels. Iâm delighted to accept the invitation from my friend @lanzjoseg to take part in his brilliant initiative âTBT: A photo, a storyâ because remembering isnât just about reliving the past, but also about honouring the roots that keep us grounded, no matter how far weâve flown.
The phone vibrated on the table, breaking the monotony of an ordinary afternoon. It was a message from Gilda, my niece, who, from faraway Caracas, was sending me a digitised treasure. As I opened the image, the present faded away. A Thursday marked by #TBT suddenly became a gateway to the twilight of the 20th century, a time when the world was bigger and voices carried a weight that today, in the age of instant messaging, we seem to have forgotten.
A journey through the handset
In the photograph, a little girl smiles at us with the mischief of someone who holds a universal secret. It is Beatriz. She is wearing a delicate denim dress over a white blouse; her dark hair is tied back with a red bow that crowns her head like a little beacon of joy, and despite the passage of time, I can still recall the delicate scent of Mene cologne, so typical of that era. But the star of the scene, after her, is that cream-coloured handset she is holding with both hands. It is not a mobile phone; it has no screen. It is a landline telephone, with its coiled cord that would get tangled around your fingers whilst you were talking, stretching to its limit to gain a little privacy.
That image captures the essence of our childhood. Back then, Caracas was divided for us by geography, but united by blood. My mother had only sons â a house full of noise and rough-and-tumble games in Vista Hermosa, Catia. My Aunt Magula, on the other hand, over in Antimano, had only daughters. We were the polar opposites of the same family, constantly seeking each other out.
Beatriz and I had a connection that defied maps. Being almost five years older, I saw her as my absolute partner in crime. As there was no internet or social media, our network was those copper cables that crisscrossed the city. I remember that, in our childish imagination, we didnât just talk; we âsoared through the skiesâ to visit one another. The receiver sheâs holding in the photo was our cockpit, the device that allowed us to fly over the traffic on Francisco Fajardo and magically land on each otherâs balcony.
Looking at her smile today fills my chest with a bittersweet ache. Beatriz passed away a couple of years ago, a victim of an illness that took her unexpectedly. The pain of her passing was worsened by the distance; being far from Venezuela prevented me from saying that final physical goodbye, that final embrace at the funeral service that every heart needs to bring closure.
However, this photo that Gilda has sent me brings back what death cannot touch: vitality. In the picture, Beatriz is more than just an absence; she is a vibrant presence that reminds us that there was a time when happiness could fit into a phone call. Today, even though she is no longer there to answer on the other end of the line, her memory continues to travel along those invisible threads that connected Catia with AntĂmano, and the earth with the sky.
If you want to take part, I think youâre still in time â youâve got until 11.59 pm TODAY, THURSDAY, so hurry up and remember to obey the rules.
With TBT contest - One of those days.
You can also check out the latest posts on the #TopFamily Community page
Cover of the initiative.
Letâs see if my friends @silher and @castri-ja, fancy joining inâŠ
You can also check out the latest posts on the #TopFamily Community page
Cover of the initiative.
Letâs see if my friends @silher and @castri-ja, fancy joining inâŠ
!BBH
Update: @amigoponc, I paid out 0.037 HIVE and 0.000 HBD to reward 1 comments in this discussion thread.