Let's say it's coffee in your cup.
I just have to remember what we talked about that day, which was my birthday last year. I know we laughed, I know he asked me when I would be fifteen again... hahaha.... My dad is like that, a cheerful and joking person.
I always say he has musical teeth, because he tells stories of his people with a rootsy air. They are stories of another time, of people with sharp nicknames: Tiní, Tatá, Yayá, Miyó... of people who have a Caribbean culture, that of the Gulf of Paria, which he has inherited with curry and coconut. My mother belonged to an austere culture, of cassava (often soaked in coffee) and fish, that of Cumaná, which overlooks the Gulf of Cariaco.
In my father's house they always drink coffee, but, curiously, I don't have pictures of both of them drinking coffee. It is such an everyday and natural act for us that it never occurred to me to photograph it.
Tomorrow we will see the whole family and I will take that coffee picture for my album. I'm sure I'll ask him for someone from his village to tell me again a story we both know by heart.
