Woman by Prettysleepy in Pixabay
Reencarnada en Zara
Taconeaba sus zapatos desesperada mientras esperaba que le trajeran la cena. Siempre tenía esa necesidad de ser atendida antes que los demás, por lo que acompañarla al restaurante era una idea de la que su hermana estaba por arrepentirse. Cuando finalmente le trajeron su pedido, se puso a insultar al mesero al ver el contenido del plato, lo escupió y arrojó al piso, provocando un bochornoso escándalo.
Siempre fue una niña solitaria y berrinchuda. Con su lengua limpiaba el vidrio de su ventana, a manera de saludo, cuando veía a su hermana, desde arriba, atravesar el pórtico...
Yo la miraba con el rabillo del ojo, pero me hacía la desentendida y ella interpretaba mi acción como un desaire, aunque no era mi intención ser cruel, así se veía y así ella lo sentía.
Si no entraba en su habitación al llegar a casa, empezaba a taconear para llamar mi atención. Pero, cuando abría la puerta, corría hacia mí, como un toro dispuesto a embestir la muleta del torero. Si me descuidaba, podía recibir un fuerte "topetazo"; sin embargo, la práctica me había convertido en una pared segura para ella.
Cuando mi padre se casó con su madre y vinieron a vivir a mi casa, ella formaba parte del paquete. Fue concebida en la clandestinidad cuando aún mi madre vivía, o mejor dicho, moría a causa de un agresivo tumor cerebral.
Me costó aceptar la situación. Yo no necesitaba alguien que usurpara el lugar de mi madre en su propia casa, para mí era inadmisible... Era la casa de mi madre, no de mi padre... pero, como era menor de edad, no podía decidir.
Sin embargo, cuando vi por primera vez a la niña, que ya tenía más de un año, me pareció que sus ojos eran exactamente iguales a los de mi madre. Había algo en ella que me embelesaba y gritaba sin hablar: "mírame bien... soy yo". Y yo movía la cabeza, sacudiendo ese pensamiento, tan impropio como descabellado.
Pero, a medida que ella crecía, me quedaba claro que no eran elucubraciones mías, había algo de mi madre en Zara, ella parecía más hija de ella que yo, tenía los mismos defectos de carácter, las mismas rarezas... Si no fuera porque parecería que yo también tengo un tumor en la cabeza y empezaba a perder la cordura, me atrevería a decir que mi madre había sido reencarnada en Zara.
Reincarnated in Zara
She stomped her shoes in desperation as she waited for her dinner to be brought to her. She always had this need to be served before everyone else, so accompanying her to the restaurant was an idea her sister was about to regret. When her order was finally brought to her, she started swearing at the waiter when she saw the contents of the plate, spit on him, and threw him to the floor, causing a shameful scandal.
She was always a lonely child with tantrums. Her tongue would wipe the window pane, by way of greeting, when she saw her sister, from upstairs, crossing the porch...
I would give her a sidelong glance, but I would play hard to get and she would interpret my action as a snub, although I didn't mean to be cruel, it seemed and felt that way.
If I didn't go into her room when I got home, she would start stomping her feet to get my attention. But when I opened the door, he would run towards me, like a bull ready to charge the bullfighter's muleta. If I was careless, I could get hit hard; however, the practice had made me a safe wall for her.
When my father married her mother and they came to live in my house, she was part of the package. She was conceived in hiding while my mother was still alive, or rather, dying of an aggressive brain tumor.
I had a hard time accepting the situation. I didn't need someone usurping my mother's place in her own home, for me it was inadmissible...It was my mother's home, not my father's...but, being a minor, I couldn't decide.
However, when I first saw the little girl, who was already over a year old, it seemed to me that her eyes were exactly the same as my mother's eyes. There was something about her that enraptured me. There was something about her that enraptured me. There was something about her that enraptured me and she screamed without speaking: "look at me well... it's me". And I would shake my head, shaking that thought, as improper as it was far-fetched.
But, as she grew older, it became clear to me that these were not my lucubrations, there was something of my mother in Sara, she was more like my mother than me. She had the same character flaws, the same quirks....... If it weren't for the fact that it might seem that I also had a tumor in my head and was beginning to lose my sanity, I would dare to say that my mother had been reincarnated in Zara.
Mental health por GDJ en Pixabay
20/07/2022
En respuesta a @freewritehouseContinúa... la historia 17 de julio de 2022
[Imagen de @freewritehouse]
All images in this publication are attributed to their owners. DeepL translator and Grammarly were used for the English version.
Todas las imágenes de esta publicación están atribuidas a sus propietarios. Para la versión en inglés se utilizó el traductor DeepL y Grammarly.
