Participation and Collaboration
On September 23, 2022, I had the pleasure of attending the Culture Night event at the Cervantes Institute in Dublin, titled The Night of Spanish-Irish Literature. I participated as a guest alongside four writers from diverse national backgrounds, sharing in an evening that celebrated the literary connections between Spain and Ireland. In addition, I engaged in a storytelling workshop for Irish children, where we explored Spanish vocabulary and painted marine animals, fostering cultural exchange and creativity among young learners.
In collaboration with Virgen del Mar School in Cabo de Gata, I contributed by writing a personalized Christmas letter to the school director, strengthening connections with the local educational community and promoting literary engagement.
Recognition
I was honored to serve as a jury member for the INICLE Short Story Competition 2020, organized by the Irish National Institute for Literary Creativity and sponsored by the Association of Spanish Speakers in Ireland, recognizing excellence in contemporary short fiction and supporting emerging writers.
A collection of short stories, poems, and other spontaneous texts:
Bull’s eyes
The town square was packed. In the air floated a sweet scent of cotton candy, and all I could see around me were legs—long legs moving in every direction, looking for the best spot to watch the parade. My mother gently guided me toward the orchestra. The sound of tambourines and drums traveled through my small body and echoed in my ears.
Soon, floats began to parade by, carrying giants with colorful faces, in every size and shape imaginable.
Eyes shining like those of an ox.
Mocking smiles.
Wide, flat noses.
Big, rosy cheeks, the kind you want to pinch.
Then, I started to feel scared.
—Oh, Mom, I don’t like this, I said, clutching her hand.
She looked at me and, instead of saying anything, burst out laughing.
—HAHAHA!
It was a loud, clear, contagious laugh.
—Laugh, child, laughter drives away fear, she said.
—Laughter drives away fear, I repeated.
Lost childhood
As the light enters what has become her glass cage, she thinks of the childhood she never had. Playing with other children was never part of her youth; instead, her rough hands were busy sowing broad beans in the fields, shaking olive trees, and carrying water pots to all the neighbors in town. Adulthood came very early to my grandmother, and now she looks with dreamy eyes at the little girl she never was.
Warm mediterranean colors
My skin stuck to the couch; not even the air conditioning could relieve the suffocating heat of that August. The walls seemed to melt, and even my cat’s eyes pleaded for a little water.
Sunlight filtered through the slats of the blinds, and my eyelids slowly closed. It was then, in that state between wakefulness and sleep, that I remembered some photographs taken by a pair of adventurous friends of my family who arrived in Cabo de Gata in the 1970s with a wonderful idea: to open a little beach bar by the sea. That place became the delight of many and the hangover of just as many others.
I realized that their joy, soul, parties, freedom, and love from those salty days are repeated in every one of my summers, where magic, fantasy, and dreams seem to be born every second in front of the sea.
Because the past is always present.
And because we’ve all had a summer that changed our lives.
Damp skin
Feet wet on the shore, resting on sand furrows left by the strong tide—big grooves like the wrinkles of an elephant. While her head rested on my shoulder, we felt the chill of those last summer days in a long embrace. With nothing left to say, we listened to the silence that has always witnessed this slow, profound way of dying. Our lips no longer meet; they are lost between damp skin and words strangled by the wind. What a slow way to die.
Noise
Her demons dragged me to the very depths of hell. My skin cried out for help, but in that immense void, no one could hear my voice. My pain drowned in tears, desperate to find a solution. And in the midst of that storm, that deafening noise, I felt a brief relief, clinging to the beauty of life, thinking that the pain would die and I would be reborn, at any moment.
Life
I landed in Ireland for the first time and had no idea how my life was about to change. This is a glimpse of the places, sensations, and moments I have experienced over the past eight years.
Waning moon
Waning moon outside.
His bronzed body rested next to mine.
The beat of his heart could be felt in his sleeping neck, his skin stretched and contracted, time and again.
His heart beat in rhythm with the sound of the crickets on that summer night.
How beautiful it was to be the only witness to that fleeting moment.
Well, the moon and I.
The air smells of sugar
Jumping through the clouds
Taking steps like an astronaut.
Golden clouds, white, ivory,
with a soft texture,
like skin simmering slowly.
The air smells of sugar.
Flying over a sea of life,
an ocean of aimless clouds.
They brush against each other, they meet,
and from their dance, new ones are born.
Breath,
Breath,
I said.
Or Is It Desperation to Be Exciting?
I throw sparks into the air,
shout loud so they will hear,
dance in the light as if I’m burning,
but is it passion or just a trick?
I chase after every shadow,
searching for something to make me shine,
but when everything falls silent,
who am I without the need to impress?
If I go quiet, will I fade?
If I stop, will they still care?
Do I burn with true desire,
or just fear of going dark?
It will pass
The love, the joy, the restless fire,
the new that lifts, the dream, the desire.
It will pass, like seasons do.
Neon hues
I paint my words in neon hues,
laughter sharp, a spark that burns—
but is it fire, fierce and true,
or just a mask my heart unlearns?
I chase the echoes down the hall,
where voices dance, but do they stay?
Am I the storm before the fall,
or just a shadow in the fray?
Glimpse of us
The other day, someone told me you still talk about me.
Surprised, I wondered —do you still remember our late-night conversations,
the silent hours, your hand resting on my belly, our footsteps on a cold beach?
Everything now lingers as a distant, empty memory, miles away —where my skin once belonged to another body.
Tell the story of what we once were, but don’t get lost in the details. In case, one day, you look into her eyes and catch
a glimpse of us in her.
No more
No more
no waiting at the door
no cups left on the table
no hands reaching in the dark.
No more knowing
where you are,
what you dream,
if you wake up alone.
I won’t say your name
like a prayer
like a wound.
I won’t wonder
if you still remember
the sound of my voice
the weight of my hands
the color of my eyes.
No seesaw
I could feel your heartbeat in your sleeping neck.
Your skin stretched and contracted, over and over, like a seesaw.
Your hear beat in time with the cricket’s song on that summer night.
But now there are not crickets, no heartbeat, no seesaw.
Where has the sound flown since you’ve been gone?
Just for a moment
Open the door to that world you only enter when all the lights go out,
when silence weights heavier than the body, when you’re so alone even your shadow doesn’t dare to follow.
Let me see the broken landscapes you hide behind your eyelids,
the fears that have no name but have shape.
Show me your hell, but don’t drag me with you…
for in all that darkness,
I might find something of mine.
And for a moment,
I might be tempted to stay.
I always knew
The road that connects us needs no maps and yet here I am walking paths I once imagined —
as if destiny were mocking my doubts and leading me, despite everything, exactly where I always knew
I would end up.
In its feathers
At dawn,
a bird slipped through my window.
It had seen your childhood dreams—
the ones you never remembered.
It spoke in whispers,
said it’s always been with you,
not seen, but felt
in quiet moments.
It flies at your side,
sings with your voice in sleep,
and hides in its feathers
the dreams you’ve left behind.
Without me
I held my screams behind my teeth,
traded my voice for your peace,
and in the end…
I was left without me.
How do I write without unraveling?
Silence
Time has taught me silence,
the pause,
the quiet strenght.
And with calmness
came the longing:
to keep going,
to open myself
to burn.
Now
I once wandered far in search of myself.
Today in stillness I am found.
The answers no longer flee.