Alérgico a la navidad
_"Por eso me fui: demasiado mal gusto para mis ojos", dijo Felipe con cierto desánimo y enfado.
Había regresado a petición de su madre, que le había dicho que la abuela Chichita ya estaba muy anciana y moriría en cualquier momento:
_"Estoy segura de que morirá con los ojos abiertos", le había asegurado su madre con el dramatismo característico de los Morillos. Aunque Felipe no quería volver a su país, y menos en Navidad, recordaba a su abuela como una de las personas que más lo había querido y mimado, así que compró su pasaje de regreso para las fiestas.
"Demasiado para mis oídos", dijo Felipe en voz alta, y varios hombres que lo oyeron se burlaron de él y subieron el volumen de una de las cornetas, la cual parecía que se rompía con el bajo. Recordando lo celosos que eran los habitantes de Maracaibo con su cultura, Felipe decidió callarse. Abrazó con fuerza su guitarra y caminó hacia la casa de su abuela, seguro de que su abuela y su madre lo estarían esperando.
Efectivamente, las dos mujeres lo habían estado esperando desde temprano en la mañana. Su madre lo recibió con abrazos y besos. Felipe no pudo evitar sentirse como un niño en los brazos de su madre. La abrazó con tanta fuerza y durante tanto tiempo que temió romperla. Sintió un nudo en la garganta, pero fue su madre quien dijo:
_Tu abuela te está esperando. No ha querido comer.
Felipe entró en la habitación de su abuela, donde ella lo esperaba, sentada:
_Felipito, hijo mío -dijo su abuela, abrazándolo. Aunque Felipe odiaba su nombre, oír a su abuela llamarlo como lo hacía cuando era niño lo conmovió profundamente:
_"Me imagino que no te vas a marchar otra vez. Mira qué ropa tan loca llevas: esa ropa oscura y rota y ese pelo de colores".
Felipe quería decirle que así era como se vestía ahora y que solo había vuelto por unos días, pero decidió no responder y, en cambio, abrazó a su abuela, así como cuando era chico
_"Estábamos esperando por ti para poner la música", dijo su madre, y Maracaibo 15 comenzó a sonar. Felipe frunció el ceño y su abuela dijo con una sonrisa:
"He oído que eres músico. Sabía que serías músico, por eso les pedí que te llamaran Felipe, porque como el apellido de tu padre era Pirela, te pondrían el nombre del gran Felipe Pirela".
Felipe frunció los labios en una mueca: odiaba su nombre y hubiera dado cualquier cosa por decir cuál era su nombre ahora: The Grunge, el que cantaba en una banda, pero prefirió guardar silencio.
Al cabo de un rato, pasaron al comedor y los tres comieron como antes. Felipe no recordaba el sabor de las hallacas y, aunque solía decir que no le gustaban, le parecieron deliciosas y pidió repetir. También repitió el pan de jamón y la ensalada de pollo.
_"Come, hijo, come", le dijo su abuela, y Felipe recordó las muchas veces que ella le había dado más comida a escondidas cuando su madre no miraba. Sonrió y besó las manos de la anciana, y ella le devolvió la sonrisa no solo con los labios, sino también con los ojos y el alma.
_"Canta Cuando voy a Maracaibo", dijo la anciana, aplaudiendo.
Era el momento perfecto para decirle que odiaba las gaitas, que odiaba la navidad, que odiaba Maracaibo, pero al ver la alegría de su abuela, comenzó con unos suaves acordes en la guitarra y, con voz melodiosa, empezó a cantar:
_"Cuando voy a Maracaibo y empiezo a cruzar el puente, siento una emoción tan grande que se me nubla la mente...".
Mientras Felipe tocaba y cantaba gaitas a petición de su madre y su abuela, comprendió que no le gustaba la Navidad porque no tenía a nadie con quien compartirla, pero ahora que estaba con las mujeres que lo querían, quería que ese momento durara para siempre, igual que la Navidad y la luz de su abuela, capaz de iluminar su vida.
La imagen principal es creada y editada en Canva, y el texto fue traducido con Deepl Translate
HASTA UNA PRÓXIMA OPORTUNIDAD, AMIGOS
Versión en inglés
Allergic to ChristmasIt took him a while to get to his grandmother's house, which was located in one of Maracaibo's many neighborhoods. He got off the plane and, instead of taking a taxi, decided to walk for a while through those streets filled with heat and noise. After 15 years, Felipe had returned to his country and specifically to his hometown, Maracaibo, and rather than joy, he felt a kind of anger and strangeness when he saw that the city was still the same: bustling, dirty, and, since it was Christmas, full of people and Christmas decorations.
“This is why I left: too much bad taste for my eyes,” said Felipe with a certain discouragement and annoyance.
He had returned at the request of his mother, who had told him that Grandmother Chichita would die at any moment:
“I'm sure she'll die with her eyes open,” his mother had assured him with the drama characteristic of the Morillos. Although Felipe didn't want to return to his country, especially at Christmas, he remembered his grandmother as one of the people who had loved and spoiled him the most, so he bought his ticket back for the holiday season.
The sound of bagpipes was everywhere. Felipe, who now called himself Grinch, played in a rock band and hated those cheerful, celebratory Caribbean sounds:
“Too much for my ears,” Felipe said aloud, and several men who heard him mocked him and turned up the volume on one of the horns, which seemed to clash with the bass. Remembering how protective the people of Maracaibo were of their culture, Felipe decided to keep quiet. He hugged his guitar tightly and walked toward his grandmother's house, sure that his grandmother and mother would be waiting for him.
Sure enough, the two women had been waiting for him since early in the morning. His mother welcomed him with hugs and kisses. Felipe couldn't help feeling like a child in his mother's arms. He hugged her so tightly and for so long that he was afraid he would break her. He felt a lump in his throat, but it was his mother who said:
“Your grandmother is waiting for you. She hasn't wanted to eat.”
Felipe went into his grandmother's room, where she was waiting for him, sitting down:
“Felipito, my son,” said his grandmother, hugging him. Although Felipe hated his name, hearing his grandmother call him as she did when he was a child touched him deeply:
“I imagine you're not leaving again. Look at how crazy you're dressed: those dark, torn clothes and that colored hair.”
Felipe wanted to tell her that this was how he dressed now and that he had only come back for a few days, but he chose not to answer and instead hugged his grandmother as he had when he was a child.
That night, when he left his room, he found his mother and grandmother sitting in the living room waiting for him.
“We were waiting for you to put on the music,” said his mother, and Maracaibo 15 began to play. Felipe frowned, and his grandmother said with a smile,
“I heard you were a musician.” I knew you would be a musician, that's why I asked them to name you Felipe, because since your father's last name was Pirela, you would be named after the great Felipe Pirela."
Felipe twisted his lips into a grimace: he hated his name and would have given anything to say what his name was now: Grinch, the one who sang in a band, but he preferred to remain silent.
After a while, they went into the dining room and the three of them ate as they had before. Felipe couldn't remember what hallacas tasted like, and although he often said he didn't like them, he found them delicious and asked for seconds. He also had seconds of ham bread and chicken salad.
“Eat up, son,” said his grandmother, and Felipe remembered the many times she had secretly given him more food when his mother wasn't looking. He smiled and kissed the old woman's hands, and she smiled back not only with her lips, but also with her eyes and her soul.
After dinner, Grandma asked him to play something on the guitar:
“Sing Cuando voy a Maracaibo,” said the old woman, clapping her hands.
It was the perfect moment to tell her that he hated gaitas, but seeing his grandmother's joy, he began with a few soft chords on the guitar and, with a melodious voice, began to sing:
“When I go to Maracaibo and start to cross the bridge, I feel such great emotion that my mind becomes clouded...”
As Felipe played and sang gaitas at the request of his mother and grandmother, he understood that he didn't like Christmas because he had no one to share it with, but now that he was with the women who loved him, he wanted that moment to last forever, just like Christmas and his grandmother's light, which was capable of illuminating his life.