A Letter Full of Nostalgia
Dear daughter, today I decided to write to you, despite the fact that we already had a conversation on the phone yesterday. Maybe it’s that in our conversations you always have a full schedule and I can’t express everything I feel. I don’t hold anything against you, it’s understandable that you take advantage of the opportunities that life gives you, although I’m sorry that you’re so far away, on another continent, building your future.
Childhood Memories and Can Pou
Today, while walking along Carrer Mayor, I saw a machine working on what is left of Can Pou. This has led me to remember my grandparents, the house they built with so much effort and that we decided to sell. There is something unsettling about witnessing the destruction of a building. Ruined walls reveal fragments of lives lived. From below, you can sense where the kitchen or toilet were, by the tiles that protrude from a neighboring wall, the one that survived the demolition.
Hidden Memories
Markings on the wall reveal where the chimney or staircase used to be. The remnants of wallpaper tell us about past stories, showing us the space that the furniture occupied. Remember when we watched our old house disappear? It still moves me to think about how the real estate agent acted quickly, without me having been able to acclimatize to the new home you found me.
The Door that Resists
Today, however, I was surprised to find a modernist door that has managed to survive the destruction. The glass with green etchings remains intact, as if to defy fate. I can’t help but reflect on the many experiences that have taken place within those walls before they were turned into rubble. How many laughs, tears and memories have you witnessed in a full life?
The Grief of Loss
As I watched the operators work, a feeling of sadness overwhelmed me. Will they ever wonder what they are destroying? Perhaps they are unaware that that building, now considered obsolete, was a place of joy and memories for many families. If only we could hear the stories that the walls have lived, but we just get rid of them and forget.
A Reflection on Time and Memory
Seeing old buildings being torn down makes me think about the fragility of our history. Each house has a narrative that fades into the rubble, while no one seems to care about the fate of its former inhabitants. Have you ever thought about how they felt when they had to leave behind what they had known as home? Every day, when I look out the window of the room from which I am writing to you, I know that I will never feel it as mine.
At the end of my walk, I realize that both the buildings and the people carry their own stories, and that with each demolition, a part of the past escapes us. Kisses, your mother, from the Golden Age Residence, on July 1, 2024.
