Recuerdos de un Querido Diario

Yo tenía 5 años y mi mamá estaba en la cocina conmigo y con mi hermana. No sé si tengo realmente este recuerdo porque lo leí del diario de mi hermana. Un diario tradicional, cerrado con un candado y cuya llave siempre encontraba en un escondite diferente.

En la cocina, mi mamá le pide ayuda a mi hermana para sacar una bolsa de fideos de la despensa, pero yo y mis 5 años nos ofrecemos apresuradamente a hacerlo. Estaba destinado al desastre: saco la bolsa, curioseo y claro que la rompo. Todos los fideos caen al piso y mi mamá suspira: “Si serás…”.

No, realmente no lo recuerdo, pero ese diario me contó esta y más historias. Algunas escritas en clave, otras llenas de stickers y un par manchadas con lágrimas.

El diario con el que aprendí lo importante de recordar detalles y anotarlos, en una rutina sagrada de todas las noches. Cerrarlo con llave, esconder el candado y esperar que mi mamá no lo abra y vea la última página.

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