Cartas a mi abuelo/Letters to my grandfather
Trailer to an alternative film in process, in collaboration with Amargo Festival.
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The Film portrays different stages of my relationship with my grandfather and his abusive behaviours towards my grandmother, and how that has impacted my life, relationships and thoughts. The goal is to show how abuse impacts the life of people all around the situation and how violent behaviours are normalized not only in the family, but in society, how today's modern society still doesn't acknowledge properly how psichological abuse works and the great impact it has on people.
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Amargo festival: https://issuu.com/amargofestival/docs/cae_la_casa_catalogo_export_1_
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Carta primera:
Querido abuelo,
Hoy he venido a desenterrar muertos.
A veces hay que desenterrarlos para enterarnos,
para saber que les pasó,
que nos hicieron y como nos influyeron,
y hoy te he desenterrado a ti abuelo.
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Tus gritos e pequeña me parecían juegos,
tus insultos truenos en una tormenta enfurecida mientras yo reía,
hasta que rompiste el plato,
aunque no recuerdo muy bien si fue un plato un vaso o no fue nada.
Quizás no rompiste nada, pero se sintió como tal cunado empujaste a a abuela.
Desde ese día empecé a percibirte como malo.
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Cuando jugaba con ella, sentía que escapaba de ti, aunque a mi no me hacías nada.
Las telas satén, raso, seda organza lino,
su sonrisa cuando nos disfrazábamos, aquel armario, parecía un mundo paralelo.
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Recuerdo sus toros y tus mantones de manila y los vestido que tenías,
recuerdo las noches en las que con vosotros dormía,
en las que yo no sabía como eras.
Ahora creo que estoy haciendo lo que tu no pudiste, abuela.
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First letter:
Dear Grandfather,
Today I come to dig up the dead.
Sometimes you have to dig them up to find out what happened to them,
what they did to us and how they influenced us,
and today I have dug you up, grandfather.
Your screams as a child seemed like games to me,
your insults thunder in a raging storm while I laughed,
until you broke the plate,
though I don't quite remember if it was a plate, a glass or nothing at all.
Maybe you didn't break anything, but it felt like it when you pushed Grandma.
From that day on I began to perceive you as bad.
When I played with her, I felt like I was running away from you, even though you didn't do anything to me.
The satin, silk, organza, linen fabrics,
her smile when we dressed up, that closet, it seemed like a parallel world.
I remember his bull fights and your manila shawls and the dresses you had,
I remember the nights when I slept in your house,
when I didn't know how you were.
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Now I think I'm doing what you couldn't, grandma.
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