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  • My grandma had profound blue eyes, like the sea I could see from her terrasse.

    She was the most elegant person I have ever known, not just in terms of outfit, but mostly in terms of dignity.

    Although she was born in Madrid, she spent half of her live in Denia, the small town by the sea where we all were born. She also died there, a few years ago.

    When I was a child, I respected her so much, that I was a bit afraid of her.

    My mom -her daughter- died when I was four years old, so when we started moving -first with my family to Alicante, then to Valencia, later then to Germany, etc- being in touch with my Grandma was for me the shortest way to feel connected with my mum.

    Wherever I was, she got me a call:

    - How are you? Tell me, tell me... Tell me something.

    Most of the time my little stories were related to college, to life abroad, to my first snowfall in Germany... Nothing special at all. The point was we both had a very similar sense of humour, so I enjoyed making her laugh, even if she was 8.000 km far from me.

    Her favourite stories were those related to boys:

    - So, Do you have a boyfriend?
    - No grandma, I don't have a boyfriend.

    - ... You're not in love?
    - Well, actually I'm in love. But he... he's not! Grandma, I don't know, I think I'm not very successful with boys.
    - Uhm, I can't understand. Not really. But I, I can't help you at that point... because, because, when I was young... I was very successful with boys!

    Back in Spain, I started visiting her. She called me from time to time and I went to see her.This day, she would cook fish and croquettes for me, we would eat one ounce of chocolatte after dessert and set down beside the window, looking at the sea.

    - So, what's on? Tell me something.

    And so I started telling her something.

    A few weeks before she died, I got a call from her:

    - My hip got broken and it hurts. It hurts so much. Will you come?

    I went visit her. I brought her the most beautiful stories I had. I tried to make her laugh. I was afraid she would not recover. She was 93 so...

    She said goodbye to me with a kiss. No words... Just a kiss.

    It took me a long time realize how much my Grandma was involved in all what happened to me in the following years. I started teaching at some universities, giving workshops, trying to tell people nice stories.

    It took me a long time, but suddenly I realized that, from all my audiencies, my Grandma was actually my first, the best audience, my mentor.
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