After my morning ritual, I thought about creating a small gift for his return back home: a book with daily photos of thoughts that were coming to my life. Yes, everyday I wanted to collect a new way of feeling the love for him. Missing him.
I started right away. I grabbed the instant photo camera and took a photo of my sleepy face, holding his coffee cup and the newspaper left on the kitchen wood table. I wrote down my first message, on the white part of the photo, right below the mass of colours: “ Today I feel the taste of your lips left on the edges of your coffee cup. I see, as well, that the economy is reviving!”
I headed to Indigo, that small and simple shop, with elegant decorations, where I could choose a white photo album and a wooden box painted with lavender flowers, part of our home. I could not be asking for more, as those seemed to be exactly what I needed. Like a child, I rushed into adding the first moment, captured in that picture, a frame that could take him back on time.
On the way to the office, Marta called me. She was better. Signing the divorce papers made her get ready to learn a lesson.
“I am going to join you for yoga. My place? Yours? I need you to listen to me, I need to listen to you. I need you to take care of me, Sof!”
Only hearing the most skeptical voice asking me to teach her anything about her body and soul got me by surprise. It was a challenge.
“No doubt! We can start tonight, a bit of relaxation. You can come over, I have the right space. You can stay over night there. Lately, I have been restless. I will be waiting for you!”
That was a beautiful day. I just put the phone back into my bag when I heard the ring again.
“What news do I get so early in the morning?” I asked myself, staring at the unknown foreign number.
“Good morning. May I speak to Ms Sofia Sal?”
“Hello, it’s me here. Who do I have the pleasure to speak to?” I answered, having no idea who was calling me from outside Spain, apart from family and friends.
“Glad to talk to you, Ms Sal. I am Bernard Collin, the representative of the London Institute of Journalism and Media. May I hold you for a couple of minutes?” That man had a sober voice, such a serious accent that made me understand where the fame of the British humor was coming from. Dry.
“Glad to meet you, Mr Collin. How can I help you?”
“Ms Sal, in the name of the Institute, I am delighted to announce you that your magazine has been nominated for the Best International Magazine Award. The awards will be given during the ceremony of the British Journalism Awards event. You are one of our special guests, a person that inspired communities.”
Speechless, I was pinching myself to make sure I was not still on the sofa, dreaming. No book in my arms, I was feeling the nails on my skin. That was for real.
“I am delighted and honored to hear such news, Mr Collin. I would be more than glad to be present at the ceremony. Receive my deep gratitude for appreciating my work and my projects. MOONLIGHT speaks my soul out. Thank you once again, Mr Collin.”
“The pleasure is ours. I will be sending you our official invitation today. Speak to you soon, Ms Sal. Have a pleasant day and congratulations!”
I thanked and saluted kindly. I felt a strong gratitude emotion. My work for years to turn an idea into success. I was content. I wrote Oliver and my family immediately. I wanted them to be the first one to hear about it, to thank them for inspiring and mentoring me all the way there.
Never stop fighting for your own dreams. You are, actually, your dreams. A blend of sensations and feelings, of words and things. You are everything. The projection of your own vision, embodying that beautiful shape that takes you through the tangible, physical world.
You are EVERYTHING.