diary of may malen i. isley, chapter 1

May Mal, my flower, watching with me and her parents, the world cup 2010

As you fly away- you are going away exactly now-, as you flight back home, I think of you, of the week we spent together, with your parents, of your happiness, of your easy laughing about, of your tongue coming in and out of your sweet mouth, running away not to be kissed. Of your free spirit and of your wanting to be always sat down on Mum’s lap, my daughter Camila, or jumping away on the immense arms of Pa, Dad Felix by name.

It was hot, hot the whole week. Hotter that you expected, coming, as you do, from the very cold weather of our Cambridge.

You are so big for your age, only five months and twenty one days and it’s difficult to carry you on my arms. Of course, I’m much older and age does not forgive the lack of strength.

I have taught you how to play with your tongue, on and out of your lovely mouth, as I used to do with your Mum when she was your age, and she used to laugh as you do. It’s funny: neither you nor your mother was able to play with your mouth and make the sound at the same time. Mum used to laugh, I remember, in the garden of our house in Chesterton 133, not far way of the fair place. You did not laugh; you got bored and started to cry and to beg for Mum’s arms. This lonely Abuelo – should be Grand-Pa, but that is for Chris, Dad´s Father, not for me – felt sad. All what I wanted was to be always with you in my arms, to play with you, but, you do not know me and fear my being always tickling your bare feet to make you laugh. No way. You tried to be away from me, stranger as I was.

You are very right. Abuelo does not know how to be sweet with you, as I used to me with your Ma. The secret is that you see me very rarely, actually twice in your tiny life. All others are very lucky: they may see you whenever: they live so close!

I enjoyed a little kitten, a toy, which I offered you. You did not like it that much… you are so little: your duty in life, it seems to me to be to eat a lot, be quiet and surrounded by your parents… You enjoy wit tem as you are all day strolling about as Abuelo writes…for you…

Surrounded as I am my by Camellias, Orchids, Begonias, a flower I miss, by the name of May, actually my May Malen.

I give you my word I shall apply to be a sweeter Abuelo for you not to fear me anymore. And next time we meet, we shall walk and jump together, tell you stories, playing away.

I shall say no more, I might cry as I miss you so much.. You remind me your Mum when she was your age: she wanted to be always with me. I will exercise the sweetness of my heart for you to want to be with me, as Mum and Aunt Paula, my other daughter, used to do at your age.

He plane may land, and here I am thinking carefully what is next to telling you stories and make you happy…. That is Abuelo’s problem, not to have anyone nearby to love and be loved by, no other child with me, only adult people competing with me… for silly things

I shall wait till I know how you have arrived at home. Tel parents you need your surroundings, your little corners, the things you know and indentify, the aim of trying to eat your feet… not being possible to do so… and hence your mother’s bad temper which she had when she was little as you are now, comes up very quickly.

I have flowers, so many, all of them for you There is one which lacks in my garden: MY May Malen…

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