It turns out, Benedetti, that I will not “stay with you”. The reason is simple: I have already reserved a quiet corner of the world for myself. Of course, it was not a bloke you had in mind when you wrote “no reserves del mundo/sólo un rincón tranquilo” but a woman. And the core message of your poem “No Te Salves” (“Do Not Save Yourself” or “Do Not Play Safe”) was not a refusal to choose said corner but an invitation to take a chance. I understand that. Still, I like my corner, or should I say, corners. I have two favourite ones at home. I bet most of my fellow bloggers and readers have one, too. We are strange creatures, we humans. That phrase could well become part of my header one day, so many times I have used it. In fact, that phrase could well be my epitaph for, as a human, I, too, am a strange creature. We are almost symmetrically perfect physically speaking and yet, so asymmetrical when it comes to habits. We line up our lives with exciting adventures (well, some of us), occasionally seeking danger intentionally. But, still, we come back to our corner.
My little nook
I was thinking about corners recently because of the stormy weather we had in London a few weeks ago. I got soaked to the skin on one of those days on my way home from work. I still remember the feeling of putting my bike away, getting out of my wet clothes, taking a quick shower and sitting in my little corner to have my tea. This series of manoeuvres made me appreciate even more the privilege of having a space I can call my own. As I ate my meal and sipped my hot coffee after, I thought of an apposite metaphor for this situation. All I could come up with was the image of a person with big, long elastic bands around their waist and chest, pushing on, marching forward, advancing, getting to their destination… and eventually being pulled back to their little corner. When did I discover the allure of corners? In Year 6 when I began to learn English on my own. It had always been hard to find a comfortable nook in the Lilliputian one-bed flat I shared with five other relatives, including at the time my mum and dad. But that all changed one day when I picked up “Basic English”, a book that belonged to my father. In between my parents’ bed and the wardrobe, a space so narrow that one could not sit with both legs side by side but crossed, one on top of the other, I discovered the beauty of a foreign language. From then on, whenever I had the opportunity I camped up in this little, tiny space, the length of which – or lack of it thereof – favoured me as I was rather short in those days, luckily. Corners come in all shapes and forms. There are some that justify their selection with magnificent views outside. Others boast a practical layout. And then there are those that have a deeper meaning beyond their bricks-and-mortar composition. An emotional connection to a previous episode in the story of our lives. Also, they are not just a home phenomenon, corners. No. Perhaps, your favourite nook is in your local café, a bench in a nearby park or the seat you normally occupy on the train on your way to work. Above all, this space allows you to become your own individual amidst a sea of strange faces. You can see now why I dare to challenge one of my favourite poets and one of Latin America’s finest. But, Benedetti, I like my corner(s), I like the fact that I have reserved this quiet space of the world. If that means that I play safe, so be it. Personally, I do not think I do. Some of my more thought-provoking posts have been written whilst sitting on one of my favourite (two) corners.
