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In a rebellious act, I looked into the mirror and, as if breaking free from this invisible cage in\u00a0 <\/span>which I have been twelve days already, I paint my lips red.<\/p>\n Maybe I did not have a red lipstick in my make-up purse for the last twenty-five years. Yes, since those times in which I used to disowned my tanned skin during summer and attempting to look like a geisha\/punk\/what-do-I-know, I used to apply a very expensive greenish cream that, below the make-up, several tones lighter than my skin, cancelled any rose color from my cheeks.\u00a0 <\/span>At those times, in which Pluto was hanging hands with my Sun, a gothic and sinister entity possessed me and it only allowed me to dress in black and show up in ways that know I see as very little flattering.<\/p>\n A red lipstick was one of the last things I bought before the quarantine. I was desiring one\u00a0 <\/span>for a long time, and in several occasions I went into a make-make-up shop, leaving with my empty hands. Infinite options of red. I do really back choosing among so many options. I get blocked. But that day of tension, the day that the toilet paper was sold out in Madrid, I went down to but Kleenex and, as it was forbidden to test the lipsticks for the posible infection, I asked the saleswoman to chose one for me.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n I did not think about the lipstick in all these days. Until today. It was the day to go out shopping.\u00a0 <\/span>Tired of the unrecognisable image of myself in the mirror, I dressed in black and grey, as the energy of the last news. Delighting myself in the moment, that I consciously made longer as if stopping time, the mirror lit up with my blood color, life color, lips.<\/p>\n In my imagination were the\u00a0 <\/span>passers-by I would cross with. There looks of gratitude for the joy of my lips. My little grain of sand in an uncertain and sad world.<\/p>\n The town look like a desert. Not even my beloved Murakami would have imagined the possibility of a whole world in pause, with all the people isolated. Once in the street I took out from my pocket the mask that my mom had made hours ago, sewing close to the window.\u00a0 <\/span>Mask.\u00a0 <\/span>Walls. Borders. Cages into cages, like Russian matrioshkas. \u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n I look into the mirror. I see myself different. Tomorrow I will make some waves in my hair. Waves of freedom that remind me of the Ocean.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n [\/et_pb_text][\/et_pb_column][\/et_pb_row][\/et_pb_section]<\/p>\n<\/span>","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" March 25th 2020 – DAY 12th of lockdown\u00a0 In a rebellious act, I looked into the mirror and, as if breaking free from this invisible cage in\u00a0 which I have been twelve days already, I paint my lips red. Maybe I did not have a red lipstick in my make-up purse for the last […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":7,"featured_media":11436,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_et_pb_use_builder":"on","_et_pb_old_content":" [et_pb_section fb_built=\"1\" admin_label=\"section\" _builder_version=\"3.22\" custom_padding=\"24.3125px|0px|29px|0px|false|false\"][et_pb_row admin_label=\"row\" _builder_version=\"4.4.1\" background_size=\"initial\" background_position=\"top_left\" background_repeat=\"repeat\" hover_enabled=\"0\"][et_pb_column type=\"4_4\" _builder_version=\"3.25\" custom_padding=\"|||\" custom_padding__hover=\"|||\"][et_pb_text _builder_version=\"4.4.1\" background_size=\"initial\" background_position=\"top_left\" background_repeat=\"repeat\" vertical_offset_tablet=\"0\" horizontal_offset_tablet=\"0\" z_index_tablet=\"0\" text_text_shadow_horizontal_length_tablet=\"0px\" text_text_shadow_vertical_length_tablet=\"0px\" text_text_shadow_blur_strength_tablet=\"1px\" link_text_shadow_horizontal_length_tablet=\"0px\" link_text_shadow_vertical_length_tablet=\"0px\" link_text_shadow_blur_strength_tablet=\"1px\" ul_text_shadow_horizontal_length_tablet=\"0px\" ul_text_shadow_vertical_length_tablet=\"0px\" ul_text_shadow_blur_strength_tablet=\"1px\" ol_text_shadow_horizontal_length_tablet=\"0px\" ol_text_shadow_vertical_length_tablet=\"0px\" ol_text_shadow_blur_strength_tablet=\"1px\" quote_text_shadow_horizontal_length_tablet=\"0px\" quote_text_shadow_vertical_length_tablet=\"0px\" quote_text_shadow_blur_strength_tablet=\"1px\" header_text_shadow_horizontal_length_tablet=\"0px\" header_text_shadow_vertical_length_tablet=\"0px\" header_text_shadow_blur_strength_tablet=\"1px\" header_2_text_shadow_horizontal_length_tablet=\"0px\" header_2_text_shadow_vertical_length_tablet=\"0px\" header_2_text_shadow_blur_strength_tablet=\"1px\" header_3_text_shadow_horizontal_length_tablet=\"0px\" header_3_text_shadow_vertical_length_tablet=\"0px\" header_3_text_shadow_blur_strength_tablet=\"1px\" header_4_text_shadow_horizontal_length_tablet=\"0px\" header_4_text_shadow_vertical_length_tablet=\"0px\" header_4_text_shadow_blur_strength_tablet=\"1px\" header_5_text_shadow_horizontal_length_tablet=\"0px\" header_5_text_shadow_vertical_length_tablet=\"0px\" header_5_text_shadow_blur_strength_tablet=\"1px\" header_6_text_shadow_horizontal_length_tablet=\"0px\" header_6_text_shadow_vertical_length_tablet=\"0px\" header_6_text_shadow_blur_strength_tablet=\"1px\" box_shadow_horizontal_tablet=\"0px\" box_shadow_vertical_tablet=\"0px\" box_shadow_blur_tablet=\"40px\" box_shadow_spread_tablet=\"0px\" use_border_color=\"off\" border_color=\"#ffffff\" border_style=\"solid\" inline_fonts=\"Athiti,Bowlby One SC\"]<\/p> <\/p> En un acto de rebeld\u00eda me mir\u00e9 al espejo y, como escap\u00e1ndome de esta jaula invisible en la que llevo ya doce d\u00edas, me pint\u00e9 los labios de rojo. <\/span><\/span><\/p> <\/p> Hace quiz\u00e1 veinticinco a\u00f1os que no ten\u00eda en mi bolsita de maquillaje una barra de labios de ese color. Si, desde la \u00e9poca en la que renegaba de mi moreno en el verano y en el intento de parecer una geisha\/punk\/qu\u00e9-se-yo, me aplicaba una crema car\u00edsima de color verde claro que, bajo el maquillaje, varios tonos m\u00e1s claros que mi piel, anulaba cualquier tono rosado de mis mejillas. En esa \u00e9poca, en la que el planeta Plut\u00f3n se paseaba de la mano con mi Sol, un ente g\u00f3tico y siniestro se apoder\u00f3 de m\u00ed y s\u00f3lo me permit\u00eda vestir de negro y presentarme de formas que ahora pienso muy poco favorecedoras. <\/span><\/span><\/p> <\/p> Un pintalabios rojo fue una de las \u00faltimas cosas que compr\u00e9 antes de la cuarentena. Llevaba tiempo deseando uno, y varias veces entr\u00e9 en las tiendas, saliendo con las manos vac\u00edas por la pereza de probar entre la infinidad de rojos de labios. Me cuesta mucho elegir cuando hay tantas opciones. Me bloqueo. Pero ese d\u00eda de nerviosismo, el d\u00eda en el que se termin\u00f3 el papel higi\u00e9nico en todo Madrid, baj\u00e9 a comprar pa\u00f1uelos de papel y, como ya no estaba permitido probar las barras de labios por el posible contagio, le ped\u00ed a la dependienta del Clarel que eligiera uno por m\u00ed. <\/span><\/span><\/p> <\/p> No me acord\u00e9 nunca m\u00e1s de la barra de labios. Hasta hoy. Tocaba ir al supermercado y a la farmacia. Cansada de la imagen irreconocible de m\u00ed misma que me ofrece estos d\u00edas el espejo, me vest\u00ed de negro y gris, como la energ\u00eda de las \u00faltimas noticias y, deleit\u00e1ndome en el momento que conscientemente alargu\u00e9 como deteniendo el tiempo, el espejo se ilumin\u00f3 con mis labios color sangre, color vida. <\/span><\/span><\/p> <\/p> En mi imaginaci\u00f3n estaban los transe\u00fantes con los que me cruzar\u00eda que agradec\u00edan con sus miradas la alegr\u00eda de mis labios. Mi granito de arena en un mundo incierto y triste. <\/span><\/span><\/p> <\/p> El pueblo estaba desierto. Ni siquiera mi adorado Murakami se hubiera imaginado la posibilidad de un mundo entero en pausa, con todos sus habitantes aislados. En la calle saqu\u00e9 del bolsillo la mascarilla que horas antes hab\u00eda cosido mi madre, sentada junto a la ventana. <\/span>Mascarilla. Paredes. Fronteras. Jaulas dentro de jaulas, como matrioshkas rusas. <\/span><\/span><\/p> <\/p> Me miro al espejo. Me veo diferente. Ma\u00f1ana voy a hacerme ondas en el pelo. Ondas de libertad que me recuerden al mar. <\/span><\/span><\/p> [\/et_pb_text][\/et_pb_column][\/et_pb_row][\/et_pb_section]<\/p>","_et_gb_content_width":"","ngg_post_thumbnail":0,"footnotes":""},"categories":[18],"tags":[],"yoast_head":"\n25 marzo 2020 - DIA 12 del encierro <\/span><\/h4>