What was his father like?
Overwhelmed, absent-minded, homophobic and authoritarian man.
And at sea?
I admired her... and she frustrated me: she sided with my father.
Patriarchy, established order.
I was a scared child. I only got along with my grandfather.
what were they doing
play chess In a sly mood, he was the first straight man to accept me. And he gave me books to read.
Remind me of one of those books.
From the great Truman Capote, Other voices, other realms.
How did that mark him?
Reading was my refuge from the world.
Was it his only refuge?
I tried a gay sauna one night.
and how about
Terrified, I did nothing. It wasn't my place.
Why not?
Mute and naked, he was not wanted. My body did not belong in that place. I went to confirm if I was gay.
What if?
I understood that I am more homoemotional than homosexual. I have tied little and written a lot. "I'll be a writer, then", he told me.
To explain what?
Anything that happened to me, but looked a certain way.
In wich way?
Curious and compassionate, never judging.
But you ended up on TV.
He wrote ¡Qué trabajo nos el Señor! a TV review blog... and that led me to TV. And there I got depressed.
Because?
Buenafuente signed me up for one of his shows ( En el aire ) and every night I went home feeling bad, convinced that I wasn't contributing anything interesting. Crisis!
How did you get out of your crisis?
I asked myself: "What am I good at?". And I answered: "I'm good at reading". And I read And so Días ajenos was born.
explain me
I read the diaries of writers: Warhol, Kafka, Sontag, Tolstoy, Woolf, Pavese... I collected what they wrote every day... and I wrote down my own things that day.
He dialogued with the past of others.
A full year. It was ten years ago. Today I retrieve that diary and add new notes: Días simétricos, the title.
For what purpose?
I need to write again because I don't know when I will do it again.
What will stop him?
My sickness will bring me bad days: my right hand no longer obeys me to write. I can still dictate...for now.
His illness is...
Multiple sclerosis, a progressive disease. Every day can be the last in something. Last December 31, thinking about the coming New Year's Eve, I wrote down: "My health will be worse. I hope not."
In what sense could you be worse?
He is an angry, furious person.
Is there a cure for multiple sclerosis?
No, but thankfully current medication slows down some physical deterioration - that's why I'm alive! And here talking to you.
What would you do if you received 500 million euros today?
Better adapt the kitchen at home. And I would give some to friends.
I read curious notes in his diary: "I have better ideas than myself".
It is healthy to distance yourself from yourself, and at the same time from the ideas you have.
How modest
We are part of a choir.
Do your ideas keep you away from TV?
On TV I tell them: "Give me your limits, and I'll see if I accept them or leave."
Another note: "To all with Ar rabal".
A great playwright, he starred in one of the most beautiful moments in television history. I proclaim myself a fan.
Entry of June 7, 2022: "19 years sleeping with husband".
I sleep very well with my husband! What peace, what tranquility I feel: this is fundamental to me. I never thought that sleeping with someone could be so nice. We would never get out of bed. Very tasty!
Another: "Writing is a lie, reading is the truth".
Writing is always imposture. We are impostors. Read, never: I get further by reading others than by writing myself.
Another note of his: "Never get drunk".
Drinking stopped being fun one day. And there it ended. I leave behind all that I have drunk.
And another: "You live when you don't write".
To sit down to write is to interrupt living. And I am very much about squeezing life.
