Daily Writing Challenge, Day 11

It’s hard to say, what is real and what isn’t.

See this hat? My sombrero vueltiao. For me, it’s a memory of an old friend. It’s a lot of memories, each woven and held together by the cañaflecha. I don’t suppose it means much more to you than just an old hat. And for all that concerns you, that’s all my hat is. An old, sweaty thing that your madrina can’t let go.

Magia animada is the magia of stories: it is the magia of bringing to light that which is but that we do not wish—or have been told not—to see. But, in the hands of a riosuenense, it can just as easily become that which obscures. If the story is strong, if it follows, if the song urges us along its path so that we follow, the truth can be anything. After all, who’s to say what’s really true, if truth is different for each of us?

Ah-ha! Knew that would get a reaction out of you. Good instincts, Celia.

What is real is refracted, multifaceted, and kaleidoscope—but anyone who would tell you that because the real is uncertain, then truth doesn’t matter, that’s a liar. If they’re a liar, they’re a thief. They’ll lie about you to your face and steal your story from under your fingers, and well, that’s murder deeper than a knife could do. That’s killing your soul.

Rest assured they’ll kill your body.

They won’t think about it twice. And if they keep control of your story, they’ll knit the real into a tapestry of falsehood. If they don’t like you, they’ll say you’re a monster who deserved to die. If they like you, such as their admiration goes, they’ll say you realized your evil and honorably chose to die.

What can we do? Mihija, you already know.

We can unravel their lies. What lies destroy, the truth can rebuild.

Originally written 5/7/2023