2023-10-14 05:45:00
I am dyslexic, a disorder that you are born with and that always accompanies you. It poses serious problems of adaptation and academic training, apart from the most obvious ones of orientation and writing. I wrote about it in my last novel, Time of Storms, and during its promotion I referred to his presence in my life, remembering the exercises I did with my mother in Caracas. The memory of those circles that I never completed clouds my eyes with tears. Remembering them while I thanked the visibility award that was given to me during the National Dyslexia Awards, in the Congress of Deputies, last Wednesday, caused emotion to burst into my gratitude.
There I confirmed that it is not easy to speak in a place like Congress. The voice stiffens, probably due to the solemnity of the space, and with the lengthening summer heat. It became clear to me that I have to see political professionals with a new approach. Maintaining type, assuming context and projecting voice are complicated things, at least for a dyslexic beginner. I take this opportunity to congratulate Queen Letizia for her effortless interpretation of a rap during an event to draw attention to mental health. It is clear that she, more professional than me, rehearsed. Fighting to contain those drops of tears, I thought of the Queen and composed myself. I was able to send my message: understand that dyslexia is not a disorder. In my life, it is a discovery. Because it has been a struggle, begun with those recovery exercises with my mother, and continued for years in which I have strengthened my sexuality, cultivated my passion for literature, cinema or television and polished the edges of my personality. I owe a lot to dyslexia. Knowing that this disability is incurable and transforming it into a tool is probably the motivation I needed. Does dyslexic thinking exist? I think so. And that is why, in my gratitude to that disorder or peculiarity, I include my way of dressing, my eye for the expensive, my nose for the divine and the ephemeral. And my touch with the unforgettable.
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Writing this, I got to see live the celebration and the whistle to the acting president during the military parade on October 12 (I have never understood, as a Latin American and a new Spaniard, the military reason for this parade). I arrived precisely to hear the unforgettable cries of “let Txapote vote for you” directed at Pedro Sánchez, who arrived after Franco’s Rolls-Royce that was bringing the kings to the meeting point. Arbitrary and capricious, dyslexia has allowed me to associate big, historical things with other small and forgettable things. The National Day parade was unforgettable, which this year included the traditional irrepressible shouts and the incorporation of the Princess of Asturias dressed in a military uniform. Something that made me think about my effort to channel my dyslexia and the effort that Hello! to promote new generations and new noble content. Like this week, presenting a parade, an exclusive gathering of the most elegant women in the country. It features Isabelle Junot, Margarita Vargas and Alejandra de Rojas, the most Spanish of the three, absolute heir to her mother’s aristocratic elegance, and who sit on the magazine’s throne of elegance, a fun wink after she has starred in another cover in spring denying a false news story that linked her to the DNA of the royal family.
I have dyslexia and also a good memory. I remember demonstrating in 2003 in the street chanting “No to war.” Those of us who were at that demonstration thought we were a million. That government ruled that we were only a few thousand. Aznar did not listen to what we were saying in the street and fully supported the Iraq war. My memory is also dyslexic.
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