* While we live in the present, we do not perceive it. Just as if we look at a face from too close, we cannot contemplate it all. We see wrinkles that we would not see from afar, or the refined color of the eyes, or the eyebrows’ implantation, or the tasty curl of lips. But is that a face? It is necessary that the present becomes the past, and we distance ourselves from it to understand it. And then, it no longer exists. It is only a cloudy source of memories, a vain attempt to resurrect what has died.
From “The Crimson Manuscript,” by Antonio Gala
Antonio Gala’s prose is pure poetry. His words evoke a torrent of emotions in the readers. He was a great writer who never received the appreciation he deserved. In this era, bombarded with mediocre literature, it is refreshing to grab one of his books and sit in a cozy corner to pore over it. It will transport you to a world of beauty and romance, which includes the cruel reality. The above paragraph gives an idea of his thoughts’ depth: “While we live in the present, we do not perceive it… It is necessary that the present becomes the past… And then, it no longer exists. It is only a cloudy source of memories, a vain attempt to resurrect what has died.”
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* I translated this literary snippet into English from Antonio Gala’s original work, “El manuscrito carmesí.”
Mientras vivimos el presente no lo percibimos. Igual que, si miramos un rostro desde demasiado cerca, no podemos abarcarlo entero; vemos arrugas que de lejos no veríamos, o el matizado color de los ojos, o la implantación de las cejas, o el sabroso alabeo de unos labios; pero ¿es eso un rostro? Es preciso que el presente se transforme en pasado y que nos distanciemos de él para entenderlo. Y entonces, ya no existe: es sólo una turbia fuente de recuerdos, una baldía tentativa de resucitar lo que murió.
