I consider writer, Isabel Allende to be something of a rarity. Shes the one that inspired me to write through her stories and books that Ive read over the years. The first one was The House of the Spirits, and to this day, its my favorite book. The magic realism and the bittersweet inhabitants of Isabel's mind still amaze me. It took me a year to complete it simply because I didnt want to let go of Clara, Alba, Esteban and the other tragically beautiful characters that I came to love. As weird as that sounds, the same happened to my best friend when she read it. When I was finished with it, I was 16 and shortly after, I wanted to write a story whose style was inspired by and reminisicent of Allende. Its about a mystical and deep relationship of a grandmother & granddaughter that no one but them can understand, which is alluring to me since I also have a close relationship to my grandma. I just came across this saved on Microsoft Word and its from 2006. Its called "Caterpillar" and here's the first half of it:
"What color is the ocean, caterpillar?" my grandmother, my abuela asked me in a rather peculiar tone. I hopped over to my window sill and naively gazed at the grand body of liquid, not knowing the intense mystery and fear it would hold for me in the future. "Blue!" I shouted back, in my nasally, squeamish voice which seemed to echo throughout the delicate room that I shared with my abuela. She gave me a modest grin, which seemed rather forced. "Is it not blue?" I asked her curiously. Abuela signaled me to hop back over and rest my head on her shoulder. I did without question. I knew this meant it was time for abuela to read me one of her enchanting stories from her libro mágico or tell me of her adventures during her childhood in the jungles of Guatemala.
I liked to look at abuela any chance I could get, She did not have wavy wrinkles like my best friend, Delfina's grandmother. Rather she had deep laugh lines around her mouth and small markings on the sides of her eyelids that resembled arrows shooting up into the sky. She explained how her eye wrinkles had formed so vividly, from when she was growing up in Santa Elena, she developed an eye twitch that plagued her throughout her adolescent years, and that constant movement of her eyes caused the tiny arrow markings to form. This story brought laughter to three generations of our relatives and close-knit friends, and abuela loved to put a smile on everyone's face, even at her own expense every now and then. Her features were dark like fresh honey and her almond eyes fascinated me so much so, that sometimes I would force her not to blink so I could study the unusual blue lining that enclosed her dark brown pupils.
I loved to smell her strange aroma of coconut oil and lavender milk, like the kind she would massage into my scalp and bathe me with in the porcelian tub in the backyard. Abuela had a fragile bump on her shoulders from a loose bone, which caused an indentation, almost making her shoulders resemble crescent moons. I nudged the side of my head right between the arch and rubbed my gentle skin against hers. "Por las vides de los árboles del bosque, y de la melodía del pájaro de la canción, había un río secreto de lágrimas, y vivió en ello a una sirena con la ciruela coloró pelo y pela piel transparente". Abuela closed her eyes and recited this in an animated, colorful tone of voice that only she possessed.
My Spanish was still developing and I understood a bit, but never the less, I recited her words in English from memory, which was sharper than the elephants of India, as papa would say:"Through the vines of the forest trees, and the melody of the song bird, there was a secret river of tears, and in it lived a mermaid with plum colored hair and transparent skin". Abuela grinned at me again, but this time, her crooked teeth showed their odd beauty and she ran her hand smoothly against my face, I adored that. "¡Cuán encantador, Caterpiller! How lovely you speak and understand!" she praised my minimum efforts, in an attempt to encourage me to stay true to my heritage, and continue watching and learning. I tried to hold in my laughter but I succumbed. I was never a good liar. "Abuela...I memorized the story from the last time you read it to me in english!" Abuela scowled at me and jokingly pulled my ear.
We quieted down when the setting fiery sun and tropical horizon poured in through the terrace door and filled the room with an airy, bright aura. I felt like I was inside of a faerie's wings, and abuela yawned for the warm glow seeped into her eyes. "Mi nieta, maybe I will rest my eyes for a bit. Why dont you go check up on mama, or collect sand dollars by the shore?" I gently kissed abuela on her fragile forehead and thinning head of silver locks, leaving the curtains open so that the radiant rays could surround her as she drifted off. As I skipped and counted down the perfectly alligned marble steps leading to front gardens in which mama was watering her wildflowers, I wondered what the color of the ocean really was, that I could not answer to abuela who seemed to want to tell me with her eyes, to look beneath the surface for miles and miles.
"What color is the ocean, caterpillar?" my grandmother, my abuela asked me in a rather peculiar tone. I hopped over to my window sill and naively gazed at the grand body of liquid, not knowing the intense mystery and fear it would hold for me in the future. "Blue!" I shouted back, in my nasally, squeamish voice which seemed to echo throughout the delicate room that I shared with my abuela. She gave me a modest grin, which seemed rather forced. "Is it not blue?" I asked her curiously. Abuela signaled me to hop back over and rest my head on her shoulder. I did without question. I knew this meant it was time for abuela to read me one of her enchanting stories from her libro mágico or tell me of her adventures during her childhood in the jungles of Guatemala.
I liked to look at abuela any chance I could get, She did not have wavy wrinkles like my best friend, Delfina's grandmother. Rather she had deep laugh lines around her mouth and small markings on the sides of her eyelids that resembled arrows shooting up into the sky. She explained how her eye wrinkles had formed so vividly, from when she was growing up in Santa Elena, she developed an eye twitch that plagued her throughout her adolescent years, and that constant movement of her eyes caused the tiny arrow markings to form. This story brought laughter to three generations of our relatives and close-knit friends, and abuela loved to put a smile on everyone's face, even at her own expense every now and then. Her features were dark like fresh honey and her almond eyes fascinated me so much so, that sometimes I would force her not to blink so I could study the unusual blue lining that enclosed her dark brown pupils.
I loved to smell her strange aroma of coconut oil and lavender milk, like the kind she would massage into my scalp and bathe me with in the porcelian tub in the backyard. Abuela had a fragile bump on her shoulders from a loose bone, which caused an indentation, almost making her shoulders resemble crescent moons. I nudged the side of my head right between the arch and rubbed my gentle skin against hers. "Por las vides de los árboles del bosque, y de la melodía del pájaro de la canción, había un río secreto de lágrimas, y vivió en ello a una sirena con la ciruela coloró pelo y pela piel transparente". Abuela closed her eyes and recited this in an animated, colorful tone of voice that only she possessed.
My Spanish was still developing and I understood a bit, but never the less, I recited her words in English from memory, which was sharper than the elephants of India, as papa would say:"Through the vines of the forest trees, and the melody of the song bird, there was a secret river of tears, and in it lived a mermaid with plum colored hair and transparent skin". Abuela grinned at me again, but this time, her crooked teeth showed their odd beauty and she ran her hand smoothly against my face, I adored that. "¡Cuán encantador, Caterpiller! How lovely you speak and understand!" she praised my minimum efforts, in an attempt to encourage me to stay true to my heritage, and continue watching and learning. I tried to hold in my laughter but I succumbed. I was never a good liar. "Abuela...I memorized the story from the last time you read it to me in english!" Abuela scowled at me and jokingly pulled my ear.
We quieted down when the setting fiery sun and tropical horizon poured in through the terrace door and filled the room with an airy, bright aura. I felt like I was inside of a faerie's wings, and abuela yawned for the warm glow seeped into her eyes. "Mi nieta, maybe I will rest my eyes for a bit. Why dont you go check up on mama, or collect sand dollars by the shore?" I gently kissed abuela on her fragile forehead and thinning head of silver locks, leaving the curtains open so that the radiant rays could surround her as she drifted off. As I skipped and counted down the perfectly alligned marble steps leading to front gardens in which mama was watering her wildflowers, I wondered what the color of the ocean really was, that I could not answer to abuela who seemed to want to tell me with her eyes, to look beneath the surface for miles and miles.
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