The night at Can Trincheria gave me a lot of energy. The fact of communicating, or feeling that we communicate something, is almost prodigious. An unpublished event. Not only because it happens in the midst of cultural and linguistic distances, but because each woman is an incarnated story. In addition, these days are complicated: there is a conflict, a need for recognition and, in spite of this, many people attended to stop to listen to another woman, who writes and wanted to talk about her own experience.

Among diverse audience, women and men of different ages, I felt that when we touch inner fibers, it happens. Maybe it’s an impression, I do not know, but this has been my view. Finding yourself with a look that recognizes yours, a gesture of relief, a slight exclamation of well-being. Alterity. Today I have been to the Marian Vayreda library looking for books by Mercè Rodoreda and Caterina Albert, to know more about this place, their language, the lives of their people, but I did not know how to find it translated, so it is pending. I bought a Rodoreda novel.

The little information I had before coming here has been populated with faces, images, voices. Now I will go back at home with my suitcase full of impressions from this audience that made me know that they were interested in what a Peruvian woman writer wrote and faced her fate as a woman. And that makes me happy.