Our house is our first universe. Within the house you walk your first distances.
The distance from the kitchen on the second floor to the closet on the first floor at the end of the long corridor, always so dark before turning the light on and after turning it off. The distance from the room on the second floor where I write 'no more', to the kitchen on the first floor where my mom is. The distance from my room to my parents bedroom. The distance between the bathtub where I am and the toilet where my mom is talking to me.
The House at Calle Caballerias
# 37 2-izq.
The rooms are big and the ceilings are tall. When you walk around the rooms and through the corridors you can see your breath. The walls are cold and the air is still as if it was frozen. I like to go around and look in the rooms and open the closets and look at things. However I cannot stay there for very long because my hands and feet get very cold. So I go back to the heart of the house, where it smells like food:the kitchen, where it is so warm and I get so close to the gas stove that it almost hurts, but still feels good. This room is bright, it is not dark like the corridors, and I can see the old plaza with the church through the balcony.
This is one of my first memories from my childhood that I consider to be sublime, and I believe this was because of the cold. The extreme sense of solitude and the overpowering feeling of coldness is so much stranger inside a house than outside; It is an interior landscape.