We Are a Storytelling People

We are the children of a town where fiction didn’t just live in the streets or in our grandparents’ stories, but also in communal libraries that closed at noon and where you could find everything except readers. We come from a town where going to the movies wasn’t just “to see each other in the dark,” but also to discover who was serious and who wasn’t.

We are from a town where, easily, through the music, we knew about others’ fights, our own, and those that would never be seen again. The town where melodies drifted through the windows, mixing with the morning breeze, only to hang suspended at dusk as the sky burst into stars, and there was no better sound than that of the path leading back home.

We are from a town that narrates itself in every one of its acts, where it’s hard to distinguish how much truth and how much “tall tale” a story holds. We were born of a town with open veins, emotional and passionate, full of incongruities and lacking in appearances. We were raised to see, to read, to listen to life as it came to us. We are from a town that has been narrated so much in so many ways that it no longer belongs to reality. We come from fiction, and if it has taught us anything