I remember the trips to the neighbourhood grocery store, in Sabadell, to return empty bottles.
I remember how daring my parents were, choosing the colours to decorate our apartment.
I remember spending long periods of time in the evenings watching the world go by from the balcony, waiting for my father’s car to arrive home.
I remember I could see the train tracks and wheat fields from my window. I felt like I lived at the edge of something, where something ended.
I remember running away from where the adults were, to play in field of wheat that was taller than I was.
I recall how my mother would constantly threaten us with her slippers.
I remember the cold war between my parents.
I remember the sadness of sunday afternoons.
I remember listening to millions of songs inside my head, and humming them in a made up language.
I remember how my childhood smelled like tangerines.
I remember kissing my mother through the metal fence of the nursery school.
I remember daydreaming I would arrive at school on a horse, leaving everyone speechless.
I remember the first girl I liked, how sweet she smelled.
I remember playing “Money for nothing” by Dire Straits over and over on the cassette player in my room, imagining I was playing a concert in an olympic stadium.
I remember playing boats or animals with my sister. Made up games that would let us escape.
I remember the smell of the wet countryside, walking with my father.
I remember how good it felt when my dad would ask me to go somewhere with him. We didn’t even need to talk.
I remember looking down from a fairground ride, and noticing my mother’s sadness and solitude, while she waited for us.
I remember being a very serious little boy.
I remember my first acting school. Nancy Tuñon was my home. There, all the dirt of my youth was turned into gold.
Acting saved my life.