Hoarder of Words



When I was around
four or five years old
I grew this sensation
with my dad’s paper scraps
that he would toss away,
old receipts or invoices
from work. I grabbed a
big plastic bag and pretended
it was a fancy briefcase. I would
take that plastic bag everywhere,
drag it through the entire house
and pretend I had top-secret
important documents in my
posession. Truthfully I just
wanted to be like my dad, I would
mimic him writing, even though
I did not know how to yet and
I would feel so important. I would
steal my dad’s pens because I
thought they were special and magical.
And so from an early age I fancied writing
not knowing that twenty years later
not much would change. The term “cachurera”
in Chile means hoarder; I was and continue
to be a hoarder of words, quotes and
books and there is nothing wrong
with that.



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