I remember: Ezio Neyra
Thinking of Joe Brainard's "I remember" [whose model was followed by Georges Perec and so many others], we asked Peruvian writer Ezio Neyra to share with us some of his memories. This is what he sent us.
I remember the motion sickness pills that my mom gave my sister and me before heading out on our twelve-hour car trips, sometimes longer, to Arequipa. We always stopped at the same restaurant in Nazca and, hours later, stopped again in Chala to eat something else.
I remember the color of things. That pill was orange.
I remember the trip to Arequipa. I took it so many times that I once drew a map which included all the road’s turns and tunnels. Of course I made several mistakes.
I remember the music my parents listened to in their cars. When they were alone, they would each listen to the same radio station all the time. When they were together in the same car, they would tune in to a different radio station, and that one was always the same.
I remember that for one or two weeks, one of my uncles kept a motorcycle (covered in dirt and mud) in a study we had near the garden. He had just used it to compete in the Caminos del Inca. Right between the handlebars, protected by a transparent cover, there was an excellently designed route map. The map, like a rolled-up papyrus, could be extended downwards using a knob located on the right side.
I remember the sound of the ocean filling up the rooms of my grandparents’ beach house.
I remember that one day my dad brought back from a trip to the jungle, as a gift, a monkey and a turtle. We put the turtle in the garden, which was very big and had beautiful rose bushes, but it soon disappeared inside the study. We realized this because his shit produced a very heavy smell. I don’t remember ever seeing it again. I really looked forward to counting the hexagons on its shell when I’d come back from school.
I remember the first time I saw snow.
I remember that one or two weeks after it arrived, my sister found the monkey dead, laying on a branch of one of the tallest trees in the garden. Trembling and with tears in her eyes, she told me she found him with his limbs covering its stomach. I guess it had been trying to take cover from the Lima winter. Neither my sister nor I have had monkeys again. We have gone to the jungle, though.
I remember that my sister does not like Asian movies. She’s never been able to explain why.
I remember the garden in my parents’ house. It was made up of a large patch of grass and, on its edges, different trees of many sizes. There were mostly rose bushes. I don’t know why I decided, on the Day of the Virgin, to give a dozen roses to my first grade teacher. Neither do I know why a Catholic school such as that one did not declare that day a holiday. Much less do I know why I associated that teacher with the Virgin Mary.
I remember the first time I fell while trying to find my way in the first snowfall in Providence during my first winter living there.
I remember my grandparents’ beach house. My grandparents’ house on my father’s side was three blocks away from the sea and in the liveliest zone of the beach area. Inside, there were always lots of people (my grandmother had seven children and more than twenty grandchildren) and food was the center of everything. For my grandmother, cooking seemed to require her wearing her most elegant clothes. Sometimes, especially on weekends, when we’d come back from the beach at lunch time, we’d find her wearing high heels and expensive jewelry while putting the finishing touches on the food. My grandparents on my mother’s side had a house which was on the first row from the sea, but in an area with few houses, only three. The rest of the beach area seemed to be too far away and I remember us having great barbecues in the stone terrace, cousins taking in the sun, the hours spent picking up clams from the shore, and I remember the times I walked back to the house in the darkness, while hearing the dogs’ furious barking.
I remember that, when I lived in Italy, my aunt Cornelia would bring me carrots, potatoes, and jam every day. One day she brought me a dog and asked me if I wanted to keep it.
I remember the view from the room I lived in on the island of Rhodes.
I remember the time I crashed my grandfather’s car in Italy. They had to sell it as scrap metal and my grandfather didn’t speak to me for weeks.
I remember I was about to buy a dog in Havana, a Vizsla. In the end it didn’t work out and I still haven’t gotten a dog. I wonder if I ever will.
I remember far fewer things than the ones I’ve forgotten.
Other entries:
Carolina Sanín
Andrés Felipe Solano
Carmen Boullosa
Sebastián Antezana
Martín Kohan
Sergio Chejfec
Margo Glantz
I remember the motion sickness pills that my mom gave my sister and me before heading out on our twelve-hour car trips, sometimes longer, to Arequipa. We always stopped at the same restaurant in Nazca and, hours later, stopped again in Chala to eat something else.
I remember the color of things. That pill was orange.
I remember the trip to Arequipa. I took it so many times that I once drew a map which included all the road’s turns and tunnels. Of course I made several mistakes.
I remember the music my parents listened to in their cars. When they were alone, they would each listen to the same radio station all the time. When they were together in the same car, they would tune in to a different radio station, and that one was always the same.
I remember that for one or two weeks, one of my uncles kept a motorcycle (covered in dirt and mud) in a study we had near the garden. He had just used it to compete in the Caminos del Inca. Right between the handlebars, protected by a transparent cover, there was an excellently designed route map. The map, like a rolled-up papyrus, could be extended downwards using a knob located on the right side.
I remember the sound of the ocean filling up the rooms of my grandparents’ beach house.
I remember that one day my dad brought back from a trip to the jungle, as a gift, a monkey and a turtle. We put the turtle in the garden, which was very big and had beautiful rose bushes, but it soon disappeared inside the study. We realized this because his shit produced a very heavy smell. I don’t remember ever seeing it again. I really looked forward to counting the hexagons on its shell when I’d come back from school.
I remember the first time I saw snow.
I remember that one or two weeks after it arrived, my sister found the monkey dead, laying on a branch of one of the tallest trees in the garden. Trembling and with tears in her eyes, she told me she found him with his limbs covering its stomach. I guess it had been trying to take cover from the Lima winter. Neither my sister nor I have had monkeys again. We have gone to the jungle, though.
I remember that my sister does not like Asian movies. She’s never been able to explain why.
I remember the garden in my parents’ house. It was made up of a large patch of grass and, on its edges, different trees of many sizes. There were mostly rose bushes. I don’t know why I decided, on the Day of the Virgin, to give a dozen roses to my first grade teacher. Neither do I know why a Catholic school such as that one did not declare that day a holiday. Much less do I know why I associated that teacher with the Virgin Mary.
I remember the first time I fell while trying to find my way in the first snowfall in Providence during my first winter living there.
I remember my grandparents’ beach house. My grandparents’ house on my father’s side was three blocks away from the sea and in the liveliest zone of the beach area. Inside, there were always lots of people (my grandmother had seven children and more than twenty grandchildren) and food was the center of everything. For my grandmother, cooking seemed to require her wearing her most elegant clothes. Sometimes, especially on weekends, when we’d come back from the beach at lunch time, we’d find her wearing high heels and expensive jewelry while putting the finishing touches on the food. My grandparents on my mother’s side had a house which was on the first row from the sea, but in an area with few houses, only three. The rest of the beach area seemed to be too far away and I remember us having great barbecues in the stone terrace, cousins taking in the sun, the hours spent picking up clams from the shore, and I remember the times I walked back to the house in the darkness, while hearing the dogs’ furious barking.
I remember that, when I lived in Italy, my aunt Cornelia would bring me carrots, potatoes, and jam every day. One day she brought me a dog and asked me if I wanted to keep it.
I remember the view from the room I lived in on the island of Rhodes.
I remember the time I crashed my grandfather’s car in Italy. They had to sell it as scrap metal and my grandfather didn’t speak to me for weeks.
I remember I was about to buy a dog in Havana, a Vizsla. In the end it didn’t work out and I still haven’t gotten a dog. I wonder if I ever will.
I remember far fewer things than the ones I’ve forgotten.
Other entries:
Carolina Sanín
Andrés Felipe Solano
Carmen Boullosa
Sebastián Antezana
Martín Kohan
Sergio Chejfec
Margo Glantz
