I’ve been told that my writing in Spanish is quite dark as if the obscurity that imprisons my soul could not help but present itself as it is. As if the monsters I carefully guard show their real faces in Spanish.
In my experience, Spanish has dark corners which not even the strongest of lights can penetrate. The words of love and passion threaten to warm the coldest of hearts, and the infamous ones to break the strongest soul. And I love it. I love its sharp dagger, nuances, and complexity.
But in English, somehow, I write sweetly or so I’ve been told. And although I can’t really find the reason, I think that maybe its logic structure keeps at bay my passionate nature clearing the uncertainty of my words.
Or maybe, it is not a matter of languages. Perhaps the real reason is just that I just can not hide my true self. No matter how hard I try.