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Like Water for Chocolate

Mexico

I just finished Like Water for Chocolate (Laura Esquivel) and realised something. Something I couldn’t put my finger on before but felt it all along.

Not experiencing love in Mexico is a sacrilege. Because passion is everywhere here. The food is made with passion, the heat, the sun, the sea, the smells even the bad ones are extremely raw, untamed, blunt. They don’t ask permission to be beautiful or plain disconcerting.

Couples kiss and fade at every corner. Young hearts pour through revealing eyes, the breeze embraces colourful dresses and freshly shaved beards into perfect motion. Spanish songs travel with feelings through each open window together with children laughing and screaming, dogs barking. Deviant roosters patrol courtyards and early morning casuals.

Constant noise, constant emotion, constant warmth from the earth, the sky, the two hands holding yours. Everything is a swirl of gasping for air and holding your breath again.

Things crack, people leave, food rottens, the house is silent at night, the body twists and turns in wet sheets, smell of wood and lemonade, cocoa beans. You, her, strangers running down the streets, dream catchers singing on the 5th… It’s all ravishing broken poetry.

Like water for chocolate so Mexico for the heart.

Like Water for Chocolate

Mexico

I just finished Like Water for Chocolate (Laura Esquivel) and realised something. Something I couldn’t put my finger on before but felt it all along.

Not experiencing love in Mexico is a sacrilege. Because passion is everywhere here. The food is made with passion, the heat, the sun, the sea, the smells even the bad ones are extremely raw, untamed, blunt. They don’t ask permission to be beautiful or plain disconcerting.

Couples kiss and fade at every corner. Young hearts pour through revealing eyes, the breeze embraces colourful dresses and freshly shaved beards into perfect motion. Spanish songs travel with feelings through each open window together with children laughing and screaming, dogs barking. Deviant roosters patrol courtyards and early morning casuals.

Constant noise, constant emotion, constant warmth from the earth, the sky, the two hands holding yours. Everything is a swirl of gasping for air and holding your breath again.

Things crack, people leave, food rottens, the house is silent at night, the body twists and turns in wet sheets, smell of wood and lemonade, cocoa beans. You, her, strangers running down the streets, dream catchers singing on the 5th… It’s all ravishing broken poetry.

Like water for chocolate so Mexico for the heart.

Georgiana Bularca

Georgiana Bularca

I passionately like and dislike all opposite things at the same time.

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