adolescence came like the hurricanes in the Caribbean, a little bit out of
context since we were in the south of everything.
romance with life collapsed, and that little blonde who played in the sidewalks
of the neighborhood in Flores transformed into the classic rebel of the times.
Crisis with traditional education, crisis with the values that I had received
and with the prefixed destiny of an upper-class bourgeoise girl. Change of skin,
change of look, like every adolescent, change of ways and directions.
16, I published by first book of poems, "Time to Love", a collection
of nihilist poems that I still like.
took James Dean off my bedroom walls and Beckett, Che, Simone de Beauvoir,
Borges and Cortázar came in. I felt that my destiny was to become a writer, I used to look
at myself in the adolescent mirror with an angry gesture and John Lennon full
blast in my Winco disturbing my family's sleep.
wanted to be different, conventional women were a bore and foreseeable
destinies, a punishment from the divine. During
that time, I used to visit cemeteries to take a dark stroll over the nonsense of
Humanity. I studied literature at the university, and I would spend the
afternoons with my idols at the Di Tella Institute. I wanted to change the
world, write in the bars of Corrientes street, go to the Lorraine movie theatre.
Consumed and underlined books: the typical childish dogmatism of an adolescent,
and then, the attraction for the basements where I placed my definite passion:
the theater. The bigger the basement, the more intense seemed the world to me.
Or, better yet, that kind of underworld made me want to have dark circles
under my eyes, or become addicted to some hard drug: but I could not do it. My
addiction was and still is writing, drawing, and reading. I used to hate this
health that I grateful for today.