A concurrent passenger


The 20th century has had great artists, many unknown... even for themselves. My aunt, restless traveler, capable of afixing her roots in no time, adventured wide.

We enjoyed welcoming her trunks and packages full of coats that, in the heat of Santiago, nobody could ever use. The whole family loved to swim between seas of indescribable objects and books about literature, religion, mythology and some, like Simone de Beauvoir's Third Sex, might have been repeated twice.

"As they are packed, I can't recall which I already have so sometimes I end up buying them again" said my aunt, as she organized a tower of repeated novels.

Her boxes were a symbol of human nature: our dearest treasures, shared moments and fleeting encounters. Ways that embarked closer or sailed you away from your dreams; paths that uncomfortable and stacked, held on each other.

She transformed boredom into enthusiasm for an unopened Pandora box that held within, untraveled journals, and roads and texts that can be walked and read over and over. My aunt brought us simple miracles, almost imperceptible, like just being there when somebody needed you.