I have a lousy memory. It is so bad that I have been to the doctor to be examined, as I believe there is something wrong with my head. Luckily, there’s nothing; stress, they say. I’m still afraid because, sometimes, I’m driving and I forget where I’m going. My memory is so bad that, when people ask me to write an anecdote from the Valdivia Festival, I become paralyzed, because I cannot manage to remember any clearly.
Images come to mind: a van from the airport, the greenery on the side of the road, and my happy heart (is that the first time I visited?); a small boat with many guests, setting off in the night – there’s not too much light, and the boat glides through the water, with people who love the same thing I do; a pitch for Joven y Alocada, my debut feature – the nerves making a ball in my stomach, and later, kind, warm and encouraging words for my project, which put me at ease; the beautiful view of the river from the hotel where I’m staying; nighttime conversations with filmmakers, with friends from different places, where everyone is happy; a line for Princesita – it is so long that some people cannot make it into the show, and I’m recording it, because the line stretches far off into the distance, and I cannot believe it, and it makes me very happy; the look of pride from my ex’s child, whom I consider my son, when he looks at me presenting the film, and they take a picture of all of us. I think that is, by far, my fondest memory.
I don’t have a precise anecdote. I think I’m incapable of having one, but I do have many moments I treasure in my heart. That is Valdivia for me: beautiful moments shared with dear people that love cinema.