Sounds , like aromas, have the almost magical quality of transporting us to other times instantly. Without waiting for it, they generate an express memory that comes accompanied by sensations, stories and places.
For those who grew up in a neighborhood , the repertoire of sounds that conviculize us to other times is quite wide. A very clear one, for example, is that of the knife sharpener and its very characteristic whistle. However, it is quite complicated to associate endearing childhood memories with a knife. Instead, the picture is another when the sound has to do with a truck full of pochoclos and cotton sugar.
A few moments were as exciting as when we heard that the pochoclero was approaching our house, because we had to act fast: the truck wasn't going to be parked on our block forever. “Give it, give me, buy me, buy me,” and a father or mother without wanting to create unnecessary conflicts would get us the money to run to buy.
For some reason, I almost always chose apple with a pot . If I think about it today, I don't really understand why: it was sticky, hard to eat, and once it was done with the outside, it was just one more apple, but having it in my hands was quite a triumph: mission accomplished.
Licenciada en Comunicación Social y correctora. Nacida y criada en el oeste del conurbano bonaerense. Sagitariana, vegetariana, crossfitera y viajera. Estoy convencida de que, con las palabras, podemos hacer magia. Pasen y lean.