Patricia Fernandez-Kelly

I like the sound of the word but disapprove of the idea. Euphonically, the term evokes wide valleys meshing plains of green and yellow spots, all covered by dew as if behind a veil. Nostalgia brings to mind my first reading of Proust's "A La Recherche du Temps Perdu" and the madeleines that a young friend used to neatly pack in a box as a reverent gift when I was a girl growing up in Mexico City. Yes, nostalgia is a melodious little thing, an auditory truffle, but as a notion, it strikes me as self-indulgent, a way to romanticize the past while remaining blind to the present.

I am grateful for things that have been, but I do not yearn for them. I recall with pleasure the sight of my mother baking fine art in a tiny kitchen and that of my father pointing to a picture of a sculpture by Bernini. Yet it is the present that interests me - warts and all, it is the present that holds new adventure and hope.