Some time ago, I read Papyrus: The Invention of Books in the Ancient World by Spanish author Irene Vallejo. I read it in Spanish under its original title, El infinito en un junco, which translates to The Infinity on a Reed. It’s fascinating how the meaning of a title can shift between languages, as translations often prioritize capturing the essence of an idea.
This book explores the history of books, and one of the most remarkable things I learned is that in the beginning, there were no books — only storytellers. With each retelling, they would adapt details to captivate their audience, giving the stories a distinct musicality and rhythm. That dynamic nature shifted when stories were engraved onto stone and later printed on paper. Yet, it all seems to circle back to the oral tradition, as demonstrated in 2016, when musician Bob Dylan was awarded the Nobel Prize in Literature, bridging the gap between spoken word and written legacy.
Later, I read Panza de burro a book by Andrea Abreu, a young author from the Canary Islands, and was captivated by her ability to immerse readers in the musicality of northern Tenerife. Through her writing style — the deliberate use of commas, periods, and words transcribed phonetically — she masterfully captures the cadence and rhythm of the region’s unique way of speaking.
I began reflecting on how we, as border natives, sound. What is our cadence? As native Spanish speakers, many of us learn English out of necessity — often for work — and navigating this linguistic journey involves finding our rhythm in a different language. How do we translate our feelings across tongues? Sometimes, one language isn’t enough, and that’s the magic of the surreal realm we inhabit. Reading authors like Norma Elia Cantú, particularly her book Meditación fronteriza, helps me articulate this experience.
There’s a yogic concept called NAAD: the sacred sound, and how it impacts our bodies beyond what words can express. I learned that sound has a vibration that resonates in our bodies, our blood, and cells. It makes complete sense to me why the storytellers changed their tales as they intuited the audience before whom were performing.
How lucky we are as border natives, to choose the language in which we want to speak out ourselves.
