Mujer gitana, 1920
Fuente: https://www.wikiart.org/
It’s my favorite song by the composer and singer Willie Colón, who passed away on February 21st. Rest in peace, maestro, and thank you for your spectacular musical legacy.
That day, to honor the musician who made me, and will continue to make me, dance salsa and other Caribbean rhythms until the end of time, I poured myself a glass of wine and played his song, Gitana, at full volume.
I closed my eyes and was transported.
Por si un… día me muero….
Its rhythm, lilting and divine, possessed me.
Y tú…lees este papel….
I let myself be carried away by my invisible but very present partner, my very British husband, the one who will greet me in heaven one day, dancing like a professional—we’ve got it arranged. He used to say that we Latinas have “extra joints.”
Sin mirarte yo te miro
Sin sentirte yo te siento
Sin hablarte yo te hablo
Sin quererte yo te quiero…
The song ended, I opened my eyes smiling and looked at some passersby outside my window who were watching me with amusement.
I greeted them, without any shame, rather with a certain pride, and sat down to finish my wine, and this reflection as well.
Music has the power to unleash hidden demons within me.
It’s an overwhelming sensation, a melodic torrent that moves every muscle in my body and invites me to dance, dance, dance…
It doesn’t matter where I am, in the car, walking with my headphones in the park, in a public space.
I’m not afraid that they’ll laugh at me or say I’m a ridiculous old woman.
Dancing to “Gitana,” there in front of the captive audience at my window, was an epiphany.
I realized that dance, in any of its genres—salsa, merengue, tango, bachata—is an allegory of that word that sometimes eludes us: freedom.
Gitana, gitana
Gitana, gitana
Tu pelo, tu pelo
Tu cara tu cara…
And freedom is precisely that:
Not being afraid!
Rest in peace, maestro.
I leave you with another musical gift, “Gitana” by Willie Colón.
