I scan the text that gets under my skin. I answer the phone reluctantly.

– Do you teach writing?

– Hello, I’m Mónica Varea, I answer unconvinced.

The Merengue Doctor who lives in me wants to say, “You must have been taught to write by ‘seño’ in the first grade.” (Millennials, Google The other me of Doctor Merengue). But I keep quiet and try to sound polite.

I return to the text that makes me laugh and cry in equal measure. I don’t think I have anything to teach. All I do is motivate you to read, to rediscover your story, your voice. Their authentic voice, from where they can write, talk, let go.

The text I am viewing is An unusual life, by Mónica Maruri Castillo. With a courage that ignores the risk, she invites us to enter her house in Dolores Sucre 111 and tour not only the checkered floor, the garden with the pool, the roof from which we look or the room without tiles, but also her life: unusual, sonorous, intense.

Call in secret

Silvia Kohan says: …every house speaks for us, moves us in time and space, offers us lights and shadows, corners, hiding places, parties, duels, which are important to recover in autofiction. And this is what Maruri does, narrating his life from his home in Guayaquil in the Centenario district, in the south of the city; the house that his father built for five children, where nine arrived. Laughter, tears, dreams and adventures are woven together with the grace and simplicity that comes with intelligence.

There were possums in the yard. One day our cat, Miss Mollison, gave birth to several beautiful kittens. We took great care of the little ones in the house, we were very excited. They have already grown a little, so they were playing in the yard. When we were careless, Ricky saw a possum carry off a kitten.

Showing his house, his family, his life, he also shows his city, society, history. Mónica pays tribute to her native Guayaquil, its streets, bazaars and soda fountains. Love for his country is in his memory, in love for his people, in the rhythm of his words: The school was at the other end of the city, in northern Urdesa. The van journey was long. Sometimes he went in Cuquina’s mother’s car, and sometimes in Ana Tola de Zambrano’s car. I have a beautiful picture of her walking down my path holding her dad’s hand, marching and singing: ‘Ana Tola de Zambrano, Ana Tola demorona’.

Fascinating world of reading

The strong figure of his parents, Raúl Maruri and Teresa Castillo (Ardillita), is obvious. I inherited the love of reading from both of them, and the Esperancite complex from my mother, how I love to clean and arrange the house!… My best friend says that I am identical to my father: crazy, idealistic, passionate, intolerant, always in search of truth and light.

I edited proudly An unusual lifeOn October 21, it will be presented as a dedication to strict honesty: I think that’s how many things were in my life: I taught myself to be and to do. Because nobody wanted to teach me and I had to pretend to be self-sufficient. Pretend — that’s the word — pretend you’re not afraid, pretend you can handle everything. (OR)