Sometimes I have the feeling that I've been saying goodbye to my whole life, as if I was never in the place I should. Normally I think it's Galicia, because of what I was born there, and my parents live. What reduces my last vision of the homeland to the terminal of some sad grandparents, a cake stall in Santiago, a crockery of Sargadelos, and a check-in counter in which the flight attendant cries with her accent what she no longer knows how to cry Own. I thought this was solved by having a child , and

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