Learning to walk

Abstract

And it is true: how could I not be grateful to the theater and the theater community for giving me a space, a word, a greeting, and allowing me to embark on this journey of educating my perception—a journey that began when Dr. Jaime Buenaventura invited me to see "a play" (little did I know that theater even existed!). He told me, "You have to arrive early because that group is the best in Colombia and the house fills up." And arrive early I did—truly early; so early that when I stood before the entrance to the TEC, I was the first one there. Looking into the courtyard, I remember—as if it were today—a working atmosphere that instantly intoxicated me with wonder, curiosity, and delight: objects being moved, shoes being polished, clothes being ironed. Those theater people had—I don't know—something about the way they walked, looked, and spoke that wasn't ordinary, or so I thought. Then the play began, the magic appeared, the songs exposed and engaged you, and amidst the audience's raucous laughter and applause, I said to myself, "This is what I want to do." But how? A week later, I thanked the doctor for the invitation and asked how one goes about doing what they did—whether there was a place in Cali to train, and, above all, whether I—at twenty-two years old—could start doing it, could embrace the identity of a theater person.