Everything you can imagine is real – Picasso
In One Hundred Years of Solitude, Marquez weaves a tale of fantasy hitherto unknown in the literary world. His story about the microcosm of Macondo is so poignant that it evoked a new literary genre. Discerning critics, at first overwhelmed, eventually offered a new appellation – magic realism.
As if inspired by the christening, Marquez conjured a realm of make believe. His yarns, taut as tightropes, bridged the chasm between reality and imagination. Blessed with neither the eloquence of Marquez, nor the finesse of critics, I can barely express in words what I feel as I bid goodbye to the microcosm that is Herzo.
Long journeys, they say, have small beginnings. The same is never said of endings though. On the contrary, the last mile in a marathon is always the most difficult. One needs to harness every bit of energy and enthusiasm to take the opus to completion. Or perhaps, the sheer necessity of letting go, weighs heavily on the mind. That maybe why some runners tend to stop and look back; at the miles they have already covered.
Your exhortations over the years could never get me running in Berlin; along the Unter den Linden, through the Brandenburg Tor. Nevertheless, I rejoiced in your successes. Your accolades were my inspiration. All of us are pacesetters; in our own different ways. And as I now complete the last mile, I realize that it is time to let go of what has become a part of my life – life in Herzo.
In his last line, Marquez reminisces about not getting a second chance on earth. But then, surrounded by so many friends and well wishers, life here has been exactly the antithesis of One Hundred Years of Solitude.
I thank all of you for your help, friendship and support and cherish the years I spent here. I hope to be back some day. A return to Herzo would be like the joy of coming home. A return to Herzo would be what fantasies are made of. It would be magic realism.
