Donde Wenling

Someone from the other side of the planet decides to come live in your country. That I choose you as a neighbor. That she wants her children to grow up in your language so that they love what you love. And that someone who works in a hairdressing salon twelve hours a day, six days a week bent over your feet, your hands and your hair, has the generosity to explain to you what their world is like. There's a lot of Wenling's China in here. Much of the Zhejiang province where one day came ten years ago. But in this house of manicures, cuts and perms, there are also perfumes from other places. And retired from the Barcelona neighborhood of Gràcia, stubborn young women, a pregnant woman in love, tears from the Vietnam War, French cosmetic products, injustices forged in America and well-embedded racism. That is why they call it the Wenling House: because the modesty of the outside hides a true reserve of humanity, a catalyst that triggers confidences, unearths tragedies and makes people laugh. A center of exchange of affections that is as necessary in the neighborhood as the ambulatory, the school or the market. A story of friendship and solidarity between women as has never been told in our literature.