Natalia Rabaneda

Three women from different generations have lost a loved one to suicide. After the mourning and sorrow, they gradually manage to overcome their trauma.

The memory I describe is not real, but it is sincere. I don't even remember my father's voice, much less what his words sounded like. This immense forgetfulness holds many memories. Memories that are fractured, altered, and distorted. How many times have I dreamed of you, how many times have I tried to create the father who existed but whom I never knew...

Three women from different generations have lost a loved one to suicide. After the mourning and sorrow, they gradually manage to overcome their trauma.

The memory I describe is not real, but it is sincere. I don't even remember my father's voice, much less what his words sounded like. This immense forgetfulness holds many memories. Memories that are fractured, altered, and distorted. How many times have I dreamed of you, how many times have I tried to create the father who existed but whom I never knew...