Everything began in El Espinal, Tolima, 30 years ago, when I was only 7 years old.
At the time, my biggest concerns were memorizing multiplication tables… or understanding the biology of mammals, reptiles, amphibians, fish, and birds.

Everything changed when my dad returned from Aguachica, Cesar, where he grew cotton. That night, the smell of guava and banana coming from the car made everything feel different. In my innocence, I didn’t understand why my dad—and everything he brought—smelled that way…

Seconds later, the mystery was revealed: he pulled a box out of the car, wrapped in a red and blue checkered blanket. I stood on my toes to see better; I only understood what it was when he placed it on the floor, removed the blanket, and revealed a little being I couldn’t identify. At first glance, it wasn’t cute: fragile, tiny, featherless… but I saw its tiny beak.

—What is that, dad?
—A parrot —he said.
—What’s its name?
—Maruja!
—Maruja, like Tola and Maruja… the ones on TV?
—Yes!

From that moment on, I renamed her Marujita.

As days went by—and after learning how to care for her, feed her, and teach her to talk—her green, fluffy feathers appeared, along with a bright yellow crest, red “shoulders,” and vibrant orange eyes whose pupils would grow when she was excited. She was the most beautiful bird I had ever seen… nothing like the illustrations in my biology books or the cards from the Jet chocolate albums.

Maruja was supposed to be the family pet, also for my brother, but from the very first moment, it was Maruja and me…

Maruja and I riding bikes around the neighborhood…
Maruja and I going to the store to buy a liter of Coke for lunch…
Maruja and I napping with the fan in our faces every afternoon…
Maruja and I in every birthday photo and my First Communion…
Maruja and I discovering her favorite fruits (all the ones with seeds!)…
Maruja and I sharing our love for chocolate with bread…
Maruja and I repeating a word a thousand times until she learned it…
Maruja and I at Christmas, opening her gift: a little fruit basket…
Maruja and I in the yard, with the spray bottle, as she spread her wings under the sun.

I could go on: she stopped being “my pet” and became my friend… a little person with a beak, feathers, and tiny claws. For nearly 15 years, she taught me how to love without shame, how to care without expecting anything in return, how to stop fearing affection. With her, I discovered love.

So far, it sounds like a Disney movie… but real life isn’t. I understood that the day I lost Maruja: I learned what grief was, and that painful thought was born… “It’s better not to love than to suffer the loss.”

I was living in Bogotá, studying advertising. I would travel to see her, and sometimes my parents brought her to me in a padded box.

One evening, at seven, mom called: thieves had broken into the house… and among everything, they took Maruja. Dad explained they might ask for a ransom. I felt rage mixed with hope.

We ran ads on the radio—my aunt Fidelina is a journalist—offered a reward, showed her photo on TV, explained what fruits to feed her… silence.

Months later, someone told my mom:
—Stop looking. The parrot is dead.
She had died of asphyxiation inside a dress the thief had used to silence her.

Hope turned into guilt:
This wouldn’t have happened if I hadn’t left… if I had taken her with me… if she had been in the jungle…

I discovered the root of it all: birds must be where they belong. Nothing would have happened if Maruja had never been taken from her habitat. Today, all that remains is her memory.

That was my first love. Now Maruja and I live in my dreams: I bathe her, feed her fruit, and scratch her little head…

PS: Finding your foundation moved me. I want to support you and, as a publicist, offer my help… maybe that way I can ease the guilt over what happened to Maruja.

Sincerely,