Original subtitles

You know Delia,

you can always work at my sister's.

No, thanks, I can't stand Mrs. Beatriz.

Tell her to call me if she ever needs help, but I'd rather not sleep at her house.

I'm gonna take some time off to have surgery.

Your mother always told me not to.

She used to say she never had surgery in 88 years.

'Why have surgery when you are so young?'

This is for June.

And here there's two more pay-checks.

Thanks.

The day my grandmother died I decided to break up with Magda.

It was a delicate situation, I didn't want to break her heart.

Fede, it's ok but this is over, isn't it?

What?

We're not going anywhere, let's be friends, why strive if it isn't working.

We can still see each other, hang out and stuff.

Wait.

All's fine between us and that's what matters.

The day after, at therapy, I talked about what happened.

How could she do that when my grandmother just died?

Couldn't she wait at least a few days?

My brother called me that night to congratulate me

for finally breaking up with Marga.

How did you find out?

Pedro told me his brother has a date with her next Saturday.

- Who's Pedro? - A choir mate.

His brother is an older guy, divorced but very rich.

- Divorced? - I don't know his name.

That Tuesday I had therapy again.

I spent the time of the session thinking.

After exactly fifty minutes I felt the urge to look at the front door of the building.

You've misled me.

I skipped therapy, I need to talk to you.

Last Tuesday, after my session with Perla,

I accidentally crashed her car. It was parked right behind mine.

It may have to do with the issues you discussed that day.

If I go back

I'd have to confess to her what happened and we'd end up talking only about it.

Maybe.

You don't do therapy to talk about your relationship with your therapist.

Why are you telling me this?

You know her, you know how she thinks.

It's unethical not to tell her.

You're right.

Besides, you put me in a very difficult position.

Now I have to let her know.

No! This is between you and me.

I don't know you. Between my therapist

and a stranger I choose my therapist.

You'd do the same.

My session is about to start.

Maybe it wasn't Perla's car, I'm not a hundred percent sure…

The situation depressed me.

I stayed home and stopped answering the phone. I only went out to work.

On Saturday evening my father and my brother came to visit me.

Why don't you answer the phone?

Can we come in?

That evening Ulises took me to a club to take me out of my depression.

I have to eat something right now.

Marijuana makes me hungry.

Ok.

Where's the kitchen?

I have empanadas.

What kind?

Chicken, I think. I always get chicken.

I'm a vegetarian.

I didn't know. Maybe there's something in the freezer.

It's our lucky day, I have these knishes from my grandma.

I may have frozen them and forgot they were there.

They are potato and onion. There's definitely no meat.

Mmm, they're delicious.

It's the last thing I have from my grandma.

She was a great cook. You're lucky to taste her food.

She died two months ago.

She cooked this and now she's dead?

Please forgive me, but this is gross.

Wait!

After that night I fell into a second pit of depression.

For several weeks I didn't do anything but watch TV and smoke marijuana.

Until Ulises made me audition at his choir.

We have to change the subject.

The theory that depression must be treated with meds

doesn't make any sense.

If you always attack your enemy with the same weapons

it'll learn eventually to neutralize them.

Depression must be distracted.

That's Pedro.

Who's Pedro?

Manuel's brother.

The divorced guy who's going out with Magda.

I can't read music.

First just listen.

My mood wasn't changing. Ulises talked me into having

eye surgery for my myopia.

Without glasses you'll look like somebody else.

Why would I want to look like somebody else?

I didn't like what I saw. I looked like somebody else.

Time went by and Ulises's method was still not working.

I took my glasses to an optician

to change them for non-prescription ones.

You are saying that you stopped coming here, because you crashed my car

and didn't want our sessions to become a conversation about

the relationship between you and me.

It's what I just told you.

But the conversation we can have here is up to you.

Isn't that clear to you?

What do you think?

I know we've met but I'm not sure where.

Oh, yes. But I think I don't know your name.

Federico, people call me Fede.

I'm Shakti.

I have no memory of that night.

We smoked marijuana.

I don't remember anything when I smoke.

We never saw each other again.

You're right.

Are you free next Sunday?

Shakti invited me to a festival in a Hare Krishna temple.

I'm going to the men's room.

Did they want to recruit me?

I wasn't sure.

The following week was Passover.

I called Shakti, apologized, and asked her to come celebrate with my family.

We've always met at my grandma's.

This year dinner was at my aunt Beatriz's.

Shakti was a little nervous. She'd never seen a Jewish family before.

We smoked marijuana in the car to loosen her up.

Please forgive me if we don't strictly follow the rules of Seder.

Fede told me you don't eat meat.

Let me show you the vegetarian dishes.

Couscous.

Waldorf salad.

Pierogis.

Matzah balls.

Israeli salad.

Baba ghanoush.

Hummus.

Zucchini with ricotta.

Laktes.

Potato knishes.

The image of the plate of knishes, was a contradictory one.

It reminded me of my grandmother, but they were not her knishes.

I'd never tasted knishes like hers anywhere in the world.

Neither at the Brodsky's, at the Rubinstein's, or at the Ciervo de Oro deli.

My grandma's knishes were unique.

This is like what you gave me in your house.

It's the same meal but it's not quite the same.

Now I remember everything. Potato 'krishnas', they were frozen,

your grandma made them when she was still alive.

Those were the last ones left.

They are like grandma's. Just the same.

Who made these knishes?

Delia did, at home. She came by bus with three trays.

I picked her up at the station.

It turned out that in the kitchen of my aunt Beatriz was Delia,

the woman who worked for my grandma ever since I was a kid.

Mrs. Sophia stopped cooking more than ten years ago.

She kept losing eyesight, but didn't want to change her glasses.

She taught me how to make all the meals.

At first she guided me through

but lately she didn't even go into the kitchen.

She was almost blind.

We took my brother Ulises to a friend's house.

Afterwards we dropped Delia off at the bus stop.

Shakti and I kept driving.

I didn't ask her what she wanted to do and she didn't ask me to take her home.

I thought I'd keep driving until one of us made the first move.