From my Luis Miguel pin to my grandmother

It was a rounded piece of metal, small and colourful. Only a name and a face, a treasured accesory fo my clothes and a treasured object to me, tough a funny thing to the rest of the people. For them, it was an object which use was simply to make fun of me every time they could. Except for school and birthdays parties, I wore it constantly. It had a very sharp end and I had bleeding fingers every time I put it on my T-shirt but I could not see well under my chin. As the pin brought a safety pin beneath it I knew I would never lose it and that it would be fastened to me for ever. Every time I had to fasten something, I used my Luis Miguel pin. Just as my grandma fixed everything with a safety pin. She was a tailor, and still is in her mind. Her fingers gently touched us when she was trying out clothes on us, and every outfit was finished when she put the safety pin on. It was her seal, her personal mark. She loved making clothes for us, she would tell us we were her models to dress and we let her dream, of course we did! We played with her needles and pins, but not with the safety pins. Those were hers and hers only to play, dream and love. Now, my grandma has Alzheimer desease and lives in a home, and her bones are growing smaller and twisted. She does not see her grand-daughter in me, but if I show her a safety pin, she wants to put it on me and pretend that she is a tailor dressing a model.