Why Catalan, Not Spanish?
The Place That Gave Birth to a Story
A Tale of Survival
Per què en català i no en castellà?
There are questions that follow a book long after it is written. Some are technical. Others are commercial. But a few go deeper—they touch something personal, something that cannot be measured by reach or numbers.
One of those questions, which I have heard many times, is simple:
Why Catalan… and not Spanish?
At first glance, the logic seems obvious. Spanish is spoken by millions more. It offers wider visibility, broader circulation, and greater commercial potential. And perhaps, one day, this book will exist in Spanish too.
But this story was never born out of strategy. It was born somewhere else entirely.
Where the Story Truly Began
This book did not begin in an office, nor as a plan to publish. It began in the quiet mountains of Catalonia, in the small villages of the Pallars Sobirà.
It began in conversations.
In pauses.
In moments of silence shared between people who were, at first, strangers.
Jordi and Marta—two voices that later became characters—were not just part of the narrative. They were part of the origin of the idea itself. Like many others in this region, they listened. They asked. They insisted.
At the time, writing felt distant. Writing requires a certain inner calm, and that was something I had not yet found. But the idea remained, like a small flame waiting for air.
And one day, it grew.
A Story Between Worlds
Un Relat de Supervivència is not simply a biography, nor purely fiction. It exists somewhere in between.
It is a human story shaped through dialogue—through conversations that move across places and experiences: from Syria, through Haiti, and into Catalonia. It reflects exile, survival, identity, and the slow reconstruction of meaning after loss.
The narrative blends memory with imagination, not to distort reality, but to reach it more deeply.
Through Jordi and Marta, the story takes form—not as a report, but as a lived experience. Their voices carry curiosity, doubt, warmth, and reflection. They are not just characters. In many ways, they represent the people of this land: open, attentive, and quietly generous.
And it is precisely because of them—and people like them—that this book exists today.
Why Catalan
So why Catalan?
Because this story belongs here.
The first spark of the book was not born in the language of global reach, but in the language of proximity. In the language spoken by the people who first encouraged it, who listened to it, who gave it space to exist.
Catalonia is not just a setting in this story—it is part of its foundation.
For someone coming from elsewhere, integration is not an easy process. It is not only about learning a language or adapting to a place. It is about feeling seen. About feeling that you are no longer outside.
And sometimes, that feeling comes from the smallest gestures: a conversation, a shared moment, a sincere interest.
The people of Pallars Sobirà offered that.
They listened without judgment. They shared without hesitation. They made space.
In doing so, they transformed what could have remained a personal story into something that could be told.
Choosing Catalan, then, is not a rejection of wider reach. It is a form of acknowledgment. A gesture of gratitude. A way of giving back.
Because when a story is born in a place, the most honest thing you can do is tell it first in the language of that place.
Mireia: More Than a Translator
This work would not exist in Catalan without Mireia.
But calling her a translator would not be enough.
Mireia approached this book as if it were her own. Not simply converting words from one language to another, but carefully reshaping them so they could truly live in Catalan. She paid attention to nuance, rhythm, and cultural tone—those small details that often go unnoticed, yet make all the difference.
Her work was not mechanical. It was deeply human.
She read the story not only as a translator, but as a Catalan reader—asking, at every step: Does this feel real? Does this sound natural? Does this belong?
And beyond the technical work, there was something more important: devotion. A genuine respect for the language, and a desire to see it carry a story like this in a way that feels authentic and alive.
Because of her, this is not just a translation.
It is a true Catalan version of the book.
A Story Shaped by People
In the end, this book may carry my name.
But it is not mine alone.
It belongs, in many ways, to all those people in Catalonia who listened, who cared, who insisted that the story should be told. Those who offered friendship in a way that quietly said: you are not alone here.
It belongs to a place that welcomed someone from far away and made him feel, step by step, part of something.
And perhaps that is what this book is really about.
Not only survival.
But connection.
Discover the Story
If this journey speaks to you—if you are curious about the path from Syria to Haiti, and from there to the mountains of Catalonia—then you can discover the full story here:
Final Words
There are many ways to say thank you.
Some are simple.
Others take the form of a story.
For me, choosing Catalan was one of them.
And to all those who made this possible, there is only one thing left to say:
Moltes gràcies.
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