Mafalda

Before I had a name, I was a little scribble in a notebook, a question mark with a big black bow in my hair. I was made of simple black lines on white paper, but my eyes were wide open, looking at the big, busy world. From my paper home, I saw grown-ups rushing around, talking about serious things, but they seemed to miss the most important questions. So I started asking them. Who am I. I am Mafalda, a six-year-old girl who loves the Beatles, plays with my friends, and really, really hates soup.

A kind man with a special pen brought me to life. His name was Joaquín Salvador Lavado Tejón, but everyone called him Quino. He first drew me in 1963 for a project that never happened, so I waited patiently in his sketchbook. Then, on September 29th, 1964, he decided to share me with everyone in a magazine in the city of Buenos Aires, Argentina. I wasn't alone for long. Quino gave me a loving mom and dad, and wonderful friends. There was Felipe, who was always worrying, Susanita, who dreamed of being a mother, and Manolito, whose dad owned the local grocery store. We played, went to school, and talked about everything under the sun, from our favorite games to why the world worked the way it did.

Even though I was just a little girl in a comic strip, Quino gave me a big job: to ask questions. I would look at my globe and wonder why the world was sick and had so many problems. I wanted to know about peace and why people couldn't just get along. My famous hatred of soup was my own little protest—it was about not wanting to accept things I didn't like. People all over Argentina, and then across the world, started to read my stories. They would laugh at my funny conversations with my friends, but my questions also made them think. They saw that even a small girl could have very big thoughts about fairness and making the world a better place.

Quino stopped drawing my new adventures on June 25th, 1973, but my story was far from over. I began to live in books, translated into many languages, so children everywhere could meet me. Today, you can even find statues of me sitting on a bench in cities like Buenos Aires, where you can come and say hello. I am a reminder that no one is too small to think big thoughts or to hope for a better world. As long as there are curious kids like you asking questions, I'll be here, wondering right alongside you, but please, don't bring any soup.