Secun de la Rosa, actor: "My mother was one of those who fought and struggled to get the 47 bus on the route; the bus first went to Torre Baró and then to Canyelles, where she lived."

Secun de la Rosa grew up in the Barcelona neighborhood of Verdún, at a time when reading Tennessee Williams on the subway was enough to get you strange looks or even pointed out for being different. The son of a father from Malaga and a Catalan woman with Cádiz roots, he grew up amidst contrasts, resisting with culture and dreaming that another world was possible. At 16, he boarded a train to Madrid and never stopped moving: between acting classes, night shifts at a Seven Eleven, and small plays with friends, he built a career as versatile as it was honest.

Today he's the unforgettable Toni from Aída —whom we'll soon see again in Aída y vuelta, the film—the Brazilian goalkeeper in Días de Fútbol and an essential part of films like El bar and Un funeral de locos , as well as director of the wonderful production El Cover and playwright of gems like Las Piscinas de la Barceloneta . But beyond his characters, there's a traveler who has traveled on foot, by car, by train, by boat, and by plane, finding in each journey not only a story, but also a way of living life. Today we're going to discover Secun in a different way, how he's moved around wherever he's gone and what the trips of his life have been like. Those that leave dust on your shoes and, above all, a lot of light in your heart. Those that change you and make you come back with something to tell that deserves to be heard.

Secun, how are you?

Very well. I'm in an interesting moment, because after a very turbulent period, recent times have been very interesting. I've reconnected with one of the characters that made me most popular and with colleagues from almost twenty years ago, when the series Aída began. That has taken me directly to a world that's now distant. Almost at the same time, I finished the adventure of Las Piscinas de la Barceloneta , which is very much a part of my neighborhood, my childhood, and my early youth. And I just finished shooting a film called Todos los lados de la cama, which shows what happened to the characters from El otro lado de la cama twenty years later: who has children, who doesn't, how they turned out, where they are at... It's still a musical, but it twists that story, which was my first film.

Now I feel like I've closed things that were closely tied to my beginnings, as if I've come full circle. And that makes you think a lot, because you revisit your past, people who were part of it, how you did certain things before, how you would do them now, and what you'd like to do from now on. So having completed this phase makes it a very interesting moment.

You moved to Madrid when you were just 16, and you haven't stopped since. Why did you come to Madrid so young?

I went to Madrid because I was studying in Plaza Llucmajor, in Nou Barris, at a school called Yale, although it had nothing to do with the American Yale. One day, with that typical madness of my age, I entered the Institut del Cinema Català, on Calle Mallorca, because they were looking for actors. At the time, I was such a geek that they laughed at me: I went with my mustache, my glasses, no professional photos, and I handed in one of my school ID. Francesc Betriu, the director, was super nice to me, and I did two sessions as a waiter for a series called Vida privada, starring Josep Maria Pou.

I was so happy with that experience that I wrote to several places and was awarded a small scholarship to take an acting course in Madrid. My parents signed up, found a hostel where I could stay, and I went there. I was on a kind of cloud, all joy. When I arrived, I took the course and met Dani Guzmán, who told me that people didn't study acting seriously in courses like that, but rather at places like William Layton or Cristina Rota. So I went to Cristina Rota, took a test, and they took me.

Secun, are you driving?

I drive regularly because it took me a long time to get my license. I was very aware that either I did it at that time, when I was 18, or I never would, because I was already on that journey to become an actor and starting a new phase. Besides, I was quite lazy. In Madrid, I've driven occasionally for some films, but I'm not a regular driver.

You came to Madrid from Barcelona at a very young age to pursue a dream. What was that change of city like?

I arrived very young, alone, without knowing anyone. It was Madrid in the early 90s, before cell phones existed. To call my family, I had to go to a payphone, use the hostel's landline, or write letters, something that has almost disappeared today. It was a different world.

While you were studying at Cristina Rota's school, you worked as a night clerk at a 7-Eleven. How did you get around the city back then, what were your resources and energy requirements?

I was studying at acting school and never missed a class because I knew it was crucial for me. I'd received a lot of love from my parents, but I didn't have a circle of friends in the acting world. I had to learn a lot of things, including manners, how to be with friends, and how to relate. I also worked weekends at 7-Eleven and as a glass-carrying waiter at Sala Sol. I didn't have the poise or the savoir-faire of a '90s waiter, much less in a modern place like that. I got there thanks to two classmates, Nathalie Poza and Fernando Otero. Shy and wearing glasses, I didn't stand out for the job, but I didn't care; it was about surviving.

I traveled by subway more than by bus, and I got used to walking a lot. Madrid was an unfamiliar city to me, and the subway was my usual means of transportation. It took me a long time to take a taxi, first for economic reasons, because I couldn't afford it, and also because I was a little embarrassed.

If you had to describe your personality as a car model, what would it be?

There would be several, actually, something that has to do with one of my favorite movies, Two for the Road . A love story that unfolds through their travels, their cars, and their experiences. For me, it would be something similar. On the one hand, it would be a humble 2 CV horsepower, because my first memories are with that car, traveling with my parents. Although it was very modest, it took us to see the sea, it took us to Sant Hilari or to the mountains.

My parents were fishmongers, and between the smell of fish and the twists and turns of the road, we would get carsick all the time. As I grew older, I realized it wasn't so unusual to get carsick, because we didn't have seatbelts, and back then, we lived on a whim.

So, on the one hand, it would be that humble 2CV that got you everywhere, and on the other, I'd say I'm an Audi convertible, because if there's one thing I have, it's stubbornness. The decisions I've made and the things I've done well have given me a good "body." I've learned to manage myself; I really like playwriting, writing for others, directing... I keep my ego in check, and when I've directed theater or film, I've loved guiding other colleagues. So yes, I think it would be a good car.

What car do you have?

I don't have a car right now. I'm not going to lie to you, I live in the center of Madrid, and between productions, filming, and all that, I usually get picked up. So, honestly, I live without a vehicle. I know it sounds a little strange in this context, but it's the reality.

Speaking of cinema and transportation, the award-winning film at the recent Goya Awards, El 47, tells a true story, one that has a lot to do with yours.

My mother was one of those who fought and fought to get the 47 bus installed, since Canyelles was next to Torre Baró. She arrived first at Torre Baró and took a little longer to get to Canyelles. In fact, I used to take the 47 bus to Plaza Cataluña because I felt an overwhelming need to get out of the neighborhood. It took me an hour and a quarter to get there; I'd get off at Urquinaona and walk to Diagonal.

I dreamed of one day being an actor, living well, or simply living without fear, because my neighborhood had a lot of vacant land, a lot of dirt, and I wasn't having a good time. My weekends consisted of walking alone along Diagonal, ducking into a cafe, drinking a Cacaolat, and staring at the buildings.

The bus or the subway are places where you can witness incredible stories, some of them worthy of a feature film. Now I'm going to suggest two moods, and you tell me about the last time you witnessed them, or even starred in them.

Anger:

I had an experience on the subway that caused me a lot of trouble more than thirty years ago. It has to do with what you said at the beginning: Sometimes, I'd take the subway to get to Guineueta, to go to the library, or to see a friend in Horta, and I'd run into gangs of thugs who would tease me. Mind you, it wasn't because of my reading! Like some people said last year, when about 100,000 haters came out saying they were beating me up for it, no! In the '80s, like now, there were gangs and troublemakers, and if you were a little different, or if they saw you wearing glasses, they considered you "weaker." Sometimes they'd slap you and make fun of you, yes. But hey, I've also had wonderful moments.

Love:

Couples in love are on the subway, on the bus, and love is felt in all those moments, but what truly moves me is seeing older people walking hand in hand, those married couples who have lived together for so long. It's a love that goes beyond the initial infatuation, a love that endures, and I love seeing it.

Secun, what's the craziest thing you've done in a car?

Aside from the moments of ultimate love we can all imagine, the craziest thing was organizing karaoke in the car with the first theater group I formed with Pilar Castro, Aitor Merino, and Diego Paris.

What conversation with a taxi driver or production driver will you never forget?

I've had many interesting conversations with drivers, both on set and in taxis. I remember, for example, a production guy on A Funeral for Men . I was very surprised because, being so modern and friendly, he told me he went to mass every Sunday. He spoke to me about his connection with God, and it got me thinking. A couple of days later, while in the Canary Islands, I heard church music from my hotel balcony, with a cathedral right in front of me. It was like a sign, so I headed to the church to hear mass.

I also had another driver during Four Stars who had left the police force due to the stress of brawls, gun use, and time off work due to depression. He told me all those tough stories, from the streets, about what he'd been through. It was fascinating to hear how someone with so much life experience was now taking up driving. It's incredible how a simple journey can bring you across such different, yet enriching, people.

Where did you spend your summers? At the Barceloneta swimming pools?

No, no, that's a poetic license. I didn't go to Barceloneta at all. The Barceloneta swimming pools are a story I invented for a character, Sebastián Alonso Roca, who wanted to talk about the neighborhoods and the first people who fought for the collectives. I went to the Montserrat swimming pool, the Hogares Mundet swimming pool, which was the orphans' pool, and little else. In the summer, we went to Sant Hilari Sacalm and, some years, to see my father's family in Málaga. We were very much into the Mediterranean; we liked to explore Castellón, the north, Girona, Rosas... We took the 2CV to discover beaches.

You once told me you became an actor because everyone loves going to the movies. Where have you traveled from the movie theater?

Since I was a child, I've traveled everywhere through cinema. I was dazzled by seeing young people from Los Angeles or New York with their gangs, who read, talked about their loves, and cared about fashion. It was so different from my life. I was fascinated by rebellious actors like Rob Lowe and Thomas Howell, and all that America of the 1980s. Fame, Alan Parker's film, also had an impact on me: seeing people singing and dancing as if it were a form of liberation. Who would have told me that a kid who dreamed of those worlds, like The Postman and Pablo Neruda, would end up working with Michael Rathford and starring in The Mule, a film that was hugely successful outside of Spain? Movies have taught me so much. From Dead Poets Society , which showed me the value of living in the moment, to Posh People Also Suffer , which made me understand the complexity of relationships. Imagine how far I've traveled with movies, how they've opened my eyes to worlds I never even imagined.

What is the trip that has changed your way of seeing the world?

My way of seeing the world changed, or at least it opened my eyes a lot, with a trip to Rome. With money from one of my first salaries, I decided to travel because I felt like I had arrived too late, as if at 17 or 18 I had never left Barcelona or its surroundings. Now I see it differently; it wasn't that late, but at the time, it seemed too late to not have lived abroad. Over time, you realize it wasn't so serious. The trip to Rome was the most transformative and a true immersion, although I could have chosen any other destination like Paris, London, or Buenos Aires. I discovered the city on foot, getting away from the tourists, exploring Trastevere, ancient Rome, the neighborhoods, and meeting people. It was an incredible week, one of total connection with the city and its culture.

As a writer and director, you've created works like Radio Rara and El Cover . The latter speaks a lot about legacy... To what extent do you think losing sight of where we come from causes us to lose ourselves?

I'm a very happy person for having lived a thousand adventures and misadventures during my childhood in the neighborhood. Being able to tap into my emotional memory and relive my past seems like a true treasure. I learned something very valuable on a trip to New York, where I met artist friends from all over the world. One of them told me that if you've been happy in a world of margins, and you understand that reality without getting trapped in it, you can get along with everyone.

Those of us who have lived on the margins and have learned to grow and improve are able to connect with people from any walk of life or social class. I never imagined I'd have friends from New York or Los Angeles, or that in drama school I'd find classmates who were the children of actors with lives very different from mine. All of this has taught me not to lose my roots and to value what it means to have grown up on the margins. It's a treasure because it allows you to adapt and connect anywhere.

What fears travel with you wherever you go?

Before, my fears stemmed from not knowing if I was going to make it, from feeling like I had to fit in, from wanting to be accepted and understood. I came from a place of insecurity, with the need to be liked, to be liked, to show I was a good person. Friendship and acceptance were the most important things for me, because in my childhood I perhaps lacked that. Over time, those fears are gone. Now the important thing is to be yourself, to be honest and clear, to express what you feel so that relationships are real. I no longer seek to fit in, but to be included for who I am. My fears now are more related to whether I measure up. After having written, directed, and acted, I find myself at a point where I want to enjoy the journey, but also continue to delve deeper into my work, do things I love, and achieve more in projects of greater depth, depth, and commitment. I want to continue growing and enjoy the process, with the ability to say yes and no depending on what suits me best.

What do you remember of that boy who boarded a train bound for Madrid, uncertain but hungry for life?

I still have everything left. At 50, I'm still stubborn and I still dream of directing a new film, working with directors I've never met, staging my plays in any kind of venue, because what matters to me is telling stories. My ambition is still alive; I want to do even more beautiful things. But always step by step, because I'm clear that what's important is my life, leaving the set, the performance, and when you get home, your family or your partner, your world, waiting for you. I think this, even if it doesn't seem like it, is a great ambition.

Secun, what are you going to do today?

Today I have a meeting with my representatives and the team, because they're going to explain to me the start of the promotion for the series I've created, called Superstar . It's a series produced by Los Javis and directed by Catalan director Claudia Costafreda and Nacho Vigalondo. It's a very intense project that portrays television in the 2000s and how "geeks" were treated. I play Leonardo Dantés, and it's a reflection of how society sometimes mocks what's different.

Meeting Secun, with his memory roaring like a revved engine and the gentleness of someone who has lived intensely without ceasing to look deep within himself, is like opening a window on the highway. He doesn't move by inertia; he doesn't simply seek to arrive, but rather to rediscover something of himself with every kilometer. The boy from Verdun, the one who dreamed of telling stories, remains intact, but now travels the world with many more faces by his side. Being with him is like getting into a car without a map: the destination is important, of course, but what truly transforms is what is experienced along the way.