HIdden

It really was a bad day yesterday. I mean, It was one of those moments when one realizes that life seems to be pretty much the making of a figure with sand at the beach. I tend to believe that time will tell, if you get to build a castle or just a little house. Everything starts with a little house. At least to some; to me, perhaps. Yesterday was one of those moments when you can see life is not in the sand but in the water, and just one wave can put you at the beginning again. For how long, or how many times, I wonder. I guess it will be as many as hope and expectations govern human thoughts. Why these thoughts then? I´m hoping when hope hurts. Is it some sort of self-destructive nature? Not really. We strive for good. It’s just that hoping and expecting tend to be just one word in Spanish and that´s how we, the Hispanics, get such a feeling. Waiting for, hoping for, and expecting, are conjugated through the same word in Spanish. So this is more an inside thing. I hope inside while waiting outside. I might look expecting to other when I’m just waiting without any hope. There are multiple combinations because we are going to use the tone, we want the other to get and not what we really mean. Spanish gives you that for sure, but on the other hand, once you get all the tones you will understand everything, and, mostly, this exhibition of tones is just nothing but drama. Drama we love. It is interesting that Drama and Dream look pretty similar as words, considering the context in which they can go together. I made a drama out of my unmet dreams. I hope, while I wait, that my expectations get met someday but without too much drama, since I just dream about it. I don’t know but, what I do know is that some of these words were hidden in a post never published, and my ODC compels me to do something about it. This is my something about it. This is from four years back. I wasn’t even a father then. So many things have changed. Except the drama. Even dreams are different nowadays. I took that picture for my wife when I went to Pensacola, four years later. Four years indeed... 

Mal de golfília…

Pues ya nos vamos. Sí. Después de tanto trajín, tanto esfuerzo tonto; nos vamos. Una pancarta anunciando una pronta inauguración se desteñía; tal vez por el sol,  por el tiempo, por albergar otra promesa incumplida… y es que a eso  nos hemos acostumbrado: a la idea de un futuro, lamentablemente sin presente. No es posible pensar que algo ha de ocurrir si aún no empieza. Está bien, pero; pero nos prometen empezar, y eso al final es lo que significó la palabra: anunciar un algo por hacer, más no necesariamente cumplirlo. Es quizá nuestra esperanza puesta fuera, porque sabemos que no haremos nada al respecto; la que nos lleva a creer, con fe, en lo que nos prometen, y sobretodo creer; que por prometido, habrá de cumplirse. Luego queda esa suerte de arrebato; tal vez de frustración, tal vez de tristeza, de rabia, puede ser: de que no nos cumplieron, para entonces empezar a criticar, a opinar, a practicar la autocompasión y el autodesprecio, para luego volver a la rutina, amargados, producto de cada espejo humano que nos susurra a base de apenas gestos: ¿y qué prometiste tú?