Today as I
was returning home, there was an old lady selling pens in the bus. Nobody
wanted to pay $1 for a pen and she left the bus cursing out loud.
Today as I
was eating my vegetables soup, I remembered why I love writing.
I am
writing in English because that gives me a sense of freedom and security even
though pretty much everybody can understand this text nowadays.
Riding back
home and this soup have the same savorless taste of failure.
I spent
most of my life acting like the person I am not. I thought I was living this
world of possibilities because my mother believed I could achieve more. I was
trying to get the life I thought I had.
I was the
kid that had rides to school. I could afford meals outside school. I always
acted so strong that I even fooled myself about the real situation at home. I
thought I was ok, I thought I was good enough.
Now, as
time passed, I realize I was watching the real life in the sidewalk. What am I
doing now, trying to live what I never was supposed to?
Today I
decided to cross the street of illusions.
I can’t go
further, and because I took so many time to get it, we are now in this terrible
situation. I should have been happy with my awesome public high school. I
thought I could be an engineer, I dreamed about being a professor. Now I am in
the position where I don’t know how to do anything, I don’t have any experience
or guts whatsoever.
What I had
in mind? I thought I could be more than I actually could by memorizing
textbooks. Now I am as useless as those books.
I can
understand why the woman cursed at everybody. $1 is worthy blood, sweat,
humiliation.
And I am
not brave enough even to sell $1 pens in the bus.
