[Este es un cosito en inglés que escribí hace tiempo.]
Too often I feel like a little baby, too often I feel like an old man. Too bad I almost never feel like a grown up, but I know I will when I turn twenty-five. Cause my mom says that’s the age, the precise age when all things come together. And you can see yourself waiting for new and exciting things to come up. Granma said it’s not twenty-five, but thirty-three, the age of jesus christ, but I was never a religious person, plus I don’t plan on dying young.
Today’s my birthday, the day I turn thirteen, but I don’t feel any wiser or any taller or with more wit than last year. I feel my brain is getting bigger while my hands are still so tiny. My nails so big and my soul so nasty. Dad says I should cut my nails weekly so I don’t scratch my ideas hard, when I scratch my head while thinking, and I think everytime I can. Gradma says thinking isn’t healthy and that I shouldn’t cut my nails at all, cause then I couldn’t be a great guitarrist, like the one she once saw with big nails playing old songs. My sister said I was dirty, that I should keep my nails shiny, cause that way I wouldn’t carry dust from every place I step on. I though that was a good idea… a dust album in the tip of my hand’s toes. Earthy as the mountains, salty as the sea, old like my cat, and black as my dad’s wig.
When she stopped yawning, Gradma said that we’re all gonna turn into dust anyway, and that got me all scared, cause if there’s something I fear is fading away without saying goodbye to my best friends. I wonder what kind of dust I’d be, I’d like to be some kind of sand, like the sand from Japan that has the shape of a million little stars spread in the middle of the night. Mom said that I shouldn’t worry about my nails nor my brain nor Japan’s sand. She said: don’t believe any lies, just wait until you’re twenty-five. Cause when you’re twenty-five, you can see all the leaves of the trees outside and hear the songs that the hummingbirds sing who are always kind.
Today its my birthday and I hope all my friends show up, specially my best friend whom I not often see, he reads Nietzsche and likes to hang aroung with me. It’s like everytime I see him I see my entire life, cause he carries my past years in his back pocket, and my future wrapped in a green strap. I hope he’s by mi side when I turn twenty-five, cause when you hit that age, you see yourself not from below nor above, you can see youself right in the eyes, you can see yourself turning twenty-five.
You can see the cake, you can see the smiles, but you don’t need a camera, cause you’re not afraid to die. You don’t need to open any present, to believe that people around you loves you back. You don’t need to eat the whole cake, to know its as sweet as the hearts around. You just enjoy the smiles and the wrinkles around the eyes of your remainig friends, of the ones whose faces you can remind with closed eyes and an open hand.You can see the candles in front of you, like flaming years passing by, but you don’t feel them burning within you, you just feel a little stitch that makes you feel warm.
Mom said when you’re twenty-five, it’s like you’re up above the sky: you’re not dead, you’re not alive, you just know where to lie down and watch it all go by. All those things you use to do in a blink of an eye, like saying good-bye to your mom and dad, now you do them with both hands and you hug more your cat. Talking, sleeping, eating, nothing changes really, it’s all the same.You just keep your eyes open, looking for eyes that match your tired heart.
Today was my birthday, now I’m a thirteen-year-old man. I have few friends and they all showed up. I could count them with my fingers, but today I counted them with smiles. Today I cut my nails and brushed my teeth and even washed the pain behind my eyes. I hugged my mom, I hugged dad, my sister, my granmda, and even my cat. I hugged my friends, I hugged my nails, and hugged my brain filled with Japan’ sand. I even hugged my special friend who I care a lot about, though she doesn’t know she’s special, she thinks I love more my cat. Maybe she should know that I think I should hug her more, forever and ever on in time.
I’m now one year older and I hope mom is not wrong, cause I’d feel sad if all of this wasn’t true at all. I’m afraid that she’s from an older generation, where people reached twenty-five in a different level. More wise, more mature, more able to say I care, I do.
I’m thirteen right now, and I’m counting down the years, when I can see myself in the eyes and know I am the same age as I am, when I turn twenty-five. Cause now I see myself and the candles and the cake, and all I can wish for is to know what can I do to be better person, a better man. Once someone wise told me: in a year from now, you’re gonna wish you had started right now. It’s haunts my mind sometimes, and I want to care, I do, I want to move forward and do the things I have to do. But right now that I’m blowing away my candles, all I can wish for is to hug that special friend a little longer this time, a little longer my entire life. Read a lot of books and maybe write them too, watch tv, play in the garden and do all the things kids still do.
So, mom, please, tell me what to do, tell me that when some years pass me through, I’m going to be able to turn twenty-five and figure out what to do with my life. Please, mom, please. I’m counting down the years as they pass me by. Waiting ’til I feel complete just with myself and don’t need anyone to hug me one more time. When I turn twenty-five, when I turn twenty-five. I hope to be complete when I turn twenty-five.
