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Chapter 11: January 2016

January 01, 2016 - 5205 words - 27 mins Found a typo? Edit me


Ambition in a Dream

Ambition is wanting more and better; it’s not giving up, especially not for just anything.

Ambition to change, learn, and enjoy growth, breaking continuous patterns of half-truths. Even whole mirages of truths. Truths… which ones? Are we a truth, after all? How much truth is there in us?

Ambition to laugh and smile every day. For everything… for anything. Learning to enjoy every moment, whether salty or sweet, bitter or spicy; all have a place. After all, it’s just a matter of taste and understanding. Understanding and reason, where ambition becomes more apparent. Where verses can converge without as much fear as we might sometimes fear life itself.

Ambition for life, our most precious gift, and for our dream. Our logical capacity allows us to discern illusion from truth, life from a dream, and dreams from true reality.

Ambition to live, to grow, to laugh, to dream, to do, to unite, to create… This should be our true reality, our project as mortals because, in the end, only what we have been will remain.

I Renounce God

Does God exist? How dare you affirm the existence of a God? I know the illusion of ignorance. The illusion of ignorance and sentiment above reason.

Without any real proof beyond individual illusions, there is a need to create a God “for our own good” to accentuate the limits of good and evil, as cowards dare not define them themselves. They need to lean on a divine idea superior to them. They would fall otherwise because they are weak, as well as fearful of their reality.

Show me real proof! Show the world where your blessed God is; prove it to me. I’ve seen nothing but empty words on the subject. I’ve heard nothing but vain beliefs and personally valueless experiences, especially those without the possibility of being proven. Beyond those who want to believe in something nonexistent.

Having faith is wanting to remain ignorant. Not daring to think with cause and knowledge. Not daring to be God is what leads them to failure in their belief and fear of responsibility and freedom.

I denounce the false single God and all those who feed it in their cowardice because we are the gods of our lives. The proof is quite simple: open your eyes and look around you. What can you see? Look at your hands. Dare to be aware of your power, your wisdom, your past…

Think about your future, what’s to come, everything you have ahead. Dream these seconds with your time, breathe slowly, and enjoy it because you are truly being God. The greatest thing in your life is simply you.

My Purposes

It is widely generalized that at the beginning of each year, certain proposals are made for the upcoming year. Today is the eighth day of this new year, and for several weeks, one of the main topics of conversation has been the “resolutions” for this new year.

Of course, it’s an important topic, where encouraging ourselves to set short and medium-term goals becomes more noticeable. But I think we should do something different. I think we could do it differently: look from another angle to highlight the true purpose of our sincere intentions.

Our main resolutions tend to be unoriginal and repetitive, year after year. Imagination gets boring if it doesn’t play and create, especially if it doesn’t have fun. Why are our resolutions so short-lived? Do we really achieve our set goals in these early days of the year?

Let’s visualize this situation from another perspective and play with our reality. It’s great to set new goals to achieve in the coming year, but I prefer to think about where we will be the next year. Set long-term goals. Think about where we really want to be in two, three, or even four years. The resolutions for this just-started year are too simple: simply enjoy it while striving to become our best version.

We refer to projecting our future, making each awakening a purpose in itself, focusing and realizing what we really yearn for.

Change the fleeting days to incredible experiences. Full of vitality, strength, and energy in the search for our true selves. Enjoying our journey and finding ways to feel fulfilled, especially with ourselves.


Sometimes life can seem strange, especially when everything happens differently than we planned or thought.

Sometimes we may feel that we won’t be strong enough, as if we’ve lost all our strength, or that we simply don’t want to continue playing this game, which seems to have no meaning.

Sometimes we may feel terrible. Everything we did was not what we really wanted to do, and the future awaiting us seemed to have no better options.

Sometimes we might wonder, “But… why? Every day is the same and gets worse. I can’t do anything. This doesn’t work, this is wrong… I don’t belong here. No one could understand me.” It’s normal. We’ve all thought about these things at least once, especially in our childhood.

Sometimes we can be wrong. I said to be wrong, of course! Wake up! We are human, what did you think? We can become incredible, especially because we can prove it. And it’s certainly not complicated: all we need is patience with ourselves. The rest will come on its own. We simply need time.

Enjoy your life by making it unique!

Eyes in a Memory

Feeling how our ideas grow and mature, eager for reading and learning. Feeling the fatigue born of an active life full of vitality and energy as it deserves. Feeling ourselves as a vital part of a whole, as well as an individual part of the entirety.

Full of emotions and wild ideas that yearn to be born. Sleepless nights where not dreaming is forbidden are the protagonists of our story. If at any moment we find ourselves without them, that’s when we should be scared and correct ourselves quickly.

Missing a fleeting and dreamy young person, but lacking in courage. Regretting not being there to tell him how wrong he was and how much he was worth. That he was important and that he would be even more so at times. That each day of his life would be a before and an after in itself.

Longing for a land warmer than cold, but not too much, and not for the land itself, but for what was in it. Wishing to see our memories, our family, our past, our home, ourselves in that rude time with different eyes… to be able to affirm today that we are so satisfied…

Traveling. Living away from everything we always had around us has made us more aware of everything that we have today, of how ephemeral everything is in general, and how valuable little things can become in particular. And I’m not just referring to mere details: great friendships from a distance, younger siblings who still need help not to get lost, where laughter is still achievable, and hope in every success flourishes in every comfort and experience.

Memories in an uncertain but certain future. Dreams in the vastness of desires, where each passage can shine without any fear until its full transformation, forever leaving fiction behind to become full reality.

Starting to materialize, to create where there was nothing before. Reusing, reinventing our ideas and thoughts, improvising with everything that doesn’t let itself be defined. Breaking the vain ideas of inferiority and, above all, with the “you can’t.”

Beautiful detail they had, and we had with us a few years ago, learning to adjust the sail of our ship to the wind so that it doesn’t end up breaking, no matter how hard it blows… No matter how difficult something may seem, nothing will be impossible to be stored in our eyes as a memory.

Where Success Begins

Success begins in oneself, in believing to have achieved it even before actually doing so. Not because of false hopes, but because everything should point to that being the case.

Of course, there are chances that what is set may not be fully achieved, but it shouldn’t be our fault. We should have bet and worked hard and fully on it.

Success is, in part, mathematical: a matter of probability. Like grades on a test when we were young: the scores didn’t measure actual abilities compared to other classmates. What they measured were the probabilities of our success: the more we studied, the more chances we had of achieving a higher grade.

With success in life, it’s the same: the more we fight to obtain a higher grade, to get what we desire the most, or to achieve our goals, it doesn’t certainly mean guarantee completely that we will achieve it, but it does increase the chances of it happening. It’s even possible to learn to control certain probabilities, making them tend to the maximum.

Life is too complex to play its game. It’s too complicated to listen to it. Seeking happiness in its difficulties without making an effort is excessively challenging. That’s why we must create and apply our rules, in their simplicity, to achieve success and, therefore, our happiness.

Fed Up

Undoubtedly, I think if you asked people close to me, they would all agree on at least one common adjective to describe me: patient. I consider myself a person with significant patience. In fact, it is undoubtedly one of my main virtues: knowing that time does not stand still and that everything ends up being caught by it.

Why am I like this? Simple. I’m fed up with hearing how little we are worth or how little we are. Years and years listening to the same nonsense. These words and situations that seem too obvious to me now, which I believed as ignorant and deceiving when we weren’t even aware of who we were or where we were.

First in a church, in abnormal beliefs more than paranormal, typical of the sick and devoid of meaning. Fearful, but above all, self-deceived. Where hypocrisy, jealousy, and all those things these cowards complain about end up being the first traits to be contradicted. “By their deeds, you will know them,” said a character that will be familiar to many, and he was not wrong there, as no faith is needed to be happy. Not at all. What is needed is a good education where good values of coexistence and mutual respect, as well as personal growth, are present, and not stupid confessions where everything bad and wrong—according to the book we are reading—is previously established, as if it were a role-playing game.

And second in a “castle,” where the previous point stands out so much, shines, and glows… that it ends up burning more than ten suns together. Where learning to survive became everyday bread. Where memories want to disappear. Where I began to discover the value of my true family, as well as my neighbors and the people who, day by day, surrounded me.

I got fed up with hearing so many senseless things together… that I had to learn to be patient by the obligation imposed on myself, as a necessity. I got fed up with not valuing what really deserved it.

—“And who or what is it that really deserves to be valued? Everyone, perhaps? But above all, to what extent?”

Sure. Everyone deserves to be valued, but not everyone equally. Some are worth more than others. We are not the same. We are all different, that’s the charm and part of our meaning. It’s part of our history and our future. Monotony was never our final or even initial purpose.

I’m fed up with not valuing what deserves to be valued as it really deserves. And measuring that valuation is quite simple, as well as personal. We can easily obtain the answer to the previous question, in addition to being suitable for all audiences. All we need is time, effort, and sincere self-criticism. The rest is simply patience.

Ironies of Life

Biting the hand that feeds us.

Ironies of life include that, thanks to “hear, see, and be silent,” one learns to desire to shout to the four winds and to think more clearly. Wishing that everything was a dream from which to wake up, only to end up yearning for a childhood that will never return.

Ironies of life are learning to work, leaving home, and wanting to start anew. Wishing to start from scratch, seeking another opportunity while missing a time that will never come back.

Belonging unintentionally.

Ironies of life are forcing oneself to be older, to strip away a childhood that never existed; at times, wishing not to have been born, only to end up loving what was once hated; ending up loving life, proving to the world how wrongly one lived.

Ironies of life are ending up fighting to the death, facing without fear everything that one could fear, wishing for everything to end once and for all, swimming against the current and against all odds, poorly predisposed by misguided authorities, unable to question without prior permission.

Ironies of life are climbing forbidden stairs under the most wicked, mistaken, and vile authorities ever encountered. A wicked, miserable, and spiteful serpent; its irony will be its punishment during its wait. Let it enjoy as much as it can; indifference is all that remains on my part.

Ironies of life are our art, as ephemeral in a moment as temporal in a memory. In my reserve will remain everything I don’t write. Interpret as you wish. Nothing will be for you but my forgetfulness.

Ironies, it was you and everything that came with you. Thanks, I say now, for having been a witness and participant in the most beautiful creation we could ever achieve: us, of course, I mean, both me and myself. Because there will be no greater irony in this life than the mere fact of feeling minimally grateful for someone as undeserving as you once may have been.

Thank you. To your irony, I say.

To Not Die

Playing with death, to not die. We are the embodiment of our experience, of what they tried to teach us, and of what we truly learned.

It’s not our fear of creating, but of seeing what we create destroyed, whether by the simple passage of time, the course of the season, or our existential end as individuals.

Playing at being ourselves, not to die. Escaping from the boring, whether simple or complex. Tempting fate in the right measure. In our nature, it is written: “Our time will not return. Never.”

We are perfect abstractions of our unique reality. From our most sincere complexity to our most absurd simplicity. A reality where nothing and everything could converge without reservations. Where no one is nothing and we are all everything at the same time.

It would be so boring to always talk about the same things, do the same things, or not think about anything new… We must evolve, improve our thoughts, and never stop believing in ourselves; as Gods of our only reality that we are.

Playing with death, not to die. Confronting life without fear of our evolution, our power, our true being: our Self.

We won’t be fit for the world if we are not predisposed to be. We are both so much and so little at the same time as we decide. In our courage hides our true power: the power to change the world, our world. Cowardice is nothing more than a symptom of a lack of confidence. A symptom that reveals the absence of the will to power when it is necessary and possessed, and the lack of knowledge of it itself.

We refer to personal and individual cowardice. Cowardice in not daring to be, in not telling ourselves the truth for fear of having to face it. Sometimes it is our fear of the fear itself that does not let us live. We couldn’t be more wrong in our fear!

Fear of dying without having lived, not fear of dying!


Sometimes we are tired. It’s not normal for us, but we have to understand ourselves. It’s not something bad, not at all. It’s simply a symptom of the need for a break, of tranquility, accompanied by reflection like the one we are having now.

Let’s go to bed. Let’s read for a couple of hours until we can’t anymore and sleep in deep sleep. This way, we will help our body, as well as our will, to replenish all the strength we need so that when we wake up, we smile as usual.

My Skin Crawls

My skin crawls when I think about us. In the vastness within our restlessness. In that unique moment that seems immortal every second we let pass before our eyes.

My skin crawls when I think about our future. In our life ahead, in every second, in every moment that, along with our mischievous self, we let rest. Enjoying that shared moment that is born only to be lived in our eyes.

My skin crawls when I dream of us. In our lived and still expected moments. In the shared moments, as well as the ones left behind, they are never divided even if they can be longed for.

My skin crawls when I write for us. With poetic tendencies is what I mean. Seeking rhymes out of nothing until I generate, and the result in my mind sometimes I conceive.

My skin crawls when I play with our past. Sometimes in our language, I try, but I am no one if I do not mature, even venturing with fire.

My skin crawls when I pretend with our dreams. Without envying certainly being no one, for I will be the only one who radiates until I finally fall asleep.

My skin crawls when I finish, when I start, or when I guess in every moment of this time, which I try not to ruin. What is truly exciting is that, in these early morning hours, we are still here in front of us.

My skin crawls when I think about us, when I dream with you when I write for you, or simply when I play by your side.

Necessary Insecurity

We refer to unnecessary insecurity, the fruit of a poorly nourished tree. Where the land has been fertilized with continuous disorder in an area of scarce life and abundant ironies.

Where metaphors flourished by themselves without anything or anyone seeming to water them, alongside a continuous rain of despair and bewilderment. Where the notion of identity faded away day by day, and our roots wished to be pulled out in any way to migrate elsewhere.

Regardless of the method or date, as the notion of time was lost between hours and even days, waiting for something to change implies some improvement because worse irrigation and fertilization than what we took would be quite a challenge in its difficulty.

The harvest obtained from poor irrigation tends to be poor fruit.

But the funny thing in this play on words is precisely that we could learn to water ourselves. We learned, at least, to change fertilizer. Watering ourselves with different water every day, experimenting and trying; removing the blindfolds from our eyes that hindered us so much from seeing.

We learned to learn.

Not Enough

Life is not enough to just be lived. We must face it and not let it slip away. Every moment of our breathing is not that it won’t come back; it will disappear like a speck of dust in the cosmos, never to return.

Swimming against the current, against ourselves because, believe me, it will be necessary. This should be a battle. The greatest personal encounter of our lives, for there will be no more important conflict for ourselves than the one we wage against ourselves.

With tact and understanding, as well as with fury and passion. Let’s rise with all our courage, overcome our smallness once and for all; let’s learn to fight against our inferiority as individuals! It’s not enough to simply exist, let alone survive!

No star will shine on its own; even less if it has nothing to illuminate. The light we radiate would be useless if it did not inspire or ignite those who are still extinguished.

It will not be enough with a “could…” or a “maybe someday…”. We must not allow ourselves to fall into the simplicity of a dim life where routine dominates us and does not allow us to create. Invent a superhuman, push ourselves towards continuous success, choose what we really want, and never cease in our purpose.

Because life is not enough to just live it! It will be synonymous with not living if we do not shape ourselves because to live, it will take more than just breathing…, and that is to feel and never stop pursuing until we become who we truly desire. And if we have never dreamed of our future before, it is because we have not yet been born.

What I am completely convinced of is that withering away without even having blossomed will undoubtedly be the greatest mistake to which we will have led ourselves.

Therefore, it will not be enough to be without being! Let’s be!

I Am Not

I am not a writer, and that is one of the reasons why I love to write. I do not consider myself a musician either, even though I can make an instrument sound pleasant. Many years have passed communicating with music, especially because it has always made me feel all kinds of emotions. I remember that I also had several periods in which I composed songs, but that did not make me a composer.

Precisely not being a writer is one of the things I like the most: I don’t depend on anyone, and no one depends on me. There is no reason to fear words, letting them play freely, both together and apart. Where the only responsible one is the one who reads and enjoys them in their own measure, not the one who might think or write them. It’s true that the author of them is guilty, as it was their own harvest, but I am not afraid of anything they write. Perhaps in the future, when I look back and realize that I was not a writer. Then, surely, I will understand myself.

I love to write simply because I am not a writer, to find a place where I can express, without fear of what might happen, what I have wanted to express for so long. In the past, I experienced a life that no one in their right mind would choose: so much craziness in so little time…, so many disparate and unhealthy emotions…, and I found myself on the brink of chaos. I was simply learning to read and write at the same time. Where forgiveness and mercy seemed to play hide and seek every day. Where games and their memories portrayed nothing but a non-existent childhood.

It’s challenging for me to speak in the past using the first-person singular, for I was never anything or at least believed so; sometimes perhaps too much. It is possible that not being a writer, I can tremble without fear when writing. Or perhaps, not being a writer, I can write without fear of trembling.

I am not a writer. Moreover, it is precisely not being one that gives me more strength to prove to myself how wrong I still am, but above all, to prove to myself that I still have much to discover about myself.

To Another Level

To another level we play, where gazes revolve around a clear understanding. Where sadness remains a mere illusion that fails to cast a shadow on our confidence. We entered this world without permission, where clarity does not stand out for its presence. Everything is rather lacking in essence, and a bit more warning wouldn’t hurt either.

Born of memory, of remembrance and forgetting. The fruit of our third person and that introverted event. Unexpectedly, we could see each other on another level, at a price that became impossible not to pay. Apparently predestined, we might think, but destiny is slow and, at times, truly grotesque. It’s not even close, but still, we will be obligated to go through life with it always hand in hand.

On another level against destiny, against the world, against the path that some blindly choose in their daring ignorance. On another level against life itself, which, in our humble understanding, we learned to discern from its own paradox.

What is our breathing if not a sway of unasked sensations and a mixture of everything and nothing? At what level will each knowledge be if not the one we, in our judgment, grant it? On another level, we will understand but never be grateful for an unspecified ending but unequivocally destined.

To another level, simply. Where people and minds wander in search of comfort. It ceased to be a secret long ago thanks to our real and courageous suspicion while many, locked in their harvest, preferred not to realize the obsolescence. More of their mistakes than their successes, where memories with preferences are scarce. And the qualities of their stays were counted in brief moments.

As if our goal were to become, above all, passionate professionals of passionate life, as well as rational; each in its due measure. We must now say without any fear: “To another level we play,” for we are the fruit of memory against destiny in our breathing with other minds.


There are certain things that are still frowned upon. Especially taboo topics in a close environment; even family. Delicate topics that we are forced to handle with care if we do not want to burst a bubble that continues to grow day by day in its own stupidity and meaninglessness.

Topics that were born seemingly unnoticed, and that, in the end, will be precisely those that make us question: “How the hell have we come to this?” It is already too late to undo the absurdity, the nonsense, and the chaos into which it has degenerated.

Precisely because it is a taboo subject, it affects our inner self. Precisely because we are not and will not be until we free ourselves from everything we want to be freed from. Precisely because we are our true gods and should love our lives, as well as their continuous improvement. We learned not to be silent when people normally remain silent and to try not to limit ourselves by taboos, especially the most delicate ones.

And it is in our passion that we tend to be creative, to push the limits of our creations, and, of course, to be ourselves. It is precisely for this reason that we write not only about our thoughts but with them, leaving our minds free to roam.

We might be more or less correct on some issues and, of course, wrong on others. As we should already know, our mind is not a box of absolute truths. Instead, it should be filled with true and sincere realities where knowledge overflows in a restless sea and is supported by the pillars of wind and tide. Where objectivity does not have to detach from the mood, nor our existence from desire. Where our arguments are so broad that they are hard to believe, not for lack of arguments but for their incredible connection among themselves.

It is precisely for all this: because we can and should be wrong. We were born without warning and without permission. Let us live exactly what we really wanted and want. Let us die without fear of having lived.

It Says a Lot About You

Perhaps you are right, perhaps you are wrong. Maybe everything you believe is accurate, or maybe everything is false at all with no distinction between tales. What will always be evident is that everything you practice with blind faith will say a lot about you.

Beyond being pragmatic, being realistic, and conceiving our reality as something tangible where enjoyment and success in knowing ourselves are linked together. Beyond being ourselves, being thinkers and savoring our senses are the most important things in our lives, where pleasure resides mainly in actions and the decisions we make.

It will say a lot about you, those who, scared by fear of your own self, hide. Fear of the unknown: I mean yourselves.

What good does it do you to hide, hoping to be right about something that is not evident? What good does it do you to believe blindly in something that does not lift you up as superhuman but rather diminishes you and insults you in your greatness?

Wake up, I tell you! Those who are still asleep or who will sleep will not enter the greatness of wisdom, will not deserve their sense, and will not be blessed. To those who slept but woke up, I congratulate you because you will know your true sense and will enjoy it, being really yourselves, everything you deserve.

Perhaps it is true, perhaps not. Perhaps we are wrong, perhaps not. The rules of our game should be dictated only by us and our experience.

To those who are awake, I write to you. Never forget that you will be what you say, and you will say everything you are. Be without fear!

Capricious Destiny

I love dressing virgin pages with different garments, where there is no room for fear, and courage becomes even bolder. Playing at being ourselves, feeling alive, and aware of our own being and our ego, as well as our smile.

Enjoying each morning as if it were the last. Growing every minute imagining our insistent evolution, clinging to our person, and where moments become ephemeral experiences to end up transforming into a whole full of sensations.

Intuiting at every moment, still and in motion, what chance sometimes finds it difficult to recognize: its moments in time. Chance is nothing more than the probability that something possible happens, making us participants in it to the extent that we have fixed it.

I love diversity, as well as the courage that the nonexistent destiny has to make itself present when we least expect it. In our immensity as in our person. Nothing more than fleeting experiences in time that will wither sooner or later.

In our smallness lies our greatness: the power of our evolution and our own change, as well as adaptation. That is what should truly excite us about all this: our constant in life next to a capricious and nonexistent destiny.

The trajectory of our luck will be, in itself, a paradox where time will be the only judge that equalizes us all, without distinction.

Let’s not live aspiring to dream that someday we will reach the life that belongs to us; let’s live the life that we once dreamed of, without fear of the absent, witty, and nonexistent destiny.