The timer will reset. I’m going back, and the timer will stay at zero for a whole month, only to start again to go on for a yet undecided period. However, I’m not going back entirely happy, instead feeling rather.. apathetic.
I’m not feeling apathetic because we are leaving DF – as the city is called mostly – and its smog behind for now – the smog, that always warms my heart. Nor because I am going to miss the enchanting music that is traditionally blasted from speakers inside every bus, mesmerizing people enough to shut up and put on headphones. No, neither for the happenings in the streets, every week again, in the name of love for fellow Mexicans, for friends and their children, they sing, shout, paint, and stay in encampments scattered around on strategic points in the city, coming from the outskirts of the country.
We’re not taking a break for those reasons. Actually, I am feeling rather apathetic because of how fragile life seems sometimes – or rather the inevitability of the different faces of the onset of chronic diseases that can and will afflict people you know, who are important to you, and close to you.
As much as it seems a like a small miracle that – oh gosh – someone you know was born on the same date as yours, it seems like a big coincidence or say, a signal, it has to be!, that on your holiday you meet someone you know. In a different country, drinking something in some cafe around a fountain on a tiny square.
Although, how many people do you know? Probably, what, 100? 200, 300? Count your family, their acquaintances, everyone from your classes in primary, secondary school, your teachers, their families and friends, of your job – and your previous job, and of your brothers’, sisters’, your parents’ – hundreds. Instead of thinking about the possibility that only two people will meet in the same place, somewhere, rather think about the chance that you are in your place (1=p, 100% chance), and the possibility that one of the many, many people you know will also be in the same place as you are, at any point in time during your holidays – which usually aren’t just your days off.
Thus pass any event in any life. Thus are the chances of disabilities and illnesses, as in the waves of each generation, eventually bothered by rocks while the wave becomes less omnipotent as it reaches the shore, less resilient – weaker, but still ongoing, until in the end they are merely a phantom of the former magnificent self. The elder waves are beheld with respect, even though you already accept that those veteran waves ahead of you already have their inevitable destiny. However, with each closer wave ahead of you, you feel less comfortable, finding yourself thinking that No! it shouldn’t be like this! doubting why the waves actually have to weaken, and have to slam into the rocks. It used to be something that whatever was, was, and that whatever will be, will be, in whatever way – that tiny bit of realism that you accepted for the elder waves already shattered and spread across the rocks and sand, accepted since your youngest days as the answer to the first time you asked Will you always be here? And grandma? And granddad?.
However eager I was to accept life as it is when the basics were explained to me by example of the deteriorating health of my grandparents (and later of health in my studies) – now I find dissonance in the plentiful significant rocks alarmingly dislocating water in the actual wave directly ahead of me.
So it is. Damnit. Still is. Tell me I should feel better, tell me I should cheer myself up, hit me in the head and tell me to let go of my stupidities, accept and respect the past, carpe the fuck out of every diem, and go! Go home! Visit and enjoy, the city will wait!