THE COMPASS OF CONTRASTS
He had been accustomed to live forever forward. I served the past: it was past time to which this had taken his experience and advice. Only a better future justified all the cares of life. If I paused a second, the future could escape or be less magnificent than my desire aspired. Fleeing the nostalgia, reflection paralyzing the conversations that are recreated in memories and all I smelled of mothballs. In a moment of my youth, had decided to be a man of action, and such men did not stop at the minutiae of sterile minds dreaming.
I felt pleased with myself and my achievements, at peace with my life dumped in fact, completely alien to the dreams that weighed like many of my environment. But my calculation always in the air had not anticipated that there stays hidden in the spirit that can be opened without the permission of the will. While passively listening to music without major consequences for a summer evening slipped through my window the notes of an old Havana. Something changed in me and felt like a lock would spin a key hidden in my heart. To my own amazement, he opened a place unknown to me. Perhaps in those few seconds was forged my downfall, but I could not do anything, and was imprisoned in the unknown, that could fight without weapons. Just remember that while the Habanera sounded, I saw before me the remote areas of childhood, when the world was a mystery full of clues indecipherable. The habanera dove in flight left me something I did not know name, but I froze. With its bars, had re-live those childhood days. I experimented with bitterness that the time had passed, more than double those twenty years he sang tango Carlos Gardel in my father's favorite. Time had eaten all those beings who chanted the habanera around a table decorated. All beings who turned to look like a movie accurate. All beings who had died. Only I was in life and furiously reproached me for allowing me to forget the foolishness.
Something strange had happened during that beginning of the summer night. I tried to leave those feelings evanescentes de mal sueño, de pesadilla pegajosa, volver a la acción y a mi interior centrado en el porvenir. No podía permitirme tropezar en esas zancadillas de la nostalgia. Pero no me fue posible escapar. Las fauces del pasado me apresaban con fuerza. Abatido, miré al grupo que me rodeaba. Ni mis miradas de súplica ni mis preguntas angustiosas consiguieron que cesara la habanera. Ahí, en esas imágenes que considero demasiado nítidas, me quedé mientras veía moverse y bailar el niño que fui. Lo enfoqué con atención y fue consciente de una manera física, táctil y sensorial, de formar parte de la escena. Me pellizqué para devolverme a mi realidad, a mi mundo de acción sin tropiezos del recuerdo, but had no effect. From another angle, a great aunt looked at me and welcomed me.
"You're a picture of my past, I defended myself.
"That you think. I'm your present and your future as we are all here.
Hearing these words, the trembling seized me. Maybe the future, my future, that future as dream, I was offered once and for all without cheating. Or be dead and the death was an indefatigable singing habanera?
I walked away from the questions and felt the beat child's heart. I knew that little had changed my perception of life, that my stay in the real world until then had been provided, as an adult was not to conceal rather than fears, swallow and house them surreptitiously in a hidden place of the soul.
life or death, I had changed, he had returned to the joy of singing a song with my family, the ghosts returned. I resist your enjoyment. Action man had died in his future. My heart was still the same, that of the creature that was given to the joyous strains of a Havana did not understand.
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