"I'd
say I'm like a ghost, but that is Mayra’s idea"
A few weeks ago I went to see him. Was one of those days where the world seems to be against you. All things from the silliest to the most complicated are colluding to make life a headache. I was in a bad mood. I arrived. As always, at 3:00 pm, the doctor came in with his notebook. He told me to start taking confidence I should describe myself. I started by telling my height: five feet eight inches. My hair, black. On the lip a scar that reminds me that in life the silliest things leave a mark. And how to forget the scar on my forehead, that just reminds me that the walls are hard. Interrupting he asked me about how I felt about my body. I just told him that my body felt good with me. Then with his kangaroo doctor style, jumped up and told me to speak about my eyes. I recognize the time of mild annoyance at the question. Why? Well people say that eyes are the windows to the soul; in my case I think they are transparent windows. I should clarify they are the type of windows that you can see from the inside all around but it is almost impossible to see to the inside. After saying that the doctor asked me about what was what was inside. Then I began to tell:
To be honest I must say that my eyes do not keep many tears, but kept many joys. My eyes are the lies that best describe me. I am that person who can walk quietly. I can be right next to you on such silence that I stay unnoticed. I watch everything. That does not mean I can’t be loud. Indeed, I am, but not always. I Do not suppress the desire to be noisy. In fact I never hide anything. I'm just in the blind spot, that place where you see what is happening but are not visible until you move. Many people try to get close to me, but if you get too close, you only will see a little part of me, some people see me from afar, and obviously I miss in their pupils like a ship on the horizon. I think I'm complicated, like a character of self-fiction. I think you do not understand me. It might seem that I am not describing a lot, but look closely, carefully. I'm not a cold person at all. I do not keep my feelings in my chest case to suffer. I can’t deny that sometimes I cried with laughter, but that already happened. Maybe I have learned a lot in so little and short lifetime, I can’t write from the wound, but ii can write from the scar. (At the end of the day I live in my imagination.) It seems that I have the ability to learn from my mistakes and from the others' mistakes. Returning to my eyes I must report that they can tell you a thousand things about me, like that I am responsible, I care for other people, I'm antisocial, I can be a great friend ... but don’t trust, everybody lies, and I can assure you, that my eyes are always ready to be of a different color every time you look at them, that’s how I was born. Privilege or conviction, I can see through the window, but you just look to the curtains.
A few weeks ago I went to see him. Was one of those days where the world seems to be against you. All things from the silliest to the most complicated are colluding to make life a headache. I was in a bad mood. I arrived. As always, at 3:00 pm, the doctor came in with his notebook. He told me to start taking confidence I should describe myself. I started by telling my height: five feet eight inches. My hair, black. On the lip a scar that reminds me that in life the silliest things leave a mark. And how to forget the scar on my forehead, that just reminds me that the walls are hard. Interrupting he asked me about how I felt about my body. I just told him that my body felt good with me. Then with his kangaroo doctor style, jumped up and told me to speak about my eyes. I recognize the time of mild annoyance at the question. Why? Well people say that eyes are the windows to the soul; in my case I think they are transparent windows. I should clarify they are the type of windows that you can see from the inside all around but it is almost impossible to see to the inside. After saying that the doctor asked me about what was what was inside. Then I began to tell:
To be honest I must say that my eyes do not keep many tears, but kept many joys. My eyes are the lies that best describe me. I am that person who can walk quietly. I can be right next to you on such silence that I stay unnoticed. I watch everything. That does not mean I can’t be loud. Indeed, I am, but not always. I Do not suppress the desire to be noisy. In fact I never hide anything. I'm just in the blind spot, that place where you see what is happening but are not visible until you move. Many people try to get close to me, but if you get too close, you only will see a little part of me, some people see me from afar, and obviously I miss in their pupils like a ship on the horizon. I think I'm complicated, like a character of self-fiction. I think you do not understand me. It might seem that I am not describing a lot, but look closely, carefully. I'm not a cold person at all. I do not keep my feelings in my chest case to suffer. I can’t deny that sometimes I cried with laughter, but that already happened. Maybe I have learned a lot in so little and short lifetime, I can’t write from the wound, but ii can write from the scar. (At the end of the day I live in my imagination.) It seems that I have the ability to learn from my mistakes and from the others' mistakes. Returning to my eyes I must report that they can tell you a thousand things about me, like that I am responsible, I care for other people, I'm antisocial, I can be a great friend ... but don’t trust, everybody lies, and I can assure you, that my eyes are always ready to be of a different color every time you look at them, that’s how I was born. Privilege or conviction, I can see through the window, but you just look to the curtains.
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