A year sharing hopes, experiences, inspiring stories and unlikely tales. More than 270 written notes. At least 300 hours dedicated. Zero dollars earned. Less than 100, 200… 500? total reads. 29 followers. 1 fugitive follower. Zero email subscribers. 8 comments. 4 invitations for publications. Here’s the evidence of defeat!
A voice without ears. A few words without readers. Writings of faith, hope and love, injustices, Metaverse, small thoughts, disturbing questions, sustainability, tributes to Descalzo and Balmes’ El Criterio to common sense and humanity.
The photo shows a scandalous fiasco, a resounding shipwreck, a shameful setback. And you know what? I’m not going to stop for a damn minute. I don’t care about statistics. If there are no ears here, now, for my voice, it will never shut up because hope never loses hope. If the mediocrity of my texts does not catch the reader, they do not hook or flow when the eyes pass through them, I will continue writing five hundred, three thousand, fifty thousand stories until habit, effort and experiences are so transparent that readers want to browse through texts. New themes will appear, others will conclude, but many will continue because I must write with the hope of hope, with the love of love and with the faith of faith.
I will continue to listen ad nauseam that “what is not measured cannot be managed”. And I will keep repeating until the end of my days: “Propaganda!” The most important things are immeasurable. Period. How big is the love received and given? What percentage of your hopes keep you happy? What is the potential of a prayer in the midst of painful ordeal or unspeakable suffering? How much worth is a kiss on the cheek from a gone and missed grandfather? What is the ROI of hugging mom or a son who went away? How much is a minute worth of sincere affection with friends today?
Measure everything so as not to value anything. Compare to despise. Always looking for what is missing without loving what you have. Fans, followers, friends, connections… How many? I don’t give a damn about statistics. I want to articulate stories not readings. I want to convey the immense joy I feel at being able to share those things that I feel, live and believe. I want to break the heart, piece by piece, and go out to distribute it. Until I am left with nothing, empty, exhausted.
Until I have given everything I will not stop moving, draining the neurons, and disarming the feelings and slicing the soul. That is for me the only and true revolution of deconstruction, the one that leaves us hollow of all presumption and pride, as if we had been abandoned in an immense desert to make us humble. Then, there, in that instant, you and I, we will be filled with so much that we will burst with happiness.
More temptation than faith, I guess
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