Yesterday I trained using my (very heavy aluminum
frame) bicycle, Alu Bike brand, made in M. A short distance because I would do
strength training too. Not much, a few pushups and dumbbells series exercises.
I didn’t take a bath, I slept in the living room and
very late, after midnight, I ate that very healthy and nutritious meal: rice
and beans with a couple of eggs and raw red onion and garlic, with salt grain.
I slept again after that and woke up a little after 5 a.m.
I drank three mugs of coffee in the living room,
listening to music. A USB memory with mp3 files connected to a DVD player,
avoiding images, video. I listened to Dido and Sarah McLachlan. Why do I avoid
watching images, video? Because it doesn’t make me feel fine.
A few weeks ago I read again Harper Lee’s literature
masterpiece, To Kill a Mockingbird. What motivated me to do that, having read
it for the first time more than 40 years ago (its translation into Spanish, Matar
Un Ruiseñor); then I read it several times in English?
Scout (Jean Louise) and Jem (Jeremy), sister and
brother, during the Great Depression, the 1930s in the South of the United
States of America; in Mobile, Alabama. Scout was six years old at the
beginning, Jem, her senior brother was 10. They were Atticus Finch’s children.
Calpurnia, a black cook took care of them because they were orphans, their
mother had died about four years before, when Jem was six and Scout was two
years old. Jem remembered their mother; Scout did not.
Dill, a neighbor’s nephew, went to Mobile to spend
summer with his aunt, Miss Rachel. Scout and Jem met Dill and instantly they
became friends. During the summer vacations, they spent a lot of time playing
games they conceived, which involved physical activity, and spent time reading
books for children. Jem and Scout’s father, Atticus, worked during the day and
in the early afternoon he spent time sitting on a sofa, listening to the radio
(news and classical music), reading a newspaper, or reading books.
All this happens during the 1930s, nearly a century
ago (although it is fiction, a novel). Scout, Jem and Dill didn’t watch TV
because it didn’t exist.
Talking about me, I was born in April 1964. When I was
five years old, my family (my parents, a twin sister born five minutes after me
and a sister born four years later, in July 1968) moved to another city.
During the early afternoon (at about 13 hours),
children could watch cartoons (Warner Brothers or something of the kind) for
about 30 minutes. After that, there wasn’t anything but soap operas for (not
too smart) housewives, real trash. Early in the evening (at about 19 or 20 hours)
there were TV programs for children on weekdays, which lasted about 60 minutes.
On weekends could be a bit more, but I cannot recall.
At the time I was five years old, next year I began my
primary education, which would last six years. During the first one or two
years, there weren’t TV programs for children (1970 to 1971). Suddenly, things
changed. There were TV programs for children during four hours or more during
the afternoon.
I played with other children, neighbors and
classmates, but less time than before. I read books, but less than I would have
read had not been TV programs. I didn’t do much homework, I didn’t learn much,
in part because I was born neuro divergent and suffered from ADHD, never
diagnosed. I needed a special education, a private tutor. My father (a
malignant narcissist, a psychopath) hated me because I existed, because I was
born; my mother didn’t take care of me.
The idea I wanted to express is that it would have
been a lot better there wasn’t TV for children; maybe it would have been very
good for everybody; for adults —grownups— too.
At present, modern technologies are used by the
masses, and that could be hurting a very large number of people, weakening
their mental/intellectual/cognitive abilities.
I was not born in the USA during the 1920s but south
of the border, more than 40 years later. My father was not an attorney; my
mother didn’t die when I was a very young kid. In fact, she was born in January
1942 and at present she is 84 years old. My father was born in August 1937 and
died in December 2007, being 70 years and four months old. He rots in hell.
Being 62, I avoid using (Smart) TV as much as I can. I
watch (not commercial, but government) news programs, about 60 minutes a day on
weekdays. I do not watch TV series on streaming or anything else because it
doesn’t make me feel fine.
Being young, during my 20s, I taught myself
mathematics, physics and other engineering subjects, as well as a foreign
language, English. I could have done a lot more than that, but for very long
periods of time life has been a nightmare, sometimes it has been a living hell.
I have not been hurt because I have been a fool, or for having been a
despicable scoundrel. I have been attacked because I decided to turn my
weaknesses into strengths, and that has hurt people (mostly males, “men”) who
could have done just that, but decided to avoid doing such.
They failed miserably, to themselves.
I don’t think I must blame myself for that. I never
apologized to my father because he was badly hurt by his father decades before
I was born, nor because his mother died a nearly a quarter of a century before
I arrived to this world —around 1950—. I didn’t apologize because in the
history of humanity people were slaved or subject to ruthless exploitation. I
don’t think I will ever do that.
Jealousy and envy motivate people to hurt individuals
who show good characteristics. That doesn’t seem to be very rational,
reasonable.
A man or a woman cannot strip someone of a high IQ, or
of good (uncommon) physical characteristics, artistic talents and the like. By
the way, I’d like to add that I didn’t strip anyone of having born neuro
divergent, or from suffering from ADHD, nor of being unable to see with an eye.
That wouldn’t make much sense, and of course, it wouldn’t be possible.
People can be stripped of money, properties, jewels or
other expensive objects; that would seem to be unnecessary to mention.
Although I have been a sportsman for over 40 years, I
didn’t succeed as a competitor because my abilities were always very modest,
although I had the looks of a high performance athlete (a pedestrian runner) at
the beginning, and the looks of a professional (bicycle) rider about 10 years
later (I began bicycling at 26, about 36 years ago, —although during years I
couldn’t train because I lived in poverty, unemployed, unable to work because I
suffered from a very bad mental disorder and I didn’t even know it because
criminal psychiatrist didn’t inform me or my parents—. I didn’t have enough money to feed myself, I
lived hungry. My father punished me because he considered me a Playboy, the son of a mogul who wouldn’t
ever work, and those three physicians, —psychiatrists— who attended me for 16
years (from 1990 to 2006) let my parents believe that the only problem I ever
faced was an absolute lack of trouble during my entire lifetime.
Human beings need some adversity in their lives,
otherwise, they do not become strong, which leads the individual to become
extremely weak. My parents considered me such specimen and those evil shrinks
(in particular the last one, Flavio) let them believe just that.
That’s the story of my life, or at least, a very
significant part of it.
I doubt I will
ever apologize for not becoming a human wreck. My kid sister, Veronica, died 20
years ago, being 33 years and a half years old. She was born on 23 October 1972,
she died on 30 April 2006. She left three orphan children. A son, was 14 years
old and two daughters were about three and four.
I saw Veronica for the last time on 31 December 2000,
I never imagined that she would die a few years after that. I suffered a lot
when she died and the duel lasted a very long time, many years; I couldn’t say
how many.
Why?
Because I was a bad brother, but she loved me because
I helped her to learn mathematics and English, using the abilities I had
developed to teach myself.
I am not young anymore. I believe I am healing. I can
assimilate the violence which has dominated my life and keep in mind that I
have been able to face that; many men wouldn’t have survived, or at least, they
wouldn’t have been able to avoid becoming human wrecks; addicts to alcohol,
tobacco and/or not legal drugs.
Still alive and I kicking, or pedaling.
I appreciate that someone reads what I write
















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