all know what happened to Cristián Warnken, I get this a lot he wrote.
to you
To you who read these lines, you're down by one of the many roads of the city morning of March or perhaps you're in a subway car-with the lost look, as all travelers at this hour, or taste the coffee and walk distracted first pages of this newspaper, looking for something you do not know what it is. To you, that you take your children to school and you just do not hear a question that you did your youngest daughter, because you were thinking about something else. To you, you just out of the shower and you see a flash in the mirror. To you, who quickly pass by me and almost pushed me and I do not see. To you, who, with just 18 years-you get up with the boredom stuck in the soul and connects to the computer not to open the window of your room overlooking the garden. To you, who look at your husband still sleeping next to you, and you see her neck and her skin worn, and feel in the center of your chest with a hole, the feeling of fatigue that you would like to flee thousands of miles away. To you, you're buying bread without excited with the smell and temperature. To you, you went to an ATM and discovered that the account balance was negative, and you feel fear, anger, anxiety. To you, you just leave your child in the nursery and walked away without singing that song "that he likes so much." To you, you just come into the office and you are about to start a day like every day, working without love for what you do, as part of a gear that devours you.
To you who read these lines, you're down by one of the many roads of the city morning of March or perhaps you're in a subway car-with the lost look, as all travelers at this hour, or taste the coffee and walk distracted first pages of this newspaper, looking for something you do not know what it is. To you, that you take your children to school and you just do not hear a question that you did your youngest daughter, because you were thinking about something else. To you, you just out of the shower and you see a flash in the mirror. To you, who quickly pass by me and almost pushed me and I do not see. To you, who, with just 18 years-you get up with the boredom stuck in the soul and connects to the computer not to open the window of your room overlooking the garden. To you, who look at your husband still sleeping next to you, and you see her neck and her skin worn, and feel in the center of your chest with a hole, the feeling of fatigue that you would like to flee thousands of miles away. To you, you're buying bread without excited with the smell and temperature. To you, you went to an ATM and discovered that the account balance was negative, and you feel fear, anger, anxiety. To you, you just leave your child in the nursery and walked away without singing that song "that he likes so much." To you, you just come into the office and you are about to start a day like every day, working without love for what you do, as part of a gear that devours you.
To you I
grab the flap, the arm with respect, but firmly, "you want to stop you in your career mad and tell you that maybe nobody has ever said, because it is not taught in schools does not appear in the newspapers. I'm not one to take off five minutes of your crowded agenda, desperate, I am one among the millions that come down this morning to start another day in the city. So why should you disconnect from your "iPod" or turn off your cell phone to listen? Think maybe I am a preacher, an insurance salesman, or someone who wants to steal in broad daylight. I know I will look with suspicion, with hassle, with suspicion.
grab the flap, the arm with respect, but firmly, "you want to stop you in your career mad and tell you that maybe nobody has ever said, because it is not taught in schools does not appear in the newspapers. I'm not one to take off five minutes of your crowded agenda, desperate, I am one among the millions that come down this morning to start another day in the city. So why should you disconnect from your "iPod" or turn off your cell phone to listen? Think maybe I am a preacher, an insurance salesman, or someone who wants to steal in broad daylight. I know I will look with suspicion, with hassle, with suspicion.
To you, that yet hear me your watch, I tell you, before you disappear devoured by the crowd: "Man is unhappy because he knows that he is happy. That's it! If anyone comes to discover, be happy at once, in the same minute. Everything is good. "
And that was it? "I say. Yes, and I say anything else, other than that, nothing.
If you've caught the flap and I have discussed this morning on Thursday I write is to say you're happy and you do not. And that's what I told you once said a man like you, called Dostoevsky. And I, who am I to talk so to enter your privacy and read your quote from a Russian who does not know? I'm dead. I'm dead, you're alive.
Dead "you? "I say. But if I can touch and see and hear!
Yes, but I'm dead. I got up in the morning like you, turn on the radio like you, as you sipped coffee and looked distracted the clouds in the sky, and brought my son into the garden and not know he was happy to be alive. I did not know, as you do not know, and do not know many who do not tread with pleasure the first leaves of autumn, do not stop to see the first rays of light creep through the window to warm skin of or even sleeping next to you.
But this, in fact, they taught me Dostoyevksi, but my young son Clement, a child like millions of children are currently brought to school, a child asked me a question I did not hear a morning a Thursday and today. You're happy and you know it! That's what they teach the children dying, that we learn from a blow which died with them, that is what living like you can not hear. Ego Sum Sebba
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