Life is weird, it has a way of showing you the road and a way of teaching you lessons that you might not want to learn, of showing you happiness and then take it away.

It was middle school, and I was sad; And one day, I wasn't. I found a cat.

Or did I? Thinking back, maybe she found me; I would at least like to think we found each other, because I want to believe I changed her life just as much as she changed mine.

She was roaming the street, looking without looking, surviving, eating out of trash cans and infuriating neighbors, living day to day, maybe just getting by now that I think about it; but one fateful day, she was not rummaging through garbage, one fateful day, the usually cautious and clever cat, let herself be fed by a human, by me.

I was walking back from the store, just picked up the milk for my mom, and there she was, hiding a little bit inside a garage, I looked at her, she was tiny, could not have been over six months and yet, fully adapted to live life outside; I was in awe, we humans need many years to even be able to tie shoelaces and there she was, still a kitty but already dominating life.

It was not far from home, I thought maybe some food would give her comfort, maybe some milk, perhaps I would even manage to pet her, although I had no expectations; I rushed home, grabbed some deli meat from the fridge and promptly returned to the secluded spot.

At first, reluctance, tried my best to show her I meant no harm, but she was cautions, she probably had learned early in life that humans are cruel and treacherous, specially in a world that stigmatizes her kind so much. Stayed there for half an hour, no luck she would not be lured out, so I changed my tactic. Decided to let her come to me... and she did.

A few bites of the deli ham and some milk later, I was able to pet her, she was tiny, athletic, like any feral cat would be, you need to be agile and nimble when you fight for your life every day, thinking back she was probably having a rough time, otherwise I don't think she would have let her guard down so much.

I said my goodbyes wished her luck and started walking home, but then, she started following me, did not even notice until I was home, I tried explaining to her that my mom did not like pets and I could not keep her, that she needed to move on and find a good owner but she had already made her mind up.

Three days passed, mother forbade me from giving her any food or attention and yet, she did not budge, three days she stood outside my house, no water, no food, it was a battle of wills between my mom and this cat. My mom lost, that day she showed me what patience and an iron will could accomplish, that day I knew this was no ordinary cat.

A couple of weeks later, she followed me everywhere, I went to get chicken livers and hearts every Monday for her and she would jog behind me, in retrospective, it probably looked really funny, a teenager in a bike "chased" by a cat.

Every day coming back from school, she was standing outside the house, just waiting for me, she really made my days, just arriving and watching her waiting for me outside, never stopped doing that, she taught me what loyalty was like.

Months passed and one day she did not arrive home, I was worried, it was a first but I trusted her and knew she was a clever cat and could find the way back and could navigate any pickle, after all she was still a free cat that just decided to stay with me and give me company.

A couple of days went by, I got worried, started asking around, went out looking, printed some fliers and put them up in stores, no luck.

Then the third day, I woke up and I knew, somehow I knew exactly were to find her. You see, there was an old water deposit at home, nobody paid attention to it since it was not deep for anyone to get injured and it was also in a place that was not transited at all, so it was just left uncovered out of procrastination. But for a cat, this was a dead trap, impossible to climb and just tall enough that jumping was really hard, specially for an injured cat.

The day I found her injured on the deposit, she was not angry or sad, or even depressed. She was just there, waiting, did not even meow; she also had a broken hip. That day, I saw what a will to live can do.

I often wonder how much she hurt when I was taking her out of that hole, a broken bone is pretty painful, but not a single whimper came out of her mouth, this was a tough cat, or maybe she just did not want me to worry too much.

Months passed, she healed, I did my best to nurse her back to health, she made a full recovery, I was happy.

She started hanging outside my window on Saturdays, I would hear a meow outside and let her in, then she would "bathe" my hair and I fell asleep to the purring sound, those are some of my most fond memories.

Half a year went by, she went missing again, we already have covered the water deposit by that time, I hoped for the best.

Two days later she arrived, looked like crap, seemed she had gotten into a fight, had to shower her, she did not like water but at the same time she was never aggressive, the look on her face was what I could only describe as a "loving fuck you", did not know what had happened, did not care I was only happy that she was back.

Then two months later, I knew what had happened, she had gone to town and now I had kitties. Oh such an idiot I was to not have snipped her on time, we kept them all, we loved them all, they all had good lives but this is not their story. We had her fixed immediately after that, did not want anymore kitties.

Time came to take the stitches out, at first I did not want to get involved in it, I did not want her to hate me. My parents really tried their best to hold her down, but oh boy, she was a strong cat, my dad looked like he cut his arm with a seesaw, finally my mom budged and asked me for help. I walked up to my cat and started talking, I told her that it would feel weird maybe even hurt (although she probably knew that already by that moment) but that it was for her own good and to be brave, she looked at me, did not move or hurt anyone else for the rest of the process. That day I saw what trust could accomplish.

Then one day, I could not find her again. Looking back I wish I was more insistent in having her inside, I wish we had fixed her sooner, I wished I was there when she arrived. But I wasn't.

Couple of days passed, until one morning I found her, she was dead, nothing was wrong with her, she was not sick, she did not seem injured and yet, she was dead, hiding inside the house I know she loved, but I knew she was trying to stay away from me, I knew she was trying to spare me the pain of finding her. But at the same time, that was her house and I pretty sure she wanted to end her days there.

I never knew what happened, I guess she was probably poisoned, people don't like cats too much where I lived and she was perhaps too crafty for her own good.

I hate that she died alone, I hate that I did not find her sooner, I hate that I could not save her, I hate that I did not have more time with her.

After all these years, I still miss her. I would have liked her to meet my wife, my dogs, travel with me on my adventures, purr in my bed, keep me warm in winter, I would also have liked to have been a better owner, to tell her how much she made my life happy, to be with her when she died.

I always remember the first day I saw her, just a regular tabby, did not care, cats are not made to be fancy, they don't need to, all of them are elegant and faithful, even when most people don't like them. I think most people, they just don't understand, cats are not pets, they are partners, they are friends, they are teachers, but most important of all, they are all love.

"Good boy"

There was once, an old homeless man.

He was a veteran from war, spent his life on the military, saved many lives in many war, had many medals and also killed many people.

Having retired with honors, he suffered from agonizing nightmares, eventually the war and its horrors took everything. or was it just life? He really didn't blame anyone but himself, perhaps he had not been strong enough, perhaps he should have died honorably in combat, perhaps he should have stayed stationed in the military as long as possible. It was too late now, his years for suitable service were long gone, and he never knew anything else than how to take a life.

Wife left, tired of dealing with the night terrors, despite having spent most of his retirement in therapy. His kids were long gone from home and simply lost contact with him one day and he could never found them again, he was also a proud man, who would never want to be seen as the husk of his former self.

He lost the money gambling, he also bough a house, perhaps too big, a car, perhaps too expensive. He earned good money, but was also trying to make up for the time he lost away from home and so, one day the money was just gone.

Found a job in a small convenience store, but he could not keep up with the bills, he had too big of a house, too expensive of a car too much debt in the bank. he went bankrupt and ended on the street, eventually, the little store had to let him go as he could no longer spent his nights inside the parlor.

He wandered, probably crossed a few state lines, he had a vague memory of where his son moved, he only needed an address to be able to work, never wanted to inconvenience his family, but he was also out of luck.

Ended up on the streets of a city, he tried to join a homeless community but they shunned him due to his nightmares, and so, alone he finally found a place below a bridge in a busy road.

One day, he was begging for something to eat on the side of the road, and saw a bunch of teenagers throw a box outside the window. At first he though it might be food, at least some clothes that might fit him and so, hurried to rescue the box, as he approached the little cardboard container, a very weak yelp came out of it. Slowly and carefully he opened the lid, revealing a little puppy mutt.

The little mutt had obviously been thrashed by the teenagers, very carefully he pulled the puppy out of the box, “who is a good boy?” He asked, received nothing in answer but a lick to his hand. it was in bad shape.

He rushed to his bridge where he still had some food saved for emergencies, water and a warm place to stay, it would have seem that the leg was broken, he parched it with a piece of wood and some clothes he had lying around. Tried his best to feed and water him, and felt asleep encroaching him to keep the warm.

Woke up to a tongue all over his face, he smiled, it hurt, it had been a while since the last time he did.

Years passed, he never gave him a name, he just called him "Good boy!”, he decided to name him once he had a home and a job, but he had some resemblance of happiness, a friend that did not judge him, and came closer to him instead of running when he had nightmares.

“Good boy” always walked funny, as best as he could, he was no veterinarian and that leg had not been properly fixed, he felt guilty, but every time this dog cheered him up, it would seem to know the sadness of this man.

Then a really hard winter came, it was really cold, there was a lot of wind. The usual water sources were frozen over and they had to stay out a lot longer than they usually did.

“Good boy” fell sick, it was not the first time, but this man had always been able to nurture him back to health with love and warmth. This time was different.

The mutt could barely move, his breathing had gotten heavy, he could not drink or eat anymore and warmth and love did not seem to be doing much.

The man desperate carried him to a pet hospital, begged for help and got rejected times and times again, until finally one small clinic decided to step in and save “Good boy” life.

A condition was set, the lungs of this animal were damaged by the winter and therefore he could not go back to living on the street, he would get the help he needed, but also would have to be put up for adoption.

The proud man took “Good boy” on his arms, held his head close to him, “you are the best friend I could ever have asked for”, kissed him, and received a weak but very warm lick on the cheek as response, “Be a good boy to your family”.

The man said thanks, and left, “Good boy” recovered and was adopted by a good family to which he brought joy and fun for a couple of years.

One day “Good boy” escaped, they looked for him everywhere, growing desperately as the winter was getting close and he could not be outside due to his weak lungs, it was by chance that they found him, driving on the highway, they saw him getting below a bridge.

There was a man lying on an improvised bed in the floor, he looked very sick, the family approached him slowly, “Good boy” was lying next to him, trying to keep the man warm.

The dad of the family asked “Are you OK?” The answer was a wheezing sound, he obviously had not much time.

The dad got closer to hold his hand, he was a good man, he believed nobody should be alone in their final moments and he was not going to let this homeless man leave the world secluded.

The homeless man, looked up, his face changed, illuminated for a second as if he would have seen the face of god, he moved his head close to “Good boy” and whispered very faintly, “You are not a good boy, you are the best boy”. He then pulled what looked like a picture from one of his pockets, gave it to the family dad, smiled and passed away.

The dad of the family turned the picture, and found a very old picture of him and his dad. Written on the back it said “Sorry I couldn't find you, I love you, Dad”.

A veces me olvido

A veces me olvido de decir gracias, de decir por favor y de decir hasta luego.

A veces me olvido de lavarme los dientes, ponerme colonia y afeitarme la cara.

A veces me olvido de sentarme derecho, bajar los codos y usar servilleta.

A veces me olvido de usar tenedor, masticar despacio y cerrar los labios.

A veces me olvido de ser compasivo, no juzgar y tener valores.

A veces me olvido de tantas cosas, a veces no me olvido de nada, a veces me siento y veo el tiempo pasar.

A veces me olvido de cuando estuve solo, de cuando llegaste y me olvido que estas aquí.

A veces me olvido de la tristeza, de la soledad y del sufrimiento.

A veces me olvido del tiempo, de que ha pasado un año y de que soy tan afortunado.

A veces me olvido de darte rosas, de dedicarte un minuto y de abrazarte un mundo.

A veces me olvido de decirte lo afortunado que soy por tenerte a mi lado y de decirte a cada momento, lo mucho que te amo.

Gracias por el mejor año de mi vida.

Recuerdo las flores

No recuerdo mucho, pero recuerdo las flores.

La conocí hace ya tanto tiempo que la vida se ha llevado los recuerdos, pero me ha quedado el amor en el corazón

Recuerdo las flores, cada semana, sin excepción alguna ella era víctima de mis afectos, era víctima de mis rosas, de mis lilas pero sobre todo de mi alma. Víctima de mi amor.

Secuestré su corazón con mis labios y olvidé pedir rescate por el así que se quedó conmigo toda la vida. No dejé jamás de abrazarla y nunca dejaré de amarla.

Hoy ella parte del mundo, hoy ella se hace parte de algo más allá de existencia efímera humana en éste mundo retorcido por el odio, hoy es libre, hoy libero su corazón con gusto porque lo tuve muchos años y muchos años me quedan de ella para mi.

Fue cuando tenía 80 años que un día me paré frente a una vitrina de flores, vi mi reflejo, ¡Cómo había cambiado! Y en tan solo unos pocos años. Entré en el local, y me atendió una joven saludable, dueña de dicho negocio, una joven que sabía viviría más que yo y mi mujer juntos.

Le pedí que me hiciera una cuenta, quería un ramo de rosas cada semana a mi dirección con mi esposa como destinataria, durante 15 años más, sin importar si yo vivía o moría. Pagué y abandoné el local poniendo mi buena fe en aquella desconocida y su juventud.

Todas las semanas sin faltar ni una sola el ramo llegó, y mientras tuve oportunidad de dárselo en las manos y tener un pretexto más para verla sonreír... lo hice.

Para éste tiempo ya éramos viejos, ¡Y ella que quería morir joven! Disfrutó nietos y bisnietos, disfruto tanto y finalmente aprendió a cocinar, se le batía el arroz y se le quemaba la carne, pero sus pasteles siempre fueron lo mejor.

A mis 90 ya nada me funcionaba como debiera, a los 85 me morí por tercera vez y el médico me dijo que ya no me quedaba gran tiempo. Pero le prometí a ella que nunca la abandonaría, que ella se iría primero... y lo cumplí, como un muerto viviente, pero lo cumplí.

Recuerdo el día de su funeral, asistieron más de 500 personas, estaba lleno, llamé un día antes a la dueña de mi local de rosas, de su sonrisa prestada y le pedí que me trajera el resto de mi orden porque ya no la necesitaría más.

Y así fue, llegaron más de 3 camiones a retacar con ramos de rosas, todas rojas, justo como le gustaban a ella.

Parejas jóvenes asistieron, su labor con los animales de toda la vida la mantenía en constante trato con la loca juventud de estos tiempos. Y llegaron nuestros hijos. Recuerdo que Sylfi se veía particularmente hermosa ese día, sus hijos y los hijos de sus hijos nos acompañaban, puede que se haya mezclado todo el ADN familiar, pero algo perduró en la familia la sonrisa de ella, con esa calidad que podía derretir el corazón más duro de todos.

Repartimos los ramos por todo el recinto, hicimos una cama de rosas en su féretro y la vi hermosa, como siempre, desde el primer día que la conocí hasta el último que la ame.

En cada una de las butacas pusimos un ramillete, media docena de rosas para cada asistente, cada ramo leía la leyenda «Hoy comparto el amor que tuvimos toda la vida, contigo, esperando que encuentres el tuyo algún día».

Nos acercamos todos y besamos uno por uno su mejilla en despedida, me quedé yo de pie junto a ella todo el tiempo, jamás me separé como lo había prometido.

Y fue esa misma noche que puse mis asuntos en orden, ya no tenía ningún pendiente. Cumplí con darle hijos, cumplí con proteger a nuestra familia y cumplí con esperarla a ella. Ya solo me quedó esperar el cálido abrazo de la eternidad.

Y así fue, un día después yo partí, en mi sepelio no hubo gran fiesta, ni tampoco rosas, asistió la familia pero ya no derramaron lágrimas, entendieron que yo había cumplido mi tarea y era mi momento de partir.

Me colocaron junto a ella, y en mi lápida se podía leer «aquí yace un hombre que amó hasta el último día de su vida y cumplió todas sus promesas» y a mi lado se leía la de ella «aquí yace la inspiración de ese hombre».

Train Man, Capítulo 2

Un tumulto, ruidos, una sonrisa, un aliento. Recuerdos de la infancia que se van desvaneciendo. A menudo me pregunto qué será el pensamiento de los mortales cuando nos alcanza el cese de la existencia, me pregunto si el último suspiro significa descanso o resignación, supongo que no lo sabré hasta el día que finalmente me retire de la partida cósmica que es éste mundo.

Me llamaré X, por una simple cuestión de que mi nombre no es importante, pero luego, ¿qué nombre es realmente importante en ésta vida? Los hombres "ilustres" de los tiempos antiguos son recordados como héroes por hazañas que hoy día serían consideradas brutalidades fatales para la humanidad, los científicos de antaño hoy son superados en cualquier laboratorio cada día.

Soy un científico, pero no en el sentido estricto de la palabra, trabajo en una institución que tiene el fin de ayudar a la humanidad en lugar de sólo producir más desechos que eventualmente nos terminarán por consumir y costarnos el planeta en el que vivimos. Mi tarea desde hace un tiempo ha sido el tema que traté hace ya años en mi tesis profesional, la celda solar definitiva.

El sol, la fuente de poder más grande que tenemos a nuestro alcance y sin embargo completamente desaprovechada por la incapacidad humana para entender el potencial de tan inmensa batería inagotable. Si pudiéramos procesar todos los rayos solares que caen en un metro cuadrado de tierra durante un minuto, podríamos alimentar una ciudad completa; esa es mi misión.

Trabajo con colegas, nos hemos acercado a lo que buscamos pero aún no hemos podido encontrar un elemento que nos permita aprovechar el poder de la radiación solar en su totalidad, desafortunadamente todos nuestros intentos han generado componentes altamente radioactivos y eso supone un peligro para la sociedad. Sin embargo, día con día nos acercamos un poco más al objetivo.

Siempre he pensado que puedes saber todo de una persona por lo ojos, alguna vez leí que los ojos son las ventanas del alma para los seres humanos y desde entonces aprendí a leer los ojos de las personas para conocerlos antes de que digan una sola palabra. Mi colega, el Dr. Z, porque su nombre también carece de importancia) tiene ojos de esperanza; he conocido muy pocas personas como el Dr. Z, la verdadera pasión de dichas personas es ayudar a la gente y tratar de mejorar el mundo, aunque por regla general las personas tratan de mejorar el mundo con fines egoístas, hay aquellos que buscan salvar al mundo no para ellos, sino para las generaciones venideras y el resto del planeta, el Dr. X es de aquellas personas.

Tengo un diseño de la celda solar, hoy será el tercer día que dedicaremos al armado, sin embargo mi cabeza está en otro sitió muy lejos de aquí, aún puedo recordar vívidamente mi experiencia en el tren, aún puedo sentir la sangre meterse entre mis dedos y sentir el olor de la pólvora meterse hasta mi garganta. Aún no logro comprender lo que sucedió, ¿qué era mi objetivo en ese lugar? ¿Acaso debía aprender algo? O más bien era meramente informativo. Claro siempre está la posibilidad de que me esté volviendo loco por la presión o que todo sea un vulgar broma cósmica en la que casualmente quedé inmerso en algún punto.

La respiración del Dr. Z es agitada, puedo ver la emoción en sus ojos por las pruebas del día de hoy. Puedo entenderlo pero no comparto su emoción, es mi tercer prototipo y cada vez ha sido un fracaso, así que ahora simplemente hago las pruebas sin emoción... con esperanza pero sin emoción.

Un rayo de sol ilumina la sala y vemos el voltímetro espectantes de lo que sucederá, levanta la aguja lentamente, pero apenas en un 80% más eficiente que las celdas solares actuales, para nuestro objetivo necesitamos que alcance un 2400% más de eficiencia, el sonríe por el éxito obtenido, nos felicitamos mutuamente, pero internamente yo se que un fracaso más para anotarme a la lista.

Cuando escribí mi trabajo de carrera creí que salvaría al mundo con mis teorías, que una vez que saliera de la universidad me dedicaría a investigar y en poco tiempo lograría lo propuesto en un escrito, qué equivocado estaba.

Salí de las instalaciones de alta seguridad del laboratorio, respiré el aire de la noche y dejé que inundara mis pulmones tratando de llenar hasta el último de mis alveolos y me puse en marcha hacia la estación del subterráneo.

Al llegar al descenso para ingresar de pronto sentí que estaba entrando a una cueva llena de leones come hombres, el aire a mi alrededor se hizo pesado y noté como se viciaba con la exhalaciones de miles de personas más a mi alrededor. Finalmente junté valor y comencé a descender los escalones que me llevarían hacia los túneles que se movían por toda la ciudad.

Abordé el vagón como siempre lo había hecho, noté de nuevo a las personas, una pareja que se demostraba sus afectos con tantos besos que sus labios ya debían estar agrietados, escuché detrás de mi la respiración agitada de un viejo perdido en sus cavilaciones seguramente de una vida anterior a su actual estado. Un ciego palpaba torpemente los tubos del pasillo tratando de abrirse paso hacia una de las salidas.

Y después pasó, me percaté muy claramente de mi respiración, era agitada y mi corazón latía rápidamente como si hubiera corrido un maratón; las paredes se comenzaron a sentir más pequeñas como si estuviera en una caja de cuatro paredes comprimida por un contenedor de basura. Me tambalee un poco y cerré los ojos para tratar de aclara mi mente y tomar aire.

Al abrir los ojos, estaba de nuevo solo en el vagón, ¿o lo estaba? Al final alcanzaba a distinguir una leve silueta que parecía femenina, me acerqué y noté que estaba inconsciente con la cabeza contra una de las puertas, traté de despertarla un par de veces sin éxito y de pronto escuché una voz detrás de mi que decía "Señorita... señorita... es la última estación". La mujer abrió los ojos lentamente, eran de un color gris intenso y su vestimenta parecía de los años veinte sin embargo traía un aparato en la muñeca que no lograba reconocer, se acercó a la puerta ya abierta y noté que no alcanzaba a distinguir nada fuera, era como un abismo negro más allá de los marcos.

Salió del vagón y a pesar de no tener idea de lo que estaba más allá de la puerta podía escuchar voces del otro lado, más o menos así "hola Mildred, ¿lista para limpiar las calles un día más? Me quedé frío un momento se me nubló de nuevo la vista y me tallé los ojos tratando de recuperar mi visión, al abrirlos estaba en mi estación destino con toda la gente a mi alrededor como siempre, caminé y noté que mis manos temblaban fuera de control, traté de calmarme un poco, pero aquello había sido demasiado... Mildred era el nombre de mi hija.

The Sad Man

The sad man cried
was nor living
nor death
nor feeling
nor trying

The sad man looks to the moon
she smiles in silence to him,
the sad man in silence lies
and the world whispers around.

The sad man, looks to the stars
and the sky falls down
the sad man trembles in the mirror
and the earth shivers and the floor crumbles.

The sad man smiles
and a moment later, he dies.

La profundidad del pensamiento

Transparente, cristalino miro a través de tu mente.
Los pensamientos corren por tu cabeza como el agua corre el río.
Mezclas de colores, imaginación, formas grises y tristeza.
Aunque una representación así no basta,
no basta con expresar el amor con palabras
y la tristeza con sollozos.
No basta verlo todo para después olvidarlo.
¿Cómo saber lo que está bien cuando la vida pierde sentido?
¿Cómo saber si la profundidad del pensamiento basta para expresar un sentimiento?