Against time....

Maybe the most tangible evidence of change in our lives is the passage of time. As time goes by, our perception of time is transformed; from being quantified it becomes qualified. In this sense, little by little and more often, we look back to re-live happy and/or pleasant experiences; and of course the opposite situation, we avoid reminiscing about those not too pleasant moments.

Without a doubt, one of the first good memories that come to mind, are the weekends, when my dad was more often at home as his work schedule gave him a respite to play with my brothers and me. I remember that music as well as radio have been the inseparable companions of my house because of my father. Through music, the rest of the family could deduce the mood my dad was in.

Likewise, I think that my fondness for mystery and suspense is largely due to my dad, because while my mother prepared dinner, and my father would iron the school uniforms, my brothers and I would sit in the middle of the living room to play in the company of radio serials - Kaliman & The Atlántis or The mysterious cases of Sherlock Holmes, which were my favorites.

That is when time can play a dirty trick on us. Although our memories remain intact in us, obviously time will be responsible for transforming our lives, and of course, we will have a coin with two realities. On the one hand we remain in our memories and on the other hand, we will have the evidence of ourselves in the present.

Every time I return to visit my country, my family, my home and my friends, I see how the life I was once part of has changed. The city has a different face, perhaps because the technology is more present than ever. My house has a new layout, color and decoration; my friends are going grey, or they have gained or lost some weight. These changes are even expected and the astonishment is not shocking for me.

However, in this last trip, when I saw my father the passage of time became more evident. That man of strong and indomitable character, that man who has a peculiar mood, the lover of the tangos, the fanatic of good football .. That man who looked like an oak, but who now against his will shows all the fragility typical of his age.

I believe that I had never seen in his eyes the helplessness of dependence, I believe that I had never seen in him the look of renunciation of the things that he loved, and sadly I think I will never be able to see in his eyes the acceptance that time has changed him.