Few minutes ago I didn´t realize that it was possible to write the history of my life. In fact it still being difficult for me to show you how was my life before this moment because I am human and there is a big chance that trying to enhance myself, I could start writing lots of lies, or my childhood dreams. Also there is a small possibility to produce a great text with interesting and boring stories of Daniel’s past.
Anyway I am going to tell something about a boy, by no means that I am the boy I am speaking about. This is just a boy, a playful child, a spoiled person who never thought dreams could become truth so fast, and that speaking could befall a tool for growing up and also an annoying instrument of enclosure.
We will read every time these words, dream and speaking, so please don’t understand nor judge my beginnings in English texts as a bad quality message.
In the corner of his grandma´s kitchen, was sat my character, playing with a dirty napkin while a group of his cousins were running behind the ball, behind the routine. He use to prefer staying alone, listening old fashioned stories about the first steps of transportation in his country or about how in the past people used to walk very big distances to get water for drinking or cooking. Everyday a new boring adventure was how the other boys called his afternoons until the day that all the family knew how the boring child talked with neighbors about business.
His parents were at work, and them supposed that his sons vacation were the most fantastic time of his live, because he was with lot of boys of the same age, but it was no in the real. Once the boy asked for money to her mom, who thought was for candies, soda or ice cream, in fact, it was the perfect excuse when he wanted to get out of the grandma house, but the afternoon of the last day of summer, his grandma followed him and discovered something she can’t believe.
For her it was something amazing and crazy at time, because that boring boy was paying for information, he was paying to the old man of the bakery, to the shoemaker, to the market seller, to the pharmacy nurse about the past, the changes related with his present and preferences.
She never understood what was making hers grandson, but she never told to his parents, it was a secret she could understand when the boy gave her a small book that was written with his horrible handwriting and which has something in big letters. THE LIVE OF MY GRANDMA, THE LIVE I DIDN’T LIVE.
