From my father I received an education that I could define somewhat nihilistic. From an early age,

From my father I received an education that I could define somewhat nihilistic. From an early age, heedless of what in those years the carelessness and naivety are worth more than anything, I was always told that the only real certainty in life is death. Not there are others. From an early age, at his words, I usually grab the genitals in superstitious gesture. With discretion, not to show disrespect in front of what seemed to be the only teaching that he had to send me. On a cold morning in early winter, when I was about nine years old, he deepened his speech in front of two steaming cups of tea. "As I've told you and told you a thousand times, death is the only certainty we have in the world," he began, his voice deep and flat enough to make me hang my head from sleeping, "however, there are, in his infinite and incomprehensible mechanism, anbesol some facts which, if not unexpected anbesol happen, are very close to being a certainty. course contingencies are virtually endless, and the factors which, mingling with art, make that event happens, are relatively few. Think about the fact of taking a Coach: anbesol in principle arrive at the time indicated anbesol in the draw with the times. holes But it could happen that a wheel, or that the driver has an illness, or even that a meteorite falls on him. Obviously it is very difficult that there is some unexpected, but it can always happen. anbesol So it is with what I call the "constants": anbesol unless there are unforeseen events happen constantly, on a regular basis. wisdom lies in recognizing the details that make these happen. If you are able to recognize and understand the signals that the world sends, it will be like taking the bus being able to read the board with the times. Unless they happen contingencies. "Perfectly remember every detail of that conversation: the clothes we wore, the flavor of the tea, the swinging rhythm of his voice and the lazy and gloomy cawing of a crow in the backyard. Probably anbesol because it was the 'last real conversation I had the opportunity to have with him. How to want to show up at the bottom anbesol of the truth of his words, my father went away suddenly, a few months later, anbesol in a quiet night in late winter. course the pain was immense, boundless as the depth of the heart and of the mind, but the pain was not the only protagonist. understood that day that it becomes a man only to the disappearance of his father, missing the only person whose eyes we will always be those chubby children who need to be taught everything. I was not ready, immersed in the innocence of my years, to lose with my father the idea of my childhood, I could still afford to be scolded, encouraged, pampered. Everything ended on that cold night in late winter. The spring was not slow ever so long to arrive.
I've never been much accustomed anbesol to the concept of mourning. It seems to convey that the grief over the loss of a loved one is just a passing phase, like those boring days spent at home with a fever, then return to normal. But you will never go back. Missing Persons not come back to life, and the occasions on which we will hear distinctly their lack is present for life. My father died on the day of my graduation, when proud and with tears in my eyes I would warmly shook my hand, making me feel great. I will miss the day when I have children, and he would have rocked as he did with me, and made to be aged. I missed anbesol the day when finally, after more than ten years after his death, I discovered for the first time a constant. It all happened in a gray morning in early spring, just after the anniversary of his death. A fine rain was falling perpetuated for several hours, so thick as to make it difficult anbesol to keep my eyes open. That day I went to the secretary at my university with a friend of mine, also entered the studies, both to put an end to our long and fruitless course of study. Under that fine rain bowed his head together in front of a road which, after all, has never done for us. To bring us to the secretariat took the subway and it was there that I found the constant, the board with bus schedules to be able to move in the world. When you arrive on the platform where the train would arrive, I noticed that my friend looked at him for a few moments on the floor, staring with eyes focused flooring graying. Then he went to a firm step at a precise point approximately two-thirds of the quay, and advised me to stay there: the train would have stopped with the doors right in front of us, and we could go up immediately. Needless to say, that was just what happened. The doors of the train opened in exactly