viernes, 4 de agosto de 2017


What for am I waiting?

Good question my friend, but I have not any answer, I know I am waiting since several years, just since the moment It was evident I was getting old.

My body is old, my legs pains, my arms pains, my mind pains too and so I am one day and another.

So yes, I am waiting,  to be beter?.
No, my God, that could be in other life but not in this one. What could I wait for it would be being worst every single month or year that I could live.

So, waiting what for?

I don´t wat to think deeply about that question, even I don´t want to answer it, may be my reply should be very sad.

In fact every day I am doing silly things that doesn´t produce any good result, buying things I don´t need, sufing by internet several hours a day, writing which ever single subject I think about, like this one, listening new classical music, reading a new book, and what is the better job, looking after my dear Cuca who needs my help.

Doing such a lot of things the day pass away very fast and I do not think about what am I waiting for.

When my mother was living her last years she was in a big building in company of several other old people. The majority of them were very old and their minds were not so good.

Nearly all of them were sitting on their chairs looking in front of them, seeing nothing, doing nothing, just waiting the food, waiting their pills, waiting for some relative who comes and visit them, a son, a daughter, a friend, a grand daughter or son, but the majority of the days, nobody comes to see them.

So, they were waiting, and waiting, their faces sad without any emotion on them, only if you say something to them they smile and once again remains on their seats without moving.

When I saw these persons my impression always was that they were awaiting the death.

They were aside of society, just parked like broken old cars that have been left by drivers who looks for a new one.

These people have move for long and they are just too old for be used by the society.

I don´t want to think I am also an old car, broken, too old, that is waiting for just die.

But evidently I am that old car that doesn´t stop because just in the moment it remains sill it will be parked like the people I saw
visiting my dear mother in that sad place.

el gatufo

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