Mas vale pan con amor que gallina con dolor.
This is one of those trite proverbs that tries to convince us that being poor and in love is preferable to being rich and in pain.
Once upon a time there was a chicken that had been brought to clean a table. It had been brought to eat all the breadcrumbs that no one else wanted to eat. It was there, at that table full of riches, that the chicken met a sad girl. She couldn’t conceal her heartache. From one bite to the next, the girl alternated between daydreaming about love and regretting the choices she had made. But the chicken couldn’t find it in its heart to pity that girl. Because one day it would be that chicken on her plate, under her knife. And that girl wouldn’t even have the decency to enjoy her meal.
I have lost my appetite. I am full. They told me that there was something called bread out there. They never loved me, but they told me that there was something called love out there. And now I cannot make myself eat anything else.
They told me that bread was love and chicken was pain. But I have had my fill, I have licked all these bones clean, and I still haven’t tasted it.
I made my choice. Chicken and pain. But it only took one bite to know that I can live with it. I expected to miss the bread and the love I gave up. I expected unbearable agony. But I haven’t lost my appetite. And that is what hurts me the most.
