Pues la casa se quema, calentemonos todos.
Let’s make the best of this bad situation. Our home is aflame, everyone gather around, at least we will be warm. That is what this proverb says. That we shouldn’t let things go to waste. That everything has its use. Even the ashes, we are sure. And there is always a way to take advantage (of someone else’s misfortune or one’s own).
The child watches her home burning down. Her grandmother told her not to waste her life, not to waste anything in life, not even her socks. Her grandmother taught her to mend socks. To turn them into puppets the moment she outgrew them. And the child chose crocodiles, with their fake tears, to enact her dreams. Crocodiles that now are aflame inside her home. And the child is told to fake a smile. She is told to approach the flames and forget her loss. To warm herself up. And not let those flames go to waste.
The house is burning and I listen to you. You say that we have to make good use of this tragedy. You invite everyone to warm themselves. And I let them approach. This tragedy that is only mine.
The fire doesn’t make me forget my tragedy. The ashes remind me of what I have lost. And no matter what you say, I still believe that there was a better chance of the cold turning me into someone who only knows how to take advantage.
They are not the same. I can cry without losing anything, without suffering any pain. Because water is just water and it slides. But smiles are sharp and they cut. Stealing pieces of my soul.
A home is something that keeps you warm. And for me, that is what socks are. The tragedy is that they are easily outgrown, that the same pair of socks cannot keep me warm all my life. But you taught me to make good use of them. You taught me to turn them into puppets. To re-enact my memories and keep my heart warm.
I thank you for bringing me up like you did. You taught me to see the good side of every bad thing. And now I look for tragedies everywhere. I am unable to see a warm home. I only see the fire, and the benefit I could reap.
If only smearing these ashes around my eyes changed the lessons that you taught me. I want to see my loss and mourn it. To let everyone know that it mattered to me. But you taught me to see that bright fire. To think about the replacement. And blind myself to my loss.
The least you could do is allow me to cry until the flames are done. Let my tears keep me warm.
Thanks to you I don’t see a tragedy in the flames. I don’t see the past. I don’t see my loss. I only see what will come. The future. The next thing I will exploit.
I see nothing wrong with what I do. A smile full of sharp teeth will always cause more harm than a bunch of slippery tears. Pretending to care, pretending to be kind will always cause more harm than crying selfishly.
I will never be a true crocodile. But it doesn’t matter, because I have never seen true tears or true smiles either.