temor

nombre masculino
1. Miedo que se siente al considerar que algo perjudicial o negativo ocurra o haya ocurrido.
2. Sospecha de que algo es malo o puede conllevar un efecto perjudicial o negativo.

malentendido

nombre masculino
1. Dicho, hecho o suceso que se interpreta equívocamente.

Después de corroborar que estoy usando los términos correctos, y mas aun, los que deseo usar, puedo con algo de tranquilidad profundizar el tema. Esto lo he hecho, por mi temor de que no se entienda o malinterprete mis palabras. Sucede tan a menudo que nuestras palabras son interpretadas erróneamente, que encuentro que importante definirlas como medida imprescindible para asegurar el buen entendimiento, y por consiguiente irritar la conversación.

Es mi impresión, que la sociedad occidental no ve muy bien los temores humanos. Hay temores y temores, todos los tenemos. Uno debe resolver a solas, o con expertos los suyos, preferiblemente a solas. Estos días es mas aceptable el uso de expertos, algo que no hace mucho tiempo era considerado una locura, y tildado como una debilidad del carácter. Esas debilidades son incongruentes con una sociedad, sana, fuerte, pujante y especialmente homogénea y mayormente productiva.

Recuerdo bien que mis temores infantiles fueron despreciados y minimizados por los miembros de mi tribu. Creo que este proceder es generalmente universal. Los adultos, que han alguna vez, o continúan teniendo temores, tratan de esconderlos para no mostrar esa percibida realidad a los niños. Deben mostrarse fuertes y seguros. Este circulo viciosa se perpetua en la sociedad, con poco éxito en su resolución. Como podemos aliviar los temores, si primeramente, ni siquiera debemos darles cabida en nuestra vida. Es una posición con la que no se puede vencer a ningún enemigo.

Sun Zu: “conócete a ti mismo y conoce a tu enemigo”

En esta época de crisis y pandemia, abundan los temores, gracias a la incertidumbre de la información sobre el enemigo. Si lo conociéramos mas, podríamos quizás protegernos mejor o montar una ofensiva para por lo menos empezar a ganar unas batallas. Pero nuestra ignorancia, no por ser arrogantes, sino bien fundada en el desconocimiento nos trae recuerdos de antiguos temores.

El individuo

El asunto de lidiar con los temores a solas es lo que se espera de un buen miembro de la sociedad. Nada de pedir ayuda, consejo, ni que niño muerto. Haber como no bandeamos con el temita. Algunos temores los hemos vencido a través de los años, el conocimiento y todo aquello que hemos tenido a nuestra disposición. Otros los hemos archivado de la mejor manera posible, pero de ven en cuando reaparecen con objetos mágicos o fantasmas en sitios inesperados, solo para tratar de archivarlos, no resueltos nuevamente, esperando no volver a toparnos con ellos.

Este nuevo temor o conjunto de temores, no solo nos afectan a nosotros, sino a la sociedad entera. Podemos hablar de ellos, pero con la cautela, que no demostrar que somos débiles y quisiéramos a nuestra madre que nos conforte y nos asegure que todo saldrá bien.

Afortunadamente, esta pandemia con sus temores, permite el intercambio de ideas, conocimientos y demás. Pero, lo que encuentro ausente es el intercambio de los temores que a todos nos están haciendo tanto daño. Creo nuevamente que el hablar de nuestros temores se ha vuelto un tabú.

tabú

nombre masculino
1. Prohibición de comer o tocar algún objeto, impuesta por algunas religiones polinésicas.
2. Prohibición de hacer o decir algo determinado, impuesta por ciertos respetos o prejuicios de carácter social o psicológico.

La pareja

Si el propio individuo no esta equipado para lidiar con algunos de sus temores, menos la pareja lo estará. La comunicación humana es muy deficiente, mas aun cuando se trata de expresar sentimientos y demás sensaciones, que en realidad son difíciles de poner en palabras. Esto compuesto con la dinámica de pareja, es digno de estudio. Digamos que la pareja tiene un historial de entendimiento superior, algo escaso, uno u ambos podrán seriamente expresar sus temores sin temor de ser vilificados o ridiculizados, por que sabemos bien que serán juzgados, algo que es inescapable en el ser humano.

Asumamos que tienen esa joya de conversación donde el le confiesa que teme morir, mas ahora que antes, que antes nunca había sentido su mortalidad tan asediada y que prefiere vivir recluido, cuidando su salud por un tiempo indefinido. El, por supuesto, estaría seguro que su estrategia no solo es sensata, sino que también es aceptable para ella.

Ella al escuchar a su pareja, juzga su entrega, pondera lo dicho y concuerda con su estrategia y vivirán felices comiendo perdices. Pero, la posibilidad de que ella este algunos grados en desacuerdo con el, seria razón para entablar una discusión y llegar a un acuerdo. Si ella fuera tan abierta como el, le diría cual seria su estrategia. Los detalles se allanarían y llegarían al acuerdo y la vida seguiría.

Los hijos

El asunto de la postura de los padres ante los hijos, es y siempre lo será de ejemplo. No decir lo que se debe hacer, sino mostrar con acciones, no con palabras. Si los padres han inculcado que los temores los resuelve cada uno a solas, entonces, ni hablar de ellos. Como si no existieran. Si fueran mas tolerantes con los temores de los hijos, hubiera podido haber conversaciones donde se trato el tema. Estos padres podrán enfrentarse unidos con sus hijos a este enemigo.

La familia

La familia extendida tiene demasiados participes para poder tener la homogeneidad requerida para el entendimiento grupal. El enemigo será identificado, cada dominio tendrá que crear su propia estrategia para la lucha.

Fricciones por diferencias en las estrategias podrían conseguirse especialmente cuando se trata de cómo lidiar con algo tan peligroso. Unos dirán que no se preparan, los preparados, despreciaran y consideraran a los demás irresponsables. Me recuerdan al cuento de los tres chanchitos.

La tribu

Estos ya son la extensión de la familia, el mismo problema existe, desgraciadamente se multiplica. Los amigos, los vecinos, etc. Todos opinan y juzgan.

La sociedad

Ese grupo al que pertenecemos, la nación, ejerce su presión. No aconsejan, no instruyen y hasta no obligan a cumplir con las regulaciones que promueven los representantes que bien o mal escogimos para legislar. Cada pueblo merece el gobernante que tiene.

La humanidad

Que se puede decir aquí, que impacto tiene el individuo en el cosmos. Llegamos a la pregunta de nuestra existencia y de nuestra importancia. Esa respuesta se la dejo a cada uno, ya que, la pregunta me la he hecho, y creo que ni a ustedes ni a mi me gusta la respuesta.

As far back as I can recall, this part of my life experience had a murky beginning. The concept and definition of friendship was not very apparent, nor clear then, as it is for me now. A simple and humble description could go like this; friendship is a relationship of mutual affection between two or more people. (Wikipedia). By now, I have come to think of it this way; friendship is a gift I give myself.

As a child, I did not think much about it. I guess, as most mortals; I modeled my behavior by observing the members of my tribe. My parents were as dysfunctional, as I have confirmed most parents to be. My father was shy, quiet, solemn, irritable, insecure, unhappy and not the best candidate to be a parent. My mother was warm, elegant, happy, clever and generally understanding.

I am a middle child; my older sister was studious, proper, elegant, pretty and gentle. My only and younger brother was born only eleven months after my birth, eclipsing the usual eighteen to twenty four months that most infants have under the limelight. He was small and became an ally during my childhood.

As I recall my early childhood was turbulent. My relation with others was as a measure of strength, either by physical or intellectual competition, with emphasis on the former. I stretched and developed my muscles before my mind; I suppose I chose this route because it came easier to me. My early days in school showed that I could certainly be at home within the warrior class.

By the way, about my parents. My father had joined the warrior class of our nation, being the first in his family to not only pursue higher education, two of his brothers had attempted this feat unsuccessfully, but not to have actually graduated. My mother had experience as a sales clerk in one of the most fashionable stores of the day in the capital city.

The early school years

My early years in school produced grades bordering on awful. The first thru third grade were colored by not only my scholastic performance, but were also marred by my ill behavior and lack of obedience of most of the schools rules. I recall that once I was given two heaping spoonful of flour paste, I suppose they thought it would possibly shut me up for a while.

On the popularity front, I seemed to garner some kind of a bad boy reputation, this quality was feared by the weak, respected by my enemies, challenged by the strong and intrigued the opposite sex, or so I thought. After meeting a former schoolmate forty years since the last time we saw each other, he confessed that he had conveniently sided with be the first day of class, for mere protection.

This aggressive persona, came to classify as a bully, much later in life, something I am ashamed of now. My mother reminded me often, that this road was not the best to take. Several years later I would come to understand and heel her advice.

The extent of my muscle development reached its climax one day. We were changing for physical education at the locker room, a place for boys to be boys, and let out some steam. A gym ball war started. As I got ready to hurl my bag across the room at a desirable target, I noticed that it was unusually heavy, pausing momentarily to assess its contents. This nanosecond pause, allowed me to bring down my guard, and get pelted with a well aimed projectile, causing my anger to boil and hurl my bag.

It crossed the room with great velocity and struck an enemy on the skull, the kid brought down his head, clasped his hands on his head and started to cry uncontrollably. All bellicose action seized, as his neighbors were assessing the damage. Blood was flowing between his fingers and a small gash was clearly visible on one side of his forehead.

As the authorities arrived, and in the chaos that ensued, I tried, in a preservation effort to retrieve my bag and appear to not be the initiator of this melee, but just plead self defense. Unfortunately, I did not connect, in my mind, the extra weight of my gym bag with the forehead gash, and someone already had my gym bag at hand and was connecting it as the culprit with the visible damage.

The physical education teacher, who was friendly towards me, opened the alleged gym bag that caused the incident, and as he pulled his hand out, I realized my folly. He had a toy gun I had received for Christmas. It was a shiny silver Colt 45 revolver, that even though was no to scale, it had sufficient mass to produce the forehead opening.

This was a sure invitation to visit the headmaster’s office. The injured kid was taken away to the infirmary, and I was escorted as a criminal to face my judgment. I had been to this office before several times under uncorroborated charges, nevertheless convicted and warned. This time, I had the feeling that it would be serious and possibly my parents would be involved. This meant dealing with the disciplinary methods of my father, something I most likely wanted always to avoid.

My worst fears were realized, my deed had brought me closer to an expulsion from school, mainly by the accumulation of offenses. Like most awful things that have happened in my life, I have very little recollection of what ensued, suffice to say that I remained in school, and soon after changes took place.

About friendship, my social relations were not really founded on mutual respect and true caring, I do not know to this day what my concept of friendship was then.

The beginning

Suddenly, there was a change in me, I surprised myself with almost an about face in my behavior, which was confirmed by my amazing grades improvement. I had reinvented myself into what I previously considered the meek and studious class, in essence what today we call a nerd.

This change offered or forced me to relate with different people and in many different ways. This new club had its own rules, and I better abide by them if I wanted to assimilate. Belonging is a key word for me in explaining to myself the concept of friendship. I had to learn new skills, rely less on my male brain and use, or appear to use my female brain. The challenge had, and still has its difficulties. I had until then chosen a path of rebellious opposition to most foreign rules. This had already set me on a path that to this day, I am almost sure I follow.

For sometime, I believed that change was actually occurring, but deep inside it did not feel entirely genuine. I still felt like “a wolf in sheep’s clothes”. Thankfully, this anxiety did not seem to be discovered by my new peers. Later in life I heard the fable of the scorpion and the toad, which explains to me the concept of the essence of the individual. Something that I use to justify my failings in life.

A scorpion asks a frog to carry it across a river. The frog hesitates, afraid of being stung, but the scorpion argues that if it did so, they would both drown. Considering this, the frog agrees, but midway across the river the scorpion does indeed sting the frog, dooming them both. When the frog asks the scorpion why, the scorpion replies that it was in its nature to do so.

The fable is used to illustrate that fundamentally, nature, cannot be changed. This excerpt is provided by Wikipedia and hopefully fulfills the reader’s need for clarity about this fable. To me it was enlightening after years of frustration trying to sort these two entities and arriving at a modicum of inner peace.

I learned many things about friendship with this new association, which was slow and cautious in accepting me into their fold. Goodwill, politeness, patience, and understanding were some of the most notable qualities required. These elicited from me new and previously untapped feelings and behaviors. This was a good thing; I relished the idea of changing my old weapons for new building tools. I was on my way to becoming an upstanding member of society, and not an undesirable brigand anymore.

Not everyone was convinced of my new ways; most sectors of society are reluctantly fooled. I explain it with another fable, the straw that broke the camel’s back. My new peers, not only mistrusted my intentions, but I was requesting access to their exclusive club, asking them to share their pie with me. I knew very well, from previous experiences in battle that I could not force them, or expect them to offer their friendship willingly. There had to be something in it for them, and I had to prove myself.

This concept, also confirmed later in life, was apparent to me at an early age. It seemed to me that the allegedly exchange of goods and goodwill between mortals is a necessity for the smooth running of society. In effect, I argue that it could be quantified as trade; you could almost put a number to it. I know that most individuals would prefer to think that it has nothing to do with trade, but think about only giving and not receiving, and let me know how that goes for you.

As I had learnt with my previous experiences in the warrior class, life was still a battle. My new and still reticent peers welcomed me mainly because I demonstrated by ability to be like them, and deeply I saw it as a curiosity and a challenge. Challenge is good, as long as you can beat it, otherwise you may fail, and failure is not so good. Such as when a cat tries to play with a rat, when they usually only play with mice.

Time passed and I started to enjoy the fruits of my labor, literally. I found that challenging myself in these areas was rewarded much more than trying to fist fight my way to the top. It required different battle skills. Respect rather than fear was preferable in this habitat. There seems to be, in my mind, a not so clear boundary line between these two concepts. Don’t know when respect becomes fear, or even worse, whether fear is preferable to respect, such as wolf is to sheep in the fable.

Popularity was a welcome dividend of this enterprise. After the earlier mistrust, people starting to notice my abilities. Of course, I received the praise from those that had known my previous self. New and unquestioned acceptance also from others was rewarding as well. I decided to remain the course. I took to sports, and was above average, landing me with the honor and responsibility to become a sport’s team captain in school. My good grades and newfound obedience to the rules, also granted me access to the exclusive club of becoming a “prefect” of discipline in school. This meant that I could be relied on to maintain and preserve the order in school when asked by the headmaster.

These years were the golden years of early youth, before becoming challenged by higher education. My father had been posted twice during these years away from our home in the capital city. These experiences, even though challenging, were not welcomed. I felt extricated from my friends, and challenged to make new friendships. The first posting was hard for me; maybe I fought it too much and therefore disliked very much. My recollections of those two years are blurred. No memorable friendships remain. I was ten years old for the first.

The second, well, it was much different. I was sixteen years old. My father’s posting posed a particular situation for our family. This was to be my high school graduating year. I convinced my parents to remain in the capital and my school for that purpose. My argument centered on the concept of friendship, that my school mates had been forged with great effort, and that not graduating with them, would be damaging to the ties created. They reluctantly agreed. I was to stay with my father’s sister, under the condition that, during the summer before my last year in high school, I would join my family while they moved and lived at my father’s new post. I had no objection to that and agreed.

This decision would have unforeseen consequences for the rest of my life. As when you come to a fork on the road, you have to take it. We moved to the city of the North Country. It was summer. My father’s high position in his warrior class was beneficial to my family. We had been catapulted from obscurity in the capital to notoriety in the hinterlands. We were introduced to the high society and I was charmed by its offerings.

I was having one of the best summers of my life, when a month before my departure to return to school, my father made me an offer I could not refuse. He would buy me a car and I could travel back to see my school friends once a month, only if I agreed to stay together with the family. It was a very tempting offer, I was becoming friendly with the locals, and without thinking of the bridges I would burn, I agreed. I cannot regret my decision, since I find regrets unproductive.

I had promised my schoolmates of my return to graduate with them. I had been charmed or bought with trinkets, this may sound as regret, but I had to learn from my actions. I abandoned them. It was thirty five years later that I tried to rekindle our friendship. Of course my life might have been different, but such is the stuff of life. Without looking back, I plunged myself into this new environment.

The middle years

New city, new clothes, new identity, new car, new friends, I could reinvent myself in any way I pleased. I had also granted my parents their wish, and I felt I was being a good member of our family. While scouting for potential friends, I found that the ones that appealed to me had more of a bad boy bent. I decided to introduce myself, not anymore as a nice boy, but more closely to the bad boy I had suppressed for so long. This went well, the gang I had chosen accepted me. These boys were boys, not thugs or criminals. My car was a real hit, not many kids of that age had them. I was popular again. Met the opposite sex contingent and chose a local girl to be my girlfriend.

The friendships that I made that year were strong and forged by many experiences, such as the ones most boys have when they are sixteen. I still am friendly only with one of my pals from that year in the North Country. This, along with, all other friendships and relationships was put on hold and tested by a new posting for my father to the country in the north, not be confused with the north country.

The news of this new posting could not have come at a better time for me. I was studying in preparation to taking the admission test to an institution of higher learning, that I was positive, I could not pass. Never took that test.

The country in the north

Arriving the last day of the year at the snow covered capital city of the country in the north, I felt relief and on my way to a new chapter to be written of my life. Only two years earlier, I was granted the opportunity to make myself anew.

New everything, surroundings, weather, clothes, language. By now, I had become adept at change, and I welcome it. I left behind my girlfriend with the promise that we would try to make a long distance relationship work. I soon learned that, at least, I couldn’t make that promise ever again. This experience about promises, cemented my idea never to promise anything. I believe that since I have a hard time keeping promises to myself, therefore I cannot in all honesty make promises to others.

Again, I left behind friends, family and relationships that had taken some time and effort in cultivating. The shine of the new on the other hand was blinding. Once again, the opportunity for reinvention was granted. We were introduced to the local contingency of fellow countrymen and countrywomen that my father was to join in his work. These in turn introduced us to their friends, mainly expatriates like us, mostly the ones that shared our language, since it was preferable to communicate than not.

The early offering in terms of possible friendships was limiting and actually kind of boring, no matter, we do with what we have. These kids seemed proper, disciplined and ultimately well behaved. Soon I found other kids, more to my liking. These were very good times. The diplomatic umbrella that covered my father, also extend to the entire family. This again placed our situation in a very desirable position, at least socially.

We come not from wealth, but my father chose well when marrying my mother. She was well educated, polished and an elegant woman, unfortunately less economically well off than my father. My father worked hard and got ahead, he made his modest fortune later in life due to the fruits of his labor after retirement. My parents made a real effort in educating us, sending us to the best schools they could afford and imparting behavioral mores that were well above their station. I did not graduate from our dinner table, until; I could master the art of peeling and eating a banana with a fork and knife.

The early relationships that I cultivated were mostly circumstantial, of the moment and the place. I believe that most, if not all friendships are of this kind. It is not until one has the closeness and continuity of being in the same place with enough time, that one can form these intimate relationships, and that in the absence of these two factors, relationships, freeze, wither or die.

These pre college friendships were short lived, some individuals went away to college, returned to their country of origin or basically were unsustainable. When I entered college, with time and closeness, I was able to at least befriend people that had similar interests.

With my father’s posting coming to an end, we came again to that fork on the road. My parents wanted my brother and myself to follow them back home, we wanted to stay. At the time, we were enrolled in our first semester of college. We pleaded with them to at least allow us to finish the first year of school. This meant that we would remain for five more months on our own, before returning home. They reluctantly agreed, and with tears in their eyes, they departed. My brother and I have remained in the country in the north to this day.

The College years

I still have some college era friends; actually most of my existing friends are from my college days. I met my first wife during those days. Amorous relationships are a form of friendship on steroids. The same criteria are used to form them, possibly with some exceptions.

Physical attraction is paramount for both. You would not like to have ugly friends, it would speak ill of yourself. An intelligent, well balanced, smart and funny individual meets most requirements for either classification. You may not want to take to bed your closest friends, but you never know if this may be mutual. At least that has been my experience; remember the wolf in sheep’s clothing, or to put it differently worn by men of the cloth.

I am a fortunate person, to have almost a dozen close friends; of these eight usually meet at least twice weekly. I have been told, by several people, that we are very fortunate and that this phenomenon may be rare, to me it is not. I realize and celebrate this closeness for many reasons, which I will try to explain in the next paragraphs.

In the beginning, there was my brother and I. We are brothers, but I have to say that maybe I have not been such a good brother to him, and less of a friend. I use to be abusive with him, teasing him and physically hurting him, remember my early dark persona; he got some of that bullying from me. Later in life we had a respect that comes from some understanding and merely from a truce that holds precariously. I have apologized at least twice for my transgressions.

My brother, not having undergone the changes that I did, became a better balanced individual. He set up goals for himself, and being who he is, achieved most of them. When he met his wife, he came with the news that he was in love, it was evident. Years later he married her, his college sweetheart. In the interim he befriended in college some of the people I, and he call friends now.

We went to different colleges, made different friends and for a while we maintained the minimum of contact. When I courted my first wife, who went to the same college as my brother and his friends, we saw each other more. We tried to make our friendship work without success. You cannot fix a dish by adding more ingredients to it; actually it may ruin it entirely. So we grew apart. My brother started a family. He became a founding father of the little tribe to which I so proudly, and with hard work belong to.

He and his wife, like the center of a planetary system, with the necessary gravitational force, attracted other similar bodies to form the system that remains pretty much intact today. I, on the other hand childless, would disdain their gatherings and to this day, I am reminded of my complaints by all the childish fuzz. I am a believer that only parents should have to endure their children. Later in life I was able to pay them back when I had my own.

For years my first wife and I attempted to orbit their system without much success. Maybe the fact that we did not have children could have been a factor that soured or relation. During the following years, I would be invited to the customary events, Thanksgiving, Christmas, birthdays, Independence Day, etc., to which I would attend either solo or accompanied.

It was not until I met my present wife, that shares my nationality, and is much more adept with the social graces than I, that I made another attempt in rejoining the desired tribe. I had been exiled several times during those years due to friction for which I take full responsibility and have tried to again apologize for.

My present wife was welcome, even though I felt I was on probation, which I was able to confirm as true. The nature of my probation is agreeable to me; I would not have it any other way. After all the things I have said and done, I don’t blame them for not extending me a permanent place in their system; I am not to be trusted. In the words of Groucho Marx, “I would not want to be a member of a club that accepted me as a member”.

After all, the concept of friendship, not being one to be defined or quantifiable, and being entirely subjective, is left to each mortal to define as they wish. I know of people that expect much or entirely absurdly devotion from their friends, feeling betrayed right and left by others that do not hold those truths not to be self evident. If you don’t know if this applies to you, ask yourself the following question, why is it that I keep loosing my friends?

Somewhat of the reverse actually was my failing. My eccentric, as I prefer to call it, personality is usually regarded as feisty, confrontational, contrarian and extremely argumentative or opinionated if you prefer. But it has also been called caustic, frictional, belligerent and even anti social bordering on sociopathic. The clinical diagnose, as a sociopath is not in yet, not because it is not fitting, but maybe because it does make the mark. According to Wikipedia, a sociopath is “a person with a personality disorder manifesting itself in extreme antisocial attitudes and behavior and a lack of conscience”.

I am a very social animal, I like people, and so that on its own merit disqualifies me from such honor. As to lack of conscience, I know I have one, when I do good or harm, I know what I am doing. I do hear those voices.

When my wife and I were welcome into the fold, it took sometime to convince the members that I had undergone the necessary work, whether psychiatric, psychological and or chemical, for them to grant me entrance once again into the inner sanctum. I had to prove myself. They were not initially convinced, but after a while they commented openly and specially for my wife’s benefit, what an undesirable element I had been in the past. This of course was like music to my ears.

I had done it again. Either I had truly changed or I was again pulling the wool over their eyes. I say again, because I had done that too in the past, and was unsure if I believed my own lies. No matter, it was working. This, as I recall was about a decade ago, and since then I have mellowed out in the autumn of my years, wisdom is coming in slowly and things are looking up.

The cherry on top that cemented our membership was the birth of our only daughter. We had finally fulfilled our societal requirement of procreation. I had rejoined the human race by at least purveying a new member. Our friends were actually not very thrilled, you see, their children were in their teens, and now they were the intolerant ones of new parents with a toddler.

Nevertheless, we were granted full access to a lifetime membership, o so I thought. My daughter is twenty years old now, so we have seen many, many, many moons together, and have had many disagreements, but mostly agreements. Some skirmishes have occurred, even fights with short stints of silence have also have happened. Overall, we have been able to overcome and recover with wounds and scars, but still look forward to our twice weekly soirees.

My wife and myself joined them about two decades ago, but the tribe was formed close to four decades ago.

In the early days, they use to get together mainly in my brother’s home on Saturdays, the kids would play, then eat, during that my friends would chat, play cards and board games, and drink inexpensive red wine, such as Premiat, a medium bodied Romanian wine that very much fit their budgets. The women would feed their kids and then the adults would enjoy some homemade potluck, or order pizza.

I would join them occasionally, not to loose my connection and to enjoy their warm company. Something that bound them together in the early days was the hustle, that latin/pop rhythm that became popular in 1975, and that was popularized in the local discotheques they frequented.

They enjoyed partying and dancing, so when they planned a dancing party, I was there, as I said earlier y love both, parties and dancing. In fact, I would attend solo or plus one, and dance the night away with my friends wives. It is great exercise.

This brings me to point out the composition of this disparate group of people. My brother, my wife and myself are from the land of the Incas; there is a couple from south of River Plate, three females from the largest Caribbean island, a husband from south of the border, and another from the high plateau.

Everyone brought their personal as well as their regional idiosyncrasies to the mix, not to mention our fears and insecurities. This only could be a recipe for disaster.

At times during these decades, attempts to escape the gravitational force and the mirage that the grass is always greener on the other side propelled some members to look elsewhere for a better deal. Attrition is a well known phenomenon that affects most, if not all moving parts. There have nevertheless been lulls and storms during the history of this association.

Fault cannot be placed on anyone looking for a greener pasture, it is human nature, but to advertise your disinterest and frustration, would be best kept secret, only for the sake of general morale. Imagine that I get invited to dinner in you home, and only after the appetizer, I announce that I will finish my meal elsewhere. This could be construed as not liking the offering, and be definitely of bad taste.

Having weathered these storms, today I can attest that no desertions or ejections took place during these long decades. Attempts in recruitment were also unsuccessful. The highest standards were applied to all applicants, something I find now erroneous. Our intimacy prevented our ranks to grow, we objected to newcomers just because we could not reach the level of intimacy we had achieved. In this enterprise we were doomed from the start. How could anyone join us and miraculously be one of us? Impossible. In the end, we realized that to be futile and desisted from trying.

The mutinous ones that threatened with desertion, did tried their luck elsewhere, only to return with their tails between their legs. They could not have any better anywhere else. This was not the panacea, but it was our panacea. The parallel has been made to the golden cage. These days this is a self evident truth, and culpability is no longer adjudicated, but not forgotten. The grass is greener here.

The now and then

The last decade has seen many and more activity, given that most offspring have flown the coup, most remaining close by, to the delight of their parents. The couple from the expansive lands south of the River Plate, pursuing an old custom their ancestors brought as immigrants to their new lands, instituted a weekly gathering that is still very popular and extremely welcome by most members. It consists of a mid week, to be specific every Wednesday, of a potluck or delivery dinner with spirits.

Attendance to this recurring event is of course, like most gatherings, voluntary. Most attend weekly, while one couple has expressed that their preference is not to abuse of the time spent together, and they attend infrequently. The membership understands and supports the free will of the people, but nevertheless finds it inconsistent with its mission, mainly that of increasing the bonds of friendship. This sentiment could be better expressed in the words of John Lennon, “And in the end, the love you take is equal to the love you make”.

I toast to the institution of this weekly event that I have come to warmly call “South of the River Plate Wednesday”.

Many other quorum events have taken place. Something to note, is when in the rare occasion when any of the member couples have events with strangers, feathers seem to be ruffled, and if discovered, they are confronted with charges of treason against the union, with explanations required. No dissent is allowed in this is a fragile democracy.

Members can although opt out with the proper either verbal or written notice from most events, but cannot be seen as fraternizing with the enemy. Great detail is given to replying or responding to invitations to events. Much friction has occurred because of the misunderstanding of the rules of protocol here. Some members insist in a prompt and clear response to invitations, other believe that due to the given intimacy, not replying until later should be allowed.

I understand both arguments, but the former holds more reason for me. The argument is that the inviter needs to have a head count for mere for logistical reasons, and that there is no reason for the invitee not to reply immediately, if they wish to attend. I also understand the desire to wait until the last moment to see if something better comes along. This impasse has been aired and appears to be resolved.

As indicated earlier, the regional diversity of the members has added color, as well as, momentary friction to our friendship. Alliances, beyond the obvious, such as, those by gender, have nevertheless occurred. There are only two of the ten members that are under represented, actually they are flying solo, and they are both men. Two nations have three members, while another has two. These are of course natural alliances that cannot be overlooked.

Paradise?

As the evenings of the late summer days become shorter and cooler, when the crisp air of autumn begins, most adults, look forward to the quiet after the rush of summer. I have finally decided to reflect on some of our favorite summer activities.

My family has been fortunate to be able to squeeze two or three of these vacation excursions into a year. Most families vacation during the summer months, since children are away from school, the days are longer and the outdoors is more welcoming. One of the most desirable destinations are bodies of water. It may be our reptilian brain that draws us back to that watery element from where we come from. Top on most people’s list of vacations spots are exotic and beautiful sandy beaches with coconut trees and a comfortable lounge chair. I surmise this much by the barrage of ads that feature this type of idyllic locations just when the days are coldest and shorter in the dead of winter.

Choices vary from lakes, rivers, inland seas and, of course, the mother of them all, the ocean. Most families have a preference, usually determined by what the parents were exposed to when they were children; we seem to be creatures of habit. There are two main camps, the fresh water and salt-water enthusiasts. Some even enjoy both of these watery habitats. In our family of three, my daughter Veronica is undecided, even though she has gone to the salty ocean element every summer of her life. My wife Marie is decidedly on the salty camp; she argues, as often as the subject arises, that she would love to have a view of that watery body for the rest of her life. I, on the other hand, have discovered a few years ago that I have a marked preference for mountain lakes.

Sometime last autumn my dear wife reminded me to draft our annual letter of intent for the rental of an apartment at the shore from the gentleman from Ellicott City that we have never met, for our usual two week stay. I complied; without questioning; I have been doing this for the past ten years. This reminder from my wife, starts a series of events that culminate just this week with our return from the shore, only to begin again sometime in a couple of months.

Letter of Intent

After posting my letter; where I reiterate our interest in renting for two weeks the apartment, usually for the second and third week of August; a brief discussion centers on early planning for that excursion months away. We consider if and to whom we might extend an invitation for either a partial or whole period of our stay. Great thought is given since cohabitation with strangers is often idealized as being better than what it usually turns out to be. A companion friend for Veronica is considered first. Her wellbeing and consequently ours is definitely on top of our list. Company for Marie and me is as well considered, if only to maintain some modicum of domestic peace. Discussion of my need to briefly return to the city closes the conversation.

Several months later, Marie again reminds me to print an envelope, insert the cheque for the deposit to secure the rental of the apartment, and to make sure it goes out with the next day’s mail. This, I do automatically, and once again we made additional plans for those days.

By about the middle or the end of June, when Veronica is finishing her school year, when longer and warmer days are upon us, a more in depth exchange happens, since the anticipated vacation is getting closer. It always seems to me as if we were planning an intergalactic voyage, full of unforeseen surprises, as well as extremely rewarding moments of sheer pleasure spent with dear friends and family.

The first time we went to the shore ten years ago as a family included Marie, Veronica, my mother-in-law Amelia, my sister-in-law Rosalind, and myself. We met at the shore with Marie’s then boss Dick, his wife and their three kids, that had been doing this much longer than we had. Since then, the apartment building where we rent has accommodated for various lengths of stay, several of our dear friends and extended families.

That first salty water excursion of two weeks left a mark on me. I not only produced a list of essential items for purchase specifically for the trip, but I had to find a way to pack them all into my then family four door sedan, which proved to be a daunting task. The morning of our departure, with checklist in hand, I was attempting to complete the task of fitting everything in the car. I had started the day before. I had placed in the trunk some items; such as the beach chairs, umbrella, sand bucket and playing toys. These items could remain in it overnight. Thanks to my previous experience as a employee in a transatlantic shipping company, and my own personal delight in cramming as many things as possible into small places, I was able to make space for Marie, Veronica, her infant car seat, my mother-in-law, myself and the assorted cargo of bare necessities for our sojourn to the shore. Rosalind was meeting us at the shore since she had travelled separately.

About four and one half hours later we finally entered the paradisiacal grounds of the Sunspot building. Ordinarily, this voyage takes only about three hours without traffic. “How long did it take you?” asked Dick coming out to greet us, I said four and one half hours. “You must have hit traffic”, he said and I agreed. We had to stop for the customary exquisite nourishment (McDonalds), as well to relieve our over extended bladders, and, of course, the filling station.

Joys of travel

The trip was adorned by the inescapable heavy traffic. We were privilege to experience not only the good, but also the not so courteous drivers: the speeders, the ones that drive too slowly, the ones that feel they own the highway, driving on the left lane at or below the speed limit, and drivers that either by ethnic, physical, emotional or mental handicap should be barred from driving at all.

The highway to the shore in those days had only two lanes each way, requiring drivers to stop at a toll booth, produce U.S. $1.75 for a two-axle vehicle, to cross a large portion of the bay over a narrow bridge. Since then, this has been alleviated by the construction of another four-lane bridge, and additional travel lanes on portions of the route to the shore. Unfortunately, all this progress pales in comparison with the additional traffic that has rendered the improvements inadequate.

After unpacking the family sedan of all “essential” items, we proceeded to arrange things in their proper location, my wife Marie, always insists on doing this immediately upon our arrival at any domestic or foreign destination no matter the time of the day or any other circumstances that may possibly postpone it. She reminds me of a sign my mother had me design and print for her refrigerator, it read “a place for everything, and everything in its place”.

This process sometimes takes longer than I would prefer, but I am a patient man, I’m on vacation, and since I will have two weeks before I have to pack it all back into the family sedan for our return trip home and unpack again, I do not complain. Finally, with every sock neatly folded and every head of lettuce stored in its proper place, we are free to enjoy our two week stay in paradise. Depending on the hour of our arrival or how we feel, we usually proceed to venture into the elements, air, sun, sand, surf, crowds, kiddies, fun, etc.

Since this our major excursion to the shore, the inevitable yearly concern arises. I started looking for my infamous bathing suit, thankfully, since we occupy this same apartment every year, we have found it easier to put our things back in the same places as before to avoid adding to the feeling of being in an unfamiliar location. I get my bathing suit from the designated bathing suit drawer, I try to get it up my legs without ripping, attempting to hide the inevitable effects of that force of nature called gravity on my once youthful body without much success. I have not renewed my bathing attire in years, add to that at least eleven months of hibernation, not speak of the unappealing and sickly color showing that that my skin has not had direct sunlight in as many months.

The process of disrobing starts, so far so good, no one looks at oneself in the mirror naked at this age, unless they are looking to get depressed. Now the fun part begins. As the swimsuit is carefully pulled up, I begin to notice that this grander, paler and whitish body, riddled with new wrinkles, blemishes, may not be suitable for public display. With renewed vigor and possibly a total disregard for public decency, gained after years of practice, I make myself believe that there may be worse cases out there on this sandy paradise. What a consolation.

After, I have totally convinced myself of this and achieved with great effort my task at hand, the next step is to apply copious amounts of an oily ointment to the entire surface of my exposed skin. Assuring not to miss any skin surface during the application, I make sure to chose well when deciding which level of protection is suitable for my skin tone. Too high a protection and you look as if you have applied white powder, too low, and for me at least, means that I may have to spend a couple of days in a darkened room applying aloe vera to my scorched skin every 15 minutes. My skin is very sensitive to the rays of the sun even though I do not possess a very fair complexion, this has force me to discarded my previous assumptions that darker skin fares better to the ravages of the sun. Last but not least, an even application is preferred than globs and shallow patches, this will ensure an almost even, natural tan, as opposed to those red, pinkish, and peeling areas of human flesh.

Brigitte Bardot

A point about tanning, tanning is the process of making leather, and until the late 20th century, most mortals avoided the tanning practice, preferring the beauty of ivory white skin. Leave it to the French. It was not until some French sexpot starlet started wearing a new two-piece bathing suit called bikini, that the amount of clothing covering the skin as opposed to showing it was inverted. This meant that the abdomen and entire back were exposed in addition to her face, arms and legs. “Quelle domage”. Undoubtedly people followed, as people unwittingly do. Excluded, of course, were the lily-white folk, and the proletariat that was being exposed to the elements as they worked out of doors. The tanning fad has reached epidemic proportions, now prompting warnings from most authoritative health specialists that remind me of those placed on tobacco products.

Sun and fun.

After the application of the sun protective ointment is achieved, a collection of items for the better enjoyment of the beach, are located and collected for transport to the shore. With my zeal for packing perfection, I try my best to pack these assorted items as well as possible to minimize weight and bulk. Unfortunately between a folding chair for each beachgoer, a bag full of sun block and sun tanning lotion of various degrees of efficacy, a cooler bag stocked with drinking fluids of various kinds, a cap, sunglasses, snacks, cigarettes, reading material, T-shirt, shoes, and a parasol. You almost need a checklist and a porter to make it out the door every day.

Beach Essentials

The apartment is ocean side, meaning about a block away from the beach, the shore is about another block away. This “short” pilgrimage is repeated at least twice daily, to and fro. Sometimes Mother Nature provides a cloudy or rainy day. The trip back to the apartment is usually a bit better for me since the fluids and snacks are mainly carried by whoever consumed them, have evaporated sweating or have been conveniently released during a visit into the ocean. Although the return trip is made slightly less pleasant by some sun burn and the grains of sand that inevitably find their way into places in our bodies I cannot even pronounce.

Things get a lot better after our return to shelter. A quick shower that attempts to remove the ointments applied making sure to remove sand, salt and other ocean dwelling creatures being transported by our bodies. Then a quick trip to the refrigerator for an additional snack accompanied by the fluid of choice, and a moment of rest before diner time.

Dinner can be either a family or a communal affair. Outings to local restaurants, cookouts, and or pre-cooked meals are common. General over-indulgence is the mantra of these vacations. Food and drink are greatly consumed. This daily routine is carried on thru sunny days.

When visiting local restaurants one has to remember that one is on vacation, patience is necessary. Most shore restaurants make patrons wait between one half to one and one half hours, depending on demand. Prices also reflect the vacationing location. Our restaurant outings are like a barometer of our financial situation and reflect the economic success or disgrace of the year that had just passed. There are fat and lean years.

I have never been too fond of the beach; there I’ve said it.

The Great Wave

While I was writing this story, which I started years before I finished it, I realized that when I was a child, my first experience with the ocean was in my native land of Peru, specifically Lima, where I grew up until my late teens. I do not recall at what age I was introduced to the majesty of the sea, since I lived not more than three blocks away from it most of my life there.

I recall that I was in awe of the fortitude of the surf; the waves towered over the swimmers that dared to confront them, the thunderous pounding and trashing sound produced by crashing waves made me fearful. After assessing the raw power of the ocean, I decided that it would be best not to yet face it, but to give my back to it, as I did. I have often considered why would I opt for this simple but certainly revealing option. I had forgotten my childhood approach to the ocean, until some years ago my dear mother jokingly reminded me of it.

After some analysis and regressive therapy, I realized that the strength of the ocean was formidable, and that was too big for me to comprehend, I chose to ignore it. I now reconcile my then incomprehensible fear and later respect for it.

Sea of people

I remember at least twice of being lost on the ocean shore with a sea of people in front of me, a roaring ocean behind me and my parents nowhere to be found. I have also witnessed on more than one occasion, the daring, or unskilled and certainly unfortunate swimmer being pulled out from their watery grave. I believe these are the answers I was looking for to explain my fear of the sea.

Things were not made better by the timely intervention of my godfather. I liked him well enough until he volunteered to teach me the pleasures of the ocean, or as the expression goes, to make a man out of me. I believe my parents did not know how to deal with my rejection of the sea. In retrospect I shudder to think that this gentleman, my godfather, would have inherited me, the ocean hater, if, heaven forbid, my parent would pass away.

I remember, when I was about six years old, and was carried by the ignorant, but well intended godfather, into the bowels of the ocean. I could not release myself from his grip; he was intent on making an ocean lover out of me. He took me beyond the point I would have considered prudent, but what did I know at the time, I was only six. I figured he was standing in my father’s shoes.

I was floating in his arms, he was treading water. I soon realized that the dark waters below my toes, where the habitat to creatures that could consider my flesh part of their daily diet. I was afraid of the dark, the unknown, which, since I could not see what lurked below, terrified me.

In conclusion, after seeing what the ocean could do to people, and unable to see into it’s depth, I figured that keeping a cautious distance was the wisest thing to do. This knowledge has colored my entire experience of the ocean ever since and all activities relating to it.

Now, I have grown up and have been able to coexist with that great body of water, which I feared as a child. I learned to swim, and was able to enjoy the ocean. One would think that I would have overcome my earlier fear and was cured, unfortunately not. Fortunately, where we go on vacation, the surf is docile, warm and gentle, the sand is soft and the experience is muted by seeing my daughter, wife and friends enjoy this inhospitable habitat. I used this term, because to me it remains inhospitable.

First, there is the inclemency of the sun, for which a coating of protective sun block is necessary to avoid first and or second degree burns, not to speak of long term damage to the body in the form of skin cancer.

Second, the ever abrasive sand, that feels good for about five seconds between your toes only when it is warm; not cold or scalding hot, but when a slight breeze blows, you can resemble a breaded piece of veal. No wonder it is the main ingredient in sand paper; you would not consider replacing toilet paper with sand paper, would you? Not to speak of how much work it is to remove said sand from everything exposed to it.

Third, there is the labor of having to lug all kinds of items to ameliorate the shore for a comfortable stay, such as drinks, chairs, towels, sun block and the piece de resistance for me, my savior, the parasol. The parasol that barely makes my long stay by the shore almost bearable.

Fourth, there is the ocean itself. This body of water has its own temperature, rarely one that agrees with mine. You see children frolicking in it; adults usually remain in it for much shorter periods. As they come out and rejoin their tribe, the ever present almost meteorological description follow: water temperature, tide direction, surf strength, presence of fauna, air temperature, all as a measure of how each body reacts to it. On the other hand the ocean provides a refreshing break from baking in the sun, where sunlight is reflected by the ocean and sand acting as mirrors. No wonder I never step even an inch outside the shade of my parasol and yet by the end of the day I still feel my skin tingle.

As you leave the ocean, you are reminded that this magnificent element is a challenge to any air-breathing creature, and that its surface is the beginning of an entirely new environment, inhabited by creatures that do not share our air breathing world. You always have to be vigilant; the ocean has been known to swallow imprudent and ignorant individuals, giving them a good tumble, making them savor its liquid nectar, and for those unfortunate, a more final resting place.

Lastly, these moments at the shore are spent by most people reading, conversing, and watching the surf and every celestial body orbiting around them.

About conversation, most people try to gather in groups for this activity, which makes sense. After all we see our immediate family members all the time, and there is not much more to talk about. Conversation with them is generally limited to instructions to make sure the household runs smoothly. Neither my wife, my daughter, nor myself would want to talk between ourselves for more than twenty minutes at a time. When it comes to conversing with friends, lets be frank, the conversation dries up quickly, and only additional outside guests make it bearable after a short period.

Look at it this way, why would anyone get excited to go to a place so perilous. An inclement sun that burns the skin possibly causing irreversible damage, a body of water that is just waiting to test your strength and stamina, that could threaten your, and those tiny grains of sand that seem to be attracted to you and to all your possessions.

Beyond this unwelcoming habitat, add the cost of the stay, the carting of objects back and forth to the shore, an unfamiliar bed, shower, etc. It all seems like someone is playing a joke on us. We have been sold the hedonistic idea of a laid back, carefree, indulgence, when in reality it’s only a great marketing idea, and by now, I am not surprised that we buy it.

Some paradise. Tsunami anyone?

Surf's up

Yo, Salvador Dali, no.

Mi crudo intento de ilustrar esta opinión con este video

Durante una de las usuales reuniones con amigos, comida y bebida, a las cuales me siento muy afortunado de asistir gracias a mis esfuerzos para convivir en sociedad con el prójimo y próximo, sucedió un fenómeno que como epifanía o intervención divina, causó que usé una de mis neuronas restantes, y que sorprendentemente dejé de hablar y empecé a escuchar.

Afortunadamente

Esto de tener y mantener amistades es un arduo trabajo. No todos hemos aprendido cómo hacerlo bien. Yo creo que esto es enteramente aprendido, sin descontar la genética. El arte de la amistad algunos la aprendemos en la casa. Los afortunados, tienen buenos ejemplos, los menos afortunados tienen que sobreponerse al ejemplo familiar y mirar fuera de casa. Yo pertenezco al segundo grupo, esto me permitió expandir mi visión y poder imitar no solo a mis padres, sino a quien escogiera. Esto es una arma de doble filo porque uno siendo inexperto, puede no escoger bien y emular a un sociópata o peor aun a un asesino múltiple. Mi niñez no me prestó muchas herramientas para poder forjar buenas y longevas amistades. Después de largos años de práctica donde creía que podía tratar a mis amigos con el puntapié, propiamente con la punta de la lengua, porque mi lengua es más peligrosa que mi bota, he entendido que si quiero amigos debo ser o aparentar ser tolerante. La tolerancia no es una de mis virtudes, pero los años me han brindado el tiempo de practicar las apariencias. No será una virtud aparentar, pero creo que puede considerarse un arte, por lo menos esto lo quisiera creer. Tanto un arte como poder seguir ejercitando la lengua con mesura dependiendo del adversario enfrentado, hallando la exacta dosis de veneno a inyectar. Me imagino que si han leído hasta aquí, estarán pensando, ¿qué monstruo es este? ¿cómo puede decir esto? ¿va a creer que seguiré leyendo este manifesto?

Esfuerzos

Puro Veneno

Si han podido sobreponerse al presunto manifesto, estarán leyendo esto, si es así, aplaudo su madurez que les permite soportar el asalto frontal al cual mis pocos amigos están tan acostumbrados. Tenía que de alguna manera exponerlos a lo que mi lengua dispensa. Mis amigos le tienen un nombre, argumentos de choque, quien soy yo para calificar algo que ellos escarmientan en carne propia. Lo único que puedo hacer es tratar de explicarlo, lo hago de esta manera, me gusta conversar temas de mi agrado, ninguna sorpresa en esto, todos deseamos lo mismo. Los temas de conversación, tienen que ser de algo que pueda motivarme emocionalmente, esto causa que la neurona se prenda y busque usualmente algún argumento contrario, porque estar de acuerdo es tanto mas aburrido, por lo menos para montar una respetable ofensiva. Una batalla más. Aquí estoy gozando como un chancho. Ahora dirán qué esfuerzos, este tipo es un patán, se comporta como el cerdo que es. No es así, esta actitud me causó muchos pesares cuando era joven y un poco menos inmaduro, causaba dolor a diestra y siniestra. Después de haber sido condenado al destierro y segregado durante mis años formativos, llegué a comprender que no eran ellos, sino yo el problema, no saben cuánto me costó. Habiendo aceptado mi problema, pude empezar el largo y arduo proceso de recuperación con todos los pasos que esto requiere. Logré finalmente regresar a la tribu en calidad de prueba, con condiciones y todo tipo de limitaciones. Esto quisiera agradecerlo de todo corazón a aquellos miembros de la tribu que abogaron por mi regreso, y la misericordia que me mostraron fue lo que necesitaba. Esto creó un desafío que hasta hoy mantengo, sin embargo de vez en cuando me permito un pequeño desliz, sin llegar a herir, solo para recordar y no olvidar mis errores.

Argumento

Alguien presentó una aparentemente inocua opinión, era una expresión de una preferencia personal, tan inocente como decir que me gusta el pollo frito, no a la brasa. Creo yo que cuando uno ofrece una opinión, espera sea bien recibida, con respeto aun si no es en concordancia con la de los presentes, e idealmente que fuera aceptada, ratificada y santificada por todos con un amen. La realidad es usualmente otra. Unos segundos pasaron para que los otros participantes de la única conversación, ponderaran lo dicho. Para resumir, la opinión expuesta encontró mayormente opiniones variadas en su contra. Yo creía estar en el paraíso terrenal, pensando, mis amigos finalmente entendieron mi método y estaban finalmente instituyendo el arte de la contrariedad para examinar los argumentos. Fueron hasta brutales las opiniones expresadas, causando lo sabido en el incauto iniciante de tan caluroso debate, cortésmente callando por un largo momento mientras los participantes exponían sus opiniones, hasta recuperar el podio, donde clasificó a los opositores de arrogantes.

Encuentro

Epifanía

Como no era yo solo el agraviado, hubieron variadas reacciones a el calificativo. Hice algo que es inusual en mi, callé y escuché ya que otros optaron por responder. Este lapso fue como si me cayera un rayo y en vez de matarme, me hubiera apretado el botón para reiniciar mi mente. Vi el drama desarrollarse en vivo, reacciones a una y otra opinión, fragmentación del grupo en sub grupos discutiendo el tema, maravilloso.

Fenomeno ofensivo

Neuronas

Reflexioné que todas las opiniones son válidas, que tanto como el presentante como el recipiente deben por lo menos ejercer primero tolerancia, segundo control y tercero mesura en la respuesta. Tolerancia debería ser usada siempre, aun cuando uno considere que la intención fuera de herir, que rara vez lo es, para no caer en la posible trampa del que desea alterarnos, o quizá insultarnos. Control para no alterarnos y poder continuar la conversación usando mayormente el cerebro y no lo que llaman el corazón. Finalmente, la mesura para responder de una manera que no tengamos que arrepentirnos, o que de alguna manera le sirva a nuestro opositor poder culparnos de hacer lo mismo y bajar a su nivel.

Pensé también en la palabra arrogante (la palabra). ¿Podría ser un insulto? ¿Tiene carga emocional? Creo que depende como se use, con que intención es dicha y sobre todo a quien se le dice, la versatilidad de una palabra. Se bien que yo la he utilizado, y que cuando lo he hecho, ha sido desgraciadamente para defenderme de algún ataque real o intuido. Hay dos opciones al ser atacado, huir o pelear. Si la segunda es la escogida, opciones quedan, estrategias varias existen, obviamente con la meta de salir con el menor rasguño.

Si usé la palabra fue para defenderme de algún agravio, por consiguiente la tomé como insulto, de alguna manera le di validez y la convertí en un insulto. He podido optar por identificarla, como lo hice en esta oportunidad, que no era yo el agraviado y que la palabra reflejaba una molestia, como cuando yo la utilicé en la persona que la usaba ahora.

Tuve que volver al comienzo, examinar la naturaleza de la arrogancia. Condiciones para su existencia, grados de arrogancia, y si es la humildad su opuesto. Pensé que para presenciar este fenómeno, por lo menos dos personas son necesarias. Me pareció imposible que un individuo se considere arrogante considerando que generalmente la palabra se usa para denotar lo opuesto a la humildad, que creo es considerada una virtud.

Arrogancia?

Conclusion

Creo que para que una persona llame a otra arrogante, esta tiene que sentir un malestar que precipite una muestra de agresión hacia la otra persona. Esa ha sido mi experiencia. Cuando la he usado, me he sentido disminuido e inadecuado por los comentarios ajenos, causando una inseguridad emocional que me hizo recurrir a una agresión. Si en vez de ser dos personas hay tres, una percibe la arrogancia, pero la tercera no siente igual, ¿sucede el fenómeno de la arrogancia, o la persona que no siente la arrogancia también es arrogante?

Creo que cada individuo, dado su nivel de seguridad o inseguridad, decide insultarse por una opinión, expresión o declaración de otro u otros. En conclusión, presenciar este fenómeno, como tantos de la experiencia humana, nos permite optar por reaccionar y luchar y quizá figurativamente perecer, o huir y aprender para luchar otro día mejor armado. Además, creo que la arrogancia solo existe dada nuestra inseguridad y que escogemos insultarnos, así que escojamos no ofendernos y la arrogancia cesará. Del dicho al hecho….