Magic in friendship

How much must one suffer to truly understand suffering? I asked aloud. “Philosophizing is for those who are no longer hungry,” Gustavo replied from across the table, chewing on a buttered tortilla.

With that response, the situation was resolved. It’s irrelevant to understand suffering, irrelevant to question it. You need to do more and ask less.

He always says something meaningful when he speaks, even when he doesn’t intend to. He drops truths left and right, often without even realizing it.

He’s always quoting great poets or thinkers; there’s always a topic to stir up, always something to do.

Then there’s Carlos, who has an uncanny ability to make his words sound cheerful, even when they aren’t. He also has the gift of knowing a lot about many things that most people ignore or forget. He knows mysteries worth lives.

They remind me a lot of the little fable about the disciple and his master, where the young apprentice, staring at the flame of a candle, asks: “Master, where does the flame come from?” The master approaches, blows out the flame, and says: “If you can tell me where it went, I’ll tell you where it came from.”

I always thought that was brilliant because the guy has no clue about the answer, but he finds a way to turn a simple question into an intriguing mystery, just like them, making the mundane into something significant.

This text was meant to highlight the moment when these two characters crossed paths with me, but the image becomes blurry, it seems as if they’ve always been there, unchanged. As if, as a child, I had already encountered them 20 years ago, at the age they are now. More than once, I’ve wondered if they actually traveled through time. If they did, they probably don’t even know how they did it. It’s also possible that they don’t remember because they go through life, filling their coffers with experiences and sharing the bread from their travel bags. And perhaps one day, lost in time, they shared something more than just moments with a child who now, from the other side of the planet, finally thanks them.

2,190 characters were enough. Could I write more? Of course, but I believe that words should flow as naturally as they feel and not be forced to fit the requirements of a contest. There’s always a way to fulfill the agreement without stretching the text to the point where it becomes diluted in flavorless redundancies. It’s true that this sounds more like a cheap excuse to justify a lack of writing skill, but I truly believe it, and that alone makes it real.

Someday, I’ll tell you about the time a monkey read our thoughts, or that moment when we died several times, haunted by witches in the middle of the city. Perhaps 3,000 characters wouldn’t be enough then, but today, after 12 days of nonstop writing, having rarely done so before, I’m reminded that we need to philosophize less and do more.