They had sent me to the border in the name of the youth, of the technology; as supreme pontiff among the artists of the market and those poor idiots which only talent was the knowledge to turn a bunch of paper into trustworthy reports that others, also poor idiots, humans of suit and tie, could understand behind its desks and glasses. This way, thanks to God, or to Her – that, as Borges was saying of the luck and destiny, are the same – I could know the habitat of bipeds anchored to ground, and of the vampires addicted to the glory of the change.
For all, everything was new then, and not even the Chinese who somehow remembered that of “living through interesting times” miss, not even the pessimist with the apocalyptic judgment of “worse things will come”, nor the unpayable one “this just starts” of the beginner gloating in his capacity to resist the fatigue. I perceived, not very clearly, but yes with rough lines, which although the resistance to change is a law luck for the human beings, it is also surprising its capacity of adaptation to new territories, even more when these instead of hostile end up by being kind although slightly complicated.
It can be that the foreigner’s situation, along with the age, has played us in favor. None of we had family there, and we all were if not too young at least relatively young, therefore the happiness was still something that we believed possibly, and not like a philosophical definition that we were reciting of memory after reading it in some text, but like a reality that we were living among friends, between beers and pleasantries after an exhausting work day. Like that was that I steadied myself in the habit of the borders, not to be too much of one place and to enjoy between major.