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Today we mark 59 years since someone decided it was a good idea to bring us into the world. We’re still not sure if it was out of love, by accident, or simply because there was nothing good on TV—but here we are. And like any respectable Hive user, we’ll take any excuse to write a long post full of reflections nobody asked for but we’re going to share anyway. Because if there’s one thing we’ve learned over time, it’s that age isn’t something to hide—it’s something to flaunt, like a battle scar worn with pride. At this point, it’s no longer about counting candles; it’s about counting stories that justify our continued presence on the blockchain. And yes, we know this sounds cliché, but relax—we’re not about to drop lines like “life is a journey” or toss in metaphors about winding roads and sunsets. We’re here to look back with the same attitude we use when rummaging through the junk drawer: no clue what half the stuff is for, but convinced there’s something valuable buried in there. If this recap feels boring, at least it proves we’re still writing for the fun of it—not because we have to. And if it doesn’t land, well… there’s always the option to blame the cat.
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Six siblings under one roof. All around the same age, all constantly hungry, all fighting over the last piece of cake like it was the Champions League final. Our parents were public servants, doing what they could with what they had—which wasn’t much, but it was enough to get by without drama. No luxuries, but plenty of non-negotiable rules: you ate what was served, wore whatever fit (even if it had already made the rounds through a couple siblings), and shared the bathroom like it was a United Nations summit. Childhood was simple, sure—but also loud, chaotic, and full of tactical maneuvers to dodge responsibility. We learned to negotiate using emotional blackmail, outrun whoever was chasing us, and fake illnesses to skip school. All without realizing we were training for adulthood, where the excuses get more sophisticated and the punishments come in the form of taxes. There were no exotic vacations or fancy toys, but we got a solid education in the essentials: how to get by with little, how to laugh at yourself, and how to turn boredom into an adventure. And even though the world seems to spin faster now, those experiences still serve as a compass. Because when you grow up in a pack, you learn that success isn’t a solo act—it’s shared... and that whoever shows up last does the dishes.
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Our teenage years unfolded at a military high school in La Grita, Táchira. The "Monseñor Jáuregui Moreno" left a mark—and not exactly with hugs. That’s where we learned that discipline isn’t a virtue, it’s an imposition. That order has its logic, but also its share of absurdity. And that routine can build character, but it can also leave scars. It wasn’t easy, but it was useful. The early mornings, the uniforms, the shouting—all of it shaped a worldview where coffee is taken strong and beds are made like they’re about to be inspected by NASA. Then came the working years. The world of sales and mass-market distribution brought both opportunities and demands. We worked hard, climbed fast, and realized that business success isn’t just about talent—it’s also about smiling while signing something completely incomprehensible (legal paperwork). For years, we lived among meetings, strategies, targets, and spreadsheets. We learned to read the market, understand people, and make decisions under pressure. And when the time came to step away, we did so with the peace of having closed a chapter. No need for drama—just the clarity that it was time to change course. And also, let’s be honest, to sleep in a little longer.
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Eight years ago, we began a new chapter in the world of cryptocurrencies. Hive became a space for exploration, learning, and letting off steam. Here we’ve written, debated, built, and exaggerated. It’s not just about technology—it’s about community, about tokens that rise and fall like our moods, and about posts that sometimes make no sense but still get votes. Hive doesn’t demand degrees or hierarchies. It demands participation, discernment, and a healthy dose of patience to figure out what the hell a Hardfork or HIVE Power even is. Over the years, we’ve learned to value decentralization, to understand the power of words, and to share ideas without filters or unnecessary frills. This isn’t a race for fame, but for relevance—though sometimes it feels like we’re competing to see who can post the most without actually saying anything. And now, on the edge of 60, there’s no fear of the future. There’s curiosity. There’s a desire to keep contributing, keep writing, and keep connecting. Because if this journey has taught us anything, it’s that life isn’t measured in achievements, but in shared experiences. And as long as there’s room to tell nonsense stories, there’ll be reasons to keep going. Even if it’s just to confirm that we’re still masterful writers of nonsense... but with style.
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