I often don’t quite know what compels me to press the shutter on my camera. I have only a faint recollection of that day, but the feeling of being there—that remains. A corner, 19th and 2nd, in the Vedado district. I was cycling along 19th Street and stopped when I saw the old car, completely painted. My mind now resists delving into the details of that ordinary day, the date of which I no longer recall… I’d need to make a small effort, search through my things, check the photo data, Hive, my published posts—where I know I’ll find one with fragments from that day.
What I’m trying to say is that my brain, slowly, like the day stretching itself awake, is filling with information. And it’s true, we rarely know how memorable a day will be until we look back and remember. Since I got out of bed at 4 a.m., went to the kitchen to drink some water and make coffee, I’ve done a few things—like speaking to my sister on the phone while she was driving to work. I noticed she was flustered, already running late. Our ways of facing life are different, because our realities are different. But we share something profound: our birth was a miracle.
You too—yes, you, the one reading this. Have you ever considered that your birth—that you, the person you are—might have been someone else entirely, among millions of possibilities, of siblings you never met? All because your parents met. But… how many other paths were there for your mother or father? How many different cities in the world? And life itself—how did they remain alive, with so many chances each day not to? And so you can ask yourself endless questions about probabilities… the ones that brought you here, to live the life you’re living today.
That day I know I was reflecting on the brevity of our existence, and now, as I look at these photographs, I’m struck by the fact that the colour that stood out on that corner was yellow. Look closely at the tiny yellow flowers beneath the yellow car, the walls of the house, the yellow of the road signs, the paint on the battered car that seems to have lived there for an eternity. And yet, when I focused through my camera, all I saw was white.
I saw the grey hair of a man who asked me for a cigarette, and I replied that I’d given up smoking long ago—that bicycles don’t go well with that habit. I saw his white T-shirt with a word that, in that moment, reminded me the kind of love that must flow from me pure and unconditional. And I remembered that emotions are our finest compass.
https://files.peakd.com/file/peakd-hive/nanixxx/EoiVo8ALWWaZ96sdsk9b2hra3H2MVHoP8TN64NAjyL4BKq6pnYzmMWPfaTmCNauxqFG.JPG
I’m beginning to recall that day a little more… words I left somewhere, recorded with such simplicity that you might never imagine I’m always travelling deep within my musings. Simplicity that translated into spent energy, joy at a goal achieved, replenishing my strength, and spending part of the night amidst incense smoke and an engaging read—grateful to have been granted one more day in this world.
Why must we live in haste? I refuse to accumulate material things—I only want what I truly need. I want to gather good moments. That’s what I want… I want to be able to look back and remember that I smiled, that I spread joy to others, that I helped, that I served, that life granted me miracles, that my compass works well, and that I chose to walk alongside those who came to accompany me, to share in my wholeness.