🦜 Innocence

 "Write about innocence."  

"There's nothing more contagious than the laughter of young children;

it doesn't even have to matter what they're laughing about."     - Criss Jami

I wanted to start this magnificent essay with a clause I love. The phrases mentioned above by Criss reflect a sentiment thousands of people have. 

    I sometimes close my eyes, look back on time, and smile at the dozens of pictures my mind reproduces. It was funny when I could spend five daily hours doing the same activity. Not even interested in what was coming next. (For instance, playing Lego in my room, building massive castles only to destroy them after or capturing ridiculous ghosts with a red-and-black vacuum cleaner in Luigi's Mansion.) 

    In Mexico, we did not grow up with the red-fat Coca-Cola-sponsored Santa Clause guy nor hanging out with friends at night on Halloween. Instead, El Hada de Los Dientes left money under our pillow in exchange for a tooth. El día de Los Muertos permitted us—as a family—share food like Dead bread, tequila, tamales, and gorditas. Moreover, the folkloric music playing in the background made the cemeteries and the graves on November 1 more cheerful. El niñito Dios valued our all-year-long behavior. 

    I still treasure, deep down in my heart, the memories of how mom used to kiss my silly wounds, small scratches, and unnecessary bruises. Life was great when I was younger. As I mentioned before, my energy did not care about time managing or giving full language courses. Much less on receiving classes, writing the whole script for a new video, yet recording said material. 

    Helping my younger brother with his homework was not part of my concerns at all. However, I will tell you what, nowadays, eats me in life. Trying to think in French while hearing the news, podcasts, and talking with students. Working on using English during my daily reading and writing practice and ending using Spanish throughout the day with my family at home—yes, it is exhausting. It may sound weird to some people, but for me, it is my life. 

    The older I get—I recognize I am twenty, but you get the point—the harder become asking questions. If you know me personally, my "deductive and cautious" character, do not let me speak fast. And I usually worry about what I will say next. I am sure it is not anxiety, because I have it under control most of the time, and does not make me feel uncomfortable. 

    My style of presenting myself to the world became remarkably formal. The Congress, NGO's and subsequent jobs marked me harshly; I completely lost my innocence. "Birds of a feather flock together," says the proverb. I think it is correct.

    One thing I can say I am proud of it is my self-esteem, security, and confidence. What people think of my person never affects me. Arturo—my other personality—treats me adequately and avoids offending me. The young guy hid inside of my heart sometimes appears when learning is involved. And writing new stories every day has released an inner voice I did believe I had. Before finishing, I want to thank my innocence; she deserves respect; she helps me compose new ideals.    

Onward...