Stories and News No. 895
Trinidad Alvarez Lira died last Wednesday at age 117, after waiting for years to get proof of being born in 1898, so that she could receive government benefits.
However the fateful birth certificate was delivered just hours after her death...
You know what?
It happens, indeed.
It happens a lot more than what you think.
Those who are waiting get tired and go beyond.
You arrive pretending breathless or asking pardon for the delay with false mortification, but the scene is always the same.
An empty room, an empty sidewalk, an empty space in a vacuum.
Too bad for her, I'm sorry for him, that is what you tell yourself.
And you're wrong, dear friend by a very personal concept of time.
Bad and sorry are all for you.
You know what?
You have no idea how many of your kind we met along the journey.
Incorrigible fellow of the latter, sick of a very pernicious slowness in recognizing the obvious.
One hundred and seventeen, do you see?
How many I had waited of such trivial truths.
How many I had waited in vain.
That I'm a woman, proudly nothing less than any other human marvel, saying one.
That we Mexicans are Americans too, like the Brazilians, Argentines and Bolivians, not only the famous ones.
And although it is said that winners write history, we, lesser souls, are the ones who tell stories.
Because we live them.
I waited, it is true, but it has always been a matter of courtesy.
Often something more.
Sometimes even love.
Concealed by a tender patience.
But then the kiss arrived and everything went well.
Think what you like.
This is also part of my gift.
Let yourself believe it was you giving it to me.
You know what?
It's an old story, much more than me, so long stuff.
One hundred plus seventeen, remember?
Yes, I am talking about memories.
The album of my life is filled with contradictory snapshots.
A lonely road, trees as background and me staring at the clock.
My name is Trinidad, the woman who waited.
Which then stands up and goes away.
But now, while you are alone, are you sure that you understand?
Are you really sure it was me waiting for you?
Or it was quite the opposite?
Read more stories about life
Buy my latest book The hoax of the migrants
Listen my song Wolves
Storytelling videos with subtitles
More on Stories and News:
Trinidad Alvarez Lira died last Wednesday at age 117, after waiting for years to get proof of being born in 1898, so that she could receive government benefits.
However the fateful birth certificate was delivered just hours after her death...
 |
| Photo: Sinembargo.mx |
It happens, indeed.
It happens a lot more than what you think.
Those who are waiting get tired and go beyond.
You arrive pretending breathless or asking pardon for the delay with false mortification, but the scene is always the same.
An empty room, an empty sidewalk, an empty space in a vacuum.
Too bad for her, I'm sorry for him, that is what you tell yourself.
And you're wrong, dear friend by a very personal concept of time.
Bad and sorry are all for you.
You know what?
You have no idea how many of your kind we met along the journey.
Incorrigible fellow of the latter, sick of a very pernicious slowness in recognizing the obvious.
One hundred and seventeen, do you see?
How many I had waited of such trivial truths.
How many I had waited in vain.
That I'm a woman, proudly nothing less than any other human marvel, saying one.
That we Mexicans are Americans too, like the Brazilians, Argentines and Bolivians, not only the famous ones.
And although it is said that winners write history, we, lesser souls, are the ones who tell stories.
Because we live them.
I waited, it is true, but it has always been a matter of courtesy.
Often something more.
Sometimes even love.
Concealed by a tender patience.
But then the kiss arrived and everything went well.
Think what you like.
This is also part of my gift.
Let yourself believe it was you giving it to me.
You know what?
It's an old story, much more than me, so long stuff.
One hundred plus seventeen, remember?
Yes, I am talking about memories.
The album of my life is filled with contradictory snapshots.
A lonely road, trees as background and me staring at the clock.
My name is Trinidad, the woman who waited.
Which then stands up and goes away.
But now, while you are alone, are you sure that you understand?
Are you really sure it was me waiting for you?
Or it was quite the opposite?
Read more stories about life
Buy my latest book The hoax of the migrants
Listen my song Wolves
Storytelling videos with subtitles
More on Stories and News: