My mother was wrong: it had nothing to do with destiny. I wrote at random, I invented at random, I wanted to run away to some random place. Destinations-to my current state of mind, although I might have thought so back then unknowingly-are marks that we write on envelopes to hoodwink our fear at having no goals, to lessen our panic at not knowing where to seek shelter, to set the pressures of the possible in meticulous order.
In spite of myself, I groan when they maneuver into the positions they find most comfortable and satisfying. Only my eyes stay dry, as if all my tears were on the other side of my heart
She never had a stomach ache, she just wanted us to eat. Every time the food would come out, she would say ‘my stomach hurts’. What a lie! It was because there was not enough to go round. That is why I love my old lady so much.-Diego