If you are English, you can go directly to the English version 👉 HERE
Crónica de mis carencias cuando creía tenerlo todo
Acepto el reto de mi querida @brujita18 y @annafenix de “echar el cuento”, no sobre lo que me falta en el banco, sino sobre lo que me faltó en el espíritu. Desde mi ventana, viendo la nieve aún caer, viajo en el tiempo hacia esa Venezuela de los años 80, cuando yo era un chamo de veinte y pico, con ganas de comerme el mundo, pero con una “ceguera” que iba más allá de mis ojos.
Si me preguntan cuándo me sentí verdaderamente desprovisto, cuándo sentí que mis alforjas estaban vacías, tengo que remontarme al inicio de la era del Metro de Caracas. Para quienes no lo vivieron, aquello era la gran cosa. Era el símbolo de la modernidad, la joya de la corona. Yo, con mi ímpetu y mis ganas de echarle pichón a la vida, me postulé para ser Operador de Trenes.
Radio Otilca
Me veía a mí mismo uniformado, conduciendo aquel gusano de metal por las entrañas de la ciudad. Pasé las pruebas psicotécnicas volando, pues la cabeza siempre me funcionó bien. Pero cuando llegó el examen médico, la realidad me pasó factura. Mi historial de discapacidad visual, ese desprendimiento de retina y mi visión monocular, fueron un muro impasable.
— Me rechazaron.
Recuerdo salir de las oficinas administrativas sintiendo que me había quedado con los crespos hechos. En ese momento, experimenté la carencia más grande: la falta de aceptación propia. Me sentí “desprovisto” de capacidades, sentí que estaba defectuoso, que por más que estudiara, mi cuerpo no daba la talla. Fue una depresión silenciosa, una bancarrota emocional donde sentí que el tren de la vida me dejaba en el andén.
La miseria de no valorar
Pero hubo otra forma de escasez, quizás más grave, que practiqué en mi juventud: la tacañería del afecto. Vengo de una familia humilde pero digna. Sin embargo, reconozco con dolor que muchas veces fui un indigente en gratitud. No valoré lo suficiente la presencia física de mis padres. Daba por sentado que estarían allí para siempre, como el Ávila.
— ¡Qué equivocado estaba!
Uno a veces anda por la vida dándose postín, creyendo que tiene tiempo de sobra, y no se da cuenta de que la verdadera riqueza son esos cafés compartidos con los viejos, esas conversaciones que hoy, a mis 70 años, pagaría todo el oro del mundo por tener de nuevo. Fui “pobre” porque teniendo el tesoro del amor en frente, a veces prefería mirar hacia mis propias ambiciones.
La fortuna de los trancazos
— Sin embargo, hoy, limpiando el retrovisor de mi vida, me cae la locha de una gran verdad.
Agradezco infinitamente aquel rechazo del Metro de Caracas. Si me hubiesen aceptado, quizás me habría jubilado como operador en Venezuela, atrapado en una rutina subterránea. Esa “puerta cerrada” me obligó a buscar ventanas más altas: la matemática, la docencia universitaria, y finalmente, este destino maravilloso en Canadá.
Aquella carencia me empujó a emigrar. Aquella “pobreza” de oportunidades en un momento dado, me obligó a forjar mi carácter, a ser resiliente, a no achicopalarme ante el primer “no”.
🙏🏼 Hoy soy millonario. No por mi pensión, sino porque aprendí la lección.
🫂 Soy rico porque cada mañana valoro el abrazo de mi hijo Matthew.
🤟 Soy rico porque ya no desperdicio un “te quiero”.
💫 Soy rico porque entendí que las piedras en el camino no eran para bloquearme, sino para construir el castillo donde hoy habita mi paz.
🫵🏼 Soy …, porque tengo amigos virtuales que siempre me leen y me dejan sus comentarios, pese a la distancia.
Esa es mi historia, mis estimados lectores(as). Fui pobre de visión espiritual, pero la vida, a punta de trancazos y bendiciones, me enseñó a ver la verdadera fortuna: aquí estoy, escribiendo mi granito de arena para esta iniciativa… Un abrazote lleno de bendiciones.
Cómo participar, aún estás a tiempo… @chironga67 y @josegilberto.
Échame el Cuento
Portada de la iniciativa.
Dedicado a todos aquellos que contribuyen, día a día, a hacer de este planeta un mundo mejor.
Chronicle of my shortcomings when I thought I had everything
I accept the challenge from my dear @brujita18 & @annafenix to ‘tell the story’, not about what I lack in the bank, but about what I lacked in spirit. From my window, watching the snow still fall, I travel back in time to Venezuela in the 1980s, when I was a young man in my twenties, eager to take on the world, but with a ‘blindness’ that went beyond my eyes.
If you ask me when I felt truly deprived, when I felt that my saddlebags were empty, I have to go back to the beginning of the Caracas Metro era. For those who did not experience it, it was a big deal. It was the symbol of modernity, the jewel in the crown. With my drive and my desire to throw myself into life, I applied to be a train operator.
Media PBS
I saw myself in uniform, driving that metal worm through the bowels of the city. I passed the psychometric tests with flying colours, as my head has always worked well. But when it came to the medical examination, reality caught up with me. My history of visual impairment, that detached retina and my monocular vision, were an insurmountable barrier.
“I was rejected.”
I remember leaving the administrative offices feeling like I had been left high and dry. At that moment, I experienced the greatest deprivation: a lack of self-acceptance. I felt ‘poor’ in terms of my abilities, I felt that I was defective, that no matter how much I studied, my body was not up to the task. It was a silent depression, an emotional bankruptcy where I felt that the train of life was leaving me behind on the platform.
The misery of not appreciating
But there was another form of scarcity, perhaps more serious, that I practised in my youth: stinginess with affection. I come from a humble but dignified family. However, I painfully admit that I was often destitute in gratitude. I did not appreciate my parents physical presence enough. I took it for granted that they would be there forever, like the Ávila mountains.
“How wrong I was!”
Sometimes you go through life showing off, believing you have plenty of time, and you don't realise that true wealth is those coffees shared with your elders, those conversations that today, at 70, I would pay all the gold in the world to have again. I was “poor” because, even though I had the treasure of love right in front of me, I sometimes preferred to look towards my own ambitions.
The fortune of hard knocks
“However, today, looking back on my life, I am struck by a great truth.”
I am infinitely grateful for that rejection from the Caracas Metro. If they had accepted me, I might have retired as an operator in Venezuela, trapped in an underground routine. That ‘closed door’ forced me to look for higher windows: mathematics, university teaching, and finally, this wonderful destination in Canada.
That lack pushed me to emigrate. That ‘poverty’ of opportunities at a given moment forced me to forge my character, to be resilient, to not give up at the first ‘no’.
🙏 Today I am a millionaire. Not because of my pension, but because I learned my lesson.
🫂 I am rich because every morning I cherish the hug from my son Matthew.
🤟 I am rich because I no longer waste an ‘I love you’.
💫 I am rich because I understood that the stones on the road were not there to block me, but to build the castle where my peace now dwells.
🫵🏼 I am … Because I have virtual friends who always read my posts and leave me comments, despite the distance.
That is my story, my dear readers. I was poor in spiritual vision, but life, through trials and blessings, taught me to see true fortune: here I am, doing my bit for this initiative… A big hug full of blessings.
How to participate, there’s still time… @silher and @cositav.
Tell me the story
Cover of the initiative.
🔆****🔆****🔆****🔆****🔆****🔆****🔆****🔆****🔆
I am dedicated to all those who contribute daily to make our planet ɑ a better world.
Dedicado a todos aquellos que contribuyen, día a día, a hacer de este planeta un mundo mejor.
Chronicle of my shortcomings when I thought I had everything
I accept the challenge from my dear @brujita18 & @annafenix to ‘tell the story’, not about what I lack in the bank, but about what I lacked in spirit. From my window, watching the snow still fall, I travel back in time to Venezuela in the 1980s, when I was a young man in my twenties, eager to take on the world, but with a ‘blindness’ that went beyond my eyes.
If you ask me when I felt truly deprived, when I felt that my saddlebags were empty, I have to go back to the beginning of the Caracas Metro era. For those who did not experience it, it was a big deal. It was the symbol of modernity, the jewel in the crown. With my drive and my desire to throw myself into life, I applied to be a train operator.
Media PBS
I saw myself in uniform, driving that metal worm through the bowels of the city. I passed the psychometric tests with flying colours, as my head has always worked well. But when it came to the medical examination, reality caught up with me. My history of visual impairment, that detached retina and my monocular vision, were an insurmountable barrier.
“I was rejected.”
I remember leaving the administrative offices feeling like I had been left high and dry. At that moment, I experienced the greatest deprivation: a lack of self-acceptance. I felt ‘poor’ in terms of my abilities, I felt that I was defective, that no matter how much I studied, my body was not up to the task. It was a silent depression, an emotional bankruptcy where I felt that the train of life was leaving me behind on the platform.
The misery of not appreciating
But there was another form of scarcity, perhaps more serious, that I practised in my youth: stinginess with affection. I come from a humble but dignified family. However, I painfully admit that I was often destitute in gratitude. I did not appreciate my parents physical presence enough. I took it for granted that they would be there forever, like the Ávila mountains.
“How wrong I was!”
Sometimes you go through life showing off, believing you have plenty of time, and you don't realise that true wealth is those coffees shared with your elders, those conversations that today, at 70, I would pay all the gold in the world to have again. I was “poor” because, even though I had the treasure of love right in front of me, I sometimes preferred to look towards my own ambitions.
The fortune of hard knocks
“However, today, looking back on my life, I am struck by a great truth.”
I am infinitely grateful for that rejection from the Caracas Metro. If they had accepted me, I might have retired as an operator in Venezuela, trapped in an underground routine. That ‘closed door’ forced me to look for higher windows: mathematics, university teaching, and finally, this wonderful destination in Canada.
That lack pushed me to emigrate. That ‘poverty’ of opportunities at a given moment forced me to forge my character, to be resilient, to not give up at the first ‘no’.
🙏 Today I am a millionaire. Not because of my pension, but because I learned my lesson.
🫂 I am rich because every morning I cherish the hug from my son Matthew.
🤟 I am rich because I no longer waste an ‘I love you’.
💫 I am rich because I understood that the stones on the road were not there to block me, but to build the castle where my peace now dwells.
🫵🏼 I am … Because I have virtual friends who always read my posts and leave me comments, despite the distance.
That is my story, my dear readers. I was poor in spiritual vision, but life, through trials and blessings, taught me to see true fortune: here I am, doing my bit for this initiative… A big hug full of blessings.
How to participate, there’s still time… @silher and @cositav.
Tell me the story
Cover of the initiative.
🔆****🔆****🔆****🔆****🔆****🔆****🔆****🔆****🔆
I am dedicated to all those who contribute daily to make our planet ɑ a better world.
Cover of the initiative.
I am dedicated to all those who contribute daily to make our planet ɑ a better world.
