Summer of 1990. I was a little 7-year old wanker who couldn’t learn how to properly tie his motherfucking shoes, like all the other kids. Until, on a particularly hot day, I got down on my knees and thought the childish equivalent of “fuck this shit,” to then proceed to invent my own signature shoelace knot. And it was a very good knot. I still use the bastard, after 26 years.
You see, I’ve never been a well-adjusted human being. I’m too smart, but not a genius. Somewhat attractive, but not hot. Funny, but awkward. Social, yet shy. I’m racially mixed too, descendant of Chilean natives on my mother’s side, and -allegedly- an old cast of alcoholic jews on my father’s side. Thought, I was baptized and raised as a Catholic. Today, I’m a fucking agnostic, and too sober to make justice to my genetic heritage. So, basically, I’m a lot of things, but just halfway. Half a man too? Maybe.
It’s very easy to play the role of the victim, to pull out the “poor bullied Eduardo” card. It’s harder to acknowledge that the older I get, the more distant I feel from the norm -as if I was ever close to it. Still, I crave to belong, but… where? All the societies I’ve been part of -or tried to be part of- are bland and plain boring. Success, career, money, status, power. All useless bullshit; shallow, tiresome crap. But, what else is there? Sex? Overrated. Family? A nuisance. Love? A nice distraction, but much more costly than the other distractions, like drugs, booze and good food. So it seems pretty hopeless from where I stand.
In this distant state, I remember the feeling of accomplishment I got when I could tie my shoes for the very first time. Glory! Bliss! “Take that, Universe!” In that brief moment of infantile joy, I couldn’t foresee that my life was gonna become that: a recollection of small triumphs in a world that seems to always push me towards failure and isolation. Surrounded by a human mass of squared minds who can’t understand me -nor want to. Yet, I remain here. Bitching on a blog, having a laugh, a casual fuck here and there -against all odds-, and enjoying every cheerful highlight of my uncomprehensible existence.
I’m a weirdo, and will continue to be weird until I’m a goner. Which is not that bad. All those little motherfuckers that have hated me with the full extent of their passive-aggressiveness must have been onto something. Their motivation is blurry in my head. Ignorance, envy, or plain stupidity. I don’t quite know. Whatever it was, whatever it is; I take it as a compliment. Better to be weird than to be nothing. Like them.