Autobiography

Being born is an agonizing pain to my eyes. I’ll try to describe it as accurately as possible, even though it seems a bit difficult. At first I only sense some heat, that’s my favorite part, it’s nice and it feels like a friendly hug. But then the monstrous mutation begins, and it becomes pure torture. That familiar tender burn rises to incredible levels and it’s like being in hell itself. My skin begins to shrivel up and the light blinds my poor little eyes. I take it all as best as I can, but it’s when I start to scream that finally I lift up.

I float slowly and dance in the air gently, letting myself go most of the time; but every now and then I enjoy creating patterns and shapes with my body so that they can recognize them.  They almost never want to play with me, but I fancy imagining their voices exclaiming: “Look…it’s a duck!” or “Doesn’t that look like a perfect circle?” Nevertheless, I never get much attention. I like to get close to them, running through their hair, leaving my scent everywhere, caressing their skin softly and warming them up a little bit.

I don’t have a home, but I enjoy exploring the caves, taking the chance when someone breathes in to enter. I must admit I am quite nosy, so it’s easy to spot me, hiding in the depths. Then it all begins to tremble and I get shot out really fast. It’s a painful yet exciting experience.

I often wonder what it’s like to be so big and…solid. It’s boggling, and I feel sad for those enormous beings, forever trapped in their boring corporeal life. They can’t fall apart and put themselves together again, they can’t shrink up or expand or fly around twirling and impregnating everything with their perfume. I feel pity for them and that’s why I like to hug them every time I get the chance.

But if I had to pick my favorite moment …it would definitely be death. Oh, what a joy it is to let myself disintegrate. It’s in that moment when I levitate higher than ever, and I can see it all…everything surrounding me; the trees, the houses, the grass. And being cradled by the breeze I start to let go little by little of my existence, no pain involved.

And then it begins again, repeating itself a thousand times: birth, death…I don’t even mind it anymore. I’d rather discover something new in each of my lives. For example…today I came to the conclusion that if I get too close to the eyes of those gigantic creatures, they turn red… They are really curious beings, are they not?

 Based upon “Discurso del Oso” by Julio Cortázar.