Breathe
By Mónica Hernández
The title came to me because of its similarity to "la maldita primavera", a song that went down in history for appearing in the karaoke catalog. The inspiration comes from the imperious need we all have at this time of year to be happy, to celebrate, to send good wishes to everyone we meet, to the universe in general.
Yes, it is the week when we open the agenda of 2024 and begin to write down pending issues, with our best handwriting. We are programmed for a new cycle, in spite of the fact that winter will just begin, that time of hibernation, of storage and rest that animals have programmed in their primitive chip. But we know that time does not exist, that it is a continuum, that we only mark it to have some stability within the chaos that is actually the universe and how ephemeral we are.
Now, this stability has been broken for all of us at some point in our lives. This past Sunday, for two families, one very dear and one very dear. Both close to each other. In each family a relative died and on Monday we were accompanying the bereaved, the mourners. I can't help but think of the Christmas and New Year's Eve they will spend, alone, without their loved one. This year will be the cursed Christmas of my friend who lost her husband two months ago, leaving a widow and two orphans. I don't want to imagine the sadness of the empty chair, but it inevitably takes me back to the year my mother died. That year I didn't want to put up a tree, I didn't put up carols, I didn't make cookies or fruit-cakes, because until the year before I had done it with her, with my mother, with her recipes, in her kitchen. With her anecdotes, with her laughter, with her confidences. That year was my damn Christmas and although fifteen years have passed, there is no party that I do not remember, there is no Christmas that I sit at the table with something of what she left me (earrings, a necklace, a bracelet, along with her joy for having one more year of life). This year will be my husband's damn Christmas, since it's the first one without my mother-in-law. My daughter has been left without grandmothers, without those roots of her family tree that mean so much to the development of people.
It will also be a cursed Christmas for so many families, not only for having lost a loved one, but for having lost their innocence, their dignity. The parents of the young people of Salvatierra, those of Michoacán, those of Jalisco, those of Ayotzinapa come to mind. Also the mothers of the Ukrainian soldiers, and the mothers, fathers and orphans of Israel and Palestine, who neither celebrate nor will celebrate. It will be a cursed Christmas for those who lost their jobs, for those who left their homes and their land, for those who are in jail and for those who fear for their lives. But above all, for those who lost their illusion. The December holidays signify a pause, which was originally spiritual and has become commercial, for humanity. Even the programming of the television networks takes a break, with the best and the worst of the year.
The thanatologist says that it is okay to be upset, that it is not necessary to appear happy in front of others. That it is healthier to feel the way you want to feel, but without guilt. Among other programming, we are all connected to the guilt chip. So if this holiday season you don't feel like congratulating anyone, to seem happy, to be festive, not only you are in your right, but it will be the best for you. I wish you fulfillment in your discontent. But those who know also tell me that the body reacts with health when you smile, when you are grateful, when you sing and hug, because even the chemical composition is altered inside the body. You know, bitterness makes you sick and laughter cures. Perhaps, in the midst of this holiday season, it is time to hug someone and toast. My wish is that everyone has a very merry fucking Christmas.
The opinions expressed are the responsibility of the authors and are absolutely independent of the position and editorial line of the company. Opinion 51.
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