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Letter from a recent deceased.
About the tragedy of the elderly besieged by the coronavirus.
‘Señores’ ―said Don Quixote― no so fast because in the nests of yesteryear there are no birds this year.
Dear all: While you are at home self-protecting from the crowned virus (Are you?), I died. I am going to try explaining it. It does not matter my name, age, gender, marital status, beliefs, ideology, and profession. Let us see.
I am a grandfather, an older adult, a seasoned veteran in the existence’s war. I am an ordinary person, the owner of a unique biography, because no one can replace a (my) life.
A famous anonymous Spanish saying says ‘A Rey muerto, Rey puesto’ (my free translation is: ‘Dead King, set King’). The English equal, despite its conceptual difference, could be ‘The King is dead. Long live the King!’.
Whatever it is, a king’s dead only means a character’s change in the tragicomedy of life. To inherit a crown or perpetuate a caste — nothing else, and no less.
It does exist more exciting issues than all the Kingdoms put together. Any human’s life is much more interesting than a game of crowns. The experiences, dreams, desires, and uncertainties of a…
