You have to play with the hand you touched
Throughout my life I was lucky enough to live in different parts of the world, which allowed me, like anyone who has had the opportunity to live that experience, to open my head to different ways of seeing life . But today I want to talk about one of the most limiting experiences I experienced and why I say in the title “the hand I touched”. It happened in New Delhi (I lived in India a little more than a year). And I can only narrate it directly and linearly.
Just two days after I arrived at the Asian giant (which, in addition, until now was the only country on that continent I knew), trying to adapt to the chaos and sensory explosion that involves walking along those streets, suddenly, when I reach a corner, in one of the mountains of garbage (because in every corner there is usually more than one), I saw something that caught my eye. At first I didn’t quite understand what it was, so I made the mistake of getting closer to see a little better. At a certain point, the neurons made me synapses and I understood it: it was a baby. In the trash. It was blue, swollen. To this day (almost ten years passed) I have that image engraved in my head with all clarity.
The hand comes given, what depends on us is how we played those cards.
At the moment I didn’t understand what was going on, but over time I dropped a token that made me modify my entire value scheme. And that token is: the place and the conditions of birth are arbitrary. What did I do to be born in Buenos Aires, within the family that touched me? Why am I not an abandoned baby in India or an aristocrat in England? The answer is simple: why not. There’s no explanation.
Then each one does what he has, what he can. And there the importance of effort, will, tenacity and discipline. But the starting point is because it is. It’s like a trick hand: they play the cards they play. If we’re good players, we’ll be able to take advantage of a mediocre hand. But what we won’t be able to ask is for it to be distributed again. And, of course, we will not be able to complain either: it will only hurt us even more.
Hipólito Azema nació en Buenos Aires, en los comienzos de la década del 80. No se sabe desde cuándo, porque esas cosas son difíciles de determinar, le gusta contar historias, pero más le gusta que se las cuenten: quizás por eso transitó los inefables pasillos de la Facultad de Filosofía y Letras de la Universidad de Buenos Aires. Una vez escuchó que donde existe una necesidad nace un derecho y se lo creyó.
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