Life; it's hard stuff sometimes. Especially towards winter, when the leaves are turning, and it is getting dark so soon, it is hard to look up and smile... At work, I realize how petty some people are, and how lazy they can be. How much of our lives are about small victories. No one sees the forest from the trees.
On the metro, no one gives their place to the old lady. I get up, but sometimes I, myself, am drowning in my own selfish pool of tiredness, and I only see her much later; ashamed and guilty I exit the metro.
In the corner where the two streets intersect, people get robbed almost daily... Someone hangs himself somewhere. I hear ambulance sirens, and fire trucks pass by...
All of this, is real...
And then, there is tango...
It is late evening... I enter the room; it is almost the end of a Di Sarli tanda. It is warm, and my cold cheeks find refuge. There is a buzz in the air, some frequency that is shaking the cells in my body gently, waking them up. My heart speeds up. I look around with anticipation, and see some familiar faces that smile at me and wave. I wave back. I kiss at least ten people, hug another five; smiles all around. We, the petty, overworked, lazy, self interested people of the world, transform into butterflies, who kiss and smile, and are generally pleasant, and mostly happy, and ready to embrace whatever stranger catches our eye. A metamorphosis...
It is afternoon. As I walk my dog, I am listening to tangos; my earphones let Podestá sing in my ear. The leaves are happy, the dog is too, and so am I. What a transformation, it is life in full color.
It is late night. I am washing the dishes, and singing Romance de Barrio on my own. No music, no audience, unless you count the dirty dishes, of which there are so many at this point that it is hard to figure out where to start. It is me, yellow latex gloves and hot water, singing that famous vals, Troilo, with Floreal Ruiz version. Sometimes losing the tune, somewhere in the middle of the bubbles, grease, and hot running water, laughing and catching up with it later. What a romance...
Tango... For me it is simply the suspension of disbelief... I suspend my disbelief in all things worthy, innocent, fragile, capable, brave... The harsh winds of reality beats us into submission sometimes. Then, we hear a tango somewhere, and start embracing, singing, or simply smiling to it. At that moment, the reality is suspended, and we believe in what seems to be the nonexistent, the impossible:
our beautiful and fragile humanity; the image of which if we could capture with a divine camera, we would apply to heaven with...
