The man who wasn't one

   The island was rapidly covered by water. Well, it wasn’t exactly an island, rather a big rock in the middle of the bay, guilty of so many shipwrecks and swimming accidents. But now, it was the resting place of a weapon that should remain there for ages. Hopefully no one would ever again set a foot on that rock, no one would never look beneath the promontory and find the small box made of wood and metal. Never again…

 A man wearing a red mask looked at the rock sinking in the ocean from a nearby cliff. The wind moved he’s coat and the tip of his hat but not him. He stood there, like a statue, just looking at the water as the sun went away and was replaced by a chilly night. Once the island was fully covered in water, he left his post on the cliff. He started walking aimlessly, just following the path that lead to the small town near the bay. People locked themselves during the battle and now they were too afraid to step out.

 Besides, the media was making a circus out of all that had happened just hours before, half a world away. It was strange how people here were also hiding in their homes. Everyone was too scared. Two caped men with incredible powers had been battling brutally and now one of them lay dead in a hospital guarded by military men.

 Every single detail was being revealed on TV. Suddenly, people didn’t care about the time of day anymore. Children and adults watched the winner, a man with green cape in the shape of a diamond, being congratulated by political figures and military men. But that didn’t make any sense. He had just come to this world and now, suddenly, was a savior. His fall from space had obliterated fields that nourished thousands and he had destroyed half a big city destroying his opponent, who had fallen from space just like him but unto water, flooding nearby towns

 The man in the red mask walked towards the town and suddenly realized the lighthouse was not working. Maybe there was a very low of electricity and people could only hear their radios or watch their TV’s. Yes, not even street lamps were working, nor any lights inside stores or homes. In any case, that wasn’t important as no one was working or too far from home. They were all glued to the information, in order to understand at least a small part of what had happened.

 The thing is it had all occurred in a matter of hours. A full day ago, people had no idea aliens existed or super humans of any kind. But now they were here, with them, on planet Earth, and no one really knew what was going to happen. They listened to every word the news broadcasters spoke and even there, in those studios, people were barely handling what was happening. They just recited what little they knew and hoped it was for the best.

Strangely, this event had united everyone. No one was an outsider or a stranger anymore. People had suddenly realized they were all humans; they were all members of one single species and now two other creatures, aliens, had visited them. They had been so proud of their meager strength, so full of themselves for so long, but now these visitors had changed everything. They were clearly stronger and smarter and knew more of the universe than them and, secretly, that made everyone a little nervous, to say the least.

 The one that had won stood exactly were he had defeated his adversary for at least three hours. Many doctors, scientists and politicians got near him but he did nothing. He looked strangely human but he clearly wasn’t. Not only because he didn’t seem to know how to speak, but because of his two antennae on the top of his head. They were small and had the same yellowish color of his skin. People talked to him in various languages but he didn’t seem to want to move or understand what they said. He looked at them but he didn’t seem to be listening or paying attention to anything.

 He seemed robotic, at best. And his enemy wasn’t too different. He looked liked him, except his skin had a reddish tint. Maybe they shared a same species but they came from different parts of the same planet. Anything could be guessed and every single one of those guesses could be a reality. The one that lay dead went cold in a matter of seconds and was now practically frozen, without any need of human practices. But people were really not that interested in him, not as much as in the one that was alive and well, or so it seemed.

 The man took off his mask to let the darkness of the town’s streets cover his face. He stopped for a moment and massaged his temples, trying to breath softly and calm himself down. He had been running for a long time and now this calm was making him feel strange, almost as alien as those two men in the news. He pulled out a lighter from one of his pockets and turned the mask on fire, then left it on the pavement to burn. He looked at the fire for some time and then kept walking, until he was outside of the town, this time from the other side.

 The breeze of the night felt comforting. The cold didn’t matter anymore; it just felt comforting to feel the wind on his skin again, on his face. He had been wearing that mask for too long. He had made a name for himself wearing that thing and now he could finally resettle on Earth and live his final days with the family he had built there. He had a beautiful wife and a couple of children. They were the reason he had done what he had done and he knew he would never be sorry for it.

 The man in diamond cape finally moved but not like people would have expected. He flew, like a bird but with less grace. He flew and flew until he got to the hospital where they were keeping his enemy’s body. He entered, the military being too afraid of shooting him or something. He moved slowly, almost gliding, until he got to the room where he found the body. He immediately took the dead alien’s head between his hands and pressed hard. It looked as if he wanted to squeeze something out of there. The head of the victim suddenly shone with a bright light. The caped man’s face contorted in awful ways until he finally crushed the man’s brain. A TV drone had followed him and broadcasted this to every single home in the planet.

 The alien didn’t appear to care for it. Without even blinking, he walked to the nearest window and flew again. But this time, he disappeared into the night, towards the clouds. Radars and sonars confirmed he had left the planet and now his position was unknown. The body was oozing a strange liquid and it was decided he would be buried in an undisclosed location after some medical examinations were performed for the sake of science.

 When the man in the coat heard all of this, from a farmer’s radio that could be heard across a wheat field, he was able to finally breath. He took off his hat and revealed his face. His skin was also light yellow and he had two small antennae on his head. He had been covering his face but he did not know why. There was no one around and he could be himself if he wanted to.

But that was it: he didn’t want to be himself anymore. He had escaped a crumbling civilization far away into the blackness of space and had arrived to this small and gentle planet to live the life he had always wanted. Of course, he had left so much behind. But the future was brighter and whatever he had to do to make it so, was worth it.

 He had heard of the battle and immediately knew they had come for him. He knew whom the alien that had just left was: he had been looking for him, he wanted to take him back to their world and face his fate. But he apparently hadn’t expected to be followed and that was the reason for the battle. The man that had lay dying in the hospital was none other than the brother of the man in a coat. He had been destroyed; he had sacrificed himself for his brother. The other one had tried to read his mind before killing him, because he thought he knew were his brother was but he didn’t.

 Those two had travelled many years, so many kilometers of empty space, to destroying some buildings and fields and then just die or leave. And the alien in the coat was happy about that. He walked a little bit more and then realized the darkness of the night was all around him. So he decided to do it there. He stopped, stood still and closed his eyes. Concentrating, he was able to make his skin less yellow, his antennae turn into ears in the right places and his vocal chords come in. They, his race, had all this kind of power. But only him had been bothered to know the ways of the humans.

 When arriving on Earth, he looked even stranger that his brother at his death. But he had learned to stay low and to watch the humans, to learn everything there was to learn about them. And then, he was able to join them in society, looking just as they did. That was how his family was created and how he had realized he had made the right choice by staying here and locking the weapon he had stolen from his world just before leave it forever.

 He would never go back but he would never let them annihilate each other. Not when he could stop them. 

Lo que pasó y lo que no

   Su foto era lo único que seguía existiendo, pero él ya no estaba aquí y yo no podía traerlo de vuelta. Era un caso perdido, un momento de mi vida que nunca volvería a tener y no podía permanecer allí. Tenía que avanzar. Pero como se avanza cuando has olvidado las razones por las que lo hacías? Ya no tiene sentido seguir adelante o ir de para atrás. Para que? Si siempre va a pasar lo mismo: las cosas van a salir mal o medianamente bien, por un tiempo, hasta que dejan de ser y luego todo es una mierda, una masa amorfa sin sentido que nadie quiere experimentar ni sentir.

 No lo amaba, no todavía, pero lo hubiera podido hacer. Era de esas personas con las que se sentía que se podía hacer algo además de tener sexo y besarse sin sentido. Se podía conversar y ser amigos, algo que jamás había sentido que yo pudiera ser con otro hombre. Siempre me había sentido menos que cualquier otro hombre y de pronto era por eso que evitaba, a toda costa, involucrarme mucho con alguno. Pero justo con el que sí hubiera querido involucrarme, ese se fue y no dejó rastro.

 Para qué conservaba su foto? No tenía sentido hacerlo y sin embargo la miraba cada cierto tiempo. De ningún modo me había enamorado de él pero me hacía sentir bien el hecho de tener un prospecto, una posibilidad de vivir algo por fin distinto, diferente y que tuviera la capacidad de cambiarme la vida. Por eso él había sido tan importante. No era porque no pudiera vivir sin él o algo por ese estilo. No, podía manejarlo todo muy bien si compañía. Pero siempre pensaba en lo que podía haber sido y eso era tortura suficiente.

 Me siento joven, más joven, pensando así. Como empezó todo esto? Ah… No lo recordaba. Con ese joven hace tanto tiempo, cuando ni siquiera entendía nada pero yo creía entender algo. Era alto y delgado, eso lo recuerdo. Lo malo era que no me conocía, solo de vista. Fue en los últimos días allí que me di cuenta que sus invitaciones a jugar deportes podían haber sido máscaras para algo más. Sencillamente era yo muy tímido para atreverme a decir “sí”, así fuera quién era.

 Era gordito para mi edad, en ese entonces pero no lo pensaba así. De hecho ni lo pensaba, creo que no era algo que tuviese en mente en el momento. Yo solo quería estar en paz y que me dejaran jugar mis juegos y hacer lo mío, aparte, sin interrupciones. Por eso las invitaciones del chico alto me molestaban tanto. No solo era timidez sino que lo sentía como una interrupción a mi vida desprovista de amigos verdaderos. Creo que los amigos de verdad solo se hacen cuando uno ya tiene peso en el pantalón, como dicen las mamás, cuando ya se sabe quién es uno o al menos se tiene una mejor idea.

 Perdí esa oportunidad. De pronto era muy pequeño o de pronto no pero lo cierto es que nunca sabré que hubiese pasado. Años después empezaría a salir, a ver a otras personas, a tratar de empezar ese eterno ritual de conocer personas y tratar de reconocer algo en ellas que me hiciese acercarme más y de pronto vivir nuevas experiencias.

 Mi primera cita fue en un parque. Fue extraño: me sentía incomodo y todo el tiempo quise salir corriendo. Era pequeño todavía y solo mucho tiempo después entiendo que me vi con alguien que era inadecuadamente mayor que yo. No, no era un señor hecho y derecho pero de todas maneras no era lo correcto. Menos mal no pasó nada y fue otra de esas personas con las que dejé de hablar. Después de eso, un par de años creo, fue que todo empezó, perdí mi virginidad (si es que se puede hablar de eso en el genero masculino) y empecé a conocer personas que valían el tiempo que pasaba con ellos y otros que no.

 Nunca sentí nada real con ninguno, solo las situaciones dramáticas y el poder de cambiar las cosas a mi favor. Sí, siempre he tenido un sentido bastante calculador de las cosas, porque sé que puedo torcer el sentido de todo a mi favor cuando quiero. Pero no siempre quiero y me aburrí pronto de las situaciones tontas y sin sentido en las que me vi envuelto en ese tiempo. No solo el sexo casual, que podía ser tan divertido como extremadamente aburridor. También el potencial romance, inexistente y estéril.

 No creo que sepa que es el amor. No sé si siquiera crea en el amor. La cosa es que tuve un par de oportunidades en las que pude haberlo experimentado pero no estoy seguro de que eso fuese lo que debía sentir y, si eso era el amor, me decepcionó bastante con el tiempo. Hubo personas que quise, mucho. No sé porque y de pronto las razones no fueron las mejores pero sé que mi cariño era verdadero. Era amor? No, no lo creo. Y, de nuevo, si lo era, que desperdicio.

 Fueron unos tres años, o tal vez dos, bastante activos para mi. Entonces ya era mayor de edad y tenía más idea de lo que quería de la vida o, al menos eso pensaba yo. El futuro me tenía sorpresas en ese frente pero el caso es que tuve una vida social extrañamente activa por un tiempo. Ya tenía los amigos verdaderos de los que les contaba antes y buscaba tener esa experiencia de la que todo el mundo se jacta, esos amores que cambian vida y duran y son tantas cosas y nada al mismo tiempo.

 Pero nada. Nunca apareció ese amor juvenil que es extraordinario y perfecto, a su manera. Esa juventud, siento, que ya pasó. No es que sea viejo pero la juventud es una etapa tan bien marcada que cualquiera sabe cuando empieza y cuando termina y a mi ya me dejó ese tren. Esto último que pasó fue ya habiendo terminado la juventud y tal vez por eso lo asumí de manera distinta. Si me hubiera pasado lo mismo hace unos años estoy seguro de que hubiera perdido la razón y hubiera llorado como loco por horas o días.

 En cambio, esta vez solo me dio rabia. Y me dio rabia porque fui la mejor persona posible y eso no fue suficiente. No estaba triste ni me culpé a mi mismo, no por el fracaso al menos. Solo tenía rabia porque las personas jamás pueden ser completamente decentes, siempre tiene que haber una manera de que te decepcionen y siempre lo hacen, tarde o temprano. De pronto él no era tan maduro o yo no lo era. No lo sé, las vidas siempre son tan diferentes que las medidas de la madurez pueden ser inútiles. Cada uno es un mundo, dicen por ahí.

 Después de todo eso sí tuve problemas pero no con otros sino conmigo mismo. Inconscientemente, este impasse me había llevado a pensar, allí dentro de mi cerebro, que en efecto no era capaz de nada. Ni de encontrar trabajo, ni de tener una vida “para mostrar” (y eso es lo que buscamos si somos honestos), ni podía mantener a alguien cerca de mí. Fue una depresión auto-diagnosticada porque dudo que un doctor pueda decirme mejor que yo mismo lo que sentí.

 Fue horrible y no quiero volver a ese momento y por eso mismo no puedo aferrarme a momentos. Borró esta foto de mi vida para no volver a situaciones que no me ayudan en nada, para no estar de nuevo en esos espacios que solo me amarran al suelo pero que no me dejan ir hacia delante. Y  reconozco que soy yo quién más impido mi propio avance, mi propio vuelo.

 Pero que puedo yo hacer? Que puedo hacer cuando todo parece depender de los demás? Que puedo inventarme para que el mundo me vea a mi y no a los demás? Porque eso es lo que pareciera que pasa. Y ya lo sé, y lo aprendí hace tiempo, que no tengo las fuerzas suficientes para luchar, para esforzarme más allá de lo normal. No puedo y la verdad es que tampoco quiero porque no creo que deba hacerlo. Porque tengo que ser yo el que vaya más allá cuando otros no hacen nada y sin embargo viven la vida que quisiera para mi?

 Lo sé. Sé que hay privilegiados y otros que no pero la verdad es que eso poco o nada me importa. Solo quiero cambiar, estar en otra parte, incluso en otra piel muchas veces. A veces odio mi propio aspecto y quisiera terminar las cosas pero… No, eso fue antes y no quiero volver allí. No voy a volver! Cada uno tenemos nuestra manera de caminar al abismo final y creo que todavía me queda mucho para descubrir el mío. Desafortunadamente no me ha tocado como a los demás, que parecen navegar por la vida como si tuviera el mapa para hacerlo con los ojos cerrados desde que tenían apenas cinco años de edad.

 Como sea. Ese no soy yo. Yo no soy ese ser perfecto, al menos en apariencia. Soy un ser de defectos, grandes y pronunciados pero nadie nunca dijo que yo, o la gente como yo, no tuviéramos derecho a atrevernos a más y, lo más importante, a soñar. Porque a veces es lo único que tenemos, así nos quite algo de fuerzas a través del tiempo. Prefiero eso… Lo prefiero a cualquier otra cosa.

Life's a bitch? No, you are.

   Charlie was still breathing heavily. Mike went out of bed, almost running to the bathroom. From there, came the sound of running water. Charlie wasn’t really listening, still trying to catch his breath. He had this stupid smile on his face and he knew it but had no idea of how to get rid of it. Anyway, who cared? He was happy and wanted to feel that way for as long as he could. It wasn’t that often he felt fulfilled in life.

 His boss had recently promised him a promotion, then Mike had moved in with him and they were planning a trip around Europe to celebrate their first year together. It was all going great and he had no reason to stop smiling. When Mike came back to bed, he told Charlie he was very thirsty and had to drink water from the tap. Charlie kept smiling at him and kissed him without saying a word. Just as they were, they fell asleep until the day was new.

 They had breakfast and a nice conversation before separating to get to their jobs. Then, Charlie’s happiness ended. He had been notified that someone else had landed the promotion instead of him. All morning, he was too embarrassed by this new development to ask anything but, after lunch, he decided to talk to his boss about it. After all, he liked him and new that he would be honest and would properly explain what had happened.

 As it happens, the guy who had landed the promotion was not even a long time employee but a new staff member and the boss told Charlie he had been obligated to give him that post as he was the company’s owner son. Charlie tried to understand how a person that had been working there for four years, working hard to be precise, was not going to get the job and a kid who had no idea of the business just landed the gig because he was related to someone.

 Unknown to him, Charlie had asked this enraged, screaming a bit and visibly annoyed. The boss asked him to calm down but he didn’t. He had no idea what came over him but he just started grabbing things and throwing them all around the room. He was about to go for his boss when two security guards subdued him. He was in such a state; it was hard for them to pull him out of there. He was not a tall guy but he was apparently really strong and would go without further fighting. But the two guys were stronger and they threw him out the front door. They left but returned shortly, telling him he needed to ask someone to empty his desk. He called his only friend in the office and she put everything worth something in a box and gave it to him in the parking lot. They parted, saying nothing.

 He walked to a coffee shop with his box and tried calling Mike from his cellphone several times but he wasn’t picking up. The last time he tried, the call went straight to voice mail. Then something came over him. It wasn’t the rage he had felt before but rather a sense of worry, that something wasn’t completely fine. He decided to go back to his house and call Mike from there. Maybe his cellphone had just died or maybe something else was going on. It was certainly not the best day to be Charlie and, as he walked to the train station with his box, he hoped for everything to be ok and for this to be just a normal day or a dream.

 When he stepped off the train, he received a call from the bank, telling him why he had his bank account blocked. He hung up immediately. It made no sense that his account was blocked and he knew those calls were just pranks or ways to get his data in order to rob him. He wasn’t going to fall for that. He walked fast from the station to his building. He was helped by a lady to open the front door and took the stairs as the elevator took too long to arrive at the ground floor. When he finally made it to the sixth floor, he looked for the keys in the box and open the door.

 The place was empty and he had hoped to see Mike there. But he was obviously at work. He just wanted to know right away that he was ok but apparently that was a lot to ask for. He decided to take the phone and call him again but the cellphone number he was calling was dead. Voice mail time and again. Then he sat in his sofa and started thinking where he might be. He could go to Mike’s work, but he said they didn’t know he was gay so maybe that wasn’t such a good idea. Maybe…

 And then he heard it. It was a sound coming from somewhere, like the one of someone complaining but soft. It was just as if someone tried to be silent but couldn’t really mask their own voice. It was then when Charlie realized the sound was not coming from outside or from another apartment. It was coming from one of the rooms, from the bedroom to be precise. He forgot all about his search for Mike, about his dismissal and his little box filled with shitty things. He just walked down the hall and opened the door, without even thinking much about it.

 The bedroom door was never closed but it had been this time and he now knew why. Mike was there all right. But he wasn’t wearing any clothes and wasn’t hurt at all except a few nail marks in his back. Trying to cover himself up, Mike fell from the bed and Charlie saw the person who had been moaning. Different than he might think, the person was a woman. Charlie had never seen her before and that really didn’t matter.

-       Get out of my house…

 The woman looked at Mike and then at Charlie and then at Mike again, who was putting up his underwear and walking slowly to Charlie.

-       Get the fuck out of my house! And you…

 He said nothing. The woman picked up her things and ran past Charlie, still naked. She took his bed sheet but he didn’t care. He just wanted her out of his home. Once she was out, he stood in front of the door, still shocked. There was no way of crying, of going through another episode of crazy rage. He was too overwhelmed and too hurt to cry, scream or yell. Mike came out of the bedroom and was about to touch him but Charlie slapped his arm to one side and told him to go fuck himself. He told him he had been the best person in the world to him for a whole year. How could he be like this to him?

 He shouldn’t have asked. Mike told him, caressing his arm, that he had liked at first and that he was a nice fuck but that was it. He got boring both in bed and in the rest but he didn’t let him go because of how well positioned he was. But now, Mike said, he had enough of that and wanted to leave him. Charlie followed him back to the room and told him that he wasn’t just leaving. He was throwing him out. He wasn’t going to be the victim, he told Mike, not when he was clearly the one that was losing more.

 Mike didn’t listen to anything he said. He just put some clothes, grabbed a small bag and started packing. He packed all the clothes that Mike had given him. He had to take out another bag, a bigger one, and by then Charlie decided he had to breath and count to ten, so he went to the living room and tried to calm himself down. He finally started crying profusely and didn’t heard when Mike left with two big bags full of everything Charlie had bought him

 He had been alone for at least an hour when the phone rang and he had to answer because the sound annoyed him. It was the bank again. They were sorry to tell him Internet pirates had targeted his account and that he had lost of the savings in there. He laughed like a crazy person right then, and the lady talking to him thought he had gone insane or something. She was careful to say it may take a while but that the bank would reinstate all his savings, as he had paid the insurance they sold.

 Charlie just said thanks and hung up. He cleaned up his tears and, as painful as it was, he tried to think what he had done wrong. Although he saw nothing at the time and decided it was best to take a nap, Charlie had been not that great at his job and had been promised a promotion he didn’t deserve. The owner’s boss was not the stupid kid he thought he was. The man was actually an expert in advertising and would make the company double its earning in a single year.

 As for Mike, he had met him in a bar and, been drunk, had taken him to his apartment and had sex with him. The first three months, it was all about sex, not minding anything else. It was Charlie who asked Mike to be his boyfriend and the one that insisted on Mike leaving with him. All of this happened in a matter of months, including the expensive gifts and the planning of the trip that, unknown to him, Mike was still going to have. Charlie had left him in control of one of his credit cards and Mike had recently bought the tickets for both his female friend and him. Charlie would realize about this in the future, a bit too late.

 And the pirates. That looks random but it isn’t. Mike had paid for porn and clothes in many websites and that’s where the pirates always take their information from.

 In conclusion, Charlie had all the answers in front of him but he wasn’t acknowledging any of them, anything that he had done. He blinded himself into thinking certain things and rushed into liking somebody because he thought he would never find someone. His sunken self-esteem had been the one to blame and it would take him still a lot of life to learn the necessary to stop blaming others for his mistakes.

De los héroes y lo mediocre

   Tenemos el afán de siempre tener alguien a quien acudir, nos sentimos solos todo el tiempo e indefensos. Nuestra evolución ha sido fácil pero ha tenido sus tropiezos y nos ha dejado con rastros de nuestro pasado más salvaje, de cuando debíamos protegernos de todo porque todo era un peligro. Desde ese momento nacieron dos cosas: primero, el miedo a lo desconocido, a los animales que hacen ruidos demasiado fuertes y los que podrían comernos si no sabemos como defendernos. Y segundo, nacieron los héroes. Personas que nos salvaban de una situación difícil sin pedir nada a cambio, personas extraordinarias y poco comunes.

 Ha sido este personaje tan fuerte y único que se le han hecho alabanzas a lo largo de la historia, poniéndolo como personaje central de novelas y demás relatos que pudiesen ser pasados de boca en boca, de persona a persona para así impulsarlos a ser algo más de lo que eran, simples humanos sin la capacidad de ser extraordinarios pero con los medios para hacer lo poco común. Se puede debatir si primero existieron en los libros o si fueron personas reales. Eso simplemente no se sabe pero el concepto de héroe es uno bastante flexible.

 Puede ser un héroe aquel que descubre una nueva fuente de alimento para la comunidad o el que descubre una nueva ruta de migración o una nueva forma de matar al animal que da más carne. Esos fueron héroes aunque hoy seguramente no lo serían. El caso es que posiblemente gente así fue la primera en ser considerada la máxima expresión de la experiencia humana, lo mejor que podían ofrecer las personas en ese momento.

 En las novelas se exageró su posición, su aspecto e incluso sus hazañas. Ya no descubrían una nueva semilla o una ruta menos accidentada para sus familias, no, ahora combatían ejércitos enteros, salvaban comunidades enteras del desastre inminente e incluso luchaban con criaturas igual de fantásticas que ellos, como dragones y monstruos de tres cabezas. Todos los personajes en esos cuentos están en un mismo nivel de fantasía, todos son el ideal de lo que el ser humano debería ser para cada persona que escribió o contó el cuento, dependiendo del momento histórico y su contexto.

 Los héroes han ido mutando pero esencialmente siempre son los mejores, el punto culminante de nuestra sociedad y a lo que todos aspiran a ser. Esto quiere decir, que la realidad de las cosas no podría estar más alejada de esos cuentos y relatos. El ser humano no es un héroe por naturaleza. Apenas hemos evolucionado lo suficiente para ponernos de pie y reflexionar sobre lo que nos rodea. No somos más que lo podemos ver y tal vez un poco más, algo interesante que yace bajo la corteza cerebral. Pero nada más. Los seres humanos somos, para cualquier intención o propósito, comunes y corrientes como todos los demás seres vivos.

 Sin embargo, la necesidad de tener quien nos defienda, quien saque la cara por nosotros, ha hecho que los héroes de los libros y películas no sean suficientes para contentar nuestra hambre por sentirnos que somos más de lo que somos. Tenemos un afán, una urgencia exagerada, por calificar al ser humano como el mejor de todos sin objeción alguna. Queremos que nos digan, una y otra vez, que somos los mejores y que nos merecemos lo mejor que este mundo pueda ofrecer.

 Eso, en principio, no tiene nada de malo. Es normal tener un cierto nivel de ambición porque, si no se tuviera, no habría forma de conseguir nada de la vida. Mucha gente piensa que querer más es malo pero lo malo es usar ciertas técnicas para conseguir lo que queremos. Y ahí vienen las mentiras, que varían en su dimensión para hacernos ver mejores y mucho más brillantes que los demás. Porque si de algo se trata es de crear ilusiones, cosas que no pueden existir ni que tienen sentido alguno pero que la gente cree de todas maneras, como si no hubiera más opción.

 Es lo que ocurre cuando la gente decidió sacar a los héroes de las páginas de los libros y de todos los rincones de la cultura. Los que hubo en el pasado, con sus hazañas pequeñas, hoy son vistos como aportes insignificantes y ya no son héroes, si acaso para su comunidad o núcleo  familiar. Hoy en día se necesita mucho más, se necesita ser un héroe como los de los cuentos que pueden hacer varias cosas al mismo tiempo, luchan con unos mientras defienden a los demás y hacer actos de increíble valor.

Pero recordemos que es todo una ilusión. Porque el héroe contemporáneo no es en verdad capaz de hacer varias cosas al mismo tiempo, eso es físicamente imposible. Lo saben bien las madres cuando dicen que al intentar hacer dos cosas a la vez, una quedará seguramente mal hecha. Y así es porque somos seres humanos, por mucho que intentemos y nos empeñemos en hacer las cosas como queremos, la realidad siempre será diferente porque tenemos limitaciones que muchas veces preferimos ignorar, como si no existieran o importaran.

 La ilusión también está en lo de hacer actos de gran valía. Hoy en día cualquier idiota, tal cual, es un héroe por hacer su trabajo. Lo que se hizo fue modificar el concepto del héroe, rebajándolo a una expresión más accesible a los seres humanos, para que así sea más fácil ser un héroe. Esto solamente resalta lo mediocre que puede ser la raza humana, rebajando las cosas para tenerlas a su alcanza en vez de tratar de conseguir eso que parece inalcanzable.

 Porque ser un héroe como los de los cuentos no es imposible. Parece imposible porque son momentos únicos con personas comunes y corrientes que se convierten en algo más en un segundo de sus vidas. Un héroe de verdad es alguien que tiene que hacer algo, tomar una decisión en un debido momento crucial y deja de serlo una vez a pasado todo. Ha habido personas así a lo largo de la Historia, personas que han tomado decisiones que nunca pensaron que fueran trascendentales pero terminaron cambiando la cara de la humanidad.

 Esos son héroes. No son los que hoy en día dan comida a los pobres o hacen su trabajo medianamente bien. Los militares, cualquier persona que tenga un arma encima, no es un héroe porque va en contradicción con el termino. Que tiene de extraordinario e increíble una persona que se gana la vida matando a los demás? Porque se puede argumentar que los militares protegen y ese es de hecho su rol principal pero no su actividad primaria. Nadie es un héroe cuando en vez de usar su voz o su cerebro, usa un arma para matar y callar para siempre a sus contradictores.

 Nadie es héroe a punta de armas y tampoco lo es simplemente por existir. No son héroes los que construyen casas para los damnificados de una inundación y tampoco lo son los que se esfuerzan en hacer reír a las personas en los momentos más difíciles. Muchas de esas pueden ser personas de gran valor pero no son héroes porque no ha habido es coyuntura, ese momento que lo cambia todo y los separa, por unos segundos, del resto de la humanidad.

 Todo esto en pro de conservar las palabras y sus definiciones como son y no dejar que todo lo vaya modificando la mediocridad humana, que quiere hacer que todos sean felices sin razón alguna. No hay nada como alcanzar una meta, como hacer un descubrimiento así ya todo el mundo lo conozca. Estas cosas nuevas nos hacen crecer y son las que deberían traer felicidad a nuestro corazón, no mentiras e ilusiones que no son nada, que se deshacen en el viento y que en verdad no nos aportan nada.

 No hay nada peor que ese comportamiento de decirle a todo el mundo algo que no es cierto para alentarlo a algo. No. Si se quiere alentar a alguien hay que decirle la verdad, completa y sin inventos. Se le dice que está bien y que mal y en que se le puede ayudar. Y así las personas crecen desde adentro hacia fuera y colaboran en el crecimiento personal de otros.

 Lo fantástico tiene mucho de atractivo, de fascinante e increíble pero termina siendo una mentira, porque simplemente no existe. Los seres humanos quieres ser todos diferentes, todos únicos e irrepetibles pero eso no es posible. Habrá quienes tengan una vida estándar, sin vaivenes o experiencias increíbles y eso no es malo de ninguna manera. Es solo una de las maneras de vivir la vida. La cosa es que tenemos tanto miedo de ser simples, de ser solo seres humano hechos de piel y carne que algún día dejarán de existir. De pronto es que nos hemos dado cuenta la poco que estaremos por aquí y tenemos miedo a no permanecer, a no dejar marca.

 No tenemos porque todos ser héroes. No tenemos que esforzarnos para ser únicos. Solo debemos dejarnos llevar por la vida y ella sabrá la mejor manera de hacer disfrutar la experiencia humana que, ya de por si, es fantástica.