There is such a moment in life that it passes from childhood to adolescence and leaves its place to adolescence; The summer season, from July to September, becomes the season when things happen for the first time, between the end of a school year and the end of the school year. the beginning of the next; or in that work break that lasted for a breather, in that rush where the first times started to become a memory.
We remember the first, the last, the first cigarette and the last, but we soon forget the second and third, that original feeling gets lost in the routine of the other seasons and we dedicate it to this season. The tumultuous task of survival is so important and mundane that we have set aside illusions until next July. Life was something set between summers, primarily a film of childhood experiences; after teen stories, then adult premieres, and the days after that, drama or comedy. It is extraordinary for the first time, the following, habits and traditions are that original version. We miss summer, like the heroin addict chasing the effect of the first dose throughout his career as a junkie, seeking the feeling of the primordial moment that will never be repeated.
Different scenarios for a scenario that returns every year in cycles and with different decors, regardless of the beach, mountains, town, generation. Create summer memories: first kiss, first couple, first love, first fire and first kiss; the first disappointment, the first cigarette and the first drunkenness we try to hide at home; the first day we swam without a buoy, the first day we went on our first bike trip, our first arm was broken, and that morning we bathed in an icy pool in a mountain town; Our first dance at a festival or on the terrace of a beachfront hotel, when we walk out of the summer movie theater believing we are Bruce Lee that afternoon, or the party at the beach where we discover parts of another naked body, sometimes the whole body. .
If life is good, there are dirty truths discerned as the solstice continues, There is no feeling comparable to the early times, We consider it irrelevant because we ignore its importance, and we never see its future because we do not know that it will be unforgettable. The first cigarette is followed by a terrible cold sweat, a hasty retching, and the inevitable vomiting; emotional ups and downs at the first kiss; An innocent summer feeling about first love, where love is important but self-love is more important, filled with hopeful ups and downs and unpredictable disappointments that strike directly into the depths of dignity.
left post Antonio Machado she said she had memories of her childhood on a patio in Seville. How many times must the poet have lived in that monastery for the first time? It doesn’t matter the cold sands of the night on a patio in Seville, a rock in Cercedilla, or a Mediterranean beach. In summer, in coastal and mountain towns, children, youth, women and men experience for the first time a rock concert, a Terence Hill and Bud Spencer movie, an Olympic Games, World Cup finals; Pelé, Cruyff and ‘Torpedo’ Müller, Kempes, Zico and Juanito, Maradona’s goal and the ‘hand of God’, Luis Enrique’s poke and Zidane’s header against Materazzi, Cristiano’s goals and Messi’ s rising trophy; Perico and Induráin Tours; The days when Iniesta and Olga Carmona led Spain to victory; After-dinner sessions with ‘Fantastic Car’ and ‘The Great American Hero’ and Grand Prix nights or the tenth summer nights where we see Chanquete die. Also the infamous kiss of a man who, moments ago, extended his hand to the area in front of the entire planet and the queen of Spain. Summers are also prone to those gray days and that famous sun.
As they get older, the first times decrease and their joy becomes more intermittent. Our first marriage, our first divorce, our first daughter, our first grandchild, our first illness, our first buried friend. And at the end of all this, when we believe that nothing new is missing for our life, it turns out that there is only one thing left that we did not do before. It is also the last, regardless of the season. In these situations I always remember Nietzsche’s aphorism: “Was that life? I’ll tell about death.” Well, let’s start over.”