En this house does not matter says the child on the morning of his birthday. The only exception is made invisible, an account, a date, a number. But nothing else special. The day begins with morning, as usual. Everyone is equal. Nobody realizes what is happening. As every day. And do the same things every day without realizing it. Only the child knows. And there is some sadness and anger in your knowledge.
The child begins to perceive what it is like having a two-digit age. And that the facts of the mind seem to look invisible to the eyes of those embedded by routine. But he is sure that only ten years old is a once in a lifetime. And yesterday I was nine, a single figure and today dawned with an age of two figures which will henceforth and forever probably because most people do not know who has three-digit ages.
then you remember your grandmother Juliana, which believes the inventor of the pepper salad, who died one hundred and five years, a natural death after a seven-kilometer pilgrimage on foot.
Upon arrival of the nun walking just said I'm dead tired and lay almost in his grave. But in fact, did not know personally. And I just saw a black and white photo that appeared in the long dress, sitting on a green rocking chair, also quite old, with which he himself was familiar because it was where his grandfather told him stories.
There, in that photo, she appears tired face of concern, as if each year of added life terrible news and a huge responsibility. And the child certainly get the benefit of such ages.
Dona also meets Sophia, the lady who never leaves a knit hat that makes it appear like a queen or a former pope since the Renaissance and hardly out of bed. The grandmother of a known priest, who celebrates Mass in his room while she sleeps like a dead.
The child recalls that she celebrated the centenary with cake and piñata because he played with dolls from the ninety-five and those reasons children ever liked more. Everyone in the party began to frolic and excite and child seemed ridiculous and shameful spectacle, although he liked both his mother and older people.
All that made him tipped off about the extreme old age. Now, when the child sees Dona Sofia, suspects her knitted hat holds a huge void, and is afraid of the ages of three figures.
But he only has one of two from today. And the air is the same yesterday for all seniors who increasingly resemble Dona Sofia in forgetting what really matters. An air perhaps just as clear for those who do not see the air. Not for him. Perceived as being more dense and contains the elixir of consciousness at every moment, every detail, every course of time on this birthday.
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