I was born in a cultural conjunction I like to call “Strangia” that made me feel a foreigner in every place I lived. My early childhood was molded by two totally different books that I read immediately after I spent a whole week learning to read and write, Marie Antoinette, by Stefan Zweig, and Platero y Yo, by Juan Ramón Jiménez. I jumped into adolescence Hessing through Unter den Rädern.
As a young man I was enticed by diverse readings and authors, the Upanishads, Nietzsche, Jardiel Poncela, Ingenieros, Cervantes, Camões and even Molière, whom I disliked and Descartes, whom I liked. I found Dante, my fountain of poetry, together with Shakespeare, the best poets ever in modern times. I suffered and had cátarsis with Greek dramas, and comedies. I traveled with Heródotos and fought wars through the eyes if Thucydides and the Thermopyles.
Loving to read the originals formed a multilingual brain capable of feeling directly the authors’ words. As for my life, it was a happy one, juicy enough for those with whom I shared them to enjoy my recounting. Like the Buddhist elephant, most only knew a part of me, and imagining the rest. Now like a river near the ocean, I can look back on mountings and forests, deserts and glaciers, and thank the Kósmos for allowing me to live a full life. As for the rest of people, sorry no gossips, no useless accounts.