I blame Ricardo Kaká for turning me into a romantic. For me being at constant odds when I had job security but never the satisfaction. Here’s my tribute.
I don’t know about you, but I tend to get awfully low this time of the year. It’s Christmas and everything, but it seems to me that social feeds are full of people having a better time than I am. And all my good friends are everywhere but not here.
You see, I don’t get paid enough at the end of the month to be able to go out and meet them at the end of the year (surge prices are the pits, man). I blame it mostly on myself and Ricardo Kaká.
To say that I remember it like it was yesterday would be a lie. It’s foggy, like a faded polaroid with edges glassy-white. Like memory with cataract. But I still smell the burning incense that kept the mosquitoes away in the dark. That and the ghoulish haze of the TV was the only light in the room my parents slept in.