[Esp./Eng.] La anatomía de mis frustraciones. || The anatomy of my frustrations.
If you prefer the English version, click on the following link 👉 HERE
Dicen los expertos que la frustración es la diferencia entre la expectativa y la realidad. Yo, a mis 70 años, mirándolo desde la perspectiva que me da aún el invierno en Ontario, digo que la frustración es mucho más que eso: es el sabor a óxido en la boca cuando la vida te cierra la puerta en la cara, poniéndole candado a tus sueños más justos.
Atiendo el llamado de la comunidad @talentos en su iniciativa semanal de todos los martes, no para quejarme, sino para testificar. Porque quien no se haya sentido frustrado hasta los huesos, sencillamente no es humano. Mi carácter no se forjó en la victoria fácil, sino en tres momentos donde la impotencia fue mi única compañía.
La anatomía de mis frustraciones. ¿A quién le importa?
El Tren que nunca conduje
La primera gran frustración tuvo sabor a hierro y modernidad. Ocurrió en la Caracas de los años 80. Yo era un profesional joven, con una carrera encima y unas ganas inmensas de echarle pichón. El Metro de Caracas iniciaba operaciones y yo quería ser parte de esa historia como Operador.
TripadVisor
Me preparé. Estudié. Pasé todas las evaluaciones técnicas y psicotécnicas volando. Me sentía dentro del vagón. Pero la realidad biológica me frenó en seco. El examen médico fue mi sentencia. Mi discapacidad visual —esa que cargo desde niño— fue un muro insalvable.
Gizmodo
Recuerdo la rabia sorda al salir de la oficina. No importaba cuán inteligente fuera, ni cuánto me esforzara; mis ojos no daban la talla para el sistema. Fue mi primer encuentro con el límite físico, la primera vez que la vida me dijo: “Por aquí no es, muchacho, sigue tu camino…”.
La Justicia ciega (y sorda)
La segunda frustración fue más oscura, más larga y mucho más amarga. Fue una frustración institucional.
Como hombre de leyes y principios, cometí el error de confiar ciegamente en los representantes de la justicia venezolana. Creí que la verdad era suficiente defensa. ¡Qué ingenuidad!
— Por esa confianza, caí en un pozo profundo durante 11 años...
¿Se imaginan la frustración de ver pasar una década de tu vida tras las rejas, sabiendo que no deberías estar ahí? Es una impotencia que te quema la garganta cada mañana. Fue una lucha titánica contra el sistema, contra la burocracia y contra el olvido, hasta que finalmente, peleando con uñas y dientes, logré salir airoso. Pero el tiempo... el tiempo nadie te lo devuelve.
El silencio en San Bernardino
Pero si las dos anteriores dolieron y me marcaron, la tercera me desgarró el alma. Fue la frustración médica, la más cruel de todas.
Ocurrió en el Hospital de Niños J.M. de los Ríos, en San Bernardino. Allí estaba mi pequeña Sofía, de apenas 11 años, luchando contra la leucemia.
Resizer
La frustración aquí no fue por mí, fue por la mentira piadosa. Confié en las batas blancas que me repetían una y otra vez: “Su hija está progresando”, “vamos bien”. Me aferré a esas palabras como un náufrago. Pero la leucemia no sabe de promesas, y mucho menos perdona en las condiciones de un sistema de salud subdesarrollado.
Perder a Sofía fue el golpe final. Sentí que todo mi esfuerzo, todo mi amor, no había servido para salvarla. Fue la confrontación directa con la muerte y la fragilidad humana.
Lo que quedó después del fuego
—Hoy, escribo esto sin amargura.
Esas tres frustraciones mataron al hombre ingenuo que fui, pero parieron al hombre sabio que soy hoy.
UECDN
- Si hubiese entrado al Metro, quizás no habría buscado otros horizontes académicos.
- Si no hubiese estado preso, no conocería el valor sagrado de la libertad y la paz mental que hoy disfruto en mi retiro.
- Y aunque el dolor de Sofía nunca se va, me enseñó que el amor es eterno y que la vida es un suspiro que hay que honrar.
La frustración duele, sí. Pero es el único maestro que te enseña de qué madera estás hecho. Agradezco a esas piedras en el camino, porque gracias a haber tropezado con ellas, aprendí a levantar la vista y mirar al cielo.
𝗘𝗻𝗰𝘂𝗲𝗻𝘁𝗿𝗼 𝗱𝗲 𝗧𝗮𝗹𝗲𝗻𝘁𝗼𝘀: «La frustración...»
Portada de la convocatoria.
🔆****🔆****🔆****🔆****🔆****🔆****🔆****🔆****🔆
Dedicado a todos aquellos escribas que contribuyen, día a día, a hacer de nuestro planeta, un mundo mejor.
Experts say that frustration is the difference between expectation and reality. At 70 years of age, looking at it from the perspective that winter in Ontario still gives me, I say that frustration is much more than that: it is the taste of rust in your mouth when life slams the door in your face, locking away your most justified dreams.
I answer the call of the @talentos community in its weekly initiative every Tuesday, not to complain, but to bear witness. Because anyone who has never felt frustrated to the core is simply not human. My character was not forged in easy victory, but in three moments where helplessness was my only companion.
The anatomy of my frustrations. Who cares?
The train I never drove
The first great frustration tasted like iron and modernity. It happened in Caracas in the 1980s. I was a young professional with a career behind me and an immense desire to get started. The Caracas Metro was starting operations, and I wanted to be part of that history as an operator.
Rieles
I prepared myself. I studied. I passed all the technical and psychometric tests with flying colours. I felt like I was already on board. But biological reality brought me to a screeching halt. The medical examination was my sentence. My visual impairment — which I have had since childhood — was an insurmountable barrier.
I remember the silent rage I felt as I left the office. No matter how intelligent I was, no matter how hard I tried, my eyes were not good enough for the system. It was my first encounter with physical limitations, the first time life told me, “This isn't the way, lad, move on...”.
Blind (and deaf) justice
The second frustration was darker, longer and much more bitter. It was institutional frustration.
Mildlyinteresting
As a man of law and principles, I made the mistake of blindly trusting the representatives of Venezuelan justice. I believed that the truth was sufficient defence. How naive!
"Because of that trust, I fell into a deep pit for 11 years..."
Can you imagine the frustration of seeing a decade of your life pass behind bars, knowing you shouldn't be there? It's a helplessness that burns your throat every morning. It was a titanic struggle against the system, against bureaucracy and against oblivion, until finally, fighting tooth and nail, I managed to come out on top. But time... no one can give you back your time.
The silence in San Bernardino
But if the previous two experiences hurt and left their mark on me, the third tore my soul apart. It was medical frustration, the cruelest of all.
It happened at the J.M. de los Ríos Children's Hospital in San Bernardino. There was my little Sofía, barely 11 years old, fighting leukaemia.
Resizer
The frustration here was not because of me, it was because of the white lie. I trusted the white coats who repeated to me over and over again: ‘Your daughter is making progress,’ ‘we're doing well.’ I clung to those words like a shipwreck survivor. But leukaemia knows no promises, let alone forgiveness in the conditions of an underdeveloped health system.
Losing Sofía was the final blow. I felt that all my effort, all my love, had not been enough to save her. It was a direct confrontation with death and human frailty.
What remained after the fire
"Today, I write this without bitterness."
Those three frustrations killed the naive man I was, but they gave birth to the wise man I am today.
HanaKanjaa
- If I had joined the Metro, I might not have sought other academic horizons.
- If I had not been imprisoned, I would not know the sacred value of freedom and peace of mind that I enjoy today in my retirement.
- And although the pain of Sofia never goes away, it taught me that love is eternal and that life is a breath that must be honoured.
Frustration hurts, yes. But it is the only teacher that shows you what you are made of. I am grateful for those stones in the path, because thanks to stumbling over them, I learned to look up and gaze at the sky.
Talent Meeting: “Frustration...”
Cover of the call.
🔆****🔆****🔆****🔆****🔆****🔆****🔆****🔆****🔆
Dedicated to all those scribes who contribute, day after day, to making our planet a better world.
Portada de la convocatoria.
Dedicado a todos aquellos escribas que contribuyen, día a día, a hacer de nuestro planeta, un mundo mejor.
Experts say that frustration is the difference between expectation and reality. At 70 years of age, looking at it from the perspective that winter in Ontario still gives me, I say that frustration is much more than that: it is the taste of rust in your mouth when life slams the door in your face, locking away your most justified dreams.
I answer the call of the @talentos community in its weekly initiative every Tuesday, not to complain, but to bear witness. Because anyone who has never felt frustrated to the core is simply not human. My character was not forged in easy victory, but in three moments where helplessness was my only companion.
The anatomy of my frustrations. Who cares?
The train I never drove
The first great frustration tasted like iron and modernity. It happened in Caracas in the 1980s. I was a young professional with a career behind me and an immense desire to get started. The Caracas Metro was starting operations, and I wanted to be part of that history as an operator.
Rieles
I prepared myself. I studied. I passed all the technical and psychometric tests with flying colours. I felt like I was already on board. But biological reality brought me to a screeching halt. The medical examination was my sentence. My visual impairment — which I have had since childhood — was an insurmountable barrier.
I remember the silent rage I felt as I left the office. No matter how intelligent I was, no matter how hard I tried, my eyes were not good enough for the system. It was my first encounter with physical limitations, the first time life told me, “This isn't the way, lad, move on...”.
Blind (and deaf) justice
The second frustration was darker, longer and much more bitter. It was institutional frustration.
Mildlyinteresting
As a man of law and principles, I made the mistake of blindly trusting the representatives of Venezuelan justice. I believed that the truth was sufficient defence. How naive!
"Because of that trust, I fell into a deep pit for 11 years..."
Can you imagine the frustration of seeing a decade of your life pass behind bars, knowing you shouldn't be there? It's a helplessness that burns your throat every morning. It was a titanic struggle against the system, against bureaucracy and against oblivion, until finally, fighting tooth and nail, I managed to come out on top. But time... no one can give you back your time.
The silence in San Bernardino
But if the previous two experiences hurt and left their mark on me, the third tore my soul apart. It was medical frustration, the cruelest of all.
It happened at the J.M. de los Ríos Children's Hospital in San Bernardino. There was my little Sofía, barely 11 years old, fighting leukaemia.
Resizer
The frustration here was not because of me, it was because of the white lie. I trusted the white coats who repeated to me over and over again: ‘Your daughter is making progress,’ ‘we're doing well.’ I clung to those words like a shipwreck survivor. But leukaemia knows no promises, let alone forgiveness in the conditions of an underdeveloped health system.
Losing Sofía was the final blow. I felt that all my effort, all my love, had not been enough to save her. It was a direct confrontation with death and human frailty.
What remained after the fire
"Today, I write this without bitterness."
Those three frustrations killed the naive man I was, but they gave birth to the wise man I am today.
HanaKanjaa
- If I had joined the Metro, I might not have sought other academic horizons.
- If I had not been imprisoned, I would not know the sacred value of freedom and peace of mind that I enjoy today in my retirement.
- And although the pain of Sofia never goes away, it taught me that love is eternal and that life is a breath that must be honoured.
Frustration hurts, yes. But it is the only teacher that shows you what you are made of. I am grateful for those stones in the path, because thanks to stumbling over them, I learned to look up and gaze at the sky.
Talent Meeting: “Frustration...”
Cover of the call.
🔆****🔆****🔆****🔆****🔆****🔆****🔆****🔆****🔆
Dedicated to all those scribes who contribute, day after day, to making our planet a better world.
Cover of the call.
Dedicated to all those scribes who contribute, day after day, to making our planet a better world.