The nostalgia that I continue to evoke every January 6th does not disappear with the passing of time. This morning I will visit some friends who have two small children, at first glance to bring them a gift, but in reality to share that happiness with them May they believe since the day before, when they saw the parades parade, the illusion that gives them the hope that the Three Wise Men will arrive.
Seeing them so happy, trying to put together increasingly technically complicated toys, It still excites me and makes me remember and think how I want to imagine they will do. I remember so much that night when my parents told me that I should sleep because otherwise Their Majesties would not arrive when we were awake, something that during the first hours was impossible, listening to every noise that was heard in the dining room. Naturally, I’m not sure what I was thinking, just that it made me nervous.
I want to believe that when I fell asleep, already exhausted, I imagined the camels, which I assumed had wings on their humps, climbing to the sixth floor to sneak through the window that we had left wide open, despite the January cold, to silently leave us gifts. An illusion, of course. not without fears: if they slipped and got lost along the way, or fell while climbing the wall or if they went to the wrong floor…
Even then we were preparing to know that complete happiness almost never exists. The tradition of the Three Wise Men is eagerly awaited, the child’s imagination overflows in waitingand leaves room for curiosity to know and to discover the truth among so many falsehoods that they will have to face in their incipient future. Since I don’t have children, I share the enthusiasm of my family and friends who every morning like this leave me pondering with little success what was going through my head then under the anxiety of waiting.
Now, that I no longer dream of almost anything wonderful, when I think about that fleeting experience, strange ideas come to mind, sad or picturesque, it depends. I am saddened by the memory of children who do not have the opportunity to enjoy this illusion of others and at the same time, it is inexplicable to me why life is so unfair that, in the end, after having dreamed and enjoyed the same thing, we all end up with so different luck.
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