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| National Cemetery. Photo mine. |
was man of the pigeons who finally convinced me.
may know it or not, from March 1st I'm in a new job, after nearly four years in El Nacional. change is or ever thought of doing, and is as radical a change as I will do later this year when getting married (yes, say "marry" sounded less elegant in the state of mind where I am now) .
Happiness I felt when I received the offer to work in web page of El Nacional in July 2007, pulled to work there a month later. Only comparable to that my mother felt when she learned she would work there, a newspaper so close and dear to his heart.
While that is an understatement. The National formed an important part of the life of my mother and her family growing up. My grandfather Pablo Rojas Guardia, who I have spoken before, was a friend of Miguel Otero Silva , founder of the newspaper, and was frequent contributor during the 40's, and still is her son, my uncle and godfather, Armando Rojas Guardia. He, my mother and two sisters learned to read El Nacional, like I did. Read the newspaper was part of my breakfast when I was a lifestyle less stuck to the present, and was driven to sit with my mother to read on Sundays. In fact, when I left my house just over a year now, I started the habit of going to a kiosk about two blocks from my house in the morning to provide me with his usual dose of news and opinion, cartoons and endless pamphlets advertising.
When I left, I went for a better job pay, better working position and a relaxed working environment. But more than that I feel particularly happy, as I am now, I felt a strange sadness bubbling under the surface. I went very quietly, with a generally good relationship with the company, although my performance was not necessarily the best. But all I can say is something like what I said when I interviewed Alfredo Escalante : be careful when you meet your heroes well.
The day I started my new job I could see this was going to be a remarkable change in my life. First, I'm in the middle of the city far east of Caracas where I had all my most important (so far). Second, the center has always had a mix of "lawless" and historical monument that has kept me away from it for a long time, I only came here to record my title to accompany a former CNE, or child to visit the Plaza Bolivar. Now I walk every day in this square, the Cathedral, the Museo Sacro, the Government Palace in the Capital District (you know, what was once the Mayor) ...
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| Squirrel in the Plaza Bolivar. Photo mine. |
And there I saw the man of pigeons.
I have no idea who he is, but should work nearby. We calculate about fifty, tall, with a wide mustache gray dotted. Always dressed in jeans, a shirt or old or new, and a beige hat. The crow's feet at the corners of the eyes reveals he is a guy who lives laughing. If you had this relationship has Corduroy animals with you too would live stripping square teeth.
The first day I saw him, caught my attention because, while the pigeons and squirrels in the square and are so used people that a squirrel one day it just came to me as if nothing because apparently something in my position would say, "I have food," then walk away with an attitude similar to that felt at school and I wanted conversation the wrong-chama, this man so flooded. A brave friend stood on his head, while no less than sixty followed him as Hamelyn rats. Like squirrels, as they knew it was close d the tree, at least four down from the treetops hanging from a manicito, tangerine, which is that this man will be on offer.
Seeing him, yet always take a picture (soon, soon) I forgot what I once read that said that pigeons are more selfish beings that exist, seeking always to neighboring fuñirle life just to have more food, while using them as a shield for that of "safety in numbers." Forget that squirrels are territorial and yet so adorable they look like, bite hard and often. Rather I was overcome by a kind of childhood fascination with a world of wonders that you only see if you are awaiting the world around you. Reminded me of a story I heard about a violinist , as part of a Washington Post experiment , played one day in the metro Washington, to be ignored by everyone except one person: we are so engrossed in our daily lives that sometimes do not see the good things that happen under our noses.
Man of pigeons not only made me realize that my life is radically different than it was a year ago made me realize that my life is in a very good place this year. And I'm grateful for all this.
I have to interview for that buddy.
Thanks for reading! 
