‘have you heard?’, V. asked me. ‘our botox doctor has passed away’.
‘but how come ? he was young, beautiful and rich. he was renovating a castle… he was just 40 years old!’ i said completely shocked meanwhile i finished my glass of chilled red.
we were having dinner at Furia. ‘one day you are here and the next one you only receive rest in peace wishes in your instagram page’, C. said.
after ten minutes discussing how insignificant we all are, i raised the question we all had in mind ‘so who is gonna do our botox now?’.
i felt bad. ‘what kind of souls are we becoming when we can’t grieve our doctor a little longer than 10 minutes during an apero with some pimientos de padron?’, i thought out loud.
we are so selfish. and disposable. and replaceable, i thought.
‘well, you were not close to him. he was just injecting you some botox during a one minute conversation every 6 months’, V. said.
i woke up the next day a bit weird. maybe because i am turning 40 this july and in my mind it’s all about being young and wild. until you get a heart attack, i guess.
in my usual sunday routine of walking my dog, something changed. i finally decided to enter the church that’s in front of my fav coffee shop.
who said botox is superficial, i thought.
i stayed for 15 minutes. and it was great. the church is beautiful, the priest was good and the sermon on point.
made me think how priests are very much like DJs.
they have the power to uplift you and make you dance or they can bore you and put you in bed.
convinced that i will come back for a full set next sunday, got my cappuccino with cow milk and went for a 10km walk with Gomez.
i read that dogs are a reincarnation of joy and couldn’t stop smiling watching Gomez’ butt parading with his stick.
it’s ok to think about reincarnation after a christian sunday service, i thought.
with the spring sun in my face, i remembered that we don’t know how much time we have left.
quit the job you hate, ask the guy out, bake the cake, ask for the salary raise, invite friends at your place, plan the weekend escape, buy the flight to Manila, write the article, take the camera with you, create shit along the way, have lunch in the sun, call your friend. tomorrow might be too late.
we might be just a grain of dust. let’s be a beautiful one then.