Reading the initiative by our admired @charjaim, my head just exploded. No matter how much I rummaged through every corner of my memory, I felt like I didn't have a single truly significant memory—nothing that could serve as an anchor or give me a spark of energy for my days.

I think I was blocked at that moment. January, with its "one step at a time" pace and everything happening globally, nationally, and personally, has been an intense bombardment of news, events, and discoveries. On top of that, I haven't stopped: I’ve been fully immersed in learning things that fascinate me. January has opened windows of information for me to adapt to my work, and it hasn't been a trickle—it's been industrial quantities. All of this, in some way, becomes overwhelming, and when I looked for something to write for this initiative, I found myself unarmed.

And you might ask: Why get so overwhelmed?

Well, because I love what I’m learning, and I feel that if I don’t soak it up quickly, it will slip away. Today, technology moves at such an accelerated pace that what is the world’s "boom" today is prehistory tomorrow. That feeling of always being one step behind, or the fear of missing out, weighs more than one might think.

Then, out of nowhere, Mom appeared. Not physically, of course, but through one of those phrases that stay planted in your soul. She used to say that when things don’t go the way you want, you have to let them go, set them aside for a bit, and move on to something else—only to come back later and find what we couldn't grasp before. That advice helped me a lot during my student years, and without realizing it, I’ve kept using it throughout my life.

So, I came back. Since I had placed the link to the initiative in a visible spot on one of my monitors, there it was: like a sore thumb I couldn't ignore. It wouldn't stop staring at me. Therefore, it was easy to find it and begin my participation.

The first thing that came to me was that advice from Mom: let go and pick it back up later. It’s a habit I have, one that activates automatically and that I had never paid much attention to... until now, as I’m writing this. It took me a good few days to reconnect with the initiative; I almost thought I had lost it, as has happened to me before with others.

Perhaps this didn’t smell like the typical smell of fresh coffee or taste like a specific meal. It turned out that a piece of advice from Mom remained etched in my memory, and today, as a "contemporary adult"—or a guy in his "new 40s"—it activates without me even noticing. Realizing that made me smile. It’s as if Mom is still looking out for me.

As I continued wandering through my mental corners, moments came to mind that had appeared more than once, motivating me to act or helping me make important decisions. What’s impressive is that I seldom notice in the moment, but much later, when I see the results.

On several occasions, while shaving in front of the mirror or trying to comb my hair, I talk to him. I tell him about something that’s bothering me or a matter I need to pay close attention to. Instead of calling my friend Tito, or one of my brothers, or my great friend, I start explaining the problem to the guy in the mirror. And more than once, I’ve told myself: I’m going crazy.

The thing is, when I see the reflection, the gestures, the faces, and certain details, they are those of my brother Luis Alfonso, who passed away in 2021. It doesn't happen every time, or maybe I don't always notice, but when it does, I love it, even if it gives me a bit of a startle. Of course, I then rationalize it: we come from the same genes, it’s normal to share features. But still, the impact is there.

What has really caught my attention lately—and now, with this initiative, it stands out even more—is that, for some reason I don't know, I hear the voice of my brother César Enrique, who passed away in 2020. It’s not that I hear it as something external, nor like a suspenseful or horror episode from one of the stories I write. It’s when I speak that I hear him. It’s not me. That gives me a beautiful but also unsettling feeling. And yes, the question returns: Am I going crazy?

What I do know is that those I love, and who are no longer here, remain present in my days, in my decisions. They accompany me through difficulties and, in some way, they help me keep going.

Before I finish, there is something else I can highlight: when I make Pasta Bolognese, the flavor is identical to the one my old man used to make. That truly is a delicious memory. Every time I finish the sauce, I always exclaim the same thing: Just like yours, Dad... nice and thick.