in a sense one escapes, on the other he faces, I am not a super hero, how could I be at every opportunity in my engagement with my conscience clear, happy to lend my experience that I 'would have done without fail, I'm imperfect and I like it, I wake up in the morning and when I open my eyes I'm happy, it does not last and the day is going downhill and uphill, as if the morning was the beginning of my life by being born, when I'm near the face of my mother, then the day goes as the days of my life, some happy, others boring, but if i go deeper, i see my memory cuts in two parts, the good days, the bad ones, when in reality every half-second pass in joy, half in grief, even in the greatest happiness, rest the anguish that it stops, it is a battle lost in advance, it goes to the loss of oneself, at the end the ideas stop, the body looks worn issue, but the promises of modernity live long in good shape, it is necessary to live until it is time, we must accept his human condition, why continue to fight against you, I go in front without thinking that the dust of my past will one day stifle me