The blank page on my computer screen stares back, amused, but instead of immediately filling it with the mixture of verbose wisdom and folly it anticipates, metaphors invade my mind.
What if this were a blank slate on which I could rewrite history, my personal history.
Where would I start, what would I change?
In my fantasy universe I’d start over very early, perhaps at three before my father vanished, but I’d have all the wisdom, knowledge and experience I’ve accumulated to date. All my mistakes already made and learned from on another time line so the need to make and pay for them again is obviated. All lost opportunities identified so that this time they can be captured and exploited.
Yep, I’d be the coolest three year olds ever, but what then?
Would I be able to keep my mother and father together?
If so, I’d never meet Pop, my beloved stepfather, never have my brother Teddy or all the progeny my father acquired along the way (well, maybe knowing his history I’d still have the latter, I just wouldn’t know it). I’d never get to know my grandmother Juanita as well as I did, or my aunts Carola and Livia or my uncle Pacho.
Would I repeat my North American adventure and if not, then who would I be?
Would I change the world for the better or would I just accumulate things and people, becoming the most effective manipulator and hypocrite ever, the things I most despise?
How much of that me lies within this me, inchoate but lurking, waiting?
How much of that me lies within us all?
Who am I? Who are we?
Oh what a tangled web that would weave.
Perhaps it already has.
 © Guillermo Calvo Mahé; Manizales, 2010; all rights reserved