In a week it will be Christmas, but what Christmas will it be?

This thought carries the nostalgia of memories that flow as if in slow motion.

If I could write a letter to me from 1979 I would tell myself to be overjoyed because the coming years will be an explosion of life, colors, sounds, emotions.
And I would tell myself to learn The logical song well, because one day unfortunately the meaning will appear in all its clarity.

If I could write a letter to me in 1989, I would tell myself that that was the first of thirty-two years of work that I will like but that I have to follow the desire to study and expect more for myself.
And I would tell myself to fight so that, just like in Berlin, all the walls are torn down.

If I could write a letter to me from 1999 I would tell myself that this whole idea of the 2000s is just a big soap bubble and that the upcoming future is wearing a mask that hides the regress.
And I would tell myself that there’s a difference between knowing the path and walking the path. 

If I could write a letter to me from 2009 I would tell myself that the crisis is not about to end and to be prepared to experience the recession.
And I would tell myself that The Resistance  isn’t just the best rock album.

If I could write a letter to me in 2019, I would tell myself to live every single minute with the awareness of the enormous value of simple moments that, however trivial, will change.
And I would tell myself that things are about to happen that I would never have believed.

But the worst fires burn intangible realities.