Alberto García 🚀🚀🚀

“Only those who know the smell of gunpowder value the sweet scent of flowers.”

Sometimes life is like when you have a scab, and you scratch it because it itches.

And you end up opening up the wound again. And then, when you put something on to stop it from bleeding, you wonder, “Why am I such a klutz?”

And you discover (to your amazement) that there are wounds you like to have bled, so you don’t forget them.

As they say, “the price of good times is nostalgia.”

And it is that there are memories that hurt you pretty.

There are memories that it is necessary to keep in thorn format because they give meaning to the cross that we all carry.

The thorns remind you of the “WHY” of so many tears.

They are the kind of thorns that give value to the rose.

My grandfather’s lesson

My grandfather used to walk barefoot on the grass while watering the plants. And he used to repeat this like a mantra over and over again this phrase: “Only those who know the smell of gunpowder value the sweet scent of flowers”.

When I was a child, I did not understand it, but now I only have to see what is happening in Ukraine to understand.

There are old wounds that remind us how lucky we are. But others remind us of the magic of being alive.

Those my grandfather called “Wounds that hurt sweet.”

Sweet pains

Some memories hurt sweet, and you need to relive them to keep feeling that life was worth living.

They hurt sweet because they are wounds that were once people, and you don’t want to take them out of your heart even if they went far away — even if they are in heaven.

They hurt sweet because they are wounds that were once special moments that left a trail of footprints that shaped the path of your life.

They hurt sweet because your memory is a bit like literature, “a place where things can be as you want or need them to be and stay a little longer.”

They hurt sweet because no one can take away the memory of your first love, your first kiss, your first dance, your first success, or the taste of your favorite food (even if your favorite person is no longer by your side to share a meal with you).

They hurt sweet because they are your story.

The takeaway

We all carry a cross to the top of our particular Mount Calvary. We are pointed at, spat at, defamed, and insulted along the way. When we reach the top, it doesn’t get any better: they crucify us for having made it and stick a spear in our side. And they divide our possessions by dice.

It is the perfect metaphor for life when one dares to pursue his personal legend and fight for his dreams.

But, we can all be resurrected, on the third day, in the minds of the few who did value us.

And that gives meaning to the pain. That makes us a wound that will hurt someone beautifully when we are no longer in this world.

That will keep us alive in the memory of our loved ones.

That happens to me with my grandfather. It is a wound that hurts beautifully; every time it heals, I scratch it again to make it bleed.

And you, which wounds do you keep with affection?

A virtual hug

AG