YouTube: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0paUMNed8t4&list=RD0paUMNed8t4&start_radio=1
I close my eyes and I can hear “Retiens la nuit”. That kind of song isn’t just music—it’s a doorway. A doorway to a slower world, where people were measured by their actions, and where a promise had weight.
If this song invades you with nostalgia, it’s probably because you’ve lived.
And if you’re still young but you love it, that’s a beautiful sign—your heart is full of positive energy. Listen to it. Let it breathe. Enjoy it.
The contract of a look
I remember my grandfather at the fairs. He bought animals with no paperwork at all. No contracts, no stamps, no endless conditions in small print. Two men looked each other in the eye, they looked at the animal, and they closed the deal with a handshake.
That handshake wasn’t symbolic. It was the contract. If you broke your word, you didn’t just lose money—you lost your name.
Precision without a calculator
My other grandfather used to buy pine timber at auctions. Before anyone officially measured the wood volume, he could look at the trees and estimate the yield with an accuracy that still amazes me. He might be off by half a cubic meter—at most.
That wasn’t magic. It was attention, experience, and respect for reality. He had what I call “field engineering”: the kind of intelligence built by observing life, not by talking about it.
The kid who asked “why”
As a kid, I was always asking questions—sometimes too many. By 11, I was solving cube roots while other classmates were still battling basic arithmetic. Teachers often didn’t know what to do with that kind of mind. But it wasn’t arrogance—just curiosity. The same curiosity my grandparents carried: the need to understand how things work, from wood to sound to human agreements.
Venezuela, friendship, and proof that values still exist
People say those values are dead today—that everything is cold, transactional, and controlled by algorithms. I don’t believe that.
Last October, a close friend from Venezuela—an IT engineer and business owner—came to Spain to meet me in person. Not for a “deal”, not for a photo, but for something real: trust. He offered me friendship in the old sense of the word—support, help, even a place to stay. That kind of gesture is the modern version of the handshake: simple, direct, and solid.
Closing: building the future without losing the past
Today I work at my laptop, learning tools like Scribus and building my books step by step—not to escape the past, but to honor it. Because whether you’re measuring timber, repairing machines, or publishing stories, the goal is the same:
Make the signal clean. No distortion. No lies.
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