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Those strange days and the surfboard paradox
Ever since the “bug de los huevos”, as a good friend called it, I feel like life has been thrown off track a little.
Those hours were brutal. Locked in a TV studio, waiting for someone to tell us what was happening, wondering if the doors would ever reopen or if that place would be the end of the story.
In those hours of loneliness, or isolation better said, since I was never alone, I don't think I had ever felt time pass so slowly and mercilessly.
Fortunately, everything was fixed in a matter of hours, and life returned to normal. It was time to focus completely on the festival.
The nerves set in, the endless preparations, the certainty that this time, we'd make it to the final.
The day arrived. The show started strong. All the songs sounded like never before. All the events were perfect. I could feel the energy, the momentum, the whole audience moving with us. And then came the encore. Our big moment.
But suddenly something changed. I saw it in their faces even before I heard it. The audience had stopped singing. A sudden silence where there should have been fire. I finished the show as best I could, pretending everything was normal, even though I knew it wasn't.
As soon as I stepped onto the backstage floor, someone handed me the festival rules. Only three hits were allowed. We played four.
My world came crashing down. My legs gave way. I slid to the floor, and collapsed. I wanted to scream, cry, blame someone, anyone. But the truth was painfully simple, it was my fault. I hadn't read the rules. I had ruined our chance.
It's been two days since then, and I'm still sad, still disappointed, still wondering if there will be a next time. I feel fragile and doubt everything, especially myself...
But if there's one thing I'm completely sure of after these strange days, it's that there's nothing more healing than a hug, and that everything happens for a reason.
Posted 12/8/2025, 6:00 AM