With love, Spain

X.

What is the faithful companion of a representation? Time. We perceive time differently from humans, and surprisingly, it's not something that bothers us. Without fear of being wrong, I can affirm that it is not something that worries us either since, when it stops, death is more of a reward than a nightmare.

Or it is in my case. How is the song? "Live and let die", Live and let die, poetic. You will wonder how a representation can cease to exist.

We are part of that mystical veil that is described in the encyclopedias of the unusual and fantasy, which, for some reason, is closer to this reality than fairies or centaurs, starting from that base, every creature has something that conditions and condemns its existence. In our case there are three: population, territory and power, remove one or two from the mix and we will be as puny as a human, eternally young but mortal. Remove all three and it will be goodbye.

It's so difficult to kill us for a reason, but not impossible.

Extermination, invasion and overthrow, those are our weak points. Look at the mothers of my brothers, who were left weak and dying by the sword that snatches and collapses.

As I fought against the hordes of French, English and other soldiers, their blood bathing the pastures and horses running in terror, at night, such were my thoughts.

The few letters I received were from my father, who only followed the orders of kings, and, very occasionally, a letter from my brothers and sisters.

He consoled me when they advanced in their education, he made me proud when they boasted of their participation in internal politics, and he saddened me knowing that there was no immediate date for our reunion.

He longed to see them again, but silenced such claims. In my answers, he encouraged them to continue with their studies and demonstrate their value as children of the Spanish Empire, as good Christians, and loyalty to the monarchy.

And the years passed. Even if there were no battles, my father and the Kings, convinced by him, prevented my return to the capital.

"A representation in the troops encourages the flame of morality better than the empty reward of gold" they said in their missives, but who were the ones who paid for my armor, my sword and horse? American ships crammed with taxes, goods and "empty" gold bars.

By keeping me away, I think my father was punishing me for my rebelliousness. I knew that my father was doing wrong when he believed that he was doing good, in turn, he thought that I was wrong and needed a lesson. We were both stubborn and narrow-minded.

My misadventures took me to various places, listening to new thinkers, liberals and scholars, who questioned the role of God and the Church, and advocated man's reason above all things, some even questioning the need for a monarchy. . For them, the monarchy had failed to protect them, the nobility, who should be the leaders and protectors of the flock, were seen as wolves that, when not fighting other wolves, ate both wheat and sheep.

Honestly, I came to wish my father would step down from power. His advice, wise and in favor of the people, began to be silenced more and more frequently due to the arrogance of kings, he feared that apart from not making him reason with his bastards, he would end up as a buffoon in the court. On the streets, the subjects seemed discontented even when he made a public appearance.

It would not be the first time that a government ridicules and belittles its representation. We are the mediating voice between the leaders and the people, but sometimes we come across deaf ears on both sides.

And the years passed, without fear, today people died and tomorrow the sun rose again, without rest, without altering, without ever deviating from its course. Despite the scarcity of resources, wars, discontent, banquets, village festivals, masses and funerals, the routine continued its tireless pace.

The letters from my brothers arrived but their content seemed to be repeated, as if it were the same page in a book, the same paragraph written with different spellings and paths drawn with different words, but leading to the same empty message. It was like a superficial conversation that you have with a distant relative that you are forced to greet at some annual Christmas gathering, the same questions, courtesies and answers are exchanged, to then say goodbye with a "nice to talk to you" and return to silence.

I don't even understand how I allowed that to happen with my little brothers.

It is then that an event is required that shakes the routine and causes time to stumble as it advances, something that surprises and disturbs what we thought was known.

From the new world, in the north, a powerful, furious and freedom-seeking cry shook the pillars of the western world. A sinking tea ship, the flight of an eagle, and a stars, stripes, and stripes symbol shook the world.

Thirteen Colonies, the derivative, the copy, declared its independence from the United Kingdom. Fuck! Nothing like it was ever seen. It was wonderful and terrifying, how was it possible? A copy can only obey! But something made that boy go to war with the very creator of him.

I count it and I can still feel my skin crawl. Until then, you only knew about genocidal wars, invaders, revolutionaries and power struggles, but not one that called for independence.

United States of America, that boy, made history. For Europe and America, he was the watershed, the torch, the movement and the role model. That huge son of a bitch achieved something that had not even been conceived, a tidal wave so powerful that its waves would completely alter two continents.

Forgive my excitement, but somehow this young man held the answer like a bright torch, lighting a path traced by his own mighty hand.

He made all of us turn our heads, some of them dangerously intrigued by his actions. An absurd idea and devastating thirst began to arise in them.

Just as it was discovering the new lands, we were now at the gates of a new change.