Throughout my life I have been accompanied by many friends. Some have been on my radar for a long time, they come close, have moments of intermittency, but they are always there, aware of everything that happens to me. These friends are some of the great treasures that life has given me.
I have also had close friends who have caused me great disappointments, ending my relationship with them has always meant moments of great pain.
The first great disappointment with a friend I had in the years of adolescence, by then I had become fond of rock music, I dreamed of being one of those great guitarists who make wonderful prodigies with their instrument.
With much sacrifice my mother gave me the money to buy a second hand Fender Stratocaster. It was a very nice, well-preserved white guitar, with a very good sound.
All my free time was spent trying to get some music out of the guitar, but I soon realized that I lacked the necessary talent. However, I never gave up my determination to play even a few songs.
During those years I was friends with a boy older than me, he was very self-confident, quite adventurous, one of those who seem to know very well what they want in life. I spent most of my time with him, he stayed at my house, ate with us and my mother had grown very fond of him.
One day he asked to borrow my guitar to take some lessons. Days went by and the boy was nowhere to be seen. My mother told me not to worry, he would come around at some point.
After several months he came back to my house, I asked him about the guitar, and without any shame he told me that he had sold it. He told me that he had had a problem with his grandmother and sold the guitar to solve it.
With tears in my eyes I told him to leave and never heard from him again.
As an adult I also decided to end friendships that had been going on for a long time.
One of those friendships was with a co-worker. I met him in the mid-eighties when we were both teachers in various educational institutions. The two of us shared a lot of time, we went out to eat, had drinks, and visited each other frequently, his children were fond of me and mine of him.
When he ended his marital relationship, he lived for a few years in an apartment that I had vacated. During all that time I never charged him a penny for rent. I knew he was struggling financially, and after all, he was my friend.
Our differences began when the Bolivarian revolution started in the country at the beginning of the twenty-first century.
As the social and economic changes became more pronounced, our views became irreconcilable. I thought he was supporting a project that would bring disastrous consequences for the country, and he accused me of not wanting to accept the changes that society needed.
Every time we met we fell into the same issues, each one doing his best to defend his position. In the end I understood that it did not make much sense to continue having sterile conversations that did not lead anywhere. Little by little I stopped seeing him until we distanced ourselves completely.
A few years ago he finally realized all the damage that this Chavista experiment had caused us.
After twenty-five years we are much worse off, people have lost hope for the future of the country and have opted to go abroad, almost eight million people have taken the path of emigration.
However, and although I know that he no longer thinks as he did before, I have not felt the desire to seek him out to talk, that friendship is in the past.
In the last twenty-five years many friendships have disappeared from my life for the same reasons.
No matter how hard I try, I cannot understand how anyone can continue to support a project that has hurt us so much.
Maybe someone is right in telling me that this incomprehension is nothing more than a great display of intolerance.
I know that a hard stone to remove from my thoughts is the fact that three of my children are part of those millions of Venezuelans who have left in search of a better future. Two of my granddaughters I have only seen by whatsapp. The years go by and the difficulties to see my children increase, I have not seen one of them for more than ten years.
It is very possible that this harsh reality of mine feeds my incomprehension.
I am publishing this post motivated by the initiative proposed by my friend @ericvancewalton, Memoir Monday, in its twenty-five week. For more information click on the link.
Thank you for your time.
Translated with DeepL.com (free version).
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