The Fanatic I Miss

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June, 2007

I usually go nuts for the World Cup—it’s always been one of those moments that brings out pure excitement in me. But for the first time in my life, I’m finding it hard to feel that same spark, strangely detached from it. The excitement just isn’t there. All the noise and nonsense around it have taken away some of the magic.

Maybe, though, it’s something more personal. The truth is that this is my first World Cup in many years without my sidekick—my husband. There’s no one to share the anticipation with, no one to cheer, scream, laugh, run like a wild goose and live every moment alongside me. For so many years, the World Cup wasn’t just about football—it was about who I experienced it with.

Now, as it approaches— well, it begins today—, I can’t help but feel nostalgic. So many memories come flooding back, and the absence feels louder than the tournament itself. Everything seems a little quieter, a little emptier. The excitement that used to build naturally just isn’t there, and neither is the motivation that came with it.

Still, I’ll try to enjoy it the best way I can—creating my own wild audience of one, loud enough to make any neighbor reach for earplugs or consider moving away. Some things change, and some people leave behind a space that can never truly be filled, but the memories remain.

Maybe it won’t feel the same this time, and maybe that’s okay. Yet I’ll be watching with a heavy heart, missing the voice beside me, the laughter that echoed through every match, and the joy we shared. I’ll miss the awkward but hilarious dances whenever his favorite team scored, or when a player dribbled past defenders, pulled off a brilliant trick, and delivered a perfect pass. Those moments made every World Cup unforgettable—not just because of the game itself, but because of who I shared it with: a fanatic of the game! Tomorrow and the day after, and after, I will beglued to the TV for sure. Let the games begin…

Just a Routine Bank Visit… Until It Wasn’t

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At the bank on Saturday…

The teller looked at me and said, “Ma’am, can I tell you something?”

Immediately, I thought, Oh no. What did I do? Did I sign in the wrong place? Did I accidentally do something stupid? I knew it couldn’t be none of it. What could it be?

So I nervously replied, “Go ahead.”

He smiled and said, “I just want to tell you that my mom is way younger than you, and she doesn’t even come close to looking as you do. You look way too young. Mesmerizing. You look amazing”

I nearly fell off my chair. At that point, I turned the color of pimentón — red pepper in English. I was shocked, startled, embarrassed, amazed and suddenly aware that the entire bank had stopped what they were doing. Every head seemed to swivel in my direction. Everyone was listening. Everyone was staring. I was like, Huh, wait. Did he? What’s happening?

“Oh!” I said, giggling and blushing. “That’s so sweet. Thank you! I appreciate it.” Trust me, if I were white, I would be bright red right now.

The teller — a young Cuban man in his 20’s — doubled down.

“No, seriously. You look so much younger and beautiful” His face lit up with a smile longer then a fruit tray. I swear, my drooling filled a bucket and then some and he perhaps thought, I was the perfect chocolate flower — if there is such a thing — he ever saw.

“Thank you!” I replied, trying not to melt into the floor.

Then he asked, “Do you do anything special?”

I said, “Yes. I stay out of the sun.”

He nodded and said, “I’ve heard that a lot.”

A few minutes later, I got into the car and I told my friend about the whole exchange. She was absolutely dying laughing. She could not contain herself, bust in a uncontrollably train of laughter vibrating the neighborhood.

Without missing a beat, she asked, “Well… did you ask for his number?”

I looked at her and said, “Girl, I was too busy accepting my complimentary anti-aging award… NO! I am not a pedophile.” My friend nearly fell out of the car laughing, again.

That bank visit started as a routine errand and somehow turned into a public youthfulness testimonial.  I promise not to tell his mother or play that movie again. Well, just a little secret… deep down, I thought it was cute. After all, who doesn’t enjoy a little flattery now and then?

Better yet, I am living proof of the saying, “Black don’t crack!” Needless to say, the story became front-page news at our weekly Sunday brunch. They all wanted to know why I didn’t get his number. I’m a little slow—I haven’t quite caught up with the program yet. What can I say?!

The Magic You Carry!

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Dear Child,

Today is your day.

Not because of the gifts you may receive or the celebrations around you, but because the world is brighter simply because you are in it.

I hope you never stop asking questions, never stop imagining impossible things, and never stop believing that kindness matters. The way you see the world—with wonder, honesty, and curiosity—is something many adults spend their lives trying to rediscover.

There will be days when you feel brave, and days when you feel afraid. Days when you succeed, and days when you stumble. Through all of them, remember this: your worth is not measured by your grades, your talents, your appearance, or what others think of you. You are valuable because you are you.

Keep your heart open. Laugh loudly. Dream boldly. Be gentle with others and with yourself. The world needs your creativity, your compassion, your unique voice, and the beautiful things only you can bring.

May you grow up surrounded by love, protected by kindness, and encouraged to become exactly who you are meant to be.

And whenever life feels uncertain, remember that there are people who believe in you, cheer for you, and hope for your happiness—even before they know your name.

Happy Children’s Day.

With love and hope,

Kairo! 🌍❤️👧👦✨