It’s funny/tragic how the routine can make life long or very short in a city. If it is a big one it feels short, for example, the times to travel to a point to the other, they can last hours and ages; those periods are so long in middle of the traffic that we can dream a whole life to just forgotten it when the awakening comes.

Life can be long, but just if we can avoid the routine. The routine of wake up; eat (the same I mean); go to the work/university/institute/etcetera; if in one day we can create something, go to another place, think a moment in anything new, to know new people and discover something new in the old friends.

I don’t say that it is necessarily a requisite to be happy, I guess everyone has his/her way to be it. And even the routine can produce happiness if it coincide with an activity pleasurable to the desires. But I have the impression that the routine is an aspect that abbreviates our existence. Thus we can tell our time at school/university/work in a few sentences and perhaps two or three memorable stories.

I cannot bare so well the routine: honestly I am the type of guy that let the bus in the middle just to walk another route by myself. But actually I dislike the routine because I think is is a basic and geometrical mirror that corresponds another image more complex and complicated.

That ultimate image that appears reflected in our lives could be an illusion, actually we are free and words as destiny or doom are poor intents to justify our monotony; or could be a reality, a labyrinth triggered to grow and adapt to us, the work of inscrutable gods or an evolutive machinery.

What is the answer I don’t know, sometimes life is so short to even try to solve those questions.

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