**From:** The Young Invisible
**For:**  The Community of Steemit 
**Subject:**  Brief passage of a very short life

<p>
<div class="text-justify">  Dear lector,  I do not know how unusual is a 22 years-old boy who appears suddenly, at the end of December, requesting attention and pawning their fate to the hope that a letter expressing the conflicts that sometimes is not the same known structure, fears, whose names are unknown, and the objectives, built to pieces, require additional resources and tools to the extent that come to life; but, I am sure that if this is the initial premise of a novel, I would give it a chance. </div> 

</p>

<p>
<div class="text-justify"> I am not come from a generation attached to the tradition of sending letters, unfortunately. And I say that it is unfortunate because its intimate nature has surprised me as a revelation. As well, the soliloquy that provides me with its structure, transcends the reflection and the catharsis that I experiment, usually, when I write. In many ways, it is the closest thing to I have a conversation with myself to respond to a clear recipient; and, simultaneously, the interview starts confessions so sincere and intimate that only express them aloud, or structured in a similar sense to that offers this format, it would be a work almost impossible.    </div> 

</p>

<p>
<div class="text-justify">  For that reason, I have decided to deliver to you, a complete unknown for me, but I know you carry in your heart a little of my life; to you, that you have experienced what it is to doubt and dream, laugh and cry. To you, who read my words, that even possessing the criticism in the eyes I see you as my most faithful friend, I give you my story: the short life of the young Invisible.  </div> 

</p>

<a href="https://imgur.com/peqOZPP"><img src="https://i.imgur.com/peqOZPP.jpg" title="source: imgur.com" /></a>
[Fuente](https://www.pexels.com/)

<p>
<div class="text-justify">  Throughout my life, the time has been a constant and fleeting that appeared not to exist. If not for the strong passion I have to find the greatness in the details, I could say that the time only represents the change of colors that surprise the world. It seems that I am trying to be too romantic, if it is the comparison, with the precepts of life: my mind and spirit do not see it on the same way. In the background I feel old, but it is an old age that I will explain later.  </div> 

</p>

<p>
<div class="text-justify"> I come from a family with no name and with pre-defined causalities. From merchant parents, my life has always been subject to particular and sudden changes. At the same time in which I was born, a thief stole my family car next to my future belongings. The day I decided to skim through books, my parents lost the work of two decades of sacrifice; when I got the value of the acquired knowledge, no longer had resources to sustain it: it seemed to be too late.   </div> 

</p>

<p>
<div class="text-justify">   Never expect anything special to me, in fact, I was expecting it. I learned to read in fifth grade of primary; my interest in the ratings until the third year of secondary school was as foolish as my stubborn vocation for being a rebel before any authority in my modest and simple ways. And when I woke up in the world of innocence, I understood that there was no one to social standards. </div> 

</p>

<p>
<div class="text-justify">  However, if my sixteen years was not the most illustrious young, I had a very strong personality that, to internalize a goal, I gave myself blindly: without the fear of losing or get hurt, without doubts or apology, guided only by the perseverance. It was in those days when an idea seduced me deeply. It was daring. From the home promised to be impossible. My social status and academic incited me to forget it, but I could not. </div> 

 That idea was to go to college.



</p>

<p>
<div class="text-justify"> Although at this time I intend to make a break in the continuity of the story, I ask excuse me, but I have to make a special reference to the particularities of the facts.    </div> 

</p>

<p>
<div class="text-justify">  In my childhood I had the opportunity to forge a friendship that exerted a decisive influence over my growth. My best friend, Wilfredo Añez, from early decided, without being aware, educate myself on the basis of their own experiences. With five years over than me, he was describing in areas that the school could not even close. At 8 years old, I learned how to write and recite a rudimentary poetry; at 12, he taught me how to give advice - or what is the same, learn to listen to the people, and to the 14 years, he instructed in the basic concepts of psychology. As well, he inadvertently gave me many aspects of life processed, which gender to I mature, in many dimensions, in a very accelerated.  </div> 

</p>

<p>
<div class="text-justify"> Perhaps for that reason, and for many other reasons, I do not see anything that I am passionate with sincerity in my small school. Life seemed so much fun out there, in contact with the arts, and bad teachers who were struggling to make useful and interesting knowledge to students nothing collaborative.    </div> 

</p>

<p>
<div class="text-justify"> All this led to excuse or by own decision, I devoted to be a vague in school (I only passed with the minimum notes). Insatiably I pursued what ignited my curiosity: writing and theater, history and politics, music, and video games. A year after graduating when I was not aware of the real world than I expected, and that world my teacher of Spanish Language and Literature. Perhaps because of its methodology or because it was the right time for it to happen, Aura Castellano, presented me, made me believe not only that I had something to hold on, but possessed a talent, something to be proud. That something was the writing.    </div> 

</p>

<p>
<div class="text-justify">  From that point on, my passion woke up. I became a reader that lack of money took refuge in the computer as an extension of his mind, and so I agreed to the books that my condition is not allowed; books that was displayed before me, which lives transparent, as friends of the past, teachers, disinterested, thieves of a happiness that until that moment was outside of me. I understood then that I had spent a lot of time lost… lost and disoriented.  </div> 

</p>

<a href="https://imgur.com/5cIV0vP"><img src="https://i.imgur.com/5cIV0vP.jpg" title="source: imgur.com" /></a>
[Fuente](https://www.pexels.com/)

<p>
<div class="text-justify">    It was late, very late, at least in my mental clock. It all happened at once, such as when you discover the truth without searching for it, like the child who lost finds his mother's eyes; it was a time accurate. A second was enough to understand that a victim of my mistakes, had failed. By not having a family history that hadn't even finished high school - including my brother, and coinciding those years with a distancing of Wilfred-, I did not realize that he had ignored for too long, which meant the University. I had never delved into it, it had always seemed strange, distant, a fully parallel to my existence. </div> 

</p>

<p>
<div class="text-justify"> Soon I was trying to ignore the bankruptcy of my family, the aftermath of my parents' divorce, and, especially, the indelible mark of my dreary academic interest, because at that time, in addition to poor training that I had received for the quality of my school and by my own participation, my average was on the floor, 12/20. It was not even remotely enough to serve me on the entrance to the university. I studied, a self-taught artist, guides of logical reasoning, reading comprehension, and so many other knowledge that had been left on their side during my whole life. I take the test at the Central University of Venezuela and the result did not leave spaces for the lament. I failed, as it was obvious that would happen. The sense of frustration and rejection, in my mouth and my feelings, had for the first time sense. But I have not gave up.    </div> 

</p>

<p>
<div class="text-justify"> After that experience, even more determined, I was studying for over one year to take the test again and I failed again. Something bad happened. I isolate myself. I could not understand it, how do I even look forward to with so many forces and giving away all of my, was not sufficient to be admitted? The frustration I weighed like my own inability, could not escape. He had observed for two consecutive years the face of the rejection, I felt stupid, without talent, inept: invisible.  </div> 

</p>

<a href="https://imgur.com/Jz5jcBj"><img src="https://i.imgur.com/Jz5jcBj.jpg" title="source: imgur.com" /></a>

[Fuente](https://www.pexels.com/)

<p>
<div class="text-justify"> Viewing the facts in retrospect, I can admit that I treasure the painful memory of that experience. Sometimes, the bad thing is learned twice.    </div> 

</p>

<p>
<div class="text-justify"> And that is why I think that life is cruel for two fundamental reasons. The first does not depend on us, precedes on an eternal and invisible string, full of links in where our parents are before us, their representatives, but goes beyond them. I mean, the family status. We are all tied to the vicissitudes and the circumstances in which we are destined to grow. The sociologist Peter Berger speaks of the invisible map in which we can move and that governs our life in advance: from our personality to whom we marry, from the possibility of going out with a diploma from the Institute or be led to a correctional facility; therefore, these stimuli are very hard to break, ignore, and, above all, evade, since they are our record.     </div> 

</p>

<p>
<div class="text-justify"> The second reason depends on us. Life is particularly cruel because once we face our mistakes and we assume the failure, we wish to correct the course of that life lost, but everything seems so difficult that we assume and we resign ourselves to have arrived too late. Even more cruel is when the few fools, deciding to ignore the time and pursue the change, they are forced to groping blindly, hesitant, for a path doubly unknown and dark, where the voices do not reach; immersed in a way that only they can pass through, with the will to shoulders and the shadow of fear in all the way.    </div> 

</p>

<p>
<div class="text-justify">   I was one of those fools. Almost three years ago, in mid-December, I was running in a tunnel, pursued by my fears and struggling to break with what my dictated background, that reality which I scraped the senses. In those circumstances, as many happened, I could not see all the roads. My skills were not enough, nowhere was a flame that light up me, but few voices were building my steps, little by little, until I found the right course</div> 

</p>

<p>
<div class="text-justify">   In the two years that he had tried to enter the university I managed to save part of the money from a job to a half turn. On this basis, and of the recommendations of two friends, I decided to take the risk and bet all the money I owned in Andres Bello, Catholic private university. I reached to pay two semesters only, but a reasoning based on my abilities pushed me to believe that it was the right decision. So this test. I went back to fail! Definitely the standardized tests was not for me. However, on this occasion, I would have the opportunity to compete for one of 60 quotas in an introductory course. They spent two months of partial constants, but, at the end, I got a quota. </div> 

</p>


<p>
<div class="text-justify">  At the end I have achieved it… I got it. I had 20 years, and since the first day at the School of Social Communication I felt at home, in my field, in a world that I was next. It is difficult to describe the emotional burden that caused me to feel accepted, claimed and not part of a University but of a project. In each subject I was the passion and ambition that so much time had been asleep. In each classroom I was myself, my voice, my desires, my presence. Soon ended the first half of the year, I was in the limbo of what would happen at the end of the next, the anxiety consumed me, and, when the day came, I opted for a fellowship program covering 100% of the career.   </div> 

I got it.
</p>

<p>
<div class="text-justify"> You will see. To this date, I find a couple of months to start the sixth semester. My average has been maintained since the first day in 9. Thanks to this, and to my economic situation- I got the scholarship. Today I am a journalist and writer in training already with three recognitions in different contests; a passion for the art and expression, a musician, actor and screenwriter amateur, and, especially, the proud proof that one can learn to read in fifth grade, to be a vague-self-taught until the fourth year of high school, and, soon, following a passion, appear as an excellent student. Because if one thing demonstrates my story is that the average is not proportional to the intellectual quality of the student, but to the passion of his soul. I believe that what is decisive in life is the passion and perseverance.    </div> 

</p>


<p>
<div class="text-justify"> This is me, the young Invisible based on perseverance achievement that their voice and their history to reach many students who have suffered - and hungry - the shadows of the isolation and rejection. Up to this point it only remains for me to thank you for your attention and ask you to accompany me strongly in this new stage full of projects, ideas and content that I want to share with a lot of enthusiasm in this great community.    </div> 

</p>

<p>
<div class="text-justify"> Again, is December, I'm nervous, but determined to give everything my Steemit projects can contribute to.    </div> 

</p>

No more to say
Go for 2018!

Ps: In another opportunity I will tell you why I feel so old!