When we were children, we cried because of the death of the sun, because we understood that the earth would ever die. So, injustice was the only anomaly in this world and was inexplicable in the lives of these adults. All the cartoons said, "Everything is going to be OK," and I was pink. For the first time, we saw a vagabond driven by the hand of our parents and we were playing as adults in school. I was impatiently waiting for the day I would meet the newborn child.

In adolescence, we started writing composition papers, team work mixed the problems between the world and textbooks. An exercise: “Are we the owners of everything we do? Reason your answer.” The course advanced and we didn't know that the decision that was going to determine our life was work, and that's why it was so important to end ESO, one, one race or the other. I realized that maybe my forever friends wouldn't be forever and that the instrument I chose as a little boy never liked it.

Now you have to convince me that we're young. It is said that it is a fool who sees the horizon between the buildings, too abstract in their intentions, too far, one says, “I want to enjoy as if everything collapsed tomorrow.” We sympathize with the ironic distance and we dream that everyone will get burned, as if responsibility for this world had not been delegated. We are facing a failure, from an isil-mandated point of view and equidistance. Rebellion has become a matter of boys, but now girls get my satinated tops and buy anti-aging creams. We, on the contrary, turn to innocence and tie our bow hair, so that everything stays superficial.

The time of my generation is different: at a time when nothing happens, we remain silent. It is unreal to have no worries, it is a bubble locked in the body and that revives when you ask “what to do”. When we get home, we have no more to get tired and we throw away with the coffee so we can't assimilate the rhythm. And there, if you allowed yourself to flee, you wouldn't wake up with a touch of nostalgia and you wouldn't see it in black at night.

They sacrifice the will (thinking that it has been called freedom, ultimately choice). It's the young man who's got to destroy what's out there, this can't be the case, maybe it's not believing in anything else, no matter how unintuitive it is. What to do? Someone has to worry about the other. Those who tell us that we give ourselves preference know perfectly well that I'm just in the middle. I understand that the structural problem is not mine, and I get involved in the change that I find when I'm conflicting.

When I see myself immersed in a caravan on the bus, I do not know if my neighbour knows that the demonstrations are going on the road and that they are cut off, that someone does them and that the traffic jam does not occur. Perhaps another remembers the old, the jokes and the absence. On the contrary, we know that the burdens are nothing more than scattering mechanisms to catch the protesters and that it is more effective than taking out a united bloc by fleeing. It's brought us something bigger than our time: we're going to stay with the beauty of flipping this.