The month of September has come and I have blamed him again. It was not an easy year, not a tender summer. In June we already predicted that the slap was going to be harsh, but after all the ones we have received we have not had any third cheek left. We all carry a heavy anchor hanging from our feet, and during these two years, we've had to relearn walking by transporting that load. But the blame is one more year, not the anchor that has tied us to our legs.
We have been sad, tired and angry for a long time, but it is easier to blame this post summer. This is easier than recognizing the cracks that have opened up in our so-called stable bodies. It's easier than recognizing what causes us the emptiness of the people we've lost this year, recognizing how the care crisis has landed our house, balizing the uncertainty that you have at work, recognizing that you have no motivation, but reflecting on the anchoring that you're tied to your feet.
"It's not allowed to drink some cans in the park of your village with friends, but it's legitimate that when you finish your career and have no possibility to work, you have to sign up for a third master's degree."
I'm tired. Frustrated. I notice that time escapes me and I can't run to catch him. I want to remember how my parents of youth speak, but little by little they are closing the doors to the nostalgia of the future. A song says that young people have a life project beyond obedience, but minimal disobedience is not legitimate as a new generation. It is not allowed to drink some cans in the park of your town with friends, but it is legitimate that at the end of the career and not be able to work, you have to sign up for a third master's degree. It is not legitimate for militancy meetings to be precarious, but for face-to-face examinations to be conducted in classrooms of one hundred people. It is not legitimate to give visibility to our point of view when we have been called “crying”, “selfish” or “murderous” in the media, but it is legitimate that in these two years we should read the headlines of us. Our sadness, anger and frustration is never legitimate, and maybe that's why we know how to reflect plastic happiness on social media, even though we're then exploiting with other variants. It manifests itself in the rise of our suicide rate.
I'm tired. Frustrated. But the fault is September. Because it is easier to put the motor outbreak in the spotlight than to carry out an analysis of the causes to avoid further explosions. Maybe that's why they do so many songs this dirty month. And I'm talking about young people as I'm talking about September, but we, the young people, unlike September, no one offers us songs.
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