A few weeks ago, at the Monterrey Book Fair, many people approached him to ask him to sign a book for him. He gave me a photo, an image of the town of San Miguel de Allende, and I said to myself: “Mira, I want to tell you that I have a fantasy.” The question: “What is it?” I replied: “I have no imagination.” I caused a sensation: “How?” I say to myself: “If I tell you that you imagine a manzana, you see it. I cannot imagine a manzana. My mind only generates concepts, not images.” “O sea, blind mind,” he said, a little brutally. I replied: “Yes, and that’s why it’s very difficult for me to read. I can’t imagine the descriptions, the characters.” I’m a journalist, so I’m used to talking. I thought I could just check if this condition existed. I stood in front of the book a lot to get it signed. It is a volume of short texts which speak of childhood, fathers, love, loss. I say to myself: “I want to thank you very much. This is the first book that I was able to read completely because it talks about abstract things. Now I’m trying, from now on, to read others.” The question there was. I tell myself that I studied architecture. Architecture? Can’t “see” the shapes? I say to myself that of course it turned out to be very difficult. The book is firm, we say goodbye. When I got back to the hotel, I looked for information about the “fantasy.” In fact, it exists (a few days later, in Mexico, I found a girl who had it). It is not a disease, it does not interfere with intelligence, it is estimated that between 1% and 5% of the population could be affected, even if the door is called “afantas”. I looked in my pocket for the photo of San Miguel de Allende. Take it back. On the back, the muchacho had written: “Thank you for verbalizing my neurodivergent mind.” There is a song by Indian Solari called Even if the sun goes down. Dice: “Today, I still don’t use my miracle. » That day, in Monterrey, I felt like I had used it.
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