In 2000, the mother of a friend, an astrologer, read my birth chart. Before starting, she showed me a sketch with a circle surrounded by small symbols. “This is your chart,” she told me, and pointing to a pair of lines that intersected the circle, she added, “They're changes. People have many; you only have two, but they're decisive. The first will come soon.” She spoke for an hour, and at the end, warning me that she doesn't like to make predictions, she returned to the subject of changes, assuring me that, whether I liked it or not, they were going to happen. The most significant thing was when she told me I would give up music, that I would dedicate myself to something else. I had been playing the cello for years; by then, I was already starting to earn a living and wouldn't have to resort to side jobs. In 2001, I emigrated to Spain, where I live to this day, and, in fact, I ended up giving up music. It wasn't the only prediction this woman made that came true.
It turns out the second major change in my chart, which has to do with some sort of thing with Pluto and Saturn, is coming now. My friend's mom had warned me that I'd be around fifty-seven. When I'm bored, I tend to read my horoscope, and that's how I learned that these changes are common to all Scorpios. So I decided to mention it to a friend who lives in Buenos Aires, who's also a Scorpio, asking him if something similar had happened to him.
When I talk to people, I either look for trivial topics or approach the topics with a certain frivolity. I know from experience that if I speak seriously, I mess things up; people can't handle my worldview. Especially with my friends, I prefer to be taken for naive than to have them feel intimidated and stop responding to me. This one was no exception; this friend, tacitly assuming I was the type to swallow any story, responded by trying to refute astrology with scientific and practical explanations, based, I suppose, on his own experiences. The midlife crisis, the drop in testosterone, that if we fail in a project or job we bounce between depression and anxiety, that we seek on the past looking for motivation, and other arguments. Then he criticized his sister, who according to him always attributes her luck to God. The funny thing is that after so much skepticism he ended up saying: “And whether you did right or not, I believe we are always on the best path of all possible ones,” which is still a religious argument, another good way to conform and justify oneself.
Since I was a bit of a little brain as a kid, I could already read and write by the age of four, so my mom enrolled me in elementary school at five. Throughout elementary school, my classmates were a year older than me. Up until fifth grade, I attended a school near my house, which was affiliated with a Catholic church but they didn’t bother much with religion. When I started sixth grade, it came under Franciscan administration and things changed; we spent more time praying than studying. That’s when my mom decided to transfer me to another school. I ended up at a public school, and there, on top of the age difference, the cultural gap was added. I was more bewildered than ever when I saw my classmates running after girls during recess to touch their butts. By seventh grade, there was already a noticeable difference in physical development; my classmates were starting to show signs of puberty, and those who I am now taller than were my height or taller back then, especially the girls, who experience puberty earlier. I close my eyes and see the two most beautiful ones, Rita and Fabiana. Especially Fabiana, who had a great ass and breasts and had a lovely little face, but I was in love with Rita, who, although not that pretty and physically a bit of a broomstick, had a strong personality; coincidentally, she was also a Scorpio. These girls were from the neighborhood, nothing shy or innocent about them. One day, Fabiana approached me and pointing her belly at me said, ‘¿Conocés el pasaje Benito Cámela? (Do you know the Comeand Touchme Street?)’ Another day she approached me in line and this time seriously she said, ‘Walter, do you want to go out with me?’ What was I going to answer at eleven years old with my still hairless belly?! Shortly after, my beloved Rita also invited me out, and guess what, I froze again! A moment of silence and reflection… An Argentine comedian who worked a lot on TV, in these situations would turn his back to the camera and make a gesture as if shooting himself in the balls; I would do the same but with a machine gun and a couple of Spanish grenades. I MISSED MY DEBUT AT ELEVEN, WHAT A COWARD!
Regarding my career, today I see it clearly. If I could go back to being eighteen, there’s no way I’d slave away for years with the cello. Romantic idiot! Moving to Spain and starving for five years as an illegal immigrant? No way! I’d go into a physical education teaching degree, and once I finish, I’d go work as a gym teacher in the most remote little town in Patagonia.
Whatever the case may be for this person or that, those who reach my age (next month I turn fifty-eight), look back and conclude that they are satisfied with what they have done with their life is because they have had little ambition, they did not learn from their mistakes, they have a very poor memory, or they are not honest with themselves.
©2025 - Walter Alejandro Iglesias