In one of my favorite movies, A Bronx Tale, the protagonist, C, idolizes Sonny, a neighborhood mafia boss. Throughout the movie, Sonny repeats, “Nobody cares.” C is skeptical of his hero’s mantra until the final scene. The mafiosos gather at Sonny’s funeral to pay their respects, but it’s a hollow display. Rather than honoring Sonny, the men strategize about who will replace him. “It was just like Sonny said it would be. Nobody cares.”
Chiquititos, I say this with love: Nobody is reading your story. Had I been asked to share some sage advice with my beloved students when I was still a Señorita, my insides would have riled at the notion of my prose splayed grotesquely across the page like a spatchcock chicken to be consumed. But a wrinklier Señora delights in knowing that a copy of this newspaper will find its way into the hands of many well-intended readers, only to be left carelessly in that near-obsolete metal basket under the desk-chair. (A few lucky ones will be collected by a Spanish teacher and become piñatas!) There is an ease that comes when you take yourself off display. My greatest hope for you all, is that you find it.
“But, Señora!” you protest, “that’s not true! Many people read the Merionite!” Sure they do. But amigos, let’s be honest, you didn’t read most of the books you were assigned to read! This year I heard someone callously exclaim, “I’m not reading that essay!” about a “long text” from a friend. Hormigas, trust me on this: you are not the main character in anyone’s story but your own. No one is perseverating over what you should have said or done. People will certainly fan the pages of your story, but there are few in this world whose thoughts of you will deprive them of sleep.
Peppersota and I walk through the cemetery in my neighborhood sometimes. She sniffs and I scan the unadorned headstones practicing my basic math skills to avoid Alzheimer’s (yes, this is something you worry about at 40). I calculate how old people were when they died, how long they have been in the ground, and how plausible it is that anyone still comes to visit. Amigos, do you know the names of your great-grandparents? Do you visit them where they lie?
Two generations out and we are forgotten.
Unfortunately, this isn’t the part where I transition to some trite platitude like “Do something worth being remembered for!” Quite the opposite. Do things because they are right. Do things because they bring peace. Love others simply because they exist, and if you are too selfish to love altruistically, love because you’re smart enough to know that your neighbor’s success is inextricably bound to your own. For many of you, joy will not be brought but rather hard fought. Pursue your happiness with ferocity. Create joy when there is none. Regardless of how you believe we got here, we are all just charged clumps of dust whirling through space. Find the dust balls you like and treasure them. Gently flick away the ones you don’t.
I have watched you crumble over rejection letters, failed math tests, and the stress of just being alive in a world that demands everything of us all the time. Amigos, no one is reading your story. You can add, skip, or delete anything you’d like at any time. You don’t need to rewrite a thing. Just start the next chapter mid-sentence. Stop squandering your current happiness for the promises of tomorrow. Stop performing; start living.
