It's haunting after all these years

´

May 20th, 2001, my beloved Philosophy teacher, 38 year-old Carlos Ávila Flores dies in car accident in the Querétaro-Mexico City highway. Until then, I had not realized how impressed I was by him. He was utterly charismatic, young, had one, if not the most, bright mind which he also combined with a great generosity as a teacher. I kick myself. I kept delaying whatever closeness I wanted towards him because of my own insecurity. I thought I just wasn't interesting enough or that my intelligence just did not match his. Maybe I wasn't that foolish. A closer relationship to Carlos may have very well made his death more painful. It's almost 4 years after his death. I have to admit it at last. I have not really gotten over it. Just the other day I woke up sweating, was finding it difficult to breathe. Had a vivid nightmare where I spoke to Carlos, he was bleeding from the nose. I went to the bathroom where I cried, I felt desperate, confused, shocked, my heart was beating very very fast. I spent all that day in shaky mental states. I tried to meditate. I was just too affected. I've learned the hard way that the ghosts from your past come to hunt you when you least expect it. Why do they come back? Because they never did leave, you just put them in the back of your mind and don't deal with what's behind it all.

´

In August of 2001 I wrote this in my diary after taking a stroll along the gardens of King's College in Cambridge, England:

"Carlos Ávila, who haunts me, even though he's gone. I think about it. I think about his death. I'm horrified about it. I smell the blood of his confused self after the crash. Minutes come, minutes go - his proverbial brilliant memory starts to decay, all the philosophers, all the reflections, all within minutes is gone. He is no longer Carlos. Carlos is gone. His body is broken, useless, injured and bruised. His consciousness is fading away. The bardo arises. It is there. What kind of mental state can he be at? How long will it take him to come to a new life? I'm horrified by the fleetingness of life. I'm experimenting a narcissistic reflection; I'm not as good as he was. He's gone, he's gone, forever. Carlos, so many times you spoke about this place you love. Cambridge, you loved it here. I came here argueing that I wanted to work at Windhorse, but the truth is that I came here in your name. You studied here, you were immensly happy here. You loved England and its culture. Your blue eyes shone whenever you spoke of ole England. You loved it and I am here, Carlos, I am here for you. I stare at this place they call King's College. I'm terrified. Carlos stared at it many times too. He's dead, and in 10 years all but forgotten. Maybe in ten years I'll be forgotten too, dead. Ay Marko, let him go. Let him go from your mind. Let go. Let go."

´

2004. Carlos I am sorry you died. I'm still a bit mad about it. Egotistically speaking, Carlos I am sad partly because you will no longer be there to give me stuff; to give me more knowledge, to expand my mind. I find it frustrating because you will not become the great talked-about man I thought you would. I am angry about you not publishing more substantial stuff. I am angry your death was so fucking ugly. I am angry about so much stuff in this little confused mind of mine. Well, at last I can talk about it, even make it public, that should be a start. I am also angry that there is no place for me to "see" you. You had no funeral. Your ashes are in some Church. I have to talk about this more. My friends at the GFR group should be of some comfort. Ok, enough.