How does death change your perspective?
When I was in my twenties I almost strangle myself with the bedclothes. All I can remember is been dreaming of a giant octopus strangling me and waking up with the sheet around my neck.
At the moment, I was terrified of how close I had been to death and decided to start living with no regrets: self-published my comics, wrote every day, and went party with friends even if that meant having a fight with my overprotective mother always.
But, as time went by, work absorbed my time. I failed at my attempt to have a small independent comic magazine in Saltillo and, at the same time, got more hours as a teacher. A part-time teacher, since I could only get a few hours in ESL or French but nothing full-time. I surrendered to the obvious fact that I would be a teacher forever, but at least I wanted to be a good one, so started attending teaching courses and even got a Master’s Degree in Education. Yet, I still couldn’t find anything worth the time.
When I looked back, I realized I had forgotten that fear of dying without getting my goals done, and how I used to get energy out to write and draw even after a hard day. at work. And been fighting to find that feeling out again, but I’ve grown into an apathetic person who complains all the time and can’t get anything done for more than three days.
Ticia Valcer 