Seriously, I don’t want to use this as pulpit, I don’t want to preach, nor do I want to judge or sow the seeds of chaos. I am not authorised, nor am I sufficiently knowledgeable of the subject for such a purpose. I am, and this includes me among a great part of the population, just one more. Or I was.
Because not long ago I had a revelation. Because I have seen the light. Because I have just found a meaning to it all, to my insecurity, to my uneasiness. A gift not from the heavens, because that would be a pretty standard revelation, but of the calm places that are so often sold and that look so cute in the Tri-va-go adverts. Mi only destiny now is to become a super ruminant being, in the evolution of the common graze. I will be the bovine future. I want to be a cow.
It must be heavenly: wake up, go on a little walk, eat, sleep, nice and easy. It’s not enough to eat one time, eat again what was already eaten, and to ruminate nonstop. The whole milking thing I’m not too sure about – don’t touch my udders, it’s not really a good time. Being realistic, cows are not ferocious creatures, the queens of the jungle, the scary ones. But I’d have hooves and I guess that with a strong kick I could ruin anyone’s day. Especially if they are trying to milk me like you’d juice a common orange or as would an antacid affect a stomach. I rather pass.
I would share my rural stable with pleasure – mountain visits, bath included (of course), spa (high pressure shower), and, in some cases, even classical music to be happier. And that would be my life, being a big animal, heavy, docile, silly. However, I would get rid of the unfortunate ending of becoming a consumer product; me revelation didn’t say anything about ending up on a plate or in glue or in Ikea meatballs. I would die of old age, by the heat of a bonfire, remembering my good bovine moments.
The best of it all is that I would care so little about everything and I would see my future more or less clearly. This is the reason that pushes me to follow my revelation: a cow doesn’t worry. An unemployed young Spaniard does, indeed. And it’s just that when I read the news about how the European Union spends ten times more on EU cows than it does on a young unemployed person, my life has become a quest towards black and white (very much in fashion), eating organic food (let’s see what black-belt vegan I can beat by eating grass) and wearing sustainable leather (my own skin). Ok, I know the news article I read on El Confidencial ( link ) might be a bit of an exaggeration, a partial interpretation of facts and data, an article that doesn’t respect precision as much as that Verdasco advert for Gillette for which I still go to the shrink for. But the mere fact that after reading the article’s title makes me doubt momentarily, and only the fact that I actually doubt whether it is true or not, makes it worthy of questioning and perhaps even embracing the cow world. Because it is very serious that it can even not surprise us that a young unemployed Spaniard is worth a tenth of our beloved animal. Because this is the credibility we give our politicians. The doubt, the eternal doubt. I intend to dedicate my life to ruminating and to being a sacred Hindu animal that is worth more than a journalism graduate from the University of Itisexpensive. So to what I was saying – I’m becoming a cow. Moo?