The third floor
(A sort of reflection)
Is this what it feels like? I asked myself as I walked the last few blocks back to the gloomy flat that, for now, I call home. Countless errors, countless horrors, countless doubts, and countless fears. We are acutely aware of the passage of time, and Adrian Bejan, with his renowned "constructal law," has explained perfectly why time seems to accelerate as we age.
In one of his most famous quotes, Charles Bukowski, in his peculiar way, declares, "I am a series of small victories and large defeats." I am entirely convinced that most of those defeats stem from certain fears. What clarity the man had! Thirty years ago, I took my first breath, sealing my fate. If there is one thing thermodynamics has taught me, it is that life is not a state function; it depends on the trajectory. I now understand that the decisions we make daily, with their irreversible consequences, are a vivid example of the relentless increase of entropy.
I remember many things about my life, most of them trivial. Like waiting with my mother for my brother to come out of kindergarten. It was dull, but her stories and a piece of seasonal fruit made it bearable. I also recall my own two years of kindergarten—those carefree days filled with laughter and play.
Then came six years of primary school, where the pressure to excel began. My brother stood out among his peers, and comparisons loomed. Three years of secondary school, three more of high school, and time offered no respite. Before I knew it, I had completed my engineering degree. And in the blink of an eye, I find myself nearing the end of my doctorate. My parents always expected me to match my brother’s academic performance. I deeply regret not living up to even half of his achievements. I suppose I simply lack his gift. At this juncture, it feels fitting to pause and reflect on the small collection of fears—or errors, as some might call them—that have shaped my path without overthinking them too much.
At 18, had I not feared judgment, I would be fully dedicated to music today. I had the aptitude, the passion, but I could not withstand the reproach of my mother when she questioned how I planned to survive in such a material world. Back then, music was my greatest passion. I spent more than five hours a day practising and just as many studying. Hoping to meet my mother’s expectations, I considered studying sound engineering—but that never happened either. Music remains a vital part of my life, but that dream is now confined to the past. In a youthful impulse, I chose to study mechanical engineering instead.
At 19, had I not been afraid to leave for Russia, I might have been a nuclear engineer today, perhaps with a PhD, though I will never truly know. I vividly recall my first mentor, an esteemed man shaped by the Soviet Union, persuading me to study there. I completed all the paperwork without telling my family. One day, while visiting a friend, he handed me a pristine envelope bearing the Russian government’s golden double-headed eagle crest—what I assume is the admission letter to Moscow’s Institute of Physics and Technology. That day, I chose not to open it. To this day, the envelope remains sealed in a drawer, its contents a mystery.
At 21, had I not feared a deeper connection, I might already have a family of my own. Pride, ego, and a touch of foolishness shattered everything. Or perhaps we simply met at the wrong time. It was an ironic tragedy foretold, one I failed to foresee. For a long time, I searched for peace amidst the storm she left behind, sinking low and nearly drowning on several occasions. I became someone I never imagined, someone I have yet to fully recover from. Still, after a few days on a paradisiacal Mediterranean island, I believe I am on the right path.
At 23, had I not feared waiting, I might be working today at the Institute of Sustainable Technologies in Radom, Poland. In the summer of 2015, I was fortunate to participate in an academic exchange, where I realised the knowledge I had gained during my five years studying engineering at FI-UAEMéx was opening doors for me. The problem? Completing two more years of engineering in Poland while working as a lab technician was not in my plans, so I let the opportunity slip away, even though it promised a bright professional future.
At 25, had I not feared balancing a master’s degree, I might have been the drummer for one of Mexico’s best grindcore bands. I remember the concert vividly when the lead singer of this cult band asked if I would be interested in joining them as their permanent drummer. They were planning a Mexican tour and finalising details for a series of concerts in Europe, the US, and Canada. My last chance to return to music was right there in front of me. I thanked him for the invitation and, though I seriously considered it, I believed stepping aside was for the best. I told him someone else would be better suited for the role.
At 27, had I not feared becoming a department head, I would already have experience outside academia and industry. A sudden offer from a government agency appeared, but my priority was finishing my master’s degree to seamlessly transition into my PhD, which I did. Still, I doubt such an opportunity will come again. Some days, I question whether choosing emotional stability and intellectual challenge over financial prospects was the right decision.
This all reminds me of a passage from Heber Quijano’s La intuición del vacío (The Intuition of Emptiness): “So decide already which path you will take. You are still young enough to choose the right one, one that leads you to the corner where you want to be. Do not end up at Failure Street, corner with Fatigue. I chose that route, so I am telling you now: forget your utopias, the lamp of ideologies. Pragmatism, my friend…”
I now understand what Simone de Beauvoir meant when she said, “Knowing oneself is no guarantee of happiness, but it is on the side of happiness and can give us the courage to fight for it.” And if I have understood Violette Leduc’s idea in La Bâtarde (The Bastard), it is that we forge our destiny along the way, and life can bring great surprises. It is never too late to start anew. One must simply decide to do so. And echoing the Nobel laureate Anatole France: “To achieve great things, we must not only act but also dream; not only plan but also believe.”
I regret nothing, despite this seeming like the story of a misguided life without a plan. Over the years, I have met incredible people, visited places I never thought I would see, and pursued ideas that have exceeded my imagination. I have neither compromised my spirit nor corrupted my thoughts, though this has brought me many troubles. Slowly, I have realised that, unlike science, life has no exact formulas. Some lessons are learned through mistakes and disappointments. During moments of doubt and mental turmoil, there were always those who reminded me that life still lies ahead. I have seen from the heights and the depths, and still, I often wonder what it is I am meant to see.
Today, I have finally realised I have left behind the years measured in "teens" and entered the inevitable count of "ties." On this, Albert Camus wrote in Le mythe de Sisyphe (The Myth of Sisyphus): “There came a day when a man realised he was thirty years old and, with such a pretext, reaffirmed his youth. However, it was not long before he saw himself in relation to time, and he was horrified, contemplating his worst enemy. Time did not belong to him; he belonged to time. He had fiercely wished for tomorrow, day after day, when the wisest course would have been the opposite: to resist entirely.” This stands in stark contrast to The Marschallin in the opera Der Rosenkavalier (The Knight of the Rose)who would rise at midnight to stop all the clocks. Attempting to do so is futile.
And so, as I reflect on these first thirty years, I can say with certainty that the passage of time, like entropy, is slow—almost imperceptible at times—but unstoppable.
In one of his most famous quotes, Charles Bukowski, in his peculiar way, declares, "I am a series of small victories and large defeats." I am entirely convinced that most of those defeats stem from certain fears. What clarity the man had! Thirty years ago, I took my first breath, sealing my fate. If there is one thing thermodynamics has taught me, it is that life is not a state function; it depends on the trajectory. I now understand that the decisions we make daily, with their irreversible consequences, are a vivid example of the relentless increase of entropy.
I remember many things about my life, most of them trivial. Like waiting with my mother for my brother to come out of kindergarten. It was dull, but her stories and a piece of seasonal fruit made it bearable. I also recall my own two years of kindergarten—those carefree days filled with laughter and play.
Then came six years of primary school, where the pressure to excel began. My brother stood out among his peers, and comparisons loomed. Three years of secondary school, three more of high school, and time offered no respite. Before I knew it, I had completed my engineering degree. And in the blink of an eye, I find myself nearing the end of my doctorate. My parents always expected me to match my brother’s academic performance. I deeply regret not living up to even half of his achievements. I suppose I simply lack his gift. At this juncture, it feels fitting to pause and reflect on the small collection of fears—or errors, as some might call them—that have shaped my path without overthinking them too much.
At 18, had I not feared judgment, I would be fully dedicated to music today. I had the aptitude, the passion, but I could not withstand the reproach of my mother when she questioned how I planned to survive in such a material world. Back then, music was my greatest passion. I spent more than five hours a day practising and just as many studying. Hoping to meet my mother’s expectations, I considered studying sound engineering—but that never happened either. Music remains a vital part of my life, but that dream is now confined to the past. In a youthful impulse, I chose to study mechanical engineering instead.
At 19, had I not been afraid to leave for Russia, I might have been a nuclear engineer today, perhaps with a PhD, though I will never truly know. I vividly recall my first mentor, an esteemed man shaped by the Soviet Union, persuading me to study there. I completed all the paperwork without telling my family. One day, while visiting a friend, he handed me a pristine envelope bearing the Russian government’s golden double-headed eagle crest—what I assume is the admission letter to Moscow’s Institute of Physics and Technology. That day, I chose not to open it. To this day, the envelope remains sealed in a drawer, its contents a mystery.
At 21, had I not feared a deeper connection, I might already have a family of my own. Pride, ego, and a touch of foolishness shattered everything. Or perhaps we simply met at the wrong time. It was an ironic tragedy foretold, one I failed to foresee. For a long time, I searched for peace amidst the storm she left behind, sinking low and nearly drowning on several occasions. I became someone I never imagined, someone I have yet to fully recover from. Still, after a few days on a paradisiacal Mediterranean island, I believe I am on the right path.
At 23, had I not feared waiting, I might be working today at the Institute of Sustainable Technologies in Radom, Poland. In the summer of 2015, I was fortunate to participate in an academic exchange, where I realised the knowledge I had gained during my five years studying engineering at FI-UAEMéx was opening doors for me. The problem? Completing two more years of engineering in Poland while working as a lab technician was not in my plans, so I let the opportunity slip away, even though it promised a bright professional future.
At 25, had I not feared balancing a master’s degree, I might have been the drummer for one of Mexico’s best grindcore bands. I remember the concert vividly when the lead singer of this cult band asked if I would be interested in joining them as their permanent drummer. They were planning a Mexican tour and finalising details for a series of concerts in Europe, the US, and Canada. My last chance to return to music was right there in front of me. I thanked him for the invitation and, though I seriously considered it, I believed stepping aside was for the best. I told him someone else would be better suited for the role.
At 27, had I not feared becoming a department head, I would already have experience outside academia and industry. A sudden offer from a government agency appeared, but my priority was finishing my master’s degree to seamlessly transition into my PhD, which I did. Still, I doubt such an opportunity will come again. Some days, I question whether choosing emotional stability and intellectual challenge over financial prospects was the right decision.
This all reminds me of a passage from Heber Quijano’s La intuición del vacío (The Intuition of Emptiness): “So decide already which path you will take. You are still young enough to choose the right one, one that leads you to the corner where you want to be. Do not end up at Failure Street, corner with Fatigue. I chose that route, so I am telling you now: forget your utopias, the lamp of ideologies. Pragmatism, my friend…”
I now understand what Simone de Beauvoir meant when she said, “Knowing oneself is no guarantee of happiness, but it is on the side of happiness and can give us the courage to fight for it.” And if I have understood Violette Leduc’s idea in La Bâtarde (The Bastard), it is that we forge our destiny along the way, and life can bring great surprises. It is never too late to start anew. One must simply decide to do so. And echoing the Nobel laureate Anatole France: “To achieve great things, we must not only act but also dream; not only plan but also believe.”
I regret nothing, despite this seeming like the story of a misguided life without a plan. Over the years, I have met incredible people, visited places I never thought I would see, and pursued ideas that have exceeded my imagination. I have neither compromised my spirit nor corrupted my thoughts, though this has brought me many troubles. Slowly, I have realised that, unlike science, life has no exact formulas. Some lessons are learned through mistakes and disappointments. During moments of doubt and mental turmoil, there were always those who reminded me that life still lies ahead. I have seen from the heights and the depths, and still, I often wonder what it is I am meant to see.
Today, I have finally realised I have left behind the years measured in "teens" and entered the inevitable count of "ties." On this, Albert Camus wrote in Le mythe de Sisyphe (The Myth of Sisyphus): “There came a day when a man realised he was thirty years old and, with such a pretext, reaffirmed his youth. However, it was not long before he saw himself in relation to time, and he was horrified, contemplating his worst enemy. Time did not belong to him; he belonged to time. He had fiercely wished for tomorrow, day after day, when the wisest course would have been the opposite: to resist entirely.” This stands in stark contrast to The Marschallin in the opera Der Rosenkavalier (The Knight of the Rose)who would rise at midnight to stop all the clocks. Attempting to do so is futile.
And so, as I reflect on these first thirty years, I can say with certainty that the passage of time, like entropy, is slow—almost imperceptible at times—but unstoppable.