I am a total stranger walking in my hometown, Buenos Aires.
Some piece of my internal clock stopped here so many years ago.
Today, it is like I am visiting from the future.
One moment I remember names of streets I did not know I knew.
And then, the same street looks utterly foreign.
Nobody knows me. All familiar faces are gone.
The police officers used to be older than me, and menacing. Today, they look like poor kids in uniform.
Some places greet me, like saying “You are an old friend.”
Some places say: “We don’t remember you.”
A dilapidated building accuses me: “You abandoned me.”
A coffee shop tells me “You were young here.”
A young man walks toward me. He looks vaguely familiar.
He frowns, puzzled. He seems to recognize me, or something in me.
Maybe he thinks I am a foreigner. Perhaps a journalist, or a tourist.
He does not know yet.
He does not know yet, because, in his timeline, I have not become yet.