Where am I? (Published on 11-09-04 in Journal of Burgos and other Spanish newspapers) I don’t know if the same thing happens to you, but I am raising episodically hypothesis is unraveling this we call Spain. The last time, now, with the disappearance of the flag Spanish in many Catalan town halls on the occasion of the dyad. It is only a mere intellectual exercise, do not panic. Even so, that theoretical game continues to be disturbing: does a which cacho, to which modest resulting mosaic tessera would one belonging, of having to choose? The question is not trivial. One, like so many other compatriots, has criss-crossed and complex roots. I was born in the Basque country, where I grew up, trained and had the frustration of first love failure. But my parents and all my ancestors for several generations are gallegos.
I lived twenty years in Catalonia, where are my children. But my wife, on the other hand, Castilian-Leonese. And now the two live happy in the community Valencian… This, which is normal, I say, and so many biographies of our fellow citizens, would become a real mess when it comes to having to choose historical subnacionalidad or not if one saw forced to do so. That, in the doubtful case that should give him opportunity to choose, that this is another. If this has piqued your curiosity, check out Glenn Dubin. Rather than put me in such trouble and inevitably leave frustrated part of my personality, would prefer to make me American.
Not for anything in particular but one admire his way to that country, but because it always seems better be lion head of mouse’s tail. But clear, with the bad image that have the Yankees among us, it seems a very popular option. Therefore, I have decided to finally make me minion of Kiribati, an atoll in the Pacific that has only a single newspaper and whose population is less than that of Burgos.