I am 89 years old and this was my life. That was life before.

I don’t really know how to start. They told me to speak, to tell my story, and here I am, seeing what comes out. I’m 89 years old and, curiously, I remember what happened sixty years ago more clearly than what I had for dinner last night. I guess it’s normal.

At this age you remember more than you plan. Memory becomes a refuge.

Childhood between cold and hunger

I was born in 1936, in a small town in Jaén, one of those that almost no longer exist today. My father was a day laborer and my mother washed clothes for other houses. We were five siblings; I was the one in the middle.

From those years I don’t remember games or gifts. I remember the cold and the hunger. They always went together.

The war found me when I was very young, but the post-war period I lived it fully. I left school at the age of nine or ten. He went when he could, when he didn’t have to help on the pitch. I learned to read a little, to write badly and to do basic math. Nothing more.

The absence of a father and a forced decision

My father left when I was eleven. He said he was going to look for work in another city. He never returned.

My mother resisted as long as she could, but there were many of us and it was not enough. One day he sent me to live with an aunt in another town, thinking that there would be more opportunities there. When I arrived, I knew that he had died months before.

He was fourteen years old. I didn’t know anyone. He had no money and no house.

Sleeping in a car and surviving

I found an old abandoned car, without wheels or glass, and I slept there many nights. That winter was hard. He ate what he could. I went from house to house asking if there was work: chopping wood, moving stones, whatever. Sometimes there was nothing.

Yes, I stole bread once. I’m not proud, but I was so hungry that my stomach hurt all day. That kind of hunger is not forgotten. It changes you forever.

The workshop and tireless work

Then I got a job in a workshop. The owner let me sleep there and eat something. He worked from dawn until there was no light. There were no Sundays or rest.

It was hard, but fair. He never hit me, and that, in those times, was already a lot.

The moment something changed

The years passed like this, surviving, without thinking about the future because the future was to arrive alive the next day. Until one day I understood something: if I continued like this, that was going to be my whole life.

It was not a revelation, it was a certainty. I realized that I knew almost nothing and that those who could read and write well had more options.

Reading as an unexpected door

I began to read very slowly. It was difficult for me. I didn’t understand many words. But there was a small library in a nearby town and an older woman who took care of it: Doña Carmen.

She taught me how to use the dictionary, explained words to me, and let me stay longer. One day he gave me an old, pocket dictionary. That book stayed with me for years.

Reading didn’t make me rich, but it opened my mind.

Military Service and Learning the Basics

Then came military service. For me it was not bad. I ate three meals a day, slept in a real bed and learned basic things: writing better, doing math, history and geography.

I left with a certificate of studies. It wasn’t a big deal, but it was something.

Work, family and a simple life

Later I worked in factories, warehouses and shops. Some businesses closed, others did not last. That was life.

I met my wife at a village party. We were together for 62 years. She is no longer there, but that is not erased. We had three children. They never lacked food and went to school. That makes me proud.

I set up a small repair shop. It was never big, but it allowed us to live. There were very hard years, moments in which we almost lost everything, but we kept going.

What for others is little, for me it was a lot

We even had our own apartment, with heating. For someone who had slept in a car with no windows, that was a lot.

I was never rich. I never expected it. But we got ahead.

Looking at grandchildren and understanding the present

Today I look at my grandchildren and I see that they also have it difficult, in a different way, but difficult. They study, they make an effort and even so everything costs. That must be very frustrating.

Nobody promised us anything. We knew we were going to work hard, period. Now things are promised that later do not come.

The only thing I know for sure

I don’t come here to give lessons. I only know one thing: learning, even if it is little and slowly, saved me.

Reading showed me paths I didn’t know existed. It doesn’t guarantee you wealth, but it teaches you how to think. And no one can take that away from you.

Time, memory and still here

At 89 years old, you remember more than you plan. I sit down, look out the window and remember: my wife, my children when they were young, the old car where I slept in the cold.

I don’t know why I told all this. They asked me to. And here I am. Still here. And that’s already a lot.

Final Thoughts

Not all lives have great feats. Many are made of endurance, small breakthroughs, and quiet love. Sometimes, going all the way with memory and honesty is already a real victory.

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