By Bitcoin Aldizkaria - Duela 6 hilabete - Irakurketa Denbora: 4 minutu
Sinterklaas: sinesmenaz, txokolatezko txanponaz eta oraindik lotan dauden helduak
Well, well, well. It’s that time of year again in the Netherlands. Not just to celebrate the second Bitcoin Conference in Amsterdam, but also the arrival by steamboat of our red caped Saint, the Holy Man himself, patron of boats, sailors, and little children: Sinterklaas. Yes, he’s the bringer of gifts in the shoes of Dutch kids and swaps a carrot or drawing for a gold ribboned package of your deepest desire. He’s the original boss, Santa's precursor (too bad Murica), and my red pill incarnate.
Lehen hezkuntzan, oraindik «sinesten» nuenean, Micky izan zen, klaseko ume bat, nire burbuila magikoa lehertu zuena. Mutil barregarria zen eta denei trikimailuak egiten zizkion. Adibidez, galdetuko dizu kokea edo spritea, eta edozein dela ere zure erantzuna, zure eskumuturra hain gaizki bihurrituko luke, 'fizz'-a biziko zenuke. Berarekin kanikak jolastea ere ideia txarra izan zen, jolastean arauak aldatuko baitziren (bere alde), gero nire ale polit guztiak galduz. Noski, Micky izan zen azpian nengoen sorginkeria magikoa hautsi zuena. Ez nintzen bakarra izan behar, ziurrenik gorria sartu baitzuen klase osoa, baina egun hartan ulertu nuen: Sinterklaas iruzur bat zen. Eta nire psikositik jaitsi nintzen, non katoliko zahar bizardun batek opariak nire tximiniatik bultzatzen zituen gauez zaldiz gure bi isurialdeko teilatuak ibiltzen zituen bitartean.
Egia esan, ez nuen ondo hartu. Gurasoekin mutu eta etsita sentitu nintzen. Nola esan zidaten gezurra? Zer egin nuen? Mutil polita nintzela uste nuen? Dena den, ez nien esan Sinterklaas-en fededun ez nintzela gehiago, ez nituen lotsatu nahi. Gainera, polita zen informazio asimetriaren eskuinaldean egotea, beraz, isildu egin nintzen. Akats handia. Urte hartan nire gurasoek Sinterklaas bat alokatu zuten eta gure atean joka etorri ziren laguntzaileak. Sartu eta jolastu behar izan nituen. Beranduegi konfesatzeko. Hamarkada batzuk geroago nire gurasoei entzun behar diet esaten zein zoragarria zen urte hartan oraindik «sinetsi» nuena. Hain lotsagarria! Santu madarikatua.
Baina zein erreala izan zen, nola sinetsi nuen zentzugabekeria, eta zein mingarria azken agerpena. A zer tranpa! Anomalien inguruan nire tripa-sentimenduetan konfiantza izan beharko nuke, beraz, Mickyk ez ninduke hain lotsatu behar. Hasperen.
Fortunately, I have made peace again with my Holy Man. In this demythologized world, I’m grateful the pagan tradition has survived and that every autumn the old bearded red fellow still rides the roofs and cobblestone streets, chucking candy at the youngsters. He’s a iruzurgilea god, a benevolent humbug, who explains his scheme and shows the secret, to teach you a valuable lesson for adulthood with its many fake constructs grownups blindly believe. Unfortunately, in adult land, there’s nobody to wake you up. And so we keep on dreaming. Yes, Sinterklaas was very nice indeed, wasn’t he? He’s the tutorial. A free introductory course into the mechanisms of belief, deceit, and psychosis that deceive the eyes. Make no mistake, for that's Sinterklaas' greatest gift.
Gutxi desagertu!
But most grownups have forgotten his teachings. So certain are they. Hear they nothing what he says? With coco futures soaring to all time highs, even the Sinterklaas’ chocolate coins have become a better balio-denda compared to the euro, pound, or dollar. And yet we keep on believing; patting ourselves on the back for not trusting in myth, fairytale, or Saint, whilst blindly confiding in the world’s greatest paper fantasy. But, you must feel the scam around you. Here, between you, me, the chocolate coin, the peso, everywhere. Yes...even between the land and the steamboat.
Hence the Sinterklaas experience is not just a local tradition but a metaphor for the global initiation into Bitcoin. All fiat freaks are still children in that sense. But without a trickster guardian, who's going to teach them? How will they wake up? When will they realize it is spawned out of thin air? Painful it is to admit one has been fooled. But the most agonizing thing is to be orphaned from the system. Especially when you have never been rugged, this abandonment can be too much to handle, persuading people to remain asleep.
This is why I celebrate my Saint. And I feel sorrow for the ones who have forgotten, where he's been erased from existence. But my trickster survived. He rugged me early, so I could see the rug later. And find my way...to the real.
Beraz, urrian, egin gizonari plazer bat Amsterdamera hegan egiten ari zarenean. Fiat zalea zaren ala ez, poltsaren euskarria, edo zure arpillera zakua dagoeneko satsez beteta duzun ala ez; zoaz txokolatezko igel batzuk, Sinterklaas irudi gozo bat edo azenario-tarta zaporeko piperrauts batzuk erostera Albert Heijn supermerkatuan. Esportatu bere txokolatezko txanponak mundu osora eta puztu zure lagun fiat gozoak azukrea beren hortz zuri garbien esmaltea usteltzen duen arte. Gores ezazu Gizona. Ohoratu Santua, oparien, trikimailuen eta rugpullen zaindaria. Itzuli nahi du.
Berarengan sinesten dut. Eta eskertzen dut goiz hasi izana.
Jatorrizko iturria: Bitcoin Aldizkaria