Writer Benjamín Prado has published a memoir that reviews his literary and personal trajectory while dealing with an incurable neurological disease. The author defines writing as an act of resistance and honesty, although he admits he can still pretend to be better than he really is. The work addresses his daily struggle against an ailment that advances inexorably.
Memory as a backup system for a failing hard drive 📀
Prado turns his writing into a process of dumping personal data. Each chapter functions as a file that preserves memories before the disease erases them. The author does not use technological metaphors, but the mechanism resembles a manual backup: he selects fragments of his life, organizes them, and fixes them on paper. The progression of the neurological disease acts like a virus that corrupts sectors of his memory, forcing him to prioritize what to keep and what to let go.
The trick of pretending you're fine (like the body's airplane mode) ✈️
Prado confesses that he writes to pretend to be better than he is. Basically, the same thing we all do when we say I'm fine while the coffee slips from our hands. The author has perfected the art of putting on a brave face while his nervous system plays tricks on him. If this were a video game, it would be that moment when the character has 1 HP but keeps moving as if nothing is wrong, only without the possibility of a restart.