Back in the 80s I was a punk. That’s why today’s goths just make me laugh. I’ve started back in Madrid when I went to study. Mind you, I was an impressionable 18 years old fresh out of high school and suddenly right in the middle of “La Movida”.
It was a phase, I admit it, since it lasted only a couple of years. I was not angry at anything nor I hated life or my parents for that matter. I thought it was cool and made me popular. It didn’t actually, but it did help with my intellectual development. When lucid, most fellow punkers could recommend highly interesting books to read and since I wasn’t into drugs it served me well all the reading. That’s when I first had the urge to write. I even considered a career in writing but a college professor trashed a short story I handed him and I quit.
Now, 25 years after I began my life as punk, I’ve been reading some of my writings and they are awful. Also I realize that my professor was right in trashing my story. Maybe it was his way of telling me I should have work harder. Instead I quit and I’ve been regretting that decision ever since.
However, I’m not regretting having been a punk and being out of the punkter’s scene. Maybe I’ll write something about it someday.