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Hola Mamá,
How are you? I’ve missed you all these years. I love you. I do. You know that, don’t you? I’ve meant to come visit you, but I just can’t show my face back home. I can’t come home a disgrace, so I’m waiting to come home a hero. I can handle being laughed at in London, but I won’t come home until I’m someone you all can be proud of. That day will come, Mamá. I don’t know how long it will take, but It will come. I promise I’ll make everyone proud. I promise I’ll make you proud.
I know I’ve made some bad decisions. God, I know that. But there is no changing the past, so now I must live with my mistakes. I’m only human, Mamá. They just don’t seem to see that. I’m only human and I always have been. I was never a hero. Never a savior. Just a man who loves the sound of a ball hitting the back of a net. A man who loves the smell of grass and sweat and dirt and the roar of the crowd. A man who loves the looks on their faces when we win an impossible game, who lives for the way they jump up and down and hug and scream like there is no greater honour than to support their club. It’s been a long time since I’ve loved anything Mamá. A long time since I heard that sound, saw those faces, heard those songs. It’s been a long time since I’ve been happy.
It’s never too late for redemption, Mamá. You always taught me that. You can never fall so far that it’s impossible to get back up. “No one is beyond redemption, mijo. Mistakes do not define you.” That’s what you said to me. Those are the words that play in my mind every time I step onto the pitch. They have become the mantra of my existence.
I guess what I’m asking, Mamá, is if you’ll wait for me? Will you wait for the day when I can return, or will I come home to an empty house? Will I wander the streets of Madrid alone, a stranger, or will I walk them by your side, as your son? Will I be your lost son, finally returned, or will Israel be your only boy? Will you be proud of me someday, Mamá? Because I am proud to be your son.
-Tu Hijo