How to start my essay about myself and future
Let's talking about how to start my essay about myself and future.
When high school is over, it means the beginning of new goals and dreams. We embark on a stage where we prepare ourselves to be professionals. These are decisions that can not be taken lightly, since our whole life depends on this. We must orient ourselves with the right people and the universities with the best offers to obtain excellent results. Through this essay I will highlight my goals and future plans. The decision of which profession we are going to study is crucial, since our life depends on this. It is important to identify our interests and abilities in order to determine more likely success in the career we perform. If we choose incorrectly we will be sorry because that is what we will dedicate ourselves to. We will have lost time, money and sacrifice that can not be replaced. You also have to be willing and focused to study so as not to get sidetracked on the way. I will do my best and I will keep my good average. Also make my parents feel proud of me and feel that their dedication and dedication had their reward. Serrano 2 Since I was little I have longed to be a nurse to help people who need it. The time to start and fulfill one of my goals is approaching. I feel very excited just thinking that I will become an excellent nurse. Obviously it will be a new experience in my life. I will meet new teachers, friends and the environment. I hope that I will have positive people by my side who can be of great support in my life. People who will serve as guides or model to follow in the labor area imparting their knowledge through their experience. There will be teachers to whom I will submit to their regulations. I will remain in an applied field. In the same way I will always have knowledge of the consequences that will come if I decide to deviate from a didactic atmosphere. In university life there are many temptations in which we must learn to say no. As well as the applied one is the un-applied one. He is only interested in parties and relax. If so, it is not convenient to be with these people. Obviously they will not understand your position, but you must preserve your point of view. According to what was discussed in class structure is organization.
I have been told that I should go straight to the destination, to the final point; follow the thread of a thought without deviating or stopping to see the landscape. I have seen many people who follow these rules and always go from start to finish in a thread of implacable logic. In that the essay and the story are not so different. Because when you want to say something you have to say it, and better if you say it with the least number of words, or without words, that I've also seen people do that. As I said you have to paint the tracks. It's time to present the itinerary; in this case Arreola raises a stranger who wants to board a train because he needs to get to the city of T. the next day. The stranger arrives at the platforms "at the exact time when the train should leave". So far we have a character who wants something but faces an obstacle to achieve it, the requirements of the genre: character and conflict. It is clear why, in his time, Arreola was so criticized: how does it occur to him to move away if he wants a step of manners and cuentiles formulas! It would almost seem that Arreola plays with his readers. Perhaps Arreola's Bestiary should already warn us about the kind of writer we are dealing with here. In short, Arreola, when writing, rambles. It is lost, the subject is left as the child who gets bored in the middle of the game and changes the rules. This, most of the time, Arreola respects him, although with his disinterest in the ways -proved and reproved- we should not be surprised if he changes from one topic to another. The story becomes almost a rehearsed essay. The fencer tells the stranger all these events, inserts a story within the story, or rather multiple stories that relate to the trains and railway wonders of the country. Thus, the train tracks, in their immobility, act as fertile ground in which the story unfolds. Each small section in The Fair serves as an excerpt from the novel of customs, a unit in itself and, at the same time, part of a more complex structure. In the same way, each of the stories told by the guardsman is sustained as an individual story and an irreplaceable part of the story. We do not speak here of impossible events, but of issues that operate under an internal logic, implausible, impractical. Unlike the protagonists of Kafka or Cortázar, the stranger-the reader's reflection-initially questions the reality of the switchman's stories. Even so, little by little he would also seem to understand that the rules in this place are not the same as in his country of origin and his surprise transforms into acceptance. The idea that the story, and the general literature of Arreola, introduces magical realism in Mexico seems wrong to me, an attempt to reduce what is unknown by uniting it with well-grounded genres in literature. The absurd, together with the sensation of estrangement that it awakens, serves here as a method to critically criticize the reality of both the country and the Mexican. But let's go back to «The switchman». We have reached the last stop; prepare for the descent. The question remains unanswered, devoured by a distant whistle that announces the fortune of the stranger: a train is approaching that will take it to its destiny. When the switchman asks him once more about the name of the station, the stranger answers with excitement: «X!». But, yes, he had said many times that T.! The interpretations open to each other; in the anecdotes a number of readings, sometimes only suggested, intersect. Thus, while the old man disappears, while the stranger waits for the train, Arreola puts an end to the story when it is just beginning. The open ending, which most of the time does not allow to guess the conclusions, is a hallmark of this author who made his own life a literary work. Every end point opens a new story. The real words and the articulated ones have, in general, the same value. The prologueists say: "The only way this work can be classified is only as a book of narrations, and its unity lies in the artistic work of writing." Despite what has been said about the heterogeneity of this book, I think we can find another element of unity, in addition to that provided by the prologue. This unit is included in the title of the book: Far fear and other phobias. The author, as other writers have done, could well call The Far Fear and Other Stories. But he does not, he does not write "Far fear and other stories", but Far fear and other phobias. To the holder of this way his book, Rosado implicitly confers us a reading guide. He is telling us that "Far fear" is a phobia and that the other stories included in the book can be read as representations of phobias. The historical setting of the story is, of course, the tragic earthquake of that day and that reminds us also of the earthquake that occurred in our country on September 19, 2017. However, the adventure through which the character will cross is distant of the solidarity that was felt by the population in both earthquakes. What Enrique finds is human misery. A girl under the age of twelve will be your guide in this journey. But the girl is far from innocence. Neither your nerves nor your new fear subside. Only fear, already distant, to loneliness. Far fear, the phobia of loneliness, led Enrique to know human misery. The book begins with a story that the author calls "opaque lights." In this oxymoron there is a new phobia: the human phobia of darkness and the unknown. The characters of this story return, we do not know where, by a narrow and infinite road. In the middle of the road they stop because Elisa urgently needs to stop to go to the bathroom. As he does not return, the other women who go in the car go out to look for her. In this way, they will be led by Elisa, when they find her, through a dark forest towards the unknown. The wind blew insistently. Elisa turned her head: there was no brightness in her eyes. With a cadaverous smile and an increasingly pallid face, he began to penetrate the thickness of what looked like an immense forest. The already little clarity of the sky was lost to the extent that we went into the uncertainty of the vegetation. We were just sure that following Elisa was the only way. From story to story, from phobia to phobia, the narrative world of this book evolves from opaque light to total blindness. In «The dog snot», The people close their eyes, accept the foolishness of the royal couple and form with the tailors to pay for an invisible dress like that worn by kings. Unfortunately, the foolishness has reached us all, Rosado seems to tell us with his ending: "And this little story is told and recounted and never ending". And it is this end that somehow also takes us back to the beginning of this work: "And this story is told and retells of never ending" transcends time and the story itself. Each of the stories could be counted again as a reflection of the reality, ancient and modern, of the human being, although the stories are immersed in the realm of fiction and in a particular internal time. Simply, each one of us would take many pages to comment on everything in the book. I stay with the reading of phobias, especially because Rosado himself I have heard him say so many times that one does not draw their demons in literature, but in it creates more demons. Says Tuscany: I am surprised that readers of masterpieces know how to understand literary characters only in the pages of books and become ordinary minds and judgments when looking at what they call "real life". If a reader does not learn anything about human passions when he reads Chekhov and he hardly seems like a funny storyteller, tons why? If a reader does not know how to undertake any Quixotic adventure or at least respect who does it, tons why? That is to say: is there the possibility that all of us here assembled orbiting around a center or nucleus from which we find ourselves or move away indefinitely? Let's grant the above and now imagine that our orbits are shooting into an uncertain future. End of the first display of the imagination. This struggle culminates in a zacapela between the professor of ethics and the fat vice-rector of the university. In this case, the imaginary existential orbits that would revolve around the author explode with the contact of an other totally alien and contrary to the self. That's where I come from, and that's why in this presentation of Far Fear they hear me talking like that, overflowing and stimulated by the stories. Allow me, please, to present to you that first text that I wrote for this occasion. And it is that, although he does not know it - at least not explicitly - his literary desires are for me "mandates". I inform and clarify: of the generosity with which he has always considered my work, my ideas, my prose. Perhaps that is why he became interested in a study on narcocorrido and reviewed, also, a novel that dares to include the word buttocks in its title. I'll put you in a dumpster until someone arrives and picks you up to incinerate you with the rest of the shit. " Regarding the story that gives title to the book, "Far fear", gives us the story of a 21-year-old man destroyed by a love break. After a sleepless night, he decides to take a walk at six in the morning from "an ordinary September 19", only to end up involved in a story of prostitutes and policemen, robbery and extortion. In fact it is, although only for those anodyne readers who seek repetition ad nauseam of the canon. I do not judge the creators of these farces, who could elaborate other works that were art. The serious thing is that the producers of the mentioned works wanted to convince the spectators - through the persuasive argument - that what they did was art. So, for them, those works are "art" only because they are sustained in a justificatory discourse. But that is the heart of the matter: if these works are only understood and justified thanks to a written discourse, aesthetically they are not enough for themselves. Similarly, art could be the key to the hot water of a sink if we pass it as such through a justificatory speech. This is a very suitable place for the pseudoart. There is an independent aesthetic impact of any extra-artistic justifying discourse, whether we like his works or not. Putting an embryo in a bottle of formaldehyde on a wooden table, next to a plastic doll painted and pierced by nails is a simple presentation, as it could be the red note of a yellowish newspaper. But to add to that piece a pseudo-philosophical discourse that justifies it as "art" is to justify mediocrity, the emptiness of the "artist", the absence of language. It would be better if these "artists" got into philosophers instead of wasting paper or canvas. In a Central American country-I do not remember which one-one of those pseudo-artists was awarded. His "work of art" consisted of a photographic sequence that showed us the process of agony, the gradual and growing suffering, and finally the death of a dog by starvation. For me, art does not have to be moral or moralistic, even if it is one of its many possibilities. I clarify then that my position is not moralistic. What happens is that this photographic sequence or film is not art and did not have to be awarded as such. It may be useful for a biology book or to teach a veterinary student what canine starvation is, but art is not, even art of denunciation. Art, including great literature, is primarily representation with an initial function of aesthetic character. But to pretend that a pseudo-philosophical discourse is what gives the category of art to a work is pure ingenuity or pretensions to persuade to deceive. In any case, they had their assumptions well assimilated and if they came to write notes about their own works, they are not indispensable to approach, feel and enjoy the work. Moreover, we can disagree with these notes or interpretations. The authentic work is located beyond. In this definition, I highlight the prefixes ex and re. Art is unique and irreplaceable; it can be reproduced through industry, but the original work is unrepeatable. Perhaps art had an original intention, but at the time of being perceived by the viewer or reader, it caught another. Instead, making crafts is to take a model or a predetermined design and reproduce or imitate it many times, each with few variants. There is talk of the telenovela industry, although there may be artistic soap operas, like some of those produced by Spanish TV. It also becomes industrial what is sold a lot, be it art or crafts. Returning to the theme of art, as well as craftsmanship can take from it some reasons, art also has the possibility of appropriating a motif or theme craft or folk. Through the work of the form, that motive becomes art. In this case, we talk about influence, but there may be the possibility that the artist has not known directly the model with which his creation is associated. Maybe he met him through another artist or an interpreter, or maybe he came to him by himself. In this case, we talk about coincidences, similar ways of perceiving the world, of related feelings. I think it is preferable to talk about contextuality to group similar works, even if the artists have never met or had no contact with the works of the other nor received direct influence. The previous reflections do not intend to exemplify with concrete cases, because it would occupy a lot of space. The evocation of telenovelas, singers or some composers of musical nationalism was necessary to clarify certain passages, but the objective here is only to abstract, synthesize. The examples can arise from each of the proposed cases. If any example does not fit the cases described, I venture to say that it does not belong to any of the three categories or phenomena described. In many occasions, an exhibitionist desire underlies. I will refer to one in particular, because of its relative and suspicious "prestige". Although he has interesting works in his first stage, Andy Warhol He soon realized his inconstancy and inability to evolve in a line of creative truth, that is, to adapt in truth to art and not to the sole theoretical intentions. Even so, some of these "avant-garde artists" - among them, Dalí - lived on, overcame their childish desire to scandalize the bourgeois. But there is a contradiction: this group has the stamp of individuality of style, although its resources have been poorer than those of Zappa. However, American pop art appropriates popular figures or elements to remove all traces of individuality or subjectivism in the canvas. Pop art wants a closeness to the mass of the image already established by marketing and advertising. This overcrowding leads us to the anonymous. We were already surrounded by these images and there is no treatment in the mentioned versions worthy of being considered artistic. But... That's right: despite transporting the viewers to the anonymity of the images, all those pop "artists" signed their works. The exhibitionism is superimposed. Compare those charlatans with great creators like Dalí himself or with the aforementioned Bacon. In short, we return to the dilemma between representing and presenting; between the personal seal - even if the work is by an unknown author - and plagiarism, paraphrasing or pastiche decontextualized. There is a dark area in the middle of these phenomena: an area that should be further investigated. In the cinema of Krzysztof Kieslowski, fate plays a very important role, as do the effects of decisions made, coincidences and chance. After all, what is a filmmaker but a kind of god that governs the destinies of his characters? When fate plays the joke of presenting the woman who could have been for him if forty years had not prevented him, why not flip the play to get a second chance? According to the director of Rojo, the theme of the film is "what would happen if...?" To continue with the journey through the symbols that make Rojo the best-achieved film of the Three Colors trilogy, it is essential to talk about communication. If we consider the concept of "fraternity" as closeness to the other, we will understand better the concern of Kieslowski for reflecting on human communication in the contemporary world. Another symbol that I do not want to mention is the one that links the three films: the figure of the old woman who tries to put a bottle in a recycling container, but does not reach it. The 26 volumes of his complete works are testimony of a writer who gave unprecedented dimensions, hitherto unsuspected, to the letters of Mexico. While Reyes was never interested in Altamirano, in both the idea is married to the form, and his passion for books extended to all Western culture and was combined with the sustained passion to write. The night awaits me, and is restless. " In 1907, at 18 years old, his path was laid out. The "Alocución", which is his first prose text, was pronounced before the preparatoria and the owners of an eminently positivist institution, which emphasized the exact sciences. It is a reflexive discourse in which the author makes an apology for laughter by laughing at the "scientists" of positivism: "And I, with the forgiveness of serious people who would like to reduce behavior to algebraic formulas, I believe that youth need to laugh. As a child, Don Alfonso knew how to deal with the idea of losing his father, but the tragedy was not his death itself - the memory remains while there is absence - but the way he died. It was not a biological outcome - that is accepted and now - but an accident that gave his death an "air of cosmogonic rudeness". Perhaps in self-defense, Reyes wanted to ignore everything, to flee even from those who were said to be eyewitnesses to the general's death, as he clarifies in his emotional and posthumous statement. February Undoubtedly, the loss of the father was decisive in his temperament and in his work. I think that this phrase is enough to make us appear or to give us a vague idea of the intense pain of the young writer with the loss. In both authors-in Poe and in Reyes-there is a before and after the death of the protective figure. In Reyes, the later will also mark his vision of Mexico and of politics in general. It's something I do not understand very well. The work of Reyes, despite his great erudition, is full of deliberate silences about Mexican politics. But what is the origin of the concern for Reyes in Adolfo? Castañón focused on Reyes and such is the origin of a concern that would lead to a large number of articles, essays and books about this boundless continent. But the most ambitious project was to gather, if not all, at least the most significant texts where the writer from Monterrey took care of Mexico. Let us add that as early as 1932, the reproach was unwarranted, undeserved. Despite feeling exiled in his own land, Reyes never stopped penetrating her. It is unnecessary to deem that such comments are not only from the editor and successive editors of Reyes, but also from the same author of cruel Ifigenia, which makes the work an intense and fruitful dialogue. It is about 235 texts and more than three thousand notes. I met Adolfo when in 1997 he bet on my essay project so that I would be granted a Fonca scholarship. I insisted many times that for the second edition an onomastic index had to be elaborated. I answered immediately: Alfonso Reyes. In effect, thousands and thousands of pages were written by this author and many still remain to be disseminated. The learning never ends and much more could be said about Vision of Mexico, work-spring directed to form and not to inform. Much more could also be said about the final study of Castañón, about the appendices and the thousands of notes, but this is a simple and modest comment that demands to come to an end. It would be impossible to refer to all the companies and educational institutions or to disseminate the culture that created the Spanish exile. For that reason I will only remember those who have a marked literary accent, although this has not been their only accent. Cosío believed that the military would eventually triumph and proposed a humanitarian and disinterested plan: invite five or ten of the most eminent Spaniards whose life in Spain would be impossible for many years if they lost the Republic. These incipient initiatives, these first steps of the Mexican journalist and lawyer will obtain juicy fruits, fruits without precedents, that will enrich more the already rich tree of the Mexican culture. Cosío, then, insisted that the Mexican government should welcome some of the most prestigious men in Spain to attend the University to give courses and lectures. The institution, in turn, awarded scholarships to Mexican students. The exchange, the communication, the "miscegenation" of intellects from both nations thus led to the emergence of new values. The joint work of Mexicans and Spaniards already before the start of the war is a fact that should be underlined. The first conference, offered on June 22, was by Reyes. The idea was that the new institution would not be dedicated to preparing the masses, but the intellectual elite of Mexico. That was the reason why it was decided to restrict it to the field of the humanities. He also had to change his name to one that indicated that now it was a purely Mexican institution, at the service of national interests. The purpose of these Spaniards when creating the magazine and the Ateneo was to foster a spirit of global openness. It was intended to imitate and emulate the Ateneo de Madrid. Francisco Giner de los Ríos served as librarian. I quote a fragment of the original purposes: "Defend the tradition of Spanish culture, divulging it and revealing its true significance." Tighten the links between the exiled Spaniards, as well as defending the Republic and fighting the Franco regime were always pruritus of the Athenaeum. During all the years that it has been running, this center has also been in charge of spreading culture and art through courses and other activities. In the magazines of the moment, the exiles collaborated - often on request - with the Mexicans. The magazine was opened to Spanish immigrants who, according to Rafael Solana, "invaded and displaced Mexican writers from their pages." For him, Taller stopped being what he intended at first and became "a Spanish magazine published in Mexico." In number five a note appears warning that the Editorial Board has been enriched with Spanish names and the fact is justified with the argument that this attitude is part of the fidelity to the culture and, especially, to the living cause of the Hispanic heritage. Little by little the exiles were incorporated into Mexican life and to participate in it not only with collaborations in magazines, but also in education and in the diffusion of culture, by creating schools, publishing houses and bookstores. Mexico owes projects that influenced our education for more than four decades. In Spain, his work as a cultural diffuser was already famous. Shortly before arriving in Mexico, the editor and printer had been in a concentration camp in France. On October 15, 1940, he became a Mexican citizen. Upon his arrival, he meets with intellectuals, businessmen and politicians with the idea of creating a book distributor and thus continue with his work of literary dissemination. Of these publications, the most important was Romance, so it deserves a separate place. Here is the distinctive note of this publication: «to collect in its pages the most significant expressions -for the quality of its thought and sensitivity- of the Hispanic-American cultural movement». Hence the name of the organ: Spanish as one of the most spoken and literaryly most prestigious Romance languages in the world. It is the language and tradition that unites us with Spain and the rest of Latin America, and the exiles never lost sight of the above. Romance was one of the first mid-century magazines in Mexico that had correspondents in Europe. Its pages recorded cultural and artistic events in Paris, Madrid and other cities. It was common to find in its pages conferences organized by some cultural institutions of the Spanish exile, as well as reviews of their activities. This happened in 1941, the year of the death of Romance. In 1939 he had already created his first bookstore: Librería Juárez, located in the center of the city. This bookstore had speakers that brought the music to the gardens of the Alameda and its surroundings. On the upper floor of the southern section, a painting exhibition room was installed, where lectures were offered. More than a simple bookstore, it was a small cultural center. It opened seven days a week, from eight in the morning until the early hours of the morning. The seller, the clerk, the intermediary were suppressed, and people chose the book for the first time and went to the cashier to pay for it. In this decade and the next, new bookstores were founded, taking into account the most important cinemas of the Mexican middle class. In 1964, Emmanuel Carballo was appointed advisor to this editor. Among the most important contributions of this company is the fact that it has made known in Spanish part of the work of Marx and Engels. Local event that should be memorable, bringing the memory to whoever designs these pages of the fire of the Library of Alexandria ». In 1975, when the bookstore had 18 branches in the capital and eleven in the province, the Spanish publisher retired. Guzmán died a year later and Giménez sold the bookstores, which today have nothing to do with the previous ones. Again, a miscegenation of intellects. Finally, and at the risk of being unfair to other cultural companies in Spanish exile, I consider it appropriate to emphasize what a new space meant for the exiles. It meant a different environment, but also a new time and a new way of understanding time. Soon a new generation of refugees or children of refugees appears in the culture of the New World. Through its literature and its cultural enterprises, the Spanish exile has made us understand Mexicans more about the origin and the tradition that, despite who it may be, truly unites us. This deep understanding of the historical and cultural processes between both sides of the ocean allowed us to open ourselves to new currents of universal thought. The city is concrete as an old iron city, according to the melancholic stanza of Rockdrigo. The city is steel, blood and fury, according to Efraín Huerta. The city has given to talk about in the pages of many and has even spoken in the pages of others. In short: the list can be extended according to the spirit and the reading furor of the person who refers. An unshakable rock that tolerates everything. All the silts can grow on that rock. In that order, Mexico City changes and no: it is a cosmopolitan metropolis that receives the small European aristocracy and adventurers from different parts of the world, but is as provincial as the Indians and peasants who come to inhabit their suburbs. By the same token, the city does not lose its mythical essence of being the "navel of the moon": the cosmic center that contains in its interior all of Mexico and its history. With that confessional and reverent tone Vargas Llosa concludes, endorsing the perception that I held during his reading. I share: The journey to fiction is the product not only of a scholarly knowledge but, above all, of passion. However, that is not what I am interested in exposing; rather, I need to write the intuition that woke up Vargas Llosa's book. It is this: every essay should aim to infect the passion experienced by those who write it. But, here I am writing an essay to say that the essay is the expression of a self that is not indifferent but active and explicit. That self is positioned by means of writing, not only before itself and what it writes, but in front of those who write. Such experience re-signifies it, either by delimiting its significance or by adding new symbols to its self. Precisely, the vehicle to express this experience is the essay as ensa-yo. They are simply the cultural portrait of a man who makes himself known to others, tries to know himself from all possible angles. And this is not necessarily true. Because yes: Montaigne disbelieves the truth in terms of totality. What I write is purely an essay of my natural faculties, and in no way of those that with study are acquired; and whoever will find in me ignorance will not make a greater discovery, because neither I answer of my assertions nor am I satisfied with my speeches either. Whoever seeks to look for science here, does not find for it the best way, because in no way do I make a scientific profession. In these essays, I follow my fantasies and with them I do not try to explain things, but only to make myself known.... The inclusion of the denial, the doubt and even the acceptance of the contrary arguments are valid in the essay. Let me explain: in that slim volume of essays, Fadanelli proposes a "vagabond thinking" by means of which "everyone has the possibility of obtaining his own conclusions instead of blindly following the ideas of others". In this way, to get an idea of things, it is enough to "get on the road" to discover our conclusions "in the hiding place of our thinking". Hence, Fadanelli reflects on the following terms: knowing is a wandering but not of the mind but of a whole conscious that from a body It is set in motion to fulfill a journey that is largely unpredictable. Thus, in the essay, the self that speaks to us does so from a knowledge that is not only encyclopedic, but multidirectional and multifaceted. One final flirtation, please: Towards a form of essay speech Multidirectional knowledge? The multidirectionality of knowledge suggests different ways of apprehending reality. Knowledge is constructed not only in terms of encyclopedic scholarship. A human, any man and woman, knows with reason but also with imagination. Not only with the causal logic but also with the polysemantic analogy. And, most of the times, driven by vital-existential motivations. With all of the above, a man or a woman creates what Heriberto Yepez calls a "multifaceted flow of thought activity." Hunting for language in light times. I can not alternate at that table of homage to your father, in which natural professionals of the first level of music participate, when I do not even know how to read the score of a vernacular song. This was, if I do not err, between the years 1954 or 55 and 1957. In the third year I gave up, because I realized that, for my creative aspirations as a composer, it was already too late and I had no other way to go. Writer. But our first real encounter I owe to an unpleasant affair, and that is that a gang of crooks and mediocre students had just occupied the Alumni Society. Among their first initiatives, they had the one to call me to claim that I had organized a cinema-club that worked once a week in a classroom at the school, but it was not about collaborating to strengthen it and get the enjoyment of more classmates. Since I charged a fee that was barely enough to pay the rent for the 16mm tapes and the projector with their technician, I was to give that gang of crooks a percentage of the tickets. This was enough to never bother me anymore, except with a ridiculous revenge of flipping the blackboard back every time I announced a function. It is worth mentioning, as a mexican curious, that I found the president of that Society of Students about three decades later. One of our last meetings happened on March 15, 1957. In this regard, he also makes a reference in the recording of his voice.
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