In your weakness lies your strength. Rest here and in time you will heal.
Those were the first words that Carlos Marina ever uttered to me as I lay, comatose, on the hospital bed in the stark East Wing of London Hospital. Over the next year he became a frequent visitor to my lonely bedside while I, awake but paralysed, lay motionless, glassy-eyed, gazing at the ceiling and if it would yield all its worldly secrets to me if I stared at it for long enough.
I didnt know this man, and my surprise at his arrival was great, but invisible. I listened to his stories, empathised with his quotes and after some time, regarded him as a friend. He was still a stranger to me as the day he first walked in my room, but I felt that I knew him from the heart. The strangest thing about this friendship was that I had never seen the man I held in such high regard; he had never got close enough to sway into my path of vision as my eyes remained resolutely glued to the ceiling. He o