👀 In Memory of Marco: A Legacy of Generosity and Joy

On the first day I hung out with Marco, my ceramics teacher, I asked him "why are you alone?"—a question he always resented. But that didn't stop us from drinking and bonding the whole afternoon, the first of many such Fridays to follow. After classes, a bunch of us would religiously gather at bars and invariably end up at Marco's house, where his enormous collection of CDs served as the soundtrack of our *desmadre*. I hold that space among my most precious memories, filled with Novohispanic treasures, orchids, and every piece of folk art imaginable.  

Today (or was it tomorrow?) would have been Marco's birthday. He would have prepared one of his lavish meals—the kind that stretched across entire weekends. His kitchen was a treasury of exotic spices, and he, always curious and extravagant, would generously host art students for memorable gatherings. He knew exactly whom to invite, creating the perfect alchemy of food and music that got everyone dancing. 

Generous is the word that best describes el maestro Marco. Though he lived alone, he knew how to surround himself with people who loved him. He understood well, in that deeply tragic and Mexican way, that life is short and precious—and best lived in the company of others.

Among his ever-changing wall décor, Marco kept a wooden calavera hanging, with another one nestled in its belly. When I asked him about not having a spouse that day, he shared the heartbreaking story of losing his wife during childbirth. 

Marco understood deeply the fragile impermanence of life, and he taught me to embrace the present with gratitude and generosity. He died of cancer four years ago, but his memory lives on through the many friends, like me, whose lives were transformed by his magic.

Feliz cumpleaños, Maestro.