A FATHER’S DAY FREEDOM

Gambling lingers at the edges of our lives, A strange ritual we pretend to understand.
In Spain, it’s tradition, celebration, faith— Millions wagering on possibility. I never felt its pull.

Until the day I met her— Ninety-four years old, eyes bright with hope, Lottery tickets clutched in weathered hands. How could I refuse?
Weeks passed, forgotten slips of paper. Until today: six euros won! And then another six! Small fortunes demanding celebration.

I chose a quiet bar, blood sausage and red wine, Morcilla de Burgos—a delicacy worth savouring.
The moment I crossed the threshold, I knew: This town keeps no secrets.

I sit alone at the bar, my back a beacon
Drawing glances like moths to flame. I drink. I eat. I read. I exist in my solitude among the crowd.

I share my modest winnings with the owner. “If only there were zeros behind that number,” he laughs.
Then confesses: thirty years betting the same six euros
On the same number each week. “Can’t stop now,” he says, “what if it hits?”
The chains we forge in hope.

Today is San José—Father’s Day.
The celebration I’ve attended with heavy heart
Year after year, being both bridge and wall
For my daughter’s sake.
This year, she isn’t here.
No invitation extended.
Grandparents and father celebrate, just the three of them.
My youngest at a birthday party in the Netherlands.

My brain celebrates this freedom
While my heart tugs at old habits, Feelings broiling beneath the surface.

The cast of characters reveals itself:
Grandmother’s former friend, A friendship shattered by angry men.
The aging catcaller, His partner pretending I’m invisible
While shouting across the room.

The polite woman and her husband, His eyes saying what his mouth dare not.

To escape the crescendo of social electricity,
I watch the women in the kitchen—
Working, noticing everything, missing nothing.
One meets my gaze. I nod.
She sips her coffee, knowing.

It brings me back to La Cambreta:
Where I am still wild, powerful, philosophical, daring.
No limits, a force of nature among men.
Where the only cook who stayed
Had been incarcerated on all continents-
That’s how he learned to cook.

Where paellas were served with a side of swagger, Sex, drugs, and ego thick as the coastal air.

I sip my wine and wonder: When will women finally inherit the earth?

May Harmony find you,

Irena Phaedra

P.S. The fire hasn’t dimmed, only focused.
I’m still that wild force of nature, Just wiser now about when to spread my wings
And when to hold the reins.

The power to obliterate and astonish; Waits patiently for the perfect moment.
I am a Phoenix by choice— Rising from ashes I myself created.
Always aware of my choices, Which doesn’t make them lighter to bear. But I’ve learned the hardest truth: Real honesty begins with oneself.