I’ve always had many people asking me
why I was always sleepy in class,
why I could barely keep my eyes open,
and tell me,
“Just watch the highlights tomorrow.”

But how could I?

When there was another game to watch,
another moment I couldn’t wait until morning to see.

I still remember those evenings after school  watching Messi skill videos on YouTube,
one compilation after another,
rewinding the same dribbles,
the free kicks,
And the same goals,
as if somehow the next watch
would make them even more impossible.

I saw him defy gravity,
and for once, physics fascinated me.
I watched him squeeze through spaces
that didn’t seem to exist,
make defenders look helpless,
and turn something so complicated
into something that looked effortless.

For years, we watched him do the impossible
so often that somehow,
the impossible became normal.

And somewhere along the way,
a little boy from Rosario
became Lionel Messi,
a name that became part of our childhood
before we were old enough to realise
we were watching history happen.

He taught me that
you don’t have to be big to achieve greatness.
That you can do what you love,
keep getting better without needing applause,
work in silence and let your work speak for you.
That you can become the best in the world
and still carry yourself with humility.

He taught me to see football differently,
to appreciate the pass before the goal,
the movement nobody noticed,
the tiny details that made the beautiful look almost ordinary.

And then came the World Cup final in 2022.

A night we had waited for,
talked about, dreamed about for years.
A night that felt bigger than football,
because it carried so many years with it.

Watched every second of it,
the nerves, the chaos, the celebrations,
the moments when it felt like it might slip away,
and finally, the moment it didn’t.

When it was over,
it felt like more than Argentina winning.
It felt like a story we’d been following
for years had finally reached its ending.

And maybe that’s what hurts now.
Because saying goodbye to Messi,
feels a little like saying goodbye
to a part of the childhood that grew up watching him.

Its knowing that Messi’s time
with Argentina has come to an end,
but knowing that there will be a last time
for everything.

The last time we stayed up all night for him.
The last time we searched for his highlights.
The last time we watched him walk onto that pitch
and wonder what he’s going to do this time.
The last time a Messi goal
becomes the only thing anyone talks about the next morning.

And years from now,
we’ll still know the goals by heart,
still remember the numbers,
still argue over the moments,
still replay the magic,
still remember exactly how it felt
to watch him do things
we thought only existed in dreams.

But perhaps the hardest part
will be remembering how ordinary it once felt
to have another Messi game tomorrow.
Because there was always another one.

Until suddenly, there wasn‘t.

And one day, we’ll look back and realise
we didn’t just watch Messi.
We lived through his era.