THE INFINITE LOOP

As a writer, I spend most of my day trying to invent new worlds, fresh dialogue, and twists that no one expects. However, when night falls and silence takes over the house, I seek the opposite: I seek the familiar. There is a strange and beautiful obsession in repetition. There are series that are not just television programs, but shelters of safety. They are stories that, although I know them by heart, I start again as soon as the final season's last credit appears. It is not a lack of options; it is loyalty to a universe that understands me.

The Mastery of Nothingness: Seinfeld and The Simpsons
My obsession begins with the art of going nowhere. Seinfeld is, for me, the ultimate manual of human observation. I have seen it a thousand times, and every time Jerry, George, Elaine, and Kramer sit in Monk’s Diner, I sit with them. It is a series that celebrates everyday pettiness and the neuroses of modern life with surgical precision. The last episode ends and, almost by instinct, I go back to the pilot. Why? Because in a world where everything seems like it has to be "epic," the comedy of nothingness is the most honest relief there is.

The same happens to me with The Simpsons. Springfield is my second hometown. I know its corners, its citizens, and the rhythm of its jokes better than the map of my own neighborhood. Watching Homer, Marge, and the kids is an exercise in nostalgia and relevance at the same time. No matter how many times I’ve seen the same episode, the brilliance of its narrative structure continues to amaze me as an author. They are the perfect canvas of society, and returning to them is like coming home after a long journey through unknown worlds.

The Mirror of Survival: Shameless and El Patrón del Mal
If comedy is my refuge, raw drama is my fascination. Shameless conquered me in an almost violent way. I watched its eleven seasons, finished them, and watched them again from start to finish. It’s not just because of the Gallaghers' dysfunction; it’s because of their resilience. As someone who writes about characters fighting against their own destiny, watching Frank Gallagher—a man who is both a disaster and a philosopher of chaos—is hypnotic. It is a series that makes no apologies, showing you the filth of poverty and the beauty of family loyalty without filters. I could watch it a third time tomorrow, because its characters possess a "truth" rarely found in commercial cinema.

That same attraction to raw truth leads me to El Patrón del Mal. This Colombian series is, perhaps, one of the most powerful character studies in Latin American television. I have watched it multiple times, not out of admiration for the criminal, but for the dissection of power, fear, and the idiosyncrasies of a continent. The interpretation of reality, the weight of consequences, and the narrative of the rise and fall are elements I constantly analyze for my own books. There is a strength in the language and the atmosphere of this production that forces me to return to it, as if each viewing revealed a new shadow in the human soul.

The Current Obsession: The Pitt
And while my "old friends" continue to spin in the projector of my mind, a new obsession has appeared: The Pitt. Getting hooked on a new series while being a repeat offender of the classics is a significant event. It has gripped me with its ability to place me at the center of the conflict, the tension it handles, and how it builds its own ecosystem. It is proof that, even though I live happily in my infinite loops, I am still looking for that spark of novelty that keeps me alert as both a spectator and a creator.

Many wonder why someone would watch the same thing over and over again with an infinite catalog at their disposal. To me, as a writer, the answer is clear: repetition is study. Every time I see George Costanza get into trouble, Pablo Escobar make a fateful decision, or Lip Gallagher try to escape his environment, I am learning about rhythm, empathy, and the human condition.

These series are my constant teachers. They are proof that a well-told story does not die with the first viewing; on the contrary, it grows with you. My television never says goodbye because these stories are already part of my DNA. While I continue writing my trilogy, these television obsessions are the fuel for my nights—the echo of familiar voices reminding me that, at the end of the day, we all seek a good story in which to lose ourselves... and in which to find ourselves again.