Our bodies are not terra nullius 

20 Mar

Originally posted on Kwe Today:

I will not be linking to any media articles for this post. There is enough out there for my readers to find the articles on their own. Be forewarned that what you will read may shock you with how the media is treating this violent death. If it doesn’t shock you, you will understand when an Indigenous woman who dies a violent death, it is “just business as usual.”

People are asking who else wrote about this, who else is talking about this besides the media. Basically, nobody. Typical. In that same breadth, pay attention who stays silent. It scares me.

I am scared. I am angry. I am sad.

Yesterday I received the news of the verdict. “You must have heard by now,” my friend sent me. I didn’t. I just got off the plane. I was on my way to an interview. I checked twitter. Practically silent. I…

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50 Great Novels About Madness

18 Mar Featured Image -- 366

krikli01:

Happy March of Madness, everybody!

Originally posted on Flavorwire:

Not so much into March Madness? Well, perhaps you should look at it another way. March is the perfect month for reading books about madness — it is a transitional time, after all, possessed of both lion and lamb. Plus, you’ll have ample reading time, both outside and inside. The books herein, it should be noted, are those that deal with a kind of literary madness — obsession and absurdity and hallucination — not directly focusing on mental illness proper, whenever the two can be separated. So you won’t find The Bell Jar or One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest or The Yellow Wallpaper here, though those are all excellent reads.

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Have you read Los días terrenales?

17 Mar

Ever since I participated in a specific Daily Post Challenge and used one of my favourite books of them all for it, The Last Report on the Miracles at Little No Horse, I had the little urge of working more with books, as it is part of my educational formation and, obviously, I need to give some use to what I’ve learned during these years of excruciating pain, don’t you think?

And thus, I thought it would be a nice idea to present some Hispanic little gems to the English-speaking public (as I tend to read Latin American literature over other international titles), especially with this specific author that suddenly reminded me of the dark side of life.

José Revueltas.


As you may guess, José Revueltas is a rather unknown author, even in Mexico, possibly because of his status as communist (let’s remember that the only red that our actual government’s tolerating so far is that of blood) and because of the few demand of his books. I happened to meet his work by chance for a school assignment, but I reread a book of his some days ago in search for inspiration for a project I am currently working for. And this rereading made me catch several key factors that I didn’t see in the day I met this text, and thus I decided to talk about it and, hopefully, open the curiosity among my English speaking readers so they can come give a try to this magnificent piece of underrated literature.

The book I am talking about is Los días terrenales, whose literal English title is The Earthly Days.

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What’s Los días terrenales about? Well, there’s not much to tell on this book. In fact, the plot it’s very, very simple: it’s the daily routine of the Mexican communists during the first half of the 20th century. That’s all. I swear to you, this is all. Or better said, it starts with a young Mexican communist, Gregorio Saldívar, helping a group of indigenous people during a fishing night, until they accidentally kill the head of a local group when they mistake him with a crocodile. This triggers some discomfort inside of his party, which will call for him in the next days to reassign him to another task for the communist agenda, which is, as you may guess, hidden and secret from the public, to conceal itself from the regime.

And…well, this is not all, but it’s the actual and straightforward plot of the book. In fact, Los días terrenales distinguishes itself from other Mexican works because of its prose and ambivalent way to connect past with present. You might be reading, for example, how Gregorio’s admiring one of the heads of the indigenous group, El Tuerto Ventura, and then suddenly the prose will jump to the day Ventura lost his eye and narrate it in a rather dark and violent way. It might sound annoying and even unnecessary, but trust me: it is done in a masterful way, almost as if it was the only way possible to give this character his background and humanity, as Revueltas is not a noob in literature. He really knows what the hell he’s doing and he achieves it with his style.

As a matter of fact, I think it is the Revueltas’ prose the pinnacle of this book.

Such simple plot is interwoven with very philosophical prose and a poetic description of the characters’ motivations and political ideas, aside of their emotional struggles with their life and themselves. For example, one of the main characters, Fidel, appears only from two to three chapters in total, and we only see him typewriting coldly and submerged into the communist agenda while the corpse of his baby daughter, Bandera, is abandoned in her cradle, with his wife, Julia, as the sole mourner of the poor child. This is the sole action of those two characters in a scene: writing and mourning. But the prose dives us into their psyche, their memories, how they met each other and how they’re reacting internally to their daughter’s premature death in her very own home.

In fact, if you’re looking for a book that includes lots of dialogue and external action, this book might not be for you. Most of the action occurs inside of the characters, in the way they contemplate and philosophize their life, and in the way the narrator presents to us the real personas behind those modern rebels which, in appearance, might seem too idealistic, cold or even naïve, as all of them have a distinct view of what Communist should be like.

Just in case you don’t believe me, allow me to translate the very first lines of the book so you can have an idea of Revueltas’ apocalyptic prose:

In the beginning, there was Chaos, yet suddenly that excruciating spell shattered into pieces and life came to be. The atrocious human life.

Contrary to what it might seem, Los días terrenales wasn’t actually a darling among the communists back then. In fact, because of its rather harsh criticism towards the ideology of that time (courtesy of Fidel’s rather cold, if not inhuman, left wing tendencies, which include treating his daughter’s death as a sacrifice in favour of the party), it was both unpopular with the right wing leaders and the left wing leaders. Revueltas was a proud red wing activist, but he was also dissatisfied with the local communist party and the way it leaded itself. Go figure how much controversy this book got!

Possibly because of that extremist left wing approach, and because of the author himself, this book is just known by very few people inside of the nation, and obviously he’s almost a ghost outside of Mexico.

However, I truly want this to change, as I think this book is a vanguard if we take into consideration its context and the power of its poetic prose, especially during the ending. In fact, the ending is the whole sum of power that Revueltas’ prose can bring into the reader. I recommend it due to its philosophical approach to the life and Communism, and even more because it is not as long as one would expect it to be.

Sadly, and as I said, I am not sure there is an English translation, so Spanish readings are the only ones available. However, if you happen to find it on English, or in any other language you read as well, trust me, it’s worth the time. It truly opens your mind and your conception of language, politics and even of Communism itself.

A recommended reading.

Thanks a lot for reading!

Have you heard of Carmen Aristegui?

14 Mar

Whoa! Two posts of the same category on a row! I’m on a roll, baby!

Errhem… Anyways, I don’t tend to do this, especially with such neglected category that is my HYHO posts archive, but this time it is a dire thing I must do, as I must inform the people around the world—preferably the ones who can understand English, that is—one big injustice that’s happening as of lately in Mexico.

Surely, some of you might have heard that Mexico’s not precisely the land of reporters and media. And you might have heard correctly. Mexico is more of a reporters’ cemetery than a paradise. The journalists in service of The State abound on radio and on TV, and they do receive more media coverage than the honest ones, which sadly tend to end in pits or hanging on our local bridges, luckily with their head still intact. Honest reporters in Mexico are scarce and most of them are now dead.

Most. But not all.

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Who is Carmen Aristegui, you might ask. Well, she happens to be one of the very few Mexican voices who dare to raise her own to speak against the unfairness that’s slowly killing us in Mexico. She’s a well renowned reporter, with several accolades and the recognition not only by the sane side of the media, but of the Mexican people as well. In fact, when she appeared on the relatively unknown MVS Noticias, boom! Its ratings flew off the charts.

This is Aristegui’s power, and more than power, trust that we Mexicans have on her. It’s no mystery for some that she’s one of my role models and personal heroines.

You might say that I’m exaggerating, that she can’t be the all-around perfect reporter. Possibly; nobody’s perfect, that’s a fact, but so far she hasn’t made a mistake in her reports and hasn’t offended anybody unlike others. And also, if it weren’t because of her, we wouldn’t have discovered the PRI’s brothel management inside their very own party headquarters and the white house scandal, property of the First Lady herself. Thanks to her—and her team, of course, which includes Irving Huerta and Daniel Lizárraga, coordinators in the white house scandal investigation, because they’re the ones doing the dangerous stuff in the coverages, so they also do need an important mention,—we finally got the PRI cornered and with some questions to answer to the public. It was Aristegui the one who kept fighting despite the censorship that the previous big cheese in term, Felipe Calderón, imposed on her, and the one who’s still fighting to shed some light of truth on the Mexicans’ minds.

She’s been fighting for many years against the media censorship and the corruption. And she will keep fighting…despite the new censorship.

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See, thing is that Aristegui was fired yesterday once she announced her partnership with MexicoLeaks, which is, like its inspirational parent, a Mexican WikiLeaks. It is a media partnership, organized by several reporting pages and groups that want to bring out public documents while protecting the identities of the denouncers. Technically, they won’t publish something that hasn’t been verified first, just like WikiLeaks, but it’s mostly for Mexican affairs, unlike the creation of Julian Assange.

Aristegui announced her affiliation, alongside that of her team, to this new portal and her involvement to the running of this project. She included MVS Noticias name too…but for not some shady reason, MVS didn’t want to be in the project. Why? Surely presidential pressure.

MVS Noticias not only denounced Aristegui for “affiliating” them to the project without their permission, but they also did fire her—her and her whole team—for, according to this, “abusing their trust”. Which, I am afraid, it’s Morse for “We were told by the big cheeses to end up with this madness”. In fact, and according to one rumor, Angélica Rivera, the Lady Cheese herself, even called Aristegui to tell her to stop this “child’s game”. How much truth it is, I am not sure. But we all Mexicans do know that her expulsion of MVS Noticias is not because of “trust” issues. Why? Well, the channel was with her the whole time; with the brothel scandal, with the white house scandal… Why the “trust” issue now? Obviously, this has “Government” written all over its face.

And indeed, this why most Mexicans are now pissed off.

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Right after the news spread, people started rallying in front of the channel studios and started protesting in Aristegui’s defense. There’s now a popular hashtag going on—#EnDefensaDeAristegui—and people have showed their support for her everywhere, especially on the Internet, in where many people have started attacking MVS Noticias for this unusual move against her, and unfollowed several of its sites in protest to Aristegui’s dejection.

I am sharing the online petition to make her stay at MVS Noticias, as it now wants to reach 150,000 signatures to make it sound how much love Aristegui has received from the Mexicans.

If you’d like, I invite you to sign in favour of this honest and powerful woman not only for justice, but as a sign that maybe clarity’s finally bathing the people’s minds as of this Two Thousand century…

Who knows? Maybe the TV Media has some trustable microscopic places after all.

 

Thanks for reading!

Have you heard of José Manuel Mireles?

15 Feb

Well, it’s been a long time ever since I wrote an entry for my blog after all the school nightmare, but it’s been literally ages ever since I published another article of my “Have you heard of…?” series… Sounds like out of a Star Wars shtick, but that’s how the life rolls, baby.

Anyways, I expect that most of you were expecting something gushy or philosophical for this St. Valentine’s Day, or even one of those snarky semi sour rants that have become quite common too as of the wake of pessimism in this new century. Well, even though I have those of spare, I decided to go back to this once-common section of my blog and make something a bit more special for this St. Guy-who-got-beheaded-by-the-Roman-Empire’s Day.
Let’s talk about José Manuel Mireles, shall we?

Jose Manuel Mireles, jefe de las autodefensas de MIchoacan
Most of you might remember a previous post of mine in where I spoke of the Mexican Autodefensa movements that occurred mostly on the state of Michoacán. I even shared a link of a video about Dr. Mireles’ manipulaed commentaries in that very article, but I never delved into his persona and participation on the Auto Defensa movements. And I feel as if I sinned, as he was quite a leading figure of the whole events.

But now, in this St. Marry-soldiers-in-the-dark-a-lot’s Day, I decided to express love by raising awareness on this man. So yeah, I will celebrate this day by giving more media love to a man who was the big thing last year, and that today’s barely touched upon for many reasons.

But let’s talk about him first.

Jose Manuel Mireles, jefe de las autodefensas de MIchoacan
José Manuel Mireles is a michoacano doctor who just happened to get tired of the constant abuses done by the local narco terrorists in Michoacán, who happen to have an interesting name in here: Los caballeros templarios. Translated, The Knights Templars.

That’s right, folks. We’re talking about actual “Templars”. Yes. Kinda like the Assassin’s Creed templars. Go figure. Move along, kids. Too much Internet for today.

Not minding the lack of subtleness of their heinous crimes, these guys spread the terror on Michoacán, until finally the local guys got tired of their madness and decided to do something about it, as I explained it in my last article. José Manuel Mireles leaded one of the several groups, that did gain some terrain after a good while of battle, thus proving the actual corruption and incompetence inside the local police squads, and when the government saw that he was doing quite well his job, well, they gave him what the Mexican government’s good at giving to innocent civilians who’re actually doing their job…

A good time of prison!

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I told myself I wouldn’t turn this entry into an Assassin’s Creed running gag thing, but it’s unavoidable…! Seriously! Templars! What the hell!

And so, Dr. Mireles has been on jail ever since last year and nothing new of his has been touched as of February 2015. However, I remembered him during one of my many random Internet treks, and I decided to write about him, just to give some actual love in this St. I-am-most-possibly-a-myth’s Day, and not fall into those two obnoxious categories that happen on this day: that one of the corny and hopelessly in love romantic-o-maniac, or that one of the sour and snarky single person I am.

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Somebody…stop me…all the Assassin’s Creed references…are killing me…

I tend to be this last one, but I decided to make something productive in this day and thus spread the word of Dr. Mireles’ heroic deeds and actual initiative to solve his hometown’s problems. It is a Mexican quality that’s becoming rare nowdays; or better said, that’s being suppressed mostly because of the danger that our local government represents.

Usually, as in all the HYHO entries of this merry blog, I add a link that takes to a website that gathers signatures to help this certain activist or initiative. But because I was late to the party, and because it is obvious that the Mexican government will not just listen, I decided to simply limit myself to spreading the word and add this certain link that contains Mr. Mireles’ cell address, just in case if you want to send him a letter to cheer him up a bit.

Mind you, it is in Spanish. However, the address is recognizable, so don’t worry about not knowing that to do.

I hope I can write him too, as did the blogger in the link; I might not tell something significant or transcendental, but I sure would love to give this man some kind of brohug, so he can rest assured that most Mexicans, even though in hiding, are trying to do something for this country he sure loves a lot.

And so it is.
Happy St. Excuse-to-buy-chocolate’s Day!

Thanks for reading!

… …

… … …

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…Alright, one last one for today. Happy St. Valentine’s Day, folks!

All the images redirect to their source pages.

French imperialism’z brutal colonial rule

17 Jan

krikli01:

A very interesting article about imperialism; I recommend it, at least to understand a brief chronology of North African struggles under colonial rule.

Originally posted on Moorbey'z Blog:

By John Catalinotto

Algiers, 1960

On Jan. 11, the French imperialist bourgeoisie mobilized and manipulated a massive demonstration in all the country’s major cities under hypocritical slogans extolling Western civilization and alleged “freedom of speech.” Their goal — which they share with U.S. and European Union imperialism — is a reactionary modern crusade against colonial peoples, mostly Muslims, in the guise of a “war on terror.”

One piece of French history that clashes with this ruling-class argument concerns the massacre of Oct. 17, 1961. If you don’t know about this massacre, it is because the imperialist defenders of “French civilization” have made every effort to keep it secret.

Between 1954 and 1962, French imperialism waged a bitter colonial war to hang on to its North African colony of Algeria. As is often the case with peoples of an imperial colony, many Algerian immigrants and their descendants lived in Paris in October 1961…

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The Daily Post Challenge: “Connect the Dots”

15 Jan

In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “Connect the Dots.”

This post is part of the Daily Post Challenge I tend to participate in, and this time the challenge was about taking the closest book to you and developing a full post with the third sentence of page 82.

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The book I found was The Last Report of the Miracles at Little No Horse from Louise Erdrich (a book I recommend a lot, by the way, and one of my favourites), and this was the sentence:

She would fire up a blaze to heat stones for a sweat and to purify herself

Somehow, a fitting quote during a time like this. Who wouldn’t want to relax and purify oneself after so many struggles and hatred and violence of these days…? Who wouldn’t want to set up a little blaze and take a time for oneself and pretend that there’s actual harmony and peace on the world…? I’ve never been in a spa myself, or any of those hot rooms for relaxation (Jacuzzi doesn’t count!), but I’ve been always fascinated by the mesmerizing power of nature to tranquilize our senses and return us the humanity we lost in, curiously, our human creations, like weapons, war, guns…in where fire becomes quite a deadly protagonist.

The book, which is about a woman taking the identity of a priest who travels to an Indian reservation to convert the local Ojibwe, kinda makes it its point. Kinda. Because the woman ends up learning lots of fascinating Indian philosophy and fitting it with the Catholic dogma she preaches in disguise. And this quote itself captivated me by that very reason: how nature tends to be our actual answer for everything and our actual solution for problems, in comparison to the handmade stuff—Church, machines, pills…—and the artificial things.

This sentence comprises so much with so few words, and would fit in any kind of context thanks to that, which is something I’ve liked a lot in Erdrich’s writing. But in this time, I liked it a lot because of the naturalistic interpretation I found on it when I read it out of its context and my actual longing of relaxation…of forgetting…of getting away from all the violence that’s lashing out the world and leaving irreparable wounds…

And fire… Fire! I’ve always loved fire. But not any kind of fire. A sacred fire. Not the one used to set blaze in the buildings or to burn down the houses of innocent families in the brink of war. No. An actual fire. An actual purifying fire. Fire these days has become a terrific element, most usually related to war and destruction, whereas it could mean purity and burning passion as well…

Ah, fire… What if we could turn again fire a sacred element that shouldn’t be used lightly, and that should be revered as a cleansing energy, instead of an ideal weapon to make your foes surrender…? Ah, those good days of the cavemen, in the Age of Wonder, when fire wasn’t a weapon, but the beginning of a new era. A tool for humanity.

I know the context of this sentence is MUCH more different than what I am talking about. But let’s face it: who wouldn’t want to pretend, at least for once, we’re not in a mad, mad world, rather in a most relaxing spa, dozing off, just to open your eyes and realize…

…everything was just an awful nightmare caused by fire…?

And this is my post for the Challenge. Hope you liked it!

Thanks a lot for reading!

The Daily Post Challenge: Getting Seasonal

20 Dec

This is the new The Daily Post entry for its new challenge, Getting Seasonal, about how has your perception towards Christmas changed. Here’s my entry, so I hope you like it!

6 year old’s diary:

Goodness! I love Christmas so much! My family will come, we’ll eat together, and have a fun night, woohoo! I love this year! Everybody’s here and we’ll be dancing and singing together! It’s gifts time! We’ll all receive gifts! We’ll all have new toys! Woohoo! Christmas is the best time of the year to receive free stuff…!

          Ah? Who’s Jesus?

12 year old’s diary:

Alright! It’s that time of the year already! I am so happy. People will come and we’ll all have a good night. Hmm… They no longer want to play video games. But that’s OK! I mean, that’s for kiddies. We’re all grown up, right?

          But I wish they could’ve bought me better gifts… So mean of them! Can’t they see the TV and how the perfect Christmas is that one in where it snows and you receive toys? Have you guys watched TV lately…? Grr…

14 year old’s diary:

They’re here already, but why are they all watching TV? Why is nobody talking…? Oh well, at least that show’s funny, and we’re catching up with each other at dinner. It’s good to be together; I still can’t believe that Santa Claus doesn’t exist, but Christmas is the best gift ever for everybody: it’s the time of the year the whole world is together and better! And besides, I’ll receive gifts from my relatives, so it’s all OK. In fact, if you receive gifts, it means that you were nice, and this season is all about being nice. I can say that I was nice, because being nice is that… Hmm… What is it…?

          Oh my, I won’t receive gifts… I guess it wasn’t really about gifts, now that I see that they’re barely here… Now that I see that, maybe, what made gifts fun is that I had people to share them with…

          Oh my, Jesus’ birthday was today… I am so ashamed… I gave him no toys. And I cried for nothing… I was so selfish… But I thought that I was being good as I never swore or hit people, as TV said… My…

18 year old’s diary:

Most of them won’t come, as always, as it has been ever since a long while.

I really can’t watch the TV any longer, it’s tiring and nothing happens. I am tired that they just dedicate the programming to sell toys and stuff no one really needs, and I am even more tired because they keep using the same moral of “gifts don’t really matter”, and next time they show a commercial of an expensive toy! God dang it, people, make up your mind. To whom do you swear fealty…?

I wish the ones that came could speak more and play a bit more a video game, I don’t know… It’s really disheartening to turn on the TV and watch all…that. I wish they could speak and let me know that we’re still together—that the world is better, and it is not crumbling as I fear…

          Is somebody here?

20 year old’s diary:

Why are we still waiting? Nobody’s coming. Just turn on the TV and watch anything you want already. It’ll say the same: wars, hunger, pests, killings, deaths. Deaths. Deaths. How nobody truly cares about Christmas with all those killings—how it is just another day, a special day for shopping, because no one truly cares it is a supposed day to be thankful and loving to the world. And then another commercial. Another insufferable insistence that Santa Claus exists and that you gotta buy something immediately so your kid won’t lose its childhood… Why, dammit, do you turn its childhood into something that must be bought? Why can’t you teach him that the Christmas you know it’s fake, that it’s supposed to be a Christian holiday that fell in the hands of bigger and more powerful hands that turned it into a season to show love instead of teaching how to love? Why can’t you see that you’re just a buyer? Why can’t you…?

          Ok, Ok. I am eating. Sorry…

22 year old’s diary:

It’s this time again. I suppose I should be happy: there’s no such thing as a Santa Claus that will reward good children and treat them like puppies in need of a treat, and thus this world isn’t entirely ruled by corporative egomaniacs. The fact that no such marketing exchange between the supernatural and the children exists gives me the hope that the world, although not ruled by moral, isn’t ruled by loonies either. So we’re kinda safe, I guess.

Yet there’s no one—not even the memory of Jesus or anything that involves the memory’s essence in this season of the year—that can remind them that the greatest gift is not in a store; it’s not even announced with honesty on TV, no matter how many times they repeat it like stuttering old men. It’s a gift they don’t even believe in, because it is neither sold nor has a price.

          It’s the gift of not humanity. And the world needs it a lot.

          Oh well… Maybe they won’t be the model of Christmas, but I’ll try to be the best in this season. I won’t do much if I keep complaining, will I? And besides, even though we’ll all be alone in this dinner, I still can do something to draw a smile around, so that way I won’t become a useless Grinch…

          Even though the Grinch got that catchy theme song I wish I could have, heh.

Aaaaand this is how my perception changed in undersanding and celebrating Christmas.

Thanks for reading!

Pop Culture

28 Nov

This is a rather experimental post, trying to be far more narrative-poetic than my usual opinion posts so I could add more spice to this blog. It’s just a feeling I had recently, so it’s not a big thing. Still, hope you like it! Because I think that, if you can know the feeling of a situation, you’ll understand more its context—even more than what the actual history books tell you! So yeah… It’s quite an experimental post, hehehe.

https://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/0/0d/Manifesto43.jpg

Click on this photo so you can read more about the 43 missing students from Ayotzinapa in Wikipedia.

I’ve stepped in this school so many times. What I felt so hollow and dry now was flooded with paper, hanging softly from the windows and the bars. I saw many faces. I saw many names. I saw many insults against the Mexican president. Yet, I walked amongst these hurricanes of dead trees and I felt the melancholy of the printed eyes pierce my flesh, in route to my class…

“Where are they?”. “The government did it!”. “Quit, Peña Nieto!”. “They snatched them away living, and living we want them back…!”.

I felt so tiny. Tiny. Ant-sized. I remembered the day they made the pronunciation against the president some days ago and how lively the students were creating the flyers and decorating the theater area to create a gigantic “43”, each candle symbolizing a missing student, so anybody from the sky—the UFOs, the airplanes, God, perhaps…?—could see and understand the sorrow that the Mexican students are dwelling with right now. Only maybe the people will understand why it rains: even the sky is crying right now for all the tragedies that’s happening in the sky below, that’s supposed to be a heaven for humans.

I felt so, so tiny… So lost… I knew I was walking towards a class, yet the flying papers, the gray faces, the exclamation marks… Everything, mixed with the recent memories of the president’s wife’s house scandal and the government’s cheek and hypocritical declarations that they’re also mourning the disappearance of the missing students… Such mix turned my stomach into a cauldron, brewing anger and an interesting feeling of smallness. I, who had the boiling breakfast bubbling in my gut, could do nothing to end up this madness… I felt so tiny in front of the small pieces of paper waving in front of me. I felt so damn angry…and at the same time so powerless… How can the madness end, if surely the only way out of this nightmare, was with more sleepless nights of anger and hysteria? How…?

I had to focus a lot on the music class to forget the size of my power. The peace I felt was artificial—unnatural, as the calm that comes from anesthesia—but it was enough. The papers didn’t bother me this much and I was able to think positively for the rest of the day, with the assurance that this will be over, surely…

But this was a short-lived feeling of relaxation, for when I turned on the laptop, the name Ferguson—FERGUSON, in caps—popped into the screen. And only this time I knew the world was burning, slowly and painfully. Only this time I saw that the world is truly flying away, burning, losing itself into the universe, prepared to crash itself into a bigger wall of nightmares. I read the news. I read the anger. I read the poison that was boiling so much more people from the north. And even though the fabulous world of the Internet offered me a video to understand the judicial side of the Ferguson incident, I declined. I didn’t want to know the hypocritical side, for I knew the social side, which is, frankly, far more important and powerful than the former.

Only then I felt so much smaller, as I used to blame the United States for all of our problems, and then I realized that we’re all just victims from the same monster. Only then I saw that we’re not small, but rather little water drops, as those hidden inside of popcorn, slowly heating ourselves in order to explode and, finally, occupy the space we deserved from the beginning and without the lies from the Big Ones. Only then I realized that a new culture came, and it was the pop culture, not to be confused with the “popular culture” term, but rather with the new mindset that the world’s getting now that we’re finally meeting the real cause of our problems. A culture that has said “Enough!” and it’s ready to burst and destroy all the injustices of which we’re all victims with just one loud “Pop!” explosion…

I just now wonder how much heat we need so we can finally go “POP!”, now that they’ve discovered that they stole 30 more students from Colula

When will the pop come…

Declaraciones-de-intelectuales-de-la-izquierda-del-caso-Ayotzinapa

Thanks a bunch for reading!

Daily Prompt: Salad Days

18 Nov

This is is a post for the Daily Prompt challenge, now called “Salad Days“, in where you gotta write about what you would call the “good days” of your life. I wrote mine, so there you go. Hope you like it!

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There were many moments in where I felt fully alive and well… Most of them, though, were pre-teenager for obvious reasons, but I won’t fall in all that babbling again…

There was a time in my childhood, which I can’t remember, in where I would happily wake up to play video games or enjoy my discovery of Internet. They were pleasant days, but there’s a specific day that marked what could be the beginning of a wistfulness that I wanted to keep living forever.

It was a Christmas. I received new N64 games—Hey You, Pikachu!, is a vital mention—and I felt cozy at my home, surrounded by good smells, speaking English for the first time of my life, feeling protected, as in a cave in where pleasures abound and in where I can finally feel fully protected. My mother’s not in this memory scene I am describing right now, but I know she’s near—that everybody’s near. I know that my family is near, that no one’s far, that I just need to raise my voice to be heard and stop being alone. My needs will be covered easily, and all that remains is to speak with Pikachu…

I remember a lot the Christmas—the family Christmas, with food, fun, games, enjoyment, laughter… There’s a Christmas I cherish a lot, in which all the cousins finally gathered together and enjoyed a special day as a family, no longer as strangers. Christmas is such a special day for me, because it was the only time I had a truce with life.

I cherish those good days, especially in one in where I consciously told myself “I don’t ever want to grow up. I am so happy this way. I hope I never stop being 8 years old”. That’s where I know the best memories of me were.

And now that my family’s all torn apart, that there’s a war waging in my country, that I am meeting the dark side of the world, that I can be a difficult person as well…

Now that everything’s upside down, I remember how much I cherished my salad days.

Thanks for reading!

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