#icantbreath

A country on the verge of revolution, a nation divided for centuries of systemized racism, a president who attacks his owns citizens, and people who judge from their privilege. Everything is too painful to understand. Everything is too confusing to make sense of it all.

The news flow like stained-blood rivers.
And although it’s hard to know who to believe and what to believe, we have to keep in mind that we can not continue with the system that allows cops to kill people, innocent people because of the colour of their skin.

We cannot allow our society to validate stereotypes. We cannot decide people’s character based on the colour of their skin, nationality, gender, religion, or sexual preference.

All this is happening because we haven’t been listening to the African American communities, injustice has gone too far for too long.
We must change society, and for that, we must change ourselves, the way we think, the way we see people who are different from us. We cannot judge them. I have seen people posting awful remarks against the protestors. Yes, protestors. The looting is just a small part of the problem. And in various cases, I know white supremacists groups are organizing themselves to loot to later blame it on the protestors.

It is devastating to see that even when the world is in chaos people are unwilling to empathize or at least to listen. Sometimes, it seems that there is no hope. And yet, we have young people who are protesting on the streets, and those who are not able to go on the streets are keeping guard sharing important information on the web, making videos, and making information accessible for all.

Maybe our generation’s mission is to guide the young and new. Or perhaps, it is us who should learn from them and unlearn the prejudice and hostility that the different and new bring in us.

I lie on my bed playing with the keyboard, putting words and badly-taken photos together. All cramped in a sort of shapeless puzzle. It’s thrilling, exciting and scary.

Excitement runs through my veins and I am transformed by the words. I come back to my senses and the post is “ready”, I want to publish it but the jitters hold me back. Then a little voice in my head says “Nobody will ever see your posts. Nobody is going to care. So, go on”

“Nobody will ever see your posts. Nobody is going to care,” I mimic the voice. And in an automaton-like movement, I follow its instructions and click publish.

This happened on June, 25th at 9:00 pm. And here we are two years and a half years later. It’s been two years of growing, learning, and loving my limitations. I am not perfect neither as a writer or person, but I certainly have material to entertain you 😉

Thank you for sticking around, for always leaving good vibes. And especially, thank you for not letting me be invisible.

I arrived at my new home, at least my new home for a few days, after all, I live in Tokyo. But will it be forever?. Who knows? but it’s the present, and at this very moment, I’m in Massachusetts. More specifically attending Harvard school for a short course. Only a short course, “nothing special”, but for me, it means the world.

I walk the streets in a state of shock and controlled hysteria. Or at least I think I’m controlling it. The people staring at me might think otherwise 😂

Anyway, I walk around enjoying it all, and I think of you, my dear readers and online friends. I hope you enjoy the pics I chose for you. 

In this city of mine, there are well-known treasures, hidden gems, while other jewels are a mystery.

Who puts them there? Who designs them?

We don’t know. I don’t know.

Or perhaps, we are simply used to seeing beauty everywhere. Or, maybe in this big city of ours, we live between reality and mysticism, perhaps. the beings that exist in the obscure corners of our subconscious become a reality here. 
Or could be that we live in an eternal dream surrounded by tigers, dragons and music nymphs.

I’ve been told that my writing in Spanish is quite dark as if the obscurity that imprisons my soul could not help but present itself as it is. As if the monsters I carefully guard show their real faces in Spanish. 

In my experience, Spanish has dark corners which not even the strongest of lights can penetrate. The words of love and passion threaten to warm the coldest of hearts, and the infamous ones to break the strongest soul. And I love it. I love its sharp dagger, nuances, and complexity. 

But in English, somehow, I write sweetly or so I’ve been told. And although I can’t really find the reason, I think that maybe its logic structure keeps at bay my passionate nature clearing the uncertainty of my words. 

Or maybe, it is not a matter of languages. Perhaps the real reason is just that I just can not hide my true self. No matter how hard I try.