Vine aquí a buscar una realidad distinta. Una que me despertara de sueños utópicos y días tan bellos... Una realidad que me hiciera ver lo falso de la mía.
San Francisco Ixhuatán. MUWCI. Ciudad de México. New York. Mumbai. Zanatepec. Toronto. Juchitán. London. Coyoacan. Tlalpan. Frankfurt. Oaxaca. APPO. Naxalites. Indígenas. Zapotecas. Huabes. Mixes. Español. Inglés. Hindi. Zapoteco. Gixha. Idealismo. Post UWC trauma. Soledad. Tristeza. Esperanza. Libertad. Miedo. Autonomía. Familia. Amigos. Alumnos. Nadine. Karoline. Aditi. Angelika. María. Ricardo. Julio. Aneta. Milo. David. Pablo. María Emilia. Moisés. Feño. Emmanuel. Futuro. Presente. ONG´s. Activistas. Sociología. Derecho. Examen. Common Application. SAT 1. 1 de la madrugada. 6 de la mañana. 9 de la noche. Amanecer. Anochecer. Pláticas interminables. Discusiones insoportables. Decisiones pseudo importantes. Relativismo. Universalismo. Contradicción. Confusión. Juventud. Identidad. Pertenencia.
Distintos lugares, personas y momentos que parecen ser incompatibles.
August 28, 2008
July 22, 2008
Three hundred.
For Aditi.
All these lights giggling in the night were saying good bye to me, hoping I could come back soon. All these lights that had shown me the way to be safe while traveling around when I had just turned sixteen, when I was scared of living there and when I did not know if three thousand and a passport would be enough. All these lights that taught me to walk without fear in middle of the night, in middle of a holy place, in middle of hundreds of bodies being cremated. All these lights that invited me to buy litchi ice cream near the beach and share it with the moon, the sea and Theo. All these lights that seemed to be very far away from the villages around the school. All these lights that would turn on and off while Amir Khan dances in a Bollywood movie. All these lights that now hide in corners of the world and ask me to look for them.
I was never so excited of playing hide and seek or seek and seek (never, never hide)
All these lights giggling in the night were saying good bye to me, hoping I could come back soon. All these lights that had shown me the way to be safe while traveling around when I had just turned sixteen, when I was scared of living there and when I did not know if three thousand and a passport would be enough. All these lights that taught me to walk without fear in middle of the night, in middle of a holy place, in middle of hundreds of bodies being cremated. All these lights that invited me to buy litchi ice cream near the beach and share it with the moon, the sea and Theo. All these lights that seemed to be very far away from the villages around the school. All these lights that would turn on and off while Amir Khan dances in a Bollywood movie. All these lights that now hide in corners of the world and ask me to look for them.
I was never so excited of playing hide and seek or seek and seek (never, never hide)
July 1, 2008
¿Yendo, escapando, creciendo o huyendo?
Irme allá porque aquí no me siento lo suficientemente útil. Irme porque la apatía de los amigos me cansa y entristece. Irme porque el tema de conversación suele ser la última borrachera. Irme porque comienzo a cansarme de discutir acerca del porqué debo estudiar Sociología. Irme porque en las noticias aparece un reportaje de cómo hacer barcos de papel. Irme porque hay políticos priístas en las revistas de hospital. Irme porque los taxis inundan con humo mi nariz de pasto y azucenas. Irme porque lo que me enseñó India se caerá a cachitos si no se reafirma. Irme porque en Oaxaca los maestros enseñan tres de nueve meses. Irme porque en Oaxaca los maestros estudiaron hasta la secundaria. Irme porque en Oaxaca se enseña con libros de texto de hace seis años. Irme porque allá no hay Internet, ni teléfono, ni periódicos, ni agua, ni comida. Irme porque sé muy poco. Irme porque hasta que no se rompa el estereotipo no habrá otros que se atrevan a escaparse. Irme porque Oaxaca ahora se siente más lejana que la India. Irme porque es necesario. Irme porque después de todo siempre quise ser maestra de secundaria. Irme porque hablo español y ellos no. Irme porque hablan zapoteco y yo no. Irme porque a los treinta el idealismo juvenil se me habrá escapado de las manos. Irme por un año y nada más. Irme porque de aquí ya hace tiempo que me he ido…
Una historia de amor. Martha de Dueñas
Amado, cuéntame una historia larga de muchas gentes.
No.
Cuéntame una historia corta de ti.
No.
Cuéntame una historia corta de ti.
June 12, 2008
Losing it
New York smells like strawberries growing in middle of a fruits’ garden. This smell gets as big as one can imagine, it invades one’s thoughts and suddenly I am lost. I am really lost. I must take the train number 2 to Flatbush, then the B6 bus and finally I have to walk two streets to my left to find myself in the right place.
While I get lost I think about intellectual challenges and how I am planning to go to my city in one week. Just one week. Hold on Atenea. Who’s idea was to get lost in New York?
While I get lost I think about sending postcards to my friends. One postcard to Mexico, two to India, some to Latin America, few to Europe. I think postcards fly above countries, as birds do. Postcards= Birds. Birds= Friends. Where are my friends? They seem to be lost as well. Lost in Delhi (once I was lost there), lost in Wien, lost in Berlin, lost in Mauritius, lost in Navarra. Lost everywhere.
While I get lost I think about MUWCI and how much it taught me, the teachers, the food, the rocks in my way to school, the snakes in the pool, the way things work there. The moments give the impression of being permanent on me. I do not want to forget and my memories little by little start falling apart.
While I get lost I think about Doris Lessing talking in the Nobel Lecture. African kids reading American short stories. Indian kids learning English from a Mexican. Mexican kids being taught Nahuatl from a Spanish speaker. The world sometimes loses logic. So do I.
While I get lost I feel sorry about forgetting my M and M’s all over the kitchen. I think about Sohail being yelled and Dhruv laughing happily. I remember my sisters and how far they are. Far does not refer to distance.
I am lost and it is not because I missed the train number 2.
While I get lost I think about intellectual challenges and how I am planning to go to my city in one week. Just one week. Hold on Atenea. Who’s idea was to get lost in New York?
While I get lost I think about sending postcards to my friends. One postcard to Mexico, two to India, some to Latin America, few to Europe. I think postcards fly above countries, as birds do. Postcards= Birds. Birds= Friends. Where are my friends? They seem to be lost as well. Lost in Delhi (once I was lost there), lost in Wien, lost in Berlin, lost in Mauritius, lost in Navarra. Lost everywhere.
While I get lost I think about MUWCI and how much it taught me, the teachers, the food, the rocks in my way to school, the snakes in the pool, the way things work there. The moments give the impression of being permanent on me. I do not want to forget and my memories little by little start falling apart.
While I get lost I think about Doris Lessing talking in the Nobel Lecture. African kids reading American short stories. Indian kids learning English from a Mexican. Mexican kids being taught Nahuatl from a Spanish speaker. The world sometimes loses logic. So do I.
While I get lost I feel sorry about forgetting my M and M’s all over the kitchen. I think about Sohail being yelled and Dhruv laughing happily. I remember my sisters and how far they are. Far does not refer to distance.
I am lost and it is not because I missed the train number 2.
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