Thirteenth Page (and last)

 

Cynicism has found shelter here too. Those who already knew this was coming and think themselves wiser for not having hope. All posers to me, to be honest. Believing is not a weakness… The banality of a disgrace. The need to see, post and comment on social media, and think you’re part of the solution by doing it. It must be some sort of celebrity-like effect: My opinion and angle must be posted too, or something like that. Also the criticism on others for what they are not saying. Everything is a matter of style now, even disappointments out of elections results. This is not the end. Venezuela is on its way to write more promising pages and it doesn’t have to me. In fact I can’t feel anything but respect and admiration for those who stay there and don’t give up. I am here, hoping, having faith and praying. It’s the only thing I can do now. Poor habits, poor stuffs! Wine is gone. Monday evening.  No money until next payday,  which is within eleven days. I have to work tomorrow,  and I have a lot to do. See you! You know what? Nothing. I forgot what I wanted to say. The opinion rally has begun. Everyone needs to say something,  Everyone needs to see something from Everyone else. Silence is confused with complicity. Everyone is a judge during these days.  I’m actually enjoying what the people are doing with Chavez statues all over the country. It feels like fresh air touching your face to get a smile from you. Why did they put them in the first place? I mean, I could get if there were something,  anything to hold on to, but there’s nothing, nothing but a split nation, nothing but separated families. This government has to fall…

 

Tuesday night. Time for bed. I’m thinking about my car’s leak. There’s always something going on to be busy besides work. I was going to take my boy to the dentist and I couldn’t.  It was a lose-lose day. Now I have to take care of this, but now will be tomorrow.  I have to get some sleep first. Wednesday morning. There is this thing I find it confusing: it is known that the taxi service is long gone, that we rely on apps for it. There are several options when it comes to pick a ride on these apps: comfort, time, pet friendly,  but no car seats. We are not from here. We have no friends, I asked everyone I know how do we get a ride with an infant, considering that there is a fine for not having the child on a car seat and, yes, nobody knows. An error in this matrix. An edition mistake in this movie. So the child has to stay while I figure out what I’m going to do with the car, because I can’t just go to the avenue with my boy, and pick a taxi to make the day easier. It seems that not having a car is another problem here…

 

There is a bus stop but I have never used it. Trying it didn’t come to my mind because even in circumstances like this one, we have this tendency of trying to beat time, when time is the only beating. Lapsus. Intelligence voids set up like tramps for this sort of feud between think and feel when it comes to act.  So we act wrong and realize it later.

 

The end is close and we will not have any outcome; nor for Venezuela, nor for our immigration living. The end is the routine, right when we become adults, right there, when we realize that we’ll be working until we can’t do it anymore, hoping our kids to be grown up enough, so they don’t have to depend on us. This is a parenthesis in any life, in any life as an immigrant: a suitcase with hope, and a routine to fade away into. Our thoughts become smoke in the air every time we sigh our despair, our sadness. To my people: keep the faith, to all of you: this is not the end. Viva Venezuela Libre!  Now It’s time to come bac to work. I haven’t been called yet about the car. Rats is sounding in my ear, that’s what Maduro and his acolytes are. Faith is sounding now while I finish this chapter,  finish this story.  

 

The night has come. It’s hot. We keep looking at the phone trying to get with the right answer, that the democracy has been restored after so long. A twenty years old Venezuelan doesn’t know what democracy is like, what diversity is like. I feel for them. I grew up in the eighties and, forgive me for what I’m going to state, but in my opinion, of the last fifty years of history,  the eighties were the best. At least in Venezuela.  That’s what my peers want to have back again. That’s why my peers want it back again. In the meantime,  I go back to my phone and keep spending my time looking who is saying what, and what it’s being said of whom! Coffee morning. I haven’t contemplated it for a while, I mean acknowledge it; taking some time to think while the sweet steam perfumes my face. One more Thursday, one more day. I wonder what have we learned, perhaps nothing, just perspective. I think we need to look ourselves into a mirror or words once in a while, at least to see the names and the sentences that floats around when we do it. Someone may need it for a new block chain, or for a new chain of blocks. I’m going to miss you all…