pity searcher, sharing story

A while went on since last time I could put some words on written thoughts. Time has turned faster somehow. Most of the hours I’m supposed to work I’m actually working, maybe that’s why…

A couple of months ago I’ve got some minutes so I could play writer. Well, the ones I’m taking for writing this come from a duty I’m delaying because my boss had to leave and, for now, she’s not behind me watching my screen. The problem, and it actually bothers me, it is this sort of sense of responsibility I cannot just get over, so there’s a voice telling me this should not be longer.

This might be a reason, a reason why some of us won´t focus more on the things we like to; these things we usually dedicate lots of thoughts. I had in my mind a couple of great things to tell, and I just forgot them, completely, I’m just using this time, as started saying, to put some words of written thoughts…

An important politician has escaped from the country, he’s now in Spain and there are these low quality fake news on saying, more or less, that he, from abroad, will claim the presidency of Venezuela as the leader of the coalition we call Oposición. So you can see even the fake news have lost quality, just like the government, which never had but this is different; our media is pretty much replicating arguments very few people believe and now so many just quit being interested. The face of many look like when hearing a bad joke which end is already known; by everyone, because it’s been told too much. I mean, people are not only bored but also tired and offended and those feelings together weighs quite some. In my case for example it’s on my shoulders, I’m always needing to have a seat, like carrying a back pack …

I’m back two days later. This is a process but I’ve found some to say: I still have a car. I say still because it is something nowadays. I know I should sell it but I have this hang on sort of feeling that won’t let me, so I’m leaving my bonuses on it. I know I sound selfish, too much I, me and my and this is not a pity searcher writing, it isn’t, this is more like sharing story writing.

I took the subway yesterday because there were no available buses, which it’s interesting in a city that it’s not entirely covered by the underground transportation. Many people rely on buses; cabs became too expensive, too expensive for someone who’s just going, for example, to do a shift at an everyday job, so, given the circumstances, you could see a lot of people standing, not for, but at; bank entrances, ATM machines, bakery stores and now, bus stops too. This could be why we’re all pretty much used to not being so strict with the timekeeping. We’ve finally become the jokes we once told each other to make fun. Few years ago we said such a behavior belonged to Venezuelan’s way, now it is the consequence of all these measures and responds… El Metro, that´s how we call our subway, was crowded; always, now with many more people to whom a deodorant and a perfume are simply unaffordable; you all get the idea of this: the breathing, the heat, the smelling, the disappointment, perhaps the sadness or maybe some anger but wrongly conveyed; you could notice and also feel it: how the environment and people’s mood actually talk through the expression of their faces, and that’s when the moment stopped…

The moment became memory; at least I would like to with these words, this post. I saw hope, I saw a girl with hope on her face. I didn’t talk to her, I didn’t stare at her either, just felt her that way, so I told myself why not being hopeful too. In the end, the situation won’t get any better with the anger and I’m pretty much tired. I’ll try to be more interesting next time. Thanks!

at least it wasn’t cash…

There’s no cash for everyone and if there is some left, it never last enough due to the prices. Venezuelans can withdraw five thousand bolívares per day, this is, today, the equivalent of twenty cents of a dollar, therefore; in order to get a “whole dollar” in cash, a person must go to the ATM daily at least five days straight, which means it might take a week to get a dollar.  Math aside, almost everything worth more than five thousand bolívares, so we move from this to that with debit cards, yes, debit cards because nobody in a store, not in a small one, actually accepts credit cards; but this is not to imply now. I went to a gas station store to buy this coolant fluid for cars and I’ve found it, which is a joy nowadays, but they were out of POS and I had to pay thirty thousand in cash, meaning six days of bank visiting. I kept walking. Two blocks after I’m watching a car parts shop, got in and they had the POS working but, you can guess, no fluid, so I went on, probably three blocks, asked again: no luck. Finally, A block away from the last sight I´ve found it, again the joy and the lady in the store tells me she must slide the card again because the connection fell down, I said no problem; I was amused, so I paid my shop and came back six or seven blocks to reach the office, got to my work station… about three four hours later I had to transfer some money, and there it’s when I noticed the purchase were charged twice… no further words for it; I was tired enough to walk again those blocks and explain something it wouldn´t be solved the same day, I just accepted because of weariness; I´ve lost that money. I said to myself: at least it wasn’t cash…

People have a lot of passion to tell and so little will to do so, these days at least. I’m feeling tired of such bravery in words at its lack of actions. Everyone who approaches is always suggesting, which sounds more like commanding, what to do or not to. This is no help, not at all; but after one figures out how to deal with, for example the fact I got charged twice for the same purchase, these “sayers”, obviously say: I told you… and perhaps because I’m losing my mind with so much lacking, I told myself again: at least it wasn’t cash…

and the slogan becomes a song…

I was having a little chat with some coworkers. One was saying about English importance: the treaties, the way to get in touch with the world, the advantages and, in general; all those things we’ve been always told but not so many cared. The interesting thing was what the other one said:  why English? That’s a language I won’t be submitted (and it won’t be necessary to write what else he said)

I pictured some scenarios in my head: let’s take this guy and sit him over a chair with power, let’s say he will be named a minister or a director: what kind of management would it be his? The possible answers of this question actually remove you from any doubt. It would be nefarious, just as it is Venezuela nowadays.

We’ve been living the time of free market and globalization; something opposing will hardly reach a common good. The only way a government controlled market may work is by sponsoring perceptions through alms; you see: I set up an insult, something that makes minds feel rather than understand, so perceptions get open through this sort of offensive feeling via, which also make them get eager, eager for an explanation, and the explanation comes, an archetype: there must be someone, someone evil, evil from abroad; and now I get why I’ve been poor, why wealth is a concept for frustration, then I start summarizing: what do I really want, or need? What the government gives: a box with several products so you don’t get hungry, but remember, this is not just to solve hunger, it isn’t. This is a struggle against the enemy, an enemy who imposed English and a wrong concept of wealth. I don´t know what’s wealth anymore. Wealth is what government tells, so you better start paying attention to its words, so its words become a slogan, and the slogan becomes a song…

What about now? Alms have been reduced because Oil price crumbled. Now the song is about production: what such a thing could be if you first told me I wasn´t responsible for who I’ve been? 

Now that I’m aware my ignorance was planted by the enemy… I just wait for my box of food.

Power is power, Cercei said.