Second page V

 

A warm afternoon is going by from where I stand. The break room is quiet. I should try this talking feature. Not now, of course, but thus I can see if my pronunciation in English is going somewhat acceptable.  Perhaps that’s why I haven’t got a better a job. What is a better job, anyway? A higher pay? I often compare what I think I deserve to earn with the kind of jobs that actually pay it so, and realize why anyone should give me a chance. I mean, I know I have potential  but how can anyone tell? Actually, how do you prove nowadays such skills?  Scrolling. Scrolling life. Time goes by as I blink. An eight millimeters view, sight. We see the stripes as we live, as we breathe, an interruption that is constantly conquering our focus. Like a light bulb about to go down. Flashes. Flashes of wisdom.  We blink. It’s blurry. We blink again. Characters are others. Is this a film? Is it happening over again? Accents. Words we pick from an attitude. This attitude I kind of hate. We’re all tired. Words turn into sentences but they are not really telling. They are making you remember instead. We want to forget; to pretend, to put our culture over this one. We want to take these memories out so everyone can see them; hear them. What for? For a time to consume. Memories are drags we smoke from Time, and time takes us back to long, to long and miss, so we let sadness out, or anger. At the end, there’s something available, and affordable if split the total amount,  to purchase in the market. Thus we allow ourselves to mitigate unwanted feelings. A trend on social media will work out. At least to trade what we’ve got with what they think we should get, or how, or when. “When” plays impressive roles. Specially in this post-truth era.

Heat. Hot. It’s hard on pants to go off and on. The sound of the machines got this point of synchronicity that it feels like it was a rhythm, a rhythm I accompany by blowing my horn. And with this sort of parade music, I smile at the day. Accents again. Diversity.  A few hours more and that’s it. Many people have come during the last 3 years. Hope is cruel sometimes. Faith fading, or spacing around with every breath. When to expect? What are we trying to accomplish? If we go home, what would we take with us? Children.  Children are the answer.  Children are hope, faith, faith that grows,  faith that gives power, strength.  So we bear this for them. I do, I am, and I always will. For them, for my children. I love when I'm at home and see a toy car in the living room, or a little ball in the corner. That presence is the best decoration, without mentioning all those tiny clothes that just make my day better.

Where should I start? Is it our story something we feel like telling? I don’t know. I’m not sure I want to tell mine,  despite of whatever I may have written earlier, but what I think I’m going to do is giving some examples of several stories. Lines back, I tried to explain what made us move. Now, let’s try to summarize what’s going on once here. Before that, two words popped up in mind: cartoon and plastic; for people, both of them. The first one stands, as I get it, for unproportioned gestures and reactions when it comes to self expression. The second one, to me, is more intriguing.  The second one goes by insincerity, fake. I’ve come to think that being plastic, and being cartoon, have some to do with posing, pretending, have something to do with the pursuit of an archetype. I am a plastic person because plastic people do these kinds of things I want to be involved in. I force myself to it whatsoever. I push myself  hard, and for long,  because the need to belong is stronger than the self understanding. My story has to fit in. I have to fit in. Too many unique people looking like too many more. Perhaps that’s why it gets difficult when bringing a story filled up with some plastic and cartoon to bear. I’m involved as well, why deny it? It is because of my own search that I’ve come to see it this way. So let’s see: two people have just come from Venezuela. This was four years ago. They had to sell all personal belongings: jewelry,  cars, collectibles that were once a sign of pride, since these things were (or used to be) the kind of hobby nice people did for years. Years that went to the void, to the sad section ever made for memories.  A section nowadays so full that they must borrow space from joy. Maybe that’s why every time I bring a good memory,  I feel like I want to cry, who knows! These two people had to sell almost everything because there was no way they could afford an airplane ticket with the money they made. They asked for help. Only few replied. They came to a room. They got help of another kind at first. They felt like they were kids again: so needed for guidance, so lonely. They were supported,  not for much, but they were indeed; to settle, let’s say. I tend to believe many stories begin with the same situation. They got jobs they didn’t like and this is when the process of adaptation starts: what to expect from jobs when you are new arrived in town? These people came from a culture where college is a must. Parents do all kinds of things to have their children graduated.  Venezuela has a very high index of college population.  It is hard for any of them to, let’s say, break the bubble and come out to a world, where such a culture won’t be embraced as a big endeavor, or as an achievement of something to acknowledge, specially when there are a lot of people who don’t even know that Venezuela is not a part of México. But let’s be honest.  Why would they have to, right? The fact that we are making a cultural encounter implies understanding these things and learn to live with them. The challenge here is how to get through it. How to find the best way for it. Most fellow countrymen complain about this. We must understand, like one famous man said, one thing is tourism,  and another one is immigration. We were used to come as tourists; the impact is big. The things we did, and the things we do now,  to get money in our bank accounts,  states a wide difference between them. We’re teaching our brain and heart how to move things from one place to another. When we move out, it’s not just physically.  Back to the couple, they kept working. Started paying back all that money they had to borrow to come. A couple who came from living with each of their parents, to try to build a home which was partial, given the conditions of their country back then. They came with the hope of building it now and, we may say they made it, but it wasn’t easy. They started by renting a room. They started by putting themselves behind the other couple, the one who was renting the room. Good months and bad months went by, So Covid, alongside with all the ignorance that erupted from social media. Mask off, mask on, 6 feet, glasses to divide work stations, curfew, and all that wave of theories and recommendations. We survived it. They survived it too. They made it to their own rented apartment. No more bully, no more critics from a position of power. A new home in progress. A baby who came a year later. Hope. Thick faith that doesn’t fade. Not a drag, not a smoke. 

Second page IV

 

A busy Monday morning. How much from habits we convey to what we feel? To what we claim we feel? How strong is this we’re hoping that we don’t take it as just routine? Can we tell the difference? I confuse them more often that I admit it. It just occurs to me that one must follow the other one: I came here hoping, and  eventually I keep pushing as habit. I guess I remain a believer as a habit too. Evidence places my thoughts inside a void and I navigate from there, wondering, and understanding,  or getting, getting that this sadness could be some sort of Stop corner, from where you start over after trying to assimilate why you did what you’ve done. What have I done? How do we talk nowadays? Someone comes in during a Venezuelans' reunion. Who do you meet there? There will be always that political enthusiast who sees himself as a chairman if there were no dictatorship in the country. Obviously,  that person belongs to the ones who claim never voted for Chávez, and of course, he wouldn't let go unnoticed his pride at it in the same way that his judgmental attitude towards those who did.  You'll meet all kinds of college people, which is an interesting thing to bring up (and break down if possible) they will talk to you about how life was from their profession in a country allegedly prosperous in so many ways.

So many ways indeed. I listen to some of the music bands from Venezuela and you can find great pieces; great artists. If we take a closer look at the past, it wasn't so bad, after all.  We could say everything started to fall apart with the rise of he first government that came with the internet revolution.  I want to call it that way because it was with the use of internet that came this need for access in the palm of  the hand. Cell phone existed before that, so the Walkman and the palm computer, but they were not so eager to put them all in one device then. I believe that it didn't happen because creators then didn't feel like usurping moments proper from each activity.  I mean, who would want to interrupt the guitar solo of Comfortably numb to attend a phone call, or read a text message? The other thing that evolved in a very interesting way is the picture shut. I mean, this impulse for taking selfies and post them like it was something people needed to see, which it seems in fact that people do, and on top of that, the need for commenting about them as a significant duty. Even with the digital cameras on the market,  people tried more to capture a memory than showing a routine. I wonder if it has something to do with how people are interacting nowadays. The younger ones have developed this skill of being (being is so interesting in English language) on the screen of the phone, and at the same time, in a actual conversation beyond the phone,  switching from one to the other at their convenience. We, the ones in our forties, have been trying it in an attempt, I think, to still be cool, but it looks rude, awful. It doesn’t matter how hard and often we try that. The best we can do is put down the phone and look each other’s eyes when talking. 

Being. Spanish language breaks it in two different momentums: for a Spanish native speaker, to be something for a instance, for short period, or for lifetime, not always come with the same verb; to be loyal and to be tired don’t use the same “to be”. In other words; being where and being what are two different verbs in Spanish. The presence determines the existence. How do we understand presence? College people.  Does it mean the same everywhere we go? I know its worth varies from place to place. I found out that your worth as professional tends go rated by the potential connections you  may carry with when you get to be in the field. You can tell it when you have already spent years of study and time working as an apprentice. You realize you are not going to be as wealthy as you imagined when you have already given your best years of youth, and those years won't pay back. To some, it might happen that they fall in love during the process, so they graduate actually loving what they are going to do in their career.  Others were just raised believing that a major degree will change their income. To those, it is hard, and to this point, all that people want their revenge. Everyone is bitter up enough to star wondering of other people's life. Social Media creators got the perfect audience; the perfect population of content consumers: People who  relate jobs with failure because they don't love what they do as it were something everyone gets. But it can be worse, there are people who lie themselves by the affirmation of loving a job they don't only because of the trends that rule the mediaverse. Thinking is also deconstructed. The block chain of thoughts. Back to college. In my country, having a degree it's not only something for salary expectations. It is more like a status. In public administration, people call each other by the degree they have but it's not just something to point out: You sort of feel distinguished from those who don't have it. If you go to what it’s called "the country", meaning, not in the city, which it's funny, and pertinent, at the same time when joking about it, because despite of what I may be trying here, Venezuela kind of have just one city, which is Caracas. And yes, sorry for the rest but Caracas is the only metropolis. The other cities are more like towns that have grown with the years. Some of them great thanks to tourism or industry, but when you get to talk to someone who's not from Caracas,  you will definitely get what I say with this attempt. Of course that those people kind of get offended for this type of distinction, and yet, what can I say? I am from Caracas and spent a couple of years in El Tigre. I could say I know what I'm talking about. 

Second page III

Resentment is something very tight to our society over these years. The kind I'm bringing it up is the immigrant kind. Those who left the country are in its majority resentful on anything related somehow to the government and, based on what it's missing in them, they do have point. We’re here because we lost something. I just wonder if there might be a chance that some of such resentment may have been taken from the media's deconstruction, and I wonder about it because it is a bit hard for me to be convinced that a huge group of people can have the same opinion over the same thing embracing the same feeling. I mean, a way for that, it occurs to me, such a thing get to happen; is through indoctrination, but the point is that most people feel it is spontaneous, and with that inside your head, it is hard to break it down. Every argument that is swallowed entirely leads to a conviction that takes you to a fanatic state. I was thinking about those famous "two minutes of hate". I see  this resentment of ours  to a certain point, that way. I mean, media brought these thesis to, let's say, justify, in a way, that what took the country to the crisis, and what forced so many people to leave, might hold several people accountable. Media needs to sell a narrative convincing enough to their consumers, that they can understand it as a political problem, and, very important,  that it could have been prevented by choosing different when it came to vote. Politicians need believers and, a way to preserve them, is through blame. Whatever happened must be someone’s fault. Social media brought up these theories then: one of those was, that people then got tired of the political establishment before Chavez's era; and therefore pushed for this change that ended up in a disaster, phrasing it in a way, that those who once believed in the dictator, couldn't see what was coming with such political turn. The other one was more like a segregate type. The other one went on stating that ignorant people,  and by ignorant they meant the poor and the uneducated; and by uneducated they mean those who did not go to college; blinded by their alleged resentment (not the same resentment from the present days, and that is interesting too) instead of keeping up with the political establishment,  went and voted for Chávez. Both theories shows a reality where regular people had some power, indeed, of setting the path for the future of the country, and by choosing wrong (understanding wrong as Chavez's movement) such a promising future allegedly heading with the former political crew, lost its chance of achievement.
 
Many people bought those theories at their own  convenience.  Those who once believed in Chávez support this argument in which they were promised something it did not become true. It is more like they were scammed. If we think about it, it is so interesting and intriguing realizing that there are in fact people out there convinced that they could have done it otherwise but they were fooled by the political power, or worse; by a politician. I suppose that those are the same people who think that taking basic English classes will make recruiters consider them for high position roles. Now the others are something else. First, we can't know that for sure, but assuming they stand from a position of truth,  these ones have always claimed they never voted for Chávez; and that they never believed in him, which is something that, judging by how everything ended up, they were right from their angle,  so they have been taking pride ever since to a point that they see themselves elevated, or distinguished, from the ignorant kind (which means everyone else) and of course; those were mostly who started leaving the country. That sort of dichotomy was well sold. Some people feel regret from what I think it is an induced guilt, and some others stick with their anger as pride.
 
As time went by those arguments became pretty much the only logical explanation for understanding the disaster.  The deconstruction was total. But what if we take a few more glances, I mean. We can allow ourselves to wonder, for instance, who paid for Chávez appearances on national TV? Who paid for all those trips to Cuba? He started campaigning not so long after he was discharged from prison. All the media who interviewed him when he was in jail, I mean. Do you guys really think that voting had something to do with it? Do you think it ever mattered whether you believed in him or not?  Chávez held meetings with almost every single important ruler of his time: from Bill Clinton to Saddam Hussein. From the Queen of England to Fidel Castro and so on. Was it there any important protest from the media, or those who didn't believe in him then, when he reformed the constitution? Chávez arose because Real Power wanted him there. Wherever such real power comes from, which is not my intention to talk about. Power is power, Cercei would say. The thing is that these arguments won't cover all the doubts but people agreed with them only because of the social media rephrase, and while one group points out at the other for their self glorification, the obvious consensus should be that we're all to blame but not for any choosing, but for thinking that it has been an actual cause of it. It seems only a minority is willing to accept it. In the meantime,  every new immigrant must adapt his story to one of these thesis. Every immigrant who might have agreed with any project of Chávez, regardless how quickly that person stopped it,  or came around, must, either deny it like he never did it, or carry with such a burden and acknowledge his regret. We are going to hear a lot about it until the deconstruction turns these conceptions into a new gate of perception. Just like they've been doing within the music business. 

Second page II

 

A thought as a puzzle, as a piece of a puzzle. It doesn't need to be. However, it could be for further intentions. What about those thoughts linked to a feeling. such as Nostalgia? Saudade, like the Portuguese. What about them? They could turn into data as well and therefore they can get deconstructed.  Get, yes, always get. Interesting word. We might guess then that if any of the feelings we have linked to a thought can rephrase its essence, Morality itself can be turned as wanted. These are times when Morality can be reshaped, so do beliefs. And I'm still trying to inhale my smoke Faith and exhale my smoke will with this breath I can't catch but I never stop chasing, because I know that despite of the smoke, my faith and my will somehow flow within.

 

Four years have gone by. We decided it after the big power outage in March of 2019. We should have done it earlier but that's never been us; Venezuelans were used to stay together with their families but even family can be broken down from the power. The government,  the Venezuelan government. It's hard to explain it given the differences with other countries'. In 1999 the constitution was changed; a new way of democracy has risen. A democracy where the president has more power than any other institution.  Of course: how could such a thing have been done? By elections.  Elections are the weapon that threatens free will. Ironic,  right? One of the first thing that the new constitution brought was the new distribution of Power. The election office was, let's say, elevated to a State Power. You see. I read once that in some other countries this division is not called power but administration,  or public administration. In Venezuela the word it was always used is Power, so the Power, formerly divided in three, got then divided by five, and the elections office was named then The Electoral Power. I'm not going to say that this was the cause of the crisis. It had something to do, of course, but a lot of things happened and there are a lot of information better exposed  and explained about it. I just want to show this as an example of deconstruction. Elections are worldwide known (or shown) as one pillar of democracy, or so we thought before the disaster.  Now Venezuelans have a different approach.  The opposition and government acolytes started breaking down several definitions so people's perception could  rephrase their understanding, all these through Social media; forth generation war, they called it. There were intense moments, along with a waterfall of decisions made in order to undermine whatever concept of freedom we had, and always in the name of democracy. One of the most important TV  Channels was shut down from national broadcasting. On one side we talked about a shut down and on the other they claimed it was a no renewal of the contract.  You see: concepts and broken down definitions.

 

Years before that, the government released this plan called Exchange Control, in which every foreign currency exchange must be done through the government's administration.  People got used to two exchange rates: the official one and the black market one. This economic plan took the country to one of the biggest depression ever, forcing people to rethink their lives. Politicians from both sides took advantage of this, of course. An advantage that went for a division. They got what they wanted: thousands of people fighting each other over their political beliefs. Yes, this big rephrase made people see this as a political belief! Society got divided in Chavistas and Opositores. The first ones supported the government and the second ones, the opposition.  As the crisis rises, people started moving out. For those who stayed, they stood for smoke faith and smoke will on politicians, I presume.  A lot has been said about everyone but the thing is that those who left, have left something that social media hasn't yet defined but that I’m thinking about it, it may not go by any sort of definition. Perhaps it’s more like a cheap trick of misdirection. We, specially the Generation X ones, got, with the assistance of time, and so many personal problems, that beliefs has more to do with power than culture. Social media has set several paths, I want to mention two: the path of the resentment and the path of the new hope. From the resentment, the idea that has been sold is that every single men from the government must pay back, and with that wave of anger, poor people too. Anyone who ever supported the dictator must pay debt somehow because of the suffering of the now immigrants.  From the new hope path, there is this other side trying to sell that people are struggling so hard to get through, and they deserve appreciation.  One side celebrates any sort of punishment,  and the other  celebrates any attempt of support for those who stay and work hard in the country. Working hard has been deconstructed too, from the way I see it. For instance when is Working not hard, I wonder?