I wake up to these news. Facundo Cabral. Killed in my country. I read the tweets, the facebook messages, the news. People all over are expressing their disdain, their shame, their sadness.
I join them, but not without a deep feeling of hypocrisy. Why is it that we don’t do this for every life that is lost (taken) with guns and hatred? Every day in Guatemala people are killed. Murdered. For money? For what? Every day around the world violence breaks up families and we take our sisters, our brothers, our fathers, our mothers, our children to their graves.
To die is natural. To be killed isn’t.
I pity the person who is capable of shooting 14 bullets at a human being and walk away. I pity myself for living in a bubble, for being so useless and unable to stop what I know is unfair. I pity myself because I can’t cry for every assassination and injustice. I pity myself for being too fragile, too little.
No soy de aquí, ni soy de allá
In what seems like another world South Sudan is born. I’ve seen the videos of celebrations, flags, dances and speeches and I can’t help but be fascinated by the way in which our borders and our history shape our identity.
A new country. We live in a time when countries are still being created. A fluid world with moving lines. I smile.
Sad and frustrating, isn’t it?
Lately, I’ve been thinking a lot about finding a balance between speaking out against issues and views with which I disagree and achieving a sense of equanimity. I’m still working on it.