And the year went by. And it left us with our hair electrified from so much lockdown, economic fatality and fear of dying. And it told us, that we are not the gods we thought we were, but only balls made of ego and paper, that at the slightest wind may fall out. And before it left, it combed us, very smoothly, with a brush of eclipses, solstices and planetary marriages. And it told us all, stop crying, that nothing will end, that it all begins again. A new year, new life, new hope, will arrive. And yet here we have, a new crystal ball in our hands, waiting to see what you wish to ask, waiting perhaps that you think about Her, a little bit more than those odd time of the past.
It is because we are scared of writing that only the other voices are being heard. The bigots, the racists, the nationalists, the misogynists, the extreme-right and the extreme-left. They are not scared to talk, they are not scare to write. The fight for equality, in all levels, is also a fight to be taken with a pen and a paper. I know by experience that writing a book, an essay, a page, or even a post is scary to say the least. Hello fears. All of them come together to tell us the thousand ways in which we could fail. There are many risks. People might not like what we write, or how we write it. Maybe they are not interested in our subjects, or worse, we could offend a close one because of the things we write. But the voices of the moderate have to be amplified. I truly believe that people are eager to read new ideas, especially the progressive ones and the romantic ones. Those that give us hope for the future. To anyone who writes I tell you this. Keep fighting. Keep writing. Your writing is important. To us. To everyone.
He appeared like a ghost would at my bedroom’s door. It was him, yes, with his face riddle with wrinkles, with his skin of a colour dark caramel, tired of waking up at dawn to work on the little piece of land that he has owned forever. It was him, there was no doubt, because we were still talking about that same piece of land that Eulalio said, back when we were together, that it would be mine, that it would be for both of us. He is making that promise again, fifty years later, and again, as it was before, it is my only hope for scape.
The beginning of my confinement was peaceful. I was already a bit isolated in my new hometown in France, as is a small, quiet place. The only change was that my kids school closed. Ok, I said to myself, this is a scary situation and the kids need to be here with hubby and I.
I am a big reader so whenever I have five minutes to read I take them and delight myself immersing into other people’s lives. It keeps me sane and I can stay at home reading books for quite a while, besides, reading has the advantage to take your fears away while the book is open and you are enjoying your reading.
It is really difficult to not having second thoughts about the world of fashion when I see how all of our consumption is affecting the environment and the poorest people on Earth. The Fashion Revolution Week and Earth Day on April 22, brought the perfect opportunity to ask myself who made the clothes that I am wearing, to think about how much did I pay for them and how long are they going to last in my closet, because, let’s face it, me, you and almost every one, play a big part in this ugly cycle of waisting and human exploitation.
It has been 5 beautiful months with my baby girl. To tell you the truth, I had this feeling in my second pregnancy (as well as in the first one) that I was going to have a boy. You can always hear around that mum’s feelings are never wrong and that is why it was a real surprise when a baby girl was born.
I usually tend to fall in love with every place I visit, but at the same time, I have a critic eye on everything I see and not very often I would like to live in the countries or cities I stop over. But this feeling has radically changed since I arrived in Guadeloupe. I just had to leave the airport to be awakened from my lethargic state of mind after a 7 hour trip from Colombia. I was not expecting to feel the kind of infatuation you feel only when you meet a soulmate and every day I spend here it grows more and more.
I feel nostalgic just to think about how many good friends have disappeared from my life. The circumstances in which we met have changed, I say to myself. But a bitter feeling comes to my heart while I realise that my excuse cannot justify the fact that I did nothing to stop our friendship from vanishing. I know I could have done more. I could have call, or visit, or write, but I didn’t. Life kept me busy and what is worse, life is still keeping me busy, or at least that is what I keep saying to my self.