Here's my alibi...

The day she died I was here, at this same desk writing a letter to my grandparents. The room was poorly lit and the paper was stained with ink and tears. I was telling them how much I loved and cared for them. You may think I'm crazy but I never meant to send that letter. The reason why: my grandparents are dead. They died within hours of each other, next to each other. One died of cancer, the other of despair. They died two years ago but its only just dawned on me the hole they left in my soul.

The day she died I was drinking. Drinking out of disappoint of the ones around me. The ones who left me waiting are now waiting for me. Its funny how the world goes round and round, isn't it? Don't answers that. I was drinking to forget or make everything clearer, I forget which. Drinking to remember all those times I felt betrayed by the ones I love. To remember: never let that happen again. How, you ask? But not expecting anything.

The day she died I was in Prague. Searching for myself inside its veins and wounds. Searching for a man I once met in Madrid. Blowing bubble out of soap, which seemed to reflect scenes and flashbacks from his pumpy life.A boy who had been forced into adulthood due to the knee-deep cracks on the yellow brick road. Due to the prostitution of his country. Due to the capitalist ass-holes that barked him out into the streets. Red-lit street of the district.

The day she died it was raining. And the boy in black who always sits outside my window wasn't there. His longing stare wasn't there. His make-up stained cheeks weren't there. The guy for whom he was waiting wasn't there. There. In the house opposite mine. I never asked what the boy in black waited for but I saw the way his body stiffened when the same bike turned around the corner every night. Tearing his own life away with each cigarette he smoked. On a warm summer evening, I sat next to him. I asked for a cigarette and light. We sat in silence but at that moment I felt very close to him. Closer than I had ever felt to anyone. I felt it was mutual but maybe he is also the type who doesn’t get close to anyone. Or maybe that half a cigarette he gave me was for renting my door-step every night for the last three months.

The day she died I did nothing. Nothing to prevent it. Nothing to avoid it. I just let it happen. I could have been there. I could have helped her. Physically, maybe not, but psychologically. Was is accidental? Was it second-hand? I hate to believe it was herself. No. It couldn't be herself. Not another one in my life who does this. The next one won't get away. So much hate. So much hate. So. Much. Hate.

Depressing, I know. But the day she died I died too. Every single cell in my body was dead, inactive. I had shrunk to the size of a dark raisin. Full of hate and bitterness. Why do the best ones go? Why do the worst ones stay? Why do I stay? To listen to this shit on the radio, on the TV, on the lawn of the world. The silver lining? This time there is none. No one shed a tear for her death but no one wore a smile either.

This is my own writing but based on a stupid TV series called, “How to get away with murder”, Peter Nowalk.

Translation of the poem "Pensador" by Manoel de Barros

Manoel de Barros (16/12/1916 – 13/11/2014) was a Brazilian poet, born in the city of Cuiabá, Mato Grosso. He was considered by many as the greatest poet in Brazil and won my prizes including the national prizes Premio Jabuti and the National Prize of Literature of the Ministry of Culture from Brazil. This post is a homage to his death on the 13^th of November 2014.

"Pensador"

O apanhador de desperdícios

Uso a palavra para compor meus silêncios.
Não gosto das palavras
fatigadas de informar.
Dou mais respeitoàs que vivem de barriga no chão
tipo água pedra sapo.
Entendo bem o sotaque das águas
Dou respeito às coisas desimportantese 
aos seres desimportantes.
Prezo insetos mais que aviões.
Prezo a velocidadedas 
tartarugas mais que a dos mísseis.
Tenho em mim um atraso de nascença.
Eu fui aparelhado
para gostar de passarinhos.
Tenho abundância de ser feliz por isso.
Meu quintal é maior do que o mundo.
Sou um apanhador de desperdícios:
Amo os restos
como as boas moscas.
Queria que a minha voz tivesse um formato de canto.
Porque eu não sou da informática:
eu sou da invencionática.
Só uso a palavra para compor meus silêncios

"Thinker"

The harvester of waste

I use words to compose my silences.

I don't like words

tired of informing.

I give more respect

to those who live in the belly of the ground

like water, stones and frogs

I understand the accent of the waters well

I give respect to the unimportant things

and the unimportant beings.

I value the insects over the airplanes.

I value the speed

of the turtles over that of the missiles.

I have in me this delay by birth.

I was set up

to like birds.

I have happiness in abundance because of this.

My backyard is bigger than the world

I am a harvester of waste:

I love the leftovers

like the flies.

I wish my voice took the shape of a chant.

Because I'm not into informatics

I'm into invetionatics.

I only use words to compose my silences.

Image by Troche (Uruguayan artist)

Let's all be grown ups for a weekend.

During the past few weeks Montevideo has been taken over by the 2014 general election, the campaigners virtually chase you down the streets to hand you flyers. Thank God for giving Uruguay so much land so they can re-plant all the trees they've cut down. One elderly gentleman shouted at me as I walked past: “I don't want to see any student votes go to the right wing”, and yesterday I found myself humming the jingle to the left wing party in the shower, and I innocently thought that in the shower of my own locked bathroom I would be safe, I couldn't have been more wrong.

And to make things worse Uruguay is also voting in a referendum to make a decision on the controversial topic of lowering the legal age at which people can be incarcerated from 18 to 16. NO A LA BAJA (literally, “no to the loweing”) is written on every street, every public building, every university, even the Pride Parade was taken over by the symbol of this campaign, the image of a colourful origami humming bird:

Whereas the campaign for SI A LA BAJA ("Yes to the lowering") has been incredibly quiet, almost non-existent to the public eye. Whether that's because they are confident they will win or maybe they think psychology is behind them as you the only option when in front of the ballot box is SI (Yes), if you'd like to vote for NO (no), all you need to do is not vote. Therefore, maybe the human nature's desire to participate is behind the SI (yes) campaign.

This week, the week before the general eletions and the referendum, I heard of an incident that may have tipped the scale a little towards the "Yes". As we all probably know, Uruguayans love their footbal, their passion is comrable to that of Brazil and Argentina. Therefore when a group of underage hooligans attacked a bus taking the footballers of one of Ururguay's main football teams, Club Nacional de Football, to a game and suffered no consequences, a lot of the supporters of this very popular team may have changed sides to SI. I believe this to be a very suspicious incident.

I'm still unsure about this topic as I believe that it is wrong for teenagers under 18 to remain unpunished but I donnot believe that a prison is the right place to educate someone so vulnerable to the people and influences around them. I used to be pretty sure that the age of legal responsability for minors should be lowered but after speaking to Uruguayans. Epeciallymy colleagues at Gurises Unidos, who work so hardto make sure young people do not follow the same path as their delinquent parents. But then again, is 16 that much different to 18?

This topic arose from the ashes after a period of stagnation. This metaphorical phoenix, or humming bird, arose from the theme that most plagues the population of Uruguay: insecurity. Many people think lowering the age is the answers but others think it only make things worse. This Sunday Uruguay must make a decision. And either campaign must collect 51% or more in order for the constitution to be changed.

Returning to the topic of presidential elections. This Sunday the whole of Uruguay will vote in order to decide who will be their next president. Unlike their neighbouring country, Brazil, there is no such thing as re-election here, therefore, their beloved current presisent, José Mujica, must stand down from presidency. His place will be taken (probably) be taken by one of the most popular parties: Partido National (also called Blanco), Partido Colorado, Frente Amplio (current party in power with Mujica) and Partido Independiente. Partido Nacional, or Blaco, a centre-right party, under Luís Lacalle Pou, a young candidate who uses his age as an advantage. Frente Amplio, left-wing party, under Tabaré Vazquez, a much older candidate with whom Lacalle Pou competes. Partido Colorado, a right wing party, which together with Partido Nacional is one of the oldest and most traditional of Uruguay, under Pedro Bordaberry. Partido Independiente, social democrats and christian socialists, under Pablo Mieres.

**Sigh** Mujica will be missed...