Interests:
Mathematics, Literature, Computer Science, Politics
Quotes:
"HASTA LA VICTORIA SIEMPRE"
("Until victory always" )
"Me he sentido guatemalteco en Guatemala, mexicano en México, peruano en Perú, como me siento hoy cubano en Cuba y naturalmente como me siento argentino aquí y en todos los lados, ese es el estrato de mi personalidad, no puedo olvidar el mate y el asado..."
Che Guevara
Primera:
"Muchos años después, frente al pelotón de fusilamiento, el coronel Aureliano Buendía había de recordar aquella tarde remota en que su padre lo llevó a conocer el hielo"
Última:
" y que todo lo escrito en ellos era irrepetible desde siempre y para siempre, porque las estirpes condenadas a cien años de soledad no tenían una segunda oportunidad sobre la tierra"
Cien años de soledad - Gabriel García Marquez
Profile:
The door is open. I can see the inside of the room, there is a wooden table and three chairs. The light is dim, and the dust forms an indissoluble mist that floats over the few scattered objects inside. I feel it, the smell of old flooding the environment. As I cross the portal, it blows into my face, dense and clear, it smells like death inside. The portraits are broken and their shattered glasses fill the ground. The pictures are getting old, not only because of their black and white printing, but because humidity has erased their faces. The old piano lies silent, covered in dust, black and long, waiting to be played, to disturb the silence, and the waves of dust with the sounds of its broken strings. I don't open the lid, a collage of broken keys scattered in the floor makes me imagine the void below it.
Tell me what is happening, she says, while I look at her in silence, tell me please, tell me, she repeats, I look at her watery eyes without answering, tell me. My mouth is shut, mute. As she is, I am also dying to know what is happening. I feel that it, here, inside, in my chest, flowing, flooding my soul with the whispers of silence, with the coldest of all fires, the flame of nostalgia.
Fire in the sky, the flames burn in the middle of the first starry night in a week. She is there, watching as I see the reflections of the flames in her eyes. I don't feel it, the joy of others, I don't scream it, the day is not mine, I am lost in a strange land. I ask her about the green that sometimes transports me thousands of kilometers to the south. Maybe we are conquering you, I joke, maybe, she replies. Even with the catalysis of alcohol, they are different, while the slightest touch explodes in my skin as the fireworks in the sky, they need to crash into each other to feel.
The music fades into an amorphous sound of beats and movement that fills me, that explodes inside me. We move, spin, dance, shout as the world seems to reduce to our bodies, our faces, our lips. Her lips taste like ocean, they are as blue as her eyes, clean, and empty, sometimes salty and herbaceous. Our kiss is a contradiction, while it is the shout of my silence, it is the silence among her shouts. While is an implosive crash for her, it is an explosion for me. I am incomplete, lost in a land that is not of my own, lost in a collage of strange colors, of different sounds, here, I can't hear the melody of the indigenous flute, there are no trees of perennial foliage to inspire it, there is no tropical summer to feed it. It is both the first and the last kiss, a fugacious moment for both, that fades after one night, that dies after one day. It is not love, nor desire what inspires it, but thirst, an insatiable thirst, an unbeatable hunger that erodes my soul.
Water, below and above, water, it surrounds me, water. It flows, cold, moving faster than my body, water. The river is clean, its soil is muddy and grassy, some pebbles lie scattered here and there, forming intricate designs changed every day by the relentless current. The trees satiate their thirst by throwing the snakes of their roots into the water. The air is filled with the sounds of the wilderness, screams of parrots and magpies, followed by their erratic fly under a purple sky. Some fish approach, I can feel the contact of their tiny mouths in my skin, I try to scare them, but I can't move, I'm imprisoned inside myself. The soar in my leg has faded, the rattlesnake poison has diluted into my bloodstream. I felt it in my brain, crawling, and piercing into my consciousness. Now I don't feel any pain in my leg, only a mild itch when the fish try to eat the blood that pours from the two tiny spots where the snake's teeth penetrated my skin.
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