No hay etiquetas aún.
I do not know if I have the right of being happy. I feel that I am failing someone, but I do not know exactly who, the guilt does not leave me, I blame myself for not being able to fully enjoy with the people around me, but also blame myself for not suffering enough for the people I left in another continent. Yes, I think I suffer from a syndrome of sentimental bipolarity.
I am an immigrant, a legal one (just in case some police officer is reading this); I have a very average life: a husband, children, a nice job; but for some reason I live in an eternal dichotomy between remain calm or being anguish, laughing or crying, act normal or start screaming as a complete psychotic; I can transform, in the interval of a second, from an absolute happy woman (when my children tells one of their creatives jokes) into a deep box of sadness (when I talk to my mom or just starting watching the news). And the reason of my madness is known by you: it is called Venezuela.
I am not nationalist (for those who doesn’t know me well), you will never hear me saying that I come from the best country in the world, the best beaches, the best beer, the best son, the best blabla, because let’s face it, the world is big and there are wonderful things everywhere; the problem is I was born in a country I do not recognize anymore, it is not mine, they took it from me (or we just let them take it); a country that no longer exists, not as I remember it. I feel without land, daughter of limbo.
When I was little I grew being careful of all my surroundings, because "the street is very dangerous" they told me, but paradoxically I spend most of the time playing outside and when became an university student, adult enough to drive, I use to stop and park the car at any street and just drink beers as if there were no tomorrow (yes I know now all about drink and drive now). I was always carefully of course, but never worried. In that country, I remember my mom arriving from the supermarket with many bags and me showing no interest an the groceries, why should I? it was normal, food was always there; maybe my only question was directed to confirm if my “oreo” cookies or my lollipop were there. Simple and basic.
At my grandma house, I remember that all important decisions, jokes or gossips were made around the kitchen, because nothing was more important than eating good and sufficient. Now when I hear they can’t find or afford a chicken (that apparently looks like a pigeon), it simply destroys my heart.
I’m not certain about when this happened, it was progressive and at the same time sudden when I realized that the situation in Venezuela was irremediably serious. Perhaps my eyes were opened one time, no so long ago, when already living out of my country, I start a conversation with a 20-year-old Venezuelan girl that couldn’t answer my simple questions and was unable to recognize my anecdotes about our home land, of course, she just knew the Venezuela after “Chavez revolution”!. She was surprise when I mentioned it was a time when having food in the supermarket was pretty normal; It was normal, still when being developing country, to go on holidays to "Isla Margarita" and even buy a car if you had a job (possible and old second hand used Chevrolet), it was normal to make barbicue with all your friends and family almost every weekend, it was normal to dream that you could have whatever you wanted if you studied and worked hard. Even most surprising to her was the fact you could sit and play domino with someone who supported a political party other than yours.
I feel responsible, because we have all contributed with this disaster; I did also bribe a policeman to avoid a fine, I was also arrogant thinking all my country benefits were fine just because of the oil, I thought democracy was a given and never really understood it was treasure you have to take care off; so I’m sure, I also collaborated with the divisionism that sank us and bring us to this time on history. Now, I want to believe I will be also responsible for the reconstruction. Now I feel that I am a better citizen and paradoxically better Venezuelan.
I have faith, because without faith, I have nothing. I am convinced that one day I will be an emotionally balanced person where I express my happiness without feeling I’m hurting the people and the country I love. Until that day arrives, I will try to do whatever I can, to support the recovery of democracy because that country that I lost, is developing human qualities in their citizens that I did not even know we had, I see it in all those moms who make food for the boys fighting t in the streets, in the doctors working with their hands to avoid fatalities as much as they can, in the youth fighting of the resistance and in all those that like me have been learning outside of our borders, how to be better citizen and better human beings.
Meanwhile, I will try to put on my mask of absolute happiness or fatal sadness, depending on who is the recipient of my message, because my sentimental bipolarity will only end the day I can hug my family in a free and democratic country. I sure I am not alone, I am only a small part of a bipolar exodus.