Every day we wake up thinking that either destiny, god or the devil is playing a cruel joke on us. These days we live in a surreal world. Part magical realism, part Greek tragedy, with a hint of tropical Orwellism.
But who’s playing the joke on us? Is it us playing a joke on ourselves? Is it us, those that created the perfect storm for this Bolivarian tragedy? There’s blame to go around. It has made us all, at one point or another in history, complicit in creating this monster. It’s all of us.
We should not forget what got us here, and we should always remember what it made of us. It changed us. I guess that’s what revolutions are for, to change us. It’s made us many things in these last 20 years. It’s made us refugees, it exiled us, and it divided a nation.
From our homes in Los Angeles, Madrid, Lima or London, we contribute tirelessly. We argue on Facebook with random strangers and attend demonstrations. But the courage remains the property of those on the ground, the tear-gased, the beaten, the resilient.
And far away we live, doing our best, waking up everyday trying to figure out who’s played a cruel joke on us.