Documenti di Didattica
Documenti di Professioni
Documenti di Cultura
2
The worms .......................................................................................83
Personajes ........................................................................................84
Characters ........................................................................................85
Haiku ...............................................................................................85
González Franco Sofía .........................................................................85
El señor del Silbato ..........................................................................88
The Lord of the Whistle ...................................................................89
González García Keyla Montserrat .......................................................90
Mi primer amor. ...............................................................................90
My first love. ...................................................................................90
González García Melani Yazmin ..........................................................91
Amor sin límites...............................................................................91
Love without limits. .........................................................................93
Herrera García Inés ..............................................................................95
El verdadero brillo que no se apaga. .................................................95
Siempre te voy a echar de menos. .....................................................95
Es ahora. ..........................................................................................95
The true brightness that does not go out. ...........................................95
I will always miss you. .....................................................................96
Herrera Soto Lilia Selene .....................................................................97
Mareas. ............................................................................................97
Tides. ...............................................................................................98
Carta a Fátima. .................................................................................98
Letter to Fátima ................................................................................98
Iñiguez Pérez Karla ..............................................................................98
3
EL CAMINO DE PINTURA............................................................99
THE WAY OF PAINTING ............................................................100
Jiménez Paredes Edgar Jair ................................................................100
Tóxico ...........................................................................................103
Toxic ..............................................................................................103
Lemus Ayala Abril Jimena .................................................................105
López fuentes Jennifer Valeria ...........................................................106
Sin rencores ...................................................................................106
No hard feelings .............................................................................106
López González Daniela Naydeli .......................................................107
Bruja ..............................................................................................110
Witch .............................................................................................110
70 ..................................................................................................111
70 ..................................................................................................112
Lugo Espinosa Alejandra ...................................................................113
La muerte y sus amigos. .................................................................116
Death and his Friends. ....................................................................117
Eres lo que amas ............................................................................118
You are what you love ...................................................................118
Marquez Mulia Samuel ......................................................................119
MI HISTORIA. ..............................................................................119
LA CASA. .....................................................................................121
THE HOUSE .................................................................................123
Mexicano Romero Domenica .............................................................125
Humanidad ....................................................................................126
4
Humanity .......................................................................................127
Modesto Correa Jennifer ....................................................................127
Tu partida ......................................................................................127
Your departure ...............................................................................128
Monroy Rojas María Fernanda ...........................................................129
Micro relato. ..................................................................................129
Montiel Orozco Francisco Alejandro ..................................................130
MI CÁRCEL..................................................................................132
DÉBIL O GUERRERO ..................................................................132
ERES LOBO O CORDERO...........................................................133
Orduña Delgado Ketzaly Shael ..........................................................134
El conejo y el puma. .......................................................................134
Padilla Quezada Diego .......................................................................136
Recuerdos de un alma metamórfica. ...............................................136
Memories of a metamorphic soul....................................................138
Rodríguez Chávez Emiliano Gabriel ..................................................140
HAIKÚ ..........................................................................................142
REFLEXIÓN .................................................................................142
REFLECTION ...............................................................................143
Romero Hernández Luz Yanira ..........................................................144
CONFORMARSE..........................................................................145
PROHIBIDO .................................................................................145
Serrano Rodríguez Ángel Arath .........................................................146
The one who descended .................................................................146
El que descendió ............................................................................146
5
Come back .....................................................................................147
Vuelve ...........................................................................................147
Sosa Lima Areli .................................................................................148
La monarca sangrienta. ..................................................................148
The bloody monarch ......................................................................149
Valenzuela Alvarez Luz Daniela ........................................................151
EN MEDIO DE TODO ..................................................................151
IN THE MIDDLE OF EVERYTHING ...........................................152
Velázquez Beltrán Montserrat ............................................................154
Villanueva Hernández Libertad Melina ..............................................155
Yo recuerdo ...................................................................................155
I remember… .................................................................................157
Luna ..............................................................................................158
Moon .............................................................................................158
Noches de soledad..........................................................................158
Lonely nights .................................................................................159
Te escribo ......................................................................................159
I write to you..................................................................................160
Por sentir lo que todos ....................................................................160
For feeling what everyone ..............................................................160
Zamora Villagrán Ángel Iván .............................................................160
Espejo ............................................................................................162
El eterno femenino .........................................................................163
Mirror ............................................................................................163
The eternal feminine ......................................................................163
6
Zamora Tania.....................................................................................163
Perpetúa Condena ..........................................................................165
Perpetuate Condemnation ...............................................................166
Zamora Ángeles Miguel Isaac ............................................................167
Digewi ...........................................................................................169
Alumna Francés I ...............................................................................171
Me gusta, no me gusta ....................................................................171
Arias Nava Ana Camila /142 ..........................................................171
J'aime je n'aime pas ........................................................................171
Arias Nava Ana Camila / 142 .........................................................171
Creative Writing Workshop/ ..............................................................172
Taller de Escritura Creativa ................................................................172
Oney Díaz Anchondo .........................................................................172
Dream / Biopoem ...........................................................................172
Sueño / Biopoema ..........................................................................173
Mind ..............................................................................................173
Mente ............................................................................................174
Moctezuma Gringo ........................................................................174
Moctezuma gringo .........................................................................175
Auri Roldán Lima ..............................................................................175
Auric Shine ....................................................................................175
Aurora ...........................................................................................176
Summer smell ................................................................................176
The worst invent of humans ...........................................................176
Mariela Acevedo Vázquez .................................................................177
7
And who she is? .............................................................................177
Life after death ...............................................................................178
Brillo divino del alma. ....................................................................179
Divine shine of the soul. .................................................................179
Matiz divinidad. .............................................................................179
Angel Lopez. .....................................................................................180
Divinity nuance ..............................................................................180
María Fernanda Bautista Lino ............................................................181
Un día hace un año .........................................................................181
A day makes a year ........................................................................181
Amor en caos .................................................................................182
Sombría herencia ...........................................................................183
Sosegada pared ..............................................................................183
Quiet wall ......................................................................................184
Trasunto.........................................................................................185
Transcript.......................................................................................186
Montserrat Chávez López ..................................................................188
Mi escala .......................................................................................188
My stopover ...................................................................................188
Reloj de arena ................................................................................189
Sand Clock ....................................................................................189
García Guzmán Andrea ......................................................................190
Cancino García Jorge Manuel ............................................................190
Árboles que piden limosna .............................................................190
Trees that asking for alms...............................................................191
8
Dualidad ........................................................................................192
Duality ...........................................................................................192
Se murieron los muertos .................................................................192
The dead died.................................................................................193
Alejandro Romero Castillo .................................................................194
A fireman.......................................................................................194
Dreams ..........................................................................................195
Sueños ...........................................................................................196
Humanity .......................................................................................196
Humanidad ....................................................................................196
Trees ..............................................................................................196
Árboles ..........................................................................................197
Yeray López ......................................................................................197
Dedication… ..................................................................................197
Dedicatoria….................................................................................198
Worth it .........................................................................................198
Vale la pena ...................................................................................199
We have to go ................................................................................200
Hay que irse ...................................................................................201
EPILOGO ..........................................................................................202
Caligramas .........................................................................................203
Avalos Vega Liliana ..........................................................................207
Liliana ...........................................................................................207
Liliana ...........................................................................................208
Carol Montserrat ................................................................................209
9
10
Palabras a cargo de diversos alumnos
Como punto de inicio hablaremos acerca de que en la asignatura de Taller
de Lectura y Análisis de Textos Literarios I, hemos leído diversos textos
como fue “I remember”, “Veintiséis: Me acuerdo del libro de Joe
Brainard”, “Me acuerdo”, “Memoria y olvido”; de los cuales extrajimos
una idea como guía para construir en una hoja con pequeños pero
importantes fragmentos acerca de nuestra vida los cuales se quedan
clavados en nuestra memoria.
12
Posteriormente, el último suspiro que le entregará al sujeto la
completa liberación del alma atormentada será el pleno ejercicio de la más
poderosa hechicería arcana, la escritura. Gracias a esta el individuo no solo
se volverá capaz de enfrentar y denunciar todas aquellas enfermedades e
inmundicias de las que es víctima y espectador, si no que a la vez obtendrá
el brillante grafito con el cual trazar nuevos universos a partir de la
ocurrencia y la imaginación.
13
Writers’ World
Day by day the world becomes more hostile; the tender ideas of childhood
are eaten by the desolation of violence, inequality the hunger and cold of a
society that prefers to hide and forget the problems "under the carpet"
with the misunderstanding that they'll become to smoke and ash by
ignoring them. As slaves of a primal civilization displacing monoliths, all of
us called humans carry on our backs the absolute weight of those evils and
misfortunes that were bequeathed to us; the venom of misery and darkness
corrodes our bones, tucks away with fog our ideas.
Subsequently, the last sigh that will give the subject the complete
deliverance of the tormented soul will be the full exercise of the most
powerful arcane sorcery, writing. Thanks to this the individual will not
only be able to face and denounce all those diseases and filths of which he is
victim and spectator, but at the same time you will get the brilliant graphite
with which to plot new universes from the occurrence and imagination.
14
It is therefore of paramount importance that all those spirits
forgotten in abandonment, also known as young people; can be freed
through the writing of those monsters, physicists, situational and emotional
that stalk them and consume them within their external existence and
subconscious. Precisely, the anthology of biographies, poems, short stories,
minifications and other writings presented below, has allowed us to rescue
texts of great value, with which it is possible to reflect and portray the
experiences, problems, adversities, dreams and desires of all those new
teachers of the word who pride themselves in presenting slight fragments of
their realities in these pages.
This way you are warned, dear reader. Stay at your own risk! Let
yourself be amazed as you walk through these tangled worlds of ink, but be
careful to get lost in the wonder of your word.
Luis G. Campos
15
INTRODUCCIÓN TEÓRICA
Marco conceptual del área de Talleres de Lenguaje y Comunicación.
16
Asimismo, esta Antología Bilingüe titulada “Más profundo que las
palabras”/ Deeper than Words es pertinente ya que: a) la planeación de la
misma corresponde con el programa de estudio institucional y sus
aprendizajes de las diversas materias. B) La estrategia o secuencia didáctica
empleada por las profesoras son congruentes con el enfoque, los propósitos
y aprendizajes del programa de estudio tanto de Lectura y Análisis de
Textos como de inglés. C) Los instrumentos y procedimientos de evaluación
corresponden con los propósitos y aprendizajes del curso. Ya que fueron
evaluados por un Comité primero entre pares (los alumnos) luego por las
titulares de la materia y al final por un Comité evaluador integrado por
diversos profesores de Inglés y de Lectura y Redacción. D) Para está
Antología, los recursos, materiales didácticos y fuentes de información son
acordes con los programas de estudio vigentes y atienden las necesidades de
los alumnos. E) Se realizó un diagnóstico por parte de alumnos destacados y
profesores especialistas del área, para detectar dificultades de aprendizaje
en relación a la escritura de los jóvenes y presentar los resultados en esta
“Antología Bilingüe: Más profundo que las palabras/ Deeper than Words”. F)
Explicitamos las actividades realizadas con el fin de apoyar a los alumnos
con mayores dificultades para lograr los aprendizajes de la escritura. G)
Las evidencias de logro de aprendizajes es esta “Antología Bilingüe: Más
profundo que las palabras/ Deeper than Words” que corresponden a las
estrategias didácticas reportadas.
17
En la misma línea de pensamiento tiene Trascendencia ya que:
Mejora nuestra docencia y la de otros profesores mediante el uso de esta
Antología Bilingüe: “Más profundo que las palabras”/ Deeper than Words,
que apoya las actividades del profesor, ya que el mismo, coordinó a sus
alumnos en la participación de esta Antología extra clase. Asimismo, en este
marco conceptual, el enfoque de la materia de Lectura y Análisis de Textos
Literarios I y II, pone en “el centro al alumno” en su relación con el texto
literario; se trabajaron diferentes niveles y saberes: lingüísticos, para una
decodificación adecuada de la riqueza de los recursos del lenguaje
utilizados por el autor; pragmáticos, para identificar indicios, claves y
estímulos que construyen la coherencia del texto; meta textuales, para
reconocer las convenciones y peculiaridades de los géneros literarios;
además de saberes contextuales e intertextuales que contribuyen a
comprender el sentido del texto analizado.
18
Es importante indicar, que la materia de Lectura y Análisis de
Textos Literarios tiene relaciones con otras asignaturas, y que las
aportaciones culturales y artísticas de la literatura apuntan a la concreción
de la sensibilidad, la forma de percibir el mundo y a la necesidad de
concebir el conocimiento como un todo que se construye gracias a la acción
de cada elemento que lo integra: ciencias, arte, tecnología, historia. El
Taller de Lectura Redacción e Iniciación a la Investigación Documental I,
se relaciona con el TLRIID II, porque retoma el papel del lector frente a la
obra literaria y su goce estético, y con otras materias como: Latín, Griego,
Comunicación, Lectura y Análisis de Textos; porque se centra en el estudio
del lenguaje y mantiene la dinámica de clase–taller: el docente propone
diversas actividades que facilitan la adquisición de conocimientos a partir
de los saberes previos y las necesidades de los alumnos. Asimismo, la materia
de Lectura y Análisis de Textos se relaciona con asignaturas como Inglés I,
II, III y IV del Colegio, que son afines por el enfoque humanístico establecido
en sus propósitos de estudio. También con historia, filosofía y antropología, y
asignaturas del campo científico como psicología y biología que desarrollan
en el estudiante una mentalidad analítica y de resolución de problemas.
19
Por lo tanto, la relación de Idiomas y otras asignaturas como
(Lectura y Análisis de Textos Literarios) consiste en que la materia de
Inglés contribuye con el desarrollo de la interdisciplina al relacionarse con
las materias de las cuatro áreas académicas del Colegio, puesto que el
conocimiento de una lengua extranjera permite la incursión a saberes de
diferentes ciencias y culturas que se encuentran codificados en ese idioma.
En particular, la materia de Inglés está vinculada con el Área de Talleres
debido a que comparten el Enfoque Comunicativo y los propósitos
generales: “El Área de Lenguaje y Comunicación debe hacer visibles las
vías para comunicar información y apropiarse de ella, pero también para ir
más allá... para pensar, modificar, transformar el propio conocimiento
como parte de un continuo, ya que no existe una sola manera de ser lector,
escuchar o producir textos orales o escritos” (Orientación y Sentido de las
Áreas, Área de Talleres de Lenguaje y Comunicación,20 05:18).” Los
materiales diseñados por los alumnos y que integran está Antología
contribuyen a la enseñanza y al aprendizaje del programa de la asignatura
de Inglés y de Lectura y Análisis de Textos Literarios I de la 2ª. Unidad
Textos Narrativos.
20
ü TLATL. II. Aprendizaje 1. Distingue las características específicas
del texto poético. Disposición espacial, aspecto sonoro, organización
textual y empleo particular del lenguaje.
21
Ø Se puso una fotografía digital en el ángulo superior izquierdo de la
cuartilla. En el derecho un epígrafe en relación al eje transversal que se
relacione con su “autobiografía”. La escritura debe ser en Candara no.
11 a renglón seguido máximo una cuartilla en español.
22
Ø El siguiente paso fue la escritura de la “autobiografía” en inglés. Donde
las correcciones en inglés estuvieron a cargo de la Mtra. Maralejandra
Hernández Trejo.
Ø Los alumnos recibieron un “Curso sobre haiku” sobre sus escritos por
la Mtra. Maralejandra Hernández que fue la asesora directa en la
Mediateca en horarios de 11:00 a 15:00 hrs. Los viernes. La Mtra.
Hernández impartió un curso de 20 horas para fomentar la escritura.
23
Ø Una vez ya realizada “la autobiografía” con sus diversas revisiones, se
imprimieron y se entregaron en un sobre a la Mtra. Luisa Trejo, para que
fueran leídos y seleccionados los mejores trabajos, a una comisión de
profesores de Inglés y de Lectura y Redacción, para seleccionar los escritos
mejor escritos para la Antología final.
24
Desarrollo: 10 horas.
2. Leer algunos fragmentos del Texto “Me acuerdo” Brainard, John (2010)
http://descontento.blogspot.com/2015/07/me acuerdo-de-JohnBrainard.html
25
7. Los alumnos asistieron a un “Curso sobre haiku” sobre sus escritos con
la Mtra. Maralejandra Hernández en la Mediateca en horarios de 11:00 a
15:00 hrs. Los viernes. Fue un curso de 20 horas para fomentar la escritura
y el desarrollo de los ejercicios para la Antología.
Bibliografía.
27
PRÓLOGO
Bienvenidos a esta antología aquí están plasmados los sentimientos de muchos
compañeros , de cierta forma me siento más cercana a ellos aunque nunca les
haya dirigido la palabra en la vida real, y es extraño sentir que los conozco un
poco y que no son solo extraños que asisten a la misma clase que yo.
con una gran variedad de emociones desde felicidad hasta melancolía los
emociones de otras personas a través de sus ojos, nos permiten ver lo que sus
almas aprecian y nos muestran la belleza de cada uno de ellos porque nos
cuentan con que se identifican, el ¿por qué?, y me recuerda que todos tienen una
interesante ver un poco de lo que han visto o han vivido expresado en sus textos.
Para mí ha sido difícil este proyecto porque no sabía qué textos escoger, el
estar a la altura de un proyecto tan serio porque siendo realista soy terrible en la
28
Introducción: Manual del lector
Esta es una recopilación de historias hechas por estudiantes sobre ningún tema
en particular, presentadas tanto en prosa como verso, además de en inglés y
español. Las historias aquí documentadas son un pequeño vistazo a las vidas de
los autores que quisieron compartir, y en otros casos su opinión. Este trabajo ha
sido hecho por estudiantes interesados en la literatura, tanto en conocerla como
hacerla. Varios grupos fueron los que participaron, no solo de literatura; a pesar
de ello solo una parte fue la escogida para integrar el proyecto.
Este texto puede ser considerado de dos formas: como literatura o indagativo.
De ser el primer caso, es más adecuado para los coetáneos de los creadores pues
puede servir como guía o motivación si les interesa escribir, y si no son historias
fáciles de digerir y con las que alguno se puede identificar. En el segundo caso,
aunque no lo parezca, es útil para conocer a las personas que estudian en esta
institución debido a sus interesantes coincidencias.
El objetivo de este trabajo siempre fue la práctica, por ello este es un
ejercicio hecho trabajo. A los editores, escritores, traductores y hasta los que
ayudaron a la estética de la antología les sirvió para ejercitar sus habilidades.
Para algunos esto representó un primer intento hecho con esfuerzo. Fue difícil,
sobre todo, porque hay un abandono en las habilidades de expresión literaria; no
solo se trata de escribir y escribir no es solo hacer textos argumentativos. No es
necesario tener que hacer una historia completa para practicar, tan solo con darle
continuidad con versos u oraciones pequeñas, como en algunos casos en esta
antología.
Para varios, esta es la última vez que estudian literatura, pero no
significa que la tengan que abandonar, tampoco que quieran hacerlo. Se dice que
en la actualidad la literatura está abandonada, pero, en realidad, tal vez solo ha
cambiado lo que se lee dando paso a una literatura más relajada. A muchos aún
les atrae escribir y lo hacen donde pueden, sobre todo en internet, con la
intención de compartir lo que piensan con los demás. Varios escriben sus ideas,
pero otros van más allá y escriben historias que quieren ser leídas y ésta es una
oportunidad, una simple pero importante.
29
Alan Fernando Espinosa Moreno
I make no promises, I can’t do golden rings. But I’ll give you everything. Magic
is in the air, there ain’t no science here. So come get your everything
-Sam Smith –
An endless tale
No promises, I can’t do golden rings. But I’ll give you everything. Magic is in
the air, there ain’t no science here. So come get your everything
-Sam Smith –
I am originally from a majestic valley where not so many years ago, there was a
land of gods and today is inhabited by around 9 million people. A city stained
with delinquent blood and especially filled of pigs that take away the resources
of the poor people, that also don't help to get though because of their
individuality, selfishness and poor education, people who unknowingly keep
feeding those pigs that don't do anything else that fatten their pockets and take
everything for them. However it's still a city with life, colors and joy, a city that
is literally a heart that you don't know at what time it can beat so hard that it will
collapse and fall. But even if it falls we get up, we have done it before and we
will do it again, that city is Mexico City, it is my city and although I currently
don't live there, all my life is within its entrails and I will always be part of it, as
the ant to the anthill.
31
My family history is a bit complicated, to grow up in a family full of critical
prejudices, appearances and opinions that aren't always positive or constructive
isn't at all easy and less If you're a person so different from them, sometimes it's
like feeling lost with my own people, as If I didn't belong there and in spite of
everything I know that I am never alone and I never will be. We won't be that
close but we are always there when we need each other; at least it is that way
with my mother's family. My father is like the man who went to the moon; he
was only once there and has never visited the giant cheese rabbit again.
My name is Fernando a powerful and strong name, and on one hand I don't think
I am that, but I know that there is something or someone inside me that is, right
now I feel that I am in a limbo of what life tells me that I am and the person I
really want to be, from both sides there are some things I like and some I don't,
so I have to be able to find a good balance between the two versions of me.
I have no faith in human perfection, Man is now more active, no happier or
smarter than he was 6000 years ago, the man has always been selfish and silly,
ruining everything that he touches and nature has become a small piece of paper
that the man has been burning little by little and that is ending with all the
wealth that the world has, like leeches sucking his victim until they leave him
without blood to live.
It is not a secret that one of the greatest achievements of my life was becoming a
cougar with golden skin and blue blood, which I carry in my heart with pride, in
this, my second home, I have met people who became so important and
necessary like having to breathe every day, like the CCH. Entering my singing
classes was one of the best moments of my life, the singing makes my heart beat
and my skin bristle as with a few things I do, in conclusion the singing gives me
life and although if I'm being honest, I still can't consider myself a singer
because knowing how to sing doesn't mean that you are, but just as I have
managed to do other things throughout my life, I know that I will become one of
the best Mexican artists.
I know that the past is an essential part of me but personally I only turned to see
it to be able to admire my achievements and I don't like to think about the future,
I prefer to concentrate on the present but when I came to think about my future I
plan to have found the person who I actually am, having found my message of
life and be sharing it with people, I plan to finish my studies and I would like
that in a future, I can turn to the past and see that I've become the person I
always wanted to be and tell me that I should be proud of what I am, what I was
and what I will be.
32
Incógnitos
Contando las pisadas de mis compañeros, rezando para que el frío de la lluvia en
plena luna cubierta no nos hiciera tropezar. Cada quién sabía a dónde ir a parar,
pero una pequeña parte de mí dudó en seguirlos. Una parte de mí quería volver.
No era correcto. Toda mi vida se había basado en lo correcto -o lo que creía
correcto, por lo menos-, pero la familia es lo más importante, ¿no es así?
Entonces si hago esto por el bien de mi joven familia que me adoptó hace poco
tiempo, está bien, ya no tengo duda.
Un fuerte agarre me arrebata de mis pensamientos, mi colega entonces me
reprende por mi mente tan vulnerable a hundirse en problemas sentimentales.
Mojado, molesto, algo ruborizado, pero ya dentro de nuestra barrera, me suelta.
Cuenta las cabezas, se percata de que falta una y enfurece preguntando cómo es
que nadie lo escuchó. Nadie sabía de su paradero, sabíamos que no volvería, que
probablemente el miedo no lo dejó continuar con el plan. Al igual que él, todos
estábamos aterrados por la idea de desaparecer lentamente. Pero el paraíso,
cuesta. Y si de ser así nos cuestan un par de cabezas, qué más da.
—A pesar de las instrucciones, ninguno hizo lo que debía. — mi colega se sentó
en el suelo húmedo, entrelazó sus dedos en su cabello castaño oscuro y todo el
tiempo fijó sus ojos en nosotros. —Quedamos solo tres. ¿Oyeron? Tres. Tres de
cinco. —
¿Nervios o furia en el máximo esplendor? Me di cuenta de que era una
combinación cuando lanzó un par de cosas al aire y se hincó a llorar como niño
que recién perdió a sus padres. Los demás tienen el mismo problema, pero si yo
no hago nada ¿quién lo hará?
—Calma. — toqué su hombro y le susurré dichosas palabras para recibir unos
ojos del color de la tierra posados en mí. — Estamos haciendo lo que teníamos
que hacer, la vida para nosotros no tenía sentido, ya no era una vida, ni
placentera, y mucho menos interesante. Teníamos que escapar de donde
estábamos atrapados, sin salida y que poco a poco nos iba consumiendo las
esperanzas. En vez de lanzar cosas y esperar por más lágrimas hasta que ardan
tus ojos, contemos los días que nos falta para renacer. —
Fue la tarde del 19 de abril. Él bajó del auto gris de su padre, con mochila en
mano y una cara desdichada, harto del viaje y harto de su caminata repentina.
Saludé como a cualquier otra persona, y me sonrió lo más que pudo entre
dientes blanquecinos y mejillas coloradas. Una sonrisa que no podré olvidar,
sabrá el cielo por qué causó una sensación en mí. No sabría decir si de repulsión
o de emoción, lo único que sabía era que se mudaba a la casa de frente a la mía.
Sería, seguramente, un buen vecino. Me senté frente al televisor apagado, miré
mi reflejo. Observé con peculiaridad los detalles de mi rostro y manos. En mi
mente llegaron preguntas que solo le hago a mi propio reflejo. ¿Seré yo él
mismo mañana? ¿Soy el mismo cuando pienso estas cosas? Las personas suelen
33
amarme por lo que reflejo fuera de mi casa, aunque nunca conocerán cómo me
comporto dentro de ella. Realmente nunca tendré una respuesta concreta a eso,
solo podré suponer cómo es que el mundo me ve. Escucho los gritos de mi
madre resonando en la cocina, ruidos que quiero olvidar. El troglodita sale
también, con cerveza en la mano y un par de cabellos dorados, con su camisa
mal abotonada, aunque con traje y corbata planchada, pero en desorden. “Es lo
que un hombre hace”, solía vociferar cuando remarcaba un moretón en los
pómulos de mi madre. El maldito golpe que la tumbó en el piso con la cena en
manos, fue hecho por el puño del troglodita. Quién como mi madre, que sigue
enamorada del imbécil que mató a su primer hijo. Haciéndose la que no sabe,
pero cuando supo que su hijo fue asesinado, no dudó en meterlo como culpable
entre sus pensamientos.
Ella lo sabe, él lo sabe, yo lo sé. En esta casa y en el barrio todos lo saben. Y la
peor pesadilla es saberlo sin hacer nada al respecto.
- ¡Quítate! - gritó como una oveja disfrazada de fiera. -Y ayuda a la zorra a
levantarse. Está en la cocina llorando como si le hubiera hecho la gran cosa.
No. Estaba harto de levantar a mi madre estúpida que solo sufría porque así lo
deseaba. No. Estaba más harto de él. Me quitó a la única figura realmente
paterna que tuve en mi vida, me quitó las esperanzas de creer que con el paso
del tiempo mi vida cambiaría. Tomé el cuchillo pequeño empapado de
mermelada y migajas de pan. Acabar con quien se interpone en mi camino, el
gozo de ver su sangre derramarse sobre el sillón en el que antes me había
sentado. Abusar, matar. Es lo que hace un hombre. Mentira. Es lo que hace un
troglodita, y por crecer con uno, soy uno también.
El grito femenino me despertó. La mirada aterrorizada de mi madre sobre mí y a
la vez sobre el cuchillo que solté instantáneamente. Madre querida, ¿qué es lo
que iba a hacer? No recuerdo porqué precisamente tomé el utensilio, si no tengo
ningún sándwich de mermelada en mano.
Me escapé hasta que mis rodillas temblaron y me inmovilizaron. Tomé
bocanadas de aire y luego las escupí. La boca se me llenaba de amargura y
miedo. Mi madre no estaba conmigo y no podría abrazarme aún en esta noche
calurosa. Mi instinto se activó con ayuda de zapatos sonando entre el pavimento.
La luz callejera iba marcando una sombra delgada, cada vez haciéndose más
grande y visible. Dios, protégeme. Aunque no sea religioso y dude sobre ti,
protégeme si del troglodita se trata y ahora busca vengarse. Para mi sorpresa era
el portador de los dientes blancos de esta tarde; el nuevo, el visitante que se
convertiría en mi amigo tan cercano que me haría dudar a cualquier costa de lo
que hago bien y mal. Volvió a sonreírme como la primera vez, cálida mirada,
entretenida nariz que se arrugada al quitarse la bufanda después de inspeccionar
mi vulnerabilidad para el frío.
—Mira que conozco a gente despistada, pero nunca había visto a un niño tan
frágil como tú correr por las calles en plena madrugada, con tan sólo una playera
34
y bermudas. — dijo tal vez para mí, o para mi yo extraño que casi mata a su
padrastro de no haber sido delatado por su madre.
—Quería respirar un poco. — retomando sus gestos le expliqué tranquilo.
—Además de descubierto, mentiroso. —
Me heló por completo el cuerpo, mis palabras pesaron sobre mi lengua.
Realmente me sentí sentenciado a mentiroso. Pero no lo era, ¿cierto? Realmente
quería respirar fuera de mi casa, quería huir de ese troglodita, ¿no? ¿O solo fue
una excusa?
—Normalmente, nadie me dice mentiroso. ¿Con qué derecho lo dices tú? —
—Siento que me mientes, y por eso te lo digo. Además, cuando salgo a respirar,
no me echo a correr como si huyera de un monstruo. Así que tranquilo, tu
secreto está a salvo conmigo. Temer no debes. — removió mis cabellos y los
alborotó como mi hermano mayor lo hacía. Sus labios pálidos se curvaron hacia
arriba y en cada mejilla se hundieron ligeramente dos hoyuelos.
¿Qué era él? ¿qué soy yo? ¿qué hacemos aquí esta noche de abril parados bajo
un poste de luz? ¿qué día de abril es? ¿puedo confiar en él? ¿confío en mí
mismo?
—Quiero huir. — musité —He pensado en la muerte y en la vida. Creo que no
quiero morir, creo que solo quiero un cambio de rutina. Tengo mis razones de
mis mentalidades, son lo único que no he perdido a esta edad. —
—Huyamos juntos, entonces. Y quien guste unirse, que se una. — no pareció
una broma de mal gusto, parecía que confesaba una irrealidad y mentira al
mismo tiempo.
—Ni siquiera sé tu nombre. —
—Y no tienes por qué, si confías en mí puedes llamarme como quieras. ¿Acaso
no te gustaría cambiar de vida desesperadamente? No importa la opción que se
te dé, la tomas. Eso das a entender. —
Cuánta razón en un engaño, él se veía igual de desesperado que yo, y sabía que,
en aquellas zonas llenas de desgracia, no sería el único que se iría con tan solo la
idea cruzada en su cabeza. La intriga de conocer más allá y lo que es esta
persona. Accedí, a buscar ese cambio que tanto había estado buscando, sin
razonamiento, sin comparar mi vida con la ficción de cuentos.
—¿Qué razones tienes tú para querer huir? — le cuestioné antes de dar hincapié
a mis propuestas.
— Motivos me sobran. Con un padre viudo y casi muerto, no quiero que la
carga de sus deudas me siga toda la vida. —
35
Sin rodeos entre las palabras. Podía sentir su confianza en mí como yo nunca la
sentiría en él.
—Es una larga historia del porqué estoy acabando así. Ocuparía mucho tiempo
de charla, y ahora mismo hay que actuar, en vez de platicar y desviarnos del
objetivo. — manifestó el entretenimiento de sus palabras en una risa, después
sus ojos me consideraron presente, y prosiguió. —Para el pasado habrá un
tiempo futuro. Durante nuestro camino contaré quién soy. —
Semanas después comenzó la más insólita creación de una huida de final
abierto. Teníamos que estudiar nuestro alrededor y ubicar un punto donde
alojarnos por algún inestable tiempo.
—El bosque. — dijo él mostrándome un plano de la ciudad entera, y en la costa,
casi afuera del plano, se divisaba el bosque. Una idea que surge como un regalo
del cielo.
Nos tomaría días llegar, la luna será testigo de que a nuestros pies les crezcan
ampollas, cuanto terminemos en estar sucios y completamente vacíos de alma y
esperanza. Aunque, para darle un poco de insatisfacción a la vida, cargaremos lo
necesario para llegar como medio esqueletos al destino, y no a la muerte.
Provisiones y luces para alumbrar durante la bella noche, problema que yo tuve
que resolver; el dinero iba a pesar sobre mi cómplice. Cuando a duras penas yo
reunía un par de billetes, él tenía una potencia mayor de robarle a su padre
quebrado de compañía y moribundo.
Nos decidimos por fin partir una madrugada de mayo, en la esquina de la
cuadra. Seguros y a la vez completamente temerosos, un choque de sentimientos
fortuitos. No quería dejar a mi madre (que tarde o temprano pasaría a mejor vida
en manos del troglodita), la estaba asesinando indirectamente por el simple
hecho de no venir conmigo. Pero de eso, a morir ambos. Sí, quédate sola. Sí,
muérete. Ya que tú estropeaste mis planes propuestos del cuchillo de mesa
embarrado de mermelada y pan.
Camión, luego el centro, varias personas comenzaban a caminar y a empujarse
como animales a partir de las seis de la mañana. Oficinistas, empresarios,
locales levantando cortinas oxidadas y mostrando un cartel de comida rápida por
tan solo cuarenta pesos, personas hablando por teléfono, gritando un fuerte
“¡fíjate, imbécil!” mientras se sobaban el pie, o más bien el zapato, corriendo a
muchos lados y maldiciendo al tiempo por existir o por no ir a su paso. Ahora,
imagina a un par de pubertos con mochilas negras y ropa del mismo color.
Pubertos recién salidos del barrio completamente solos e ingeniando sus ideas
para reprimir el hambre que comenzaba a sacudirlos.
—Deberíamos escondernos, ¿no te parece? —
36
—No. — contesté. —Al menos no de ellos. —Apenas si se fijan de las grietas
en el pavimento donde pueden tropezar. Si nuestras familias nos buscaran, y
aunque en millones de carteles estuviera nuestra cara, no nos verían. Y si su
vista nos capta, piensan que fue una figuración y dejarían ir nuestra imagen sin
más. Porque no es su asunto, no les importa. — tranquilo — le mencioné.
Pasamos un breve rato riéndonos, de cómo se veían, como nos envidiaban
algunos por no tener la misma prisa de llegar a un punto. El ser raro una vez me
lo mencionó mi compañero. Le parecía inusual que me comportara de una
manera tan drástica en mis emociones.
Claro, tiempo después se disculpó. En su mente rondaba la idea de comer un
gran manjar para luego echarse a dormir, y el cambio tan repentino, el
pavimento quemando la suela de nuestros zapatos, la falta de luz entre las calles
durante la noche, la satisfacción de las personas al tomar la carretera o el
transporte para llegar a sus hogares. Contradictorio.
—Y pensar que no hace mucho nos reíamos de ellos…— se le escaparon esas
palabras entre dientes.
— ¿A qué te refieres, mi amigo? —
—Es cierto que ellos viven en su mundo tan formulado. Van a trabajar, se
cepillan los dientes, otros desayunan, otros solo fuman un cigarro de merienda.
Son tan marginados y viven la cotidianidad. — poco a poco su voz se fue
quebrando, parecía tomar aire y controlar sus impulsos de una energía
acumulada en su pecho. -Sin embargo…, ellos tienen un lugar a donde ir. Donde
se sienten seguros. Tranquilos, aunque sea solo por un breve segundo.
— ¡Qué estupidez! — la furia me venció. Tiré el cartón que me cubría de la
ventisca y juraría que los departamentos me escucharon vociferar. —Nosotros
también tuvimos las mismas condiciones. ¡Tú no sabes qué problemas tienen! ¿y
si sufren como tú y yo? — Comencé a carcajear, no tengo ni la menor idea de lo
que mis sentimientos me indicaron, pero claro, me reí como nunca y gocé de ella
también. — Tal vez ellos sueñan con lo que hoy estamos haciendo. Y no pienses
que no tenemos un lugar a donde ir, porque te equivocas. —
Caricias, fue lo que sentí recorriendo desde mis brazos hasta mi espalda. Me
interrumpió abrazándome, como si en mí hubiera una etiqueta de “apachurrarle”.
Sus cabellos castaños rozaban mi hombro, sentí su frente sudorosa y sus
expresiones tan tensas. Humedad. Lloraba, sin duda alguna. Qué lindo imbécil.
Repasé cual peine mi mano sobre su cabellera, trataba de consolarlo, era lo más
simple que podría hacer.
—Tú y yo partiremos a una mejor vida. —
Y nuevamente me helé.
37
Las latas del bote cayeron sonando como un par de instrumentos desafinados
captando la atención de ambos. Quizá un gato. Quizá un humano
escuchándonos. Quizá la policía. Quizá el taquero con su negocio abierto y que
no le cae ni una mosca. Todos los quizá se quebraron en mil pedazos, cuando la
curiosidad nos mató y nos acercamos para que en los ojos de cada uno se
dibujara la figura de una casi mujer tirada, tratando de camuflarse entre sus
brazos cruzados, con lágrimas en los ojos donde parte de ellas se resbalaban
entre las mejillas polvorientas, suplicando a su Dios que parara el sufrimiento y
una protección para cuidarla de los papeles de extraños que ahora jugábamos
para ella. Podría ser una amenaza, una carga, pero el castaño siempre era el
bueno, mi contraparte, seguro que por su mente pasaban las palabras de ayuda,
compañía, cuidado.
— ¿A qué le temes? — de una manera cínica disfrazada le cuestionó.
—No me hagan daño, por favor. Haré lo que me pidan. En verdad, lo que
quieran. — fue aquí donde empezó a desnudar su hombro, recorrió sus suaves
dedos entre las costuras de su ropa. La detuvimos al instante, no sin ver el
notable maltrato. Hematomas relucían entre su piel blanca. El chico
acompañante de buena alma, se le derritió el corazón. Su esencia aclamaba
ayudar a la gente que lo pudiera necesitar. Ella era evidente de ayuda.
— ¿Cuál es tu historia? — una vez recogida, se reconfortó de una felicidad
extrema. Pero desapareció en un instante al hacerle una pregunta complicada por
mi parte.
—Mi historia… —
—No tienes que contarla si no quieres. — sonreí evitando ahora a cualquier
costo el tema.
—Nací en una familia de pobreza. Tanta fue mi mala suerte que terminé como
una niña prostituta. Nunca fui a la escuela, nunca pude disfrutar mi yo pequeña.
Mi mamá es igual o peor que yo. Las drogas son en lo que piensa. Creo que se
siente bien con la vida tan asquerosa que nos ha hecho pasar a mis hermanos y a
mí. Como soy la mayor, me tuve que encargar de ellos…—
Quizás la estupidez más grande mi vida, después de huir, fue el haberle
preguntado sobre su vida a la prostituta. No dejó de hablar después de unas
horas, y se detuvo hasta que el sueño la venció.
—Parece que su historia te fascinó. —
—Muy interesante. — mentí, al hacerlo recibí un par de palmadas amistosas en
mi espalda.
—Al fin del día, siempre tienes la razón. Sí, pertenecemos a un lugar, solo hay
que buscarlo. —
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—Menudo sermón motivador. —
Ambas carcajadas se soltaron, así como nuevas expectativas de un futuro
próximo. Las esperanzas polvorientas se sacudieron y dieron paso a un notable
cambio de actitud.
Desde ese punto de partida, se dieron vuelo nuevas historias ya desgastadas de
gente igual de desgastada. Con la llegada de la joven prostituta, a la cual
apodamos Boop, se aproximó la triste y trágica historia de Hill. Y cómo si nunca
hubiésemos escuchado llantos de ira y de desesperación, nos relató cómo perdió
a sus abuelos, la única familia que tuvo, en un incendio. Como es de suponerse,
ella gritó a los cuatro vientos que no fue accidente, sino asesinato por una
familia corrompida por el deseo avaro sobre los pequeños ahorros de un par de
ancianos. Nadie le creyó, y lo que hizo fue huir hacia las montañas, donde se
sentía tranquila, donde sus abuelas volvían a acariciarle las mejillas y a ofrecerle
una taza de leche con bombones. Hill se bautizó a sí misma con el sobrenombre
desde que nos encontró. “Llámenme Hill. Solo Hill. Si quieren huir cuenten
conmigo. No, tal vez no los lleve a un mundo distinto, pero a un lugar diferente
a este, sí.”
Félix llegó tan repentino como las ventiscas turbulentas y las inundaciones en la
calle Alejandría. En vez de que él nos hallara, nosotros lo hallamos a él,
mientras paseaba ebrio por los suburbios, determinado a saltar hacia las vías del
metro. Sujetamos su brazo, lo tiramos hacia la parte del suelo, y decididos a
irnos con un placer de ayudar a una persona quien-sabe-quien, Félix nos siguió
con cautela. “Cuando estaba en el borde, pensé que una nueva vida me esperaba.
Igual a un gato, tendría más oportunidades y más vidas.” Así de ridícula fue la
razón de su apodo.
Conforme avanzamos en nuestro camino, los recursos se fueron agotando, el
dinero había desaparecido de las manos de mi compañero. Y sí, el retirarse de
esta absurda misión era lo más apropiado para cada quién. Hasta que uno de
nosotros habló, y de ahí, la idea inusual jamás se borró.
— ¡Mira, ese hombre ha sacado dinero del banco ese! — exclamó Boop
abrazando su estómago. Tal vez la hizo al imaginar la cantidad de comida que
compraría con todos esos miles depositados en esa cartera de cuero negra. Y
cómo culparla, todos pensábamos eso. —Si tan sólo se la pudiéramos quitar. —
Mi mano tembló. Mi mochila comenzó a vibrar a retumbar un sonido en mi
consciencia. Nadie sabía que antes de salir de mi apestosa casa, había buscado
en los muebles del troglodita un tanto de dinero, cualquier cosa que pudiera
empeñar, ropa, una navaja. Aunque por error, debajo de sus calcetines
mugrientos hechos bola en el último cajón del buró, ahí se encontraba envuelta
la muerte hecha pistola. Desconozco el calibre, con cierta duda de que
funcionara, la puse entre mis manos. Retumbaba, se sentía el poder de pecar en
un solo movimiento. Pude haberlo matado, pero de nuevo no lo hice. Tal vez
39
tenga un rencor profundo contra mi madre, por eso decido en todos los casos ya
no ayudarla. La desconozco.
“¿De dónde sacaste eso?”
La palabra igual retumbó en mis oídos. La voz de mi compañero se deshizo en
mil pedazos zumbando en aire contaminado. ¿Cuándo la saqué? Se supone que
era una sorpresa.
—Antes de salir de mi casa, la encontré. — respondí aún sin creer que la había
visto.
— ¿Funciona? —
—No lo sé. —
—Debería. — la tomó como si fuese suya, la apoyó contra su sien y cerró los
ojos.
Cada uno de nosotros nos quedamos perplejos. Sí, pensamos que se dispararía a
la cabeza, y mientras unos gritaban “no”, yo solo me quedé quieto,
completamente inmóvil, ¿cómo un chico asustado, o espectador ansioso de su
show?, no lo sé.
—Sí, funciona. — lo dijo retirándose esa muerte de la cabeza, riendo hasta que
pequeñas lágrimas se formaron entre sus pestañas. —Esto es la solución al
problema. No tiene cartucho, pero fácilmente podemos engañar. Así que adiós
hambruna. —
Inteligente, estúpido, ingenioso, lindo. Díganme cómo criticarlo, que en verdad
no tengo la menor idea. Seguro señalaste la primera, o la segunda. Yo señalaría
ambas, y hasta la tercera. Pero en lo que discutimos lo que realmente es este ser,
vayamos con mis amigos, quienes dedujeron bien los planes con tal de comer
como reyes en una situación de pobres. Halagos y varias miradas de coqueteo
salieron de Boop para el valiente, con cierta intervención y sin desear ser
aguafiestas, pregunté:
—¿Cómo sabes que no dispara? —
Poco a poco los sonidos desaparecieron, las pupilas de cada uno se clavaron en
mí y en mi referente.
— ¿Para qué quieres disparar? — él podrá ser el ser más amable y perfecto del
mundo, casi como un dios, pero cuando se molestaba lo demostraba con el tono
de voz y sus párpados se entre cerraban lentamente, como si dudara, aunque en
realidad contenía frustración y advertía que la boca se me cerrara.
—Entiendo, fue mala pregunta. —
40
—Un poco. —
El comienzo dentro del desarrollo, extraño, pero cierto. Este también fue el
punto de partida para nuestros pequeños asaltos a gentes adineradas. Y sí, me
sentí como la escoria, aunque había límites. Éramos el Robin Hood actualizado,
porque solo tomábamos dinero de personas que bien les sobraba un poco. A
padres que trabajaban jornadas extra y recibían una miseria de sueldo ni los
miramos a la cara. Sonará de lo más bajo, sin embargo, inspeccionando bien, es
lo mejor que podemos hacer. Al principio usando lodo para cubrir nuestros
rasgos, y después convirtiéndose en máscaras desechadas, hechas por nuestras
manos.
Cuando llegamos a nuestro destino, el bosque oscuro, tenebroso, completamente
solo y abandonado, no dejamos la vida del asalto. Fue la avaricia quien nos hizo
crecer a tal grado de alcanzar posiblemente nuestros sueños que no podíamos
dejarla de un día para otro. Los árboles se convirtieron en nuestros cómplices,
nuestro alrededor se convirtió en el hogar deseado para pasarlo un par de meses,
y así como nos adaptamos, las noticias de nosotros se fueron dando de poco en
poco. El dinero se fue ahorrando, y como si el arma de fuego se multiplicara,
ahora todos poseemos al menos un arma del mismo calibre o mejor, con una
pequeña diferencia, están determinadas a disparar a quemarropa.
Somos el grupo de jóvenes más buscados por esas patrullas que tú ves pasar por
las madrugadas.
En efecto, asaltar a personas con nivel económico alto no es bajo, ¿sabes lo que
es más bajo? Traicionar a los que una vez mencionaste como “familia”.
Un día, nos parecieron pequeños los asaltos, ya no satisfacían como hace un
tiempo, y lamentablemente quisimos más y más, hasta que nuestro objetivo se
convirtió en un banco; nuestro primer matadero, llevándonos a más de cinco
personas a un lugar desconocido como la muerte o la otra vida.
Miedo fue el que sentí cuando me encontraron, cuando el comandante de los
oficiales me reconoció, sabrá Dios cómo. Dos opciones me ofrecieron: ayudar o
morir. Terminamos haciendo un trato donde ambos salíamos beneficiados. La
vida de mis compañeros a cambio de quedarme con todas las riquezas y mi
libertad.
Sé que es de las más altas traiciones, perdón por ser tan cobarde, pero no
alcanzaré mis sueños si no tengo la vida para complacerme. Así fue como
desapareció por "accidente" Boop, mientras cruzábamos un desfile después de
asaltar uno de los restaurantes más finos de la calle. Empezó la alerta en el
grupo, mientras que yo daba cada paso de nuestros planes como informante de la
policía. Aun así, no fuimos fáciles de atrapar, mis colegas eran escurridizos, y
cuatro intentos de la policía fallaron.
Por eso estamos aquí. Félix hoy fue atrapado, le dispararon por la espalda en un
descuido de cálculo. Nosotros logramos "huir", y pasó lo que tuvo que pasar.
41
Esta noche, mi amigo está tan cerca de mí, me observa con desconfianza, me
analiza. En sus pupilas cafés se entristece por saber lo que he hecho.
— ¿Por qué? — me pregunta decepcionado.
— ¿Y por qué no? — cínico le respondí —De una u otra manera, los sueños de
Boop y Félix no iban a cumplirse, así como Hill. Les di paz. Y no lo había visto
de esa forma hasta que alguien me hizo abrir los ojos. — me exalto con esmero
y finalmente me tranquilizo.
—Eran nuestra familia…—
—No, no lo eran. —
— ¿Entonces? — de un arrebato se levanta, me empuja contra la pared de la
cueva y enfurecido clava sus ojos en mí. — ¿También me matarás a mí? —
—No. — respiré hondo, el dolor de espalda comenzó a presentarse. —Tú sí eres
mi familia. —
— ¿Cómo creerte después de tu traición? —
—Nunca planee matarte. El plan original sigue en pie. Yo nunca rompo mis
promesas, a ellos no les prometí nada. Esa es la diferencia. —
El silencio parecía eterno a pesar de que corrieron sólo un par de minutos, su
respiración también pareció detenerse. Se apartó un poco de mi esencia y volvió
a sentarse frente a mí.
— ¿Cuál es el plan para deshacernos de Hill? —
Fue el hincapié para explicarle todos los beneficios que la traición nos podía
brindar. Con la poca charla entendió todos los pasos debidos para lograr el
cometido.
Por la mañana se escuchaba el sonido de la muerte, hicimos creer a la chica que
estaría a salvo con nosotros como siempre. Corríamos del ruido de las sirenas, le
gritamos a Hill que ella siguiera, después de todo, nosotros estaríamos bien. Fue
así como se quedó sola con esa bestia de placa dorada. Se escucharon las hojas
crujir, un grito salió disparado de entre los árboles y las aves armaron un
espectáculo oscuro.
Había muerto.
Pese a los tropiezos, nos dirigimos a la salida de la pesadilla, tocando los rayos
del sol con los dedos. Llegamos extrañamente al precipicio de un río turbulento.
Confundido mi compañero observó de un lado a otro. Cada vez los policías
estaban más cerca y nos rodearían por cualquier salida.
42
—No fue buena idea después de todo, ¿verdad? — al mismo tiempo de que
hablara con la verdad, se encontraba mi brazo estirado, tomando y apuntando a
su cabeza un tiro preciso con la primera arma que estuvo en mis palmas.
—Tienes razón, Josh. — tal como sonreí, comencé a soltar lágrimas por error.
— No debería dolerme lo que voy a hacer. Pero así es cómo se siente cuando
matas a la persona que tanto amas. —
—No lo harías. —
El disparo retumbó. Quién fue el muerto entre él y yo. Jamás se sabría con
exactitud a los ojos del espectador.
Incógnitos
Counting my companions' footsteps, praying that the cold of rain in the middle
of the roof moon would not make us stumble. Everyone knew where to go, but a
small part of me hesitated to follow them. Part of me wanted to come back. It
wasn't right. My whole life had been based on the right - or what I thought was
right, at least - but family is the most important thing, isn't it? So if I do this for
the sake of my young family who adopted me a short time ago, okay, I have no
doubt.
A strong grip takes me from my thoughts, my colleague then rebukes me for my
mind so vulnerable to sinking into sentimental problems. Wet, annoying,
somewhat blushing, but already inside our barrier, he lets me go. He tells the
heads, notices that one is missing and rages by asking how it is that no one heard
it. No one knew of his whereabouts, we knew he wouldn't come back, that fear
probably didn't let him go on with the plan. Like him, we were all terrified of the
idea of slowly disappearing. But paradise costs. And if that's the case, a couple
of heads cost us, what's the matter.
—Despite the instructions, none did what they should. — my colleague sat on
the wet ground, fathered his fingers between his dark brown hair and all the time
fixed his eyes on us. —There are only three left. Heard? Three. Three out of
five. —
Nerves or fury in the greatest splendor? I realized it was a combination when he
threw a couple of things into the air and swelled to cry like a child who just lost
his parents. The others have the same problem, but if I don't do anything, who
will?
—Calm down. — I touch his shoulder and whisper words to him to receive eyes
of the color of the earth perched on me. —We are doing what we had to do, life
for us was no longer meaningful, it was no longer a life, nor pleasant, and much
less interesting. We had to escape where we were trapped, with no way out and
43
that was gradually consuming our hopes. Instead of throwing things and waiting
for more tears until your eyes burn, let's count the days we need to be reborn. —
It was the afternoon of April 19. He got out of his father's gray car, with a
backpack in hand and a wretched face, fed up with the journey and fed up with
his sudden walk. I greeted like anyone else and smiled as loudly as I could
between whitish teeth and red cheeks. A smile I can't forget, will know the sky
why it caused a sensation in me. I couldn't say if it was repulsion or emotion, all
I knew was that he was moving into the house in front of mine. He'd probably be
a good neighbor. I sat in front of the TV off, looked at my reflection. I looked
with peculiarity at the details of my face and hands. In my mind came questions
that I only ask to my own reflection. Will I be myself tomorrow? Am I the same
when I think these things? People usually love me by what I reflect outside my
house, although they will never know how I behave within it. I'll never really
have a concrete answer to that, I can only figure out how the world sees me. I
hear my mother's screams echoing in the kitchen, noises I want to forget. The
troglodyte comes out too, with beer in hand and a pair of golden hairs, with his
shirt poorly buttoned up, albeit in a suit and ironed tie but in disarray. “It's what
a man does," he used to shout when he pointed out a shiner on my mother's
cheekbones. The damn blow that knocked her on the floor with dinner in his
hands was made by the first of the troglodyte. Who like my mother, who is still
in love with the who killed her first child. Playing the one he doesn't know, but
when he found out his son was murdered, he didn't hesitate to put him as guilty
in his thoughts. She knows it, he knows it, I know it. Everybody knows that in
this house and in the neighborhood. And the worst nightmare knows without
doing anything about it.
—Get out! — he cried like a sheep disguised as a fierce. - And helps the bitch
get up. She’s in the kitchen crying like I made a big deal out of her.
No. I was sick of lifting my stupid mother who only suffered because she
wanted to. I was more fed up with him. He took away the only really father
figure I ever had in my life, took away my hopes of believing that over time my
life would change. I took the small knife soaked in jam and breadcrumbs. To
end whoever stands in my way, the joy of seeing his blood shed on the armchair
in which I had previously sat. Abuse, kill. That's what a man does. Lie. It's what
a troglodyte does, and by growing up with one, I'm one too.
The female cry woke me up. My mother's terrified look at me and at the same
time on the knife I instantly dropped. Mother dear, what was I going to do? I
don't remember why I just took the utensil, but I have no jam sandwich in hand.
I ran away until my knees trembled and immobilized me. I took puffs of air and
then spat them out. My mouth filled with bitterness and fear. My mother wasn't
with me and she couldn't hold me yet on this hot night. My instinct was
activated with the help of shoes ringing between the pavement. The street light
44
was marking a thin shadow, becoming larger and more visible. God, protect me.
Even if I'm not religious and i doubt you, protect me if the troglodyte is treated
and now seeks revenge. To my surprise he was the bearer of white teeth this
afternoon; the new, the visitor who would become my friend so close that it
would make me doubt at any expense of what I do right and wrong. He smiled
again at me like the first time, warm, entertaining nose that wrinkled when he
removed his scarf after inspecting my vulnerability to the cold.
—Look I know clueless people, but I've never seen a child as fragile as you run
through the streets in the middle of the morning, with just a T-shirt and shorts.
— he said perhaps to me, or to my strange self that he almost killed his
stepfather if he hadn't been ratted out by his mother.
—I wanted to breathe a little. —resuming his gestures, I explained calmly.
—In addition to discovery, liar. —
It completely hurt my body; my words weighed on my tongue. I really felt
sentenced to a liar. But it wasn't, was it? I really wanted to breathe outside my
house, I wanted to run away from that troglodyte, didn't I? Or was it just an
excuse?
—Normally, no one says a liar. By what right do you say that? —
—I feel like you're lying to me, and that's why I'm telling you. Besides, when I
go out to breathe, I don't run like I'm running away from a monster. So, don't
worry, your secret is safe with me. Fear you shouldn't. — he removed my hair
and stirred them as my older brother did. His pale lips curved upwards and, on
each cheek, they sank slightly two dimples.
What was he? What am I? What are we doing here tonight in April standing
under a light pole? What of April is it? Can I trust him? Do I trust myself?
—I want to run away." I think I don't want to die; I think I just want a change of
routine. I have my reasons for my mindsets, they're the only thing I haven't lost
at this age.
—Let's run away together, then. And whoever likes to join, who joins. — it
didn't seem like a bad joke, it seemed like he confessed to an unreality and a lie
at the same time.
—I don't even know your name. —
—And you don't have to, if you trust me you can call me whatever you want.
Wouldn't you desperately like to change your life? No matter what option you
give yourself, you take it. That's what you mean. —
How right in a deception, he looked just as desperate as I did, and he knew that
in those areas full of misfortune, he wouldn't be the only one who would leave
45
with just the cross-idea in his head. The intrigue of knowing beyond and what
this person is. I agreed, to seek that change that I had been looking for, without
reasoning, without comparing my life to the fiction of short stories.
—What reasons do you have for wanting to run away? — I questioned him
before emphasizing my proposals.
—Reasons I have left. With a widowed and almost dead father, I don't want the
burden of his debts to follow me all my life. —
Without bluntness between words. I could feel her confidence in me as I would
never feel her in him.
—It's a long story of why I'm ending up like this. It would take a lot of time of
talk, and right now we have to act, instead of talking and deviating from the
objective. — he expressed the entertainment of his words in a laugh, then his
eyes considered me present, and he went on. —For the past there will be a future
time. On our way I'll tell you who I am. —
Weeks later began the most unusual creation of an open-ended escape. We had
to study our surroundings and locate a point where to stay for some unstable
time.
—The forest. — he said, showing me a shot of the whole city, and on the coast,
almost outside the plane, the forest could be seen. An idea that emerges as a gift
from heaven.
It would take us days to arrive, the moon will witness blisters growing at our
feet, as we end up being dirty and completely empty of soul and hope. Although,
to give a little dissatisfaction to life, we will carry what is necessary to reach fate
as half skeletons, not death.
Provisions and lights to light up during the beautiful night, problem that I had to
solve; the money was going to weigh on my accomplice. When I barely
collected a couple of bills, he had a greater power to steal from his broken-to-
business, dying father.
We decided to finally leave one early in May, on the corner of the block. Safe
and at the same time completely fearful, a clash of fortuitous feelings. I didn't
want to leave my mother (who would sooner or later move to a better life in the
hands of the troglodyte), I was indirectly murdering her for the simple fact of
not coming with me. But from that, to die both. Yes, stay alone. Yes, die. Since
you ruined my proposed plans for the table knife muddy with jam and bread.
Truck, then downtown, several people began to walk and push like animals
starting at six o't. Office workers, businessmen, locals raising rusty curtains and
displaying a fast food sign for only forty pesos, people talking on the phone,
shouting a loud "look, asshole!" as they sweed their feet, or rather their shoe,
rushing to many sides and cursing time for existing or not going in their way.
46
Now, imagine a couple of puberties with black backpacks and clothes of the
same color. Puberties fresh out of the neighborhood completely alone and
ingesting their ideas to suppress hunger that began to shake them.
—We should hide, don't you think? —
—No. — I replied. At least not from them. Barely if you notice the cracks in the
pavement where they may stumble. If our families were looking for us, and even
if our faces were on our faces, they wouldn't see us. And if their eyesight
captures us, they think it was a figuration and they'd just let our image go.
Because it's not your business, they don't care. — Quiet. — I mentioned. We
spent a brief time laughing, how they looked, as some envied us for not having
the same rush to get to a point. Being weird once mentioned to me by my
partner. He found it unusual for me to behave in such a drastic way in my
emotions.
Sure, he apologized later. In his mind the idea of eating a great delicacy and then
going to sleep, and the sudden change, the pavement burning the sole of our
shoes, the lack of light between the streets at night, the satisfaction of people
when taking the road or transport to get to their homes. Contradictory.
—And to think that not long ago we laughed at them... — it escaped him to say
those words between his teeth.
—What do you mean, my friend? —
—It is true that they live in their much-formulated world. They go to work,
brush their teeth, others eat breakfast, others just smoke a snack cigarette. They
are so marginalized and live everyday life. — gradually their voice was
breaking, it seemed to take air and control their impulses of an energy
accumulated in their chest. —However, ...they have a place to go. Where they
feel safe. Don't worry, if only for a short second. —
—What a stupidity! — the rage overcame me. I threw away the cardboard that
covered me in the blizzard and swear that the apartments heard me vociferous.
—We also had the same conditions. You don't know what problems they have!
What if they suffer like you and me? — I started to quiver, I have no idea what
my feelings indicated to me, but of course, I laughed like never and enjoyed it
too. —Maybe they dream of what we're doing today. And don't think we don't
have a place to go, because you're wrong. —
Caresses, that's what I felt walking from my arms to my back. He interrupted me
by hugging me, as if there was a "squishy" tag in me. His brown hair grazed my
shoulder, I felt her sweaty forehead and her tense expressions. Moisture. I was
crying, no doubt. That's a nice. I went over whatever combed my hand over his
hair, i was trying to comfort him, it was the simplest thing I could do.
—You and I will go on to a better life. —
47
And again, I freeze.
The cans of the boat sounded like a pair of detuned instruments catching the
attention of both. Maybe a cat. Maybe a human listening to us. Maybe the
police. Maybe the taquero with his business open and he doesn't get a fly. All
perhaps broke into a thousand pieces, when curiosity killed us and we
approached so that in each one's eyes the figure of an almost woman lying
around, trying to camouflage herself in her arms crossed, with tears in her eyes
where part of them slipped n among the dusty cheeks, pleading with her God to
stop suffering and a protection to take care of the roles of strangers we now
played for her. He could be a threat, a burden, but the chestnut was always the
good one, my counterpart, I'm sure the words of help, companionship, care was
passed through his mind.
—What are you afraid of? — in a cynical manner in disguise he questioned.
—Don't hurt me, please. I'll do whatever you ask. Whatever you want — it was
here that she started bladressing her shoulder, she rolled her soft fingers between
the seams of her clothes. We stopped her instantly, not without seeing the
remarkable mistreatment. Bruises glistened between her white skin. The
companion boy of good soul, his heart melted. Its essence was acclaimed to help
people who might need it. She was evident in help.
—What is your story? — once collected, he comforted himself with extreme
happiness. But he disappeared in an instant when I asked him a complicated
question on my part.
—My story... —
—You don't have to tell it if you don't want to. — I smiled now avoiding the
subject at any cost.
—I was born into a family of poverty. So much was my bad luck that I ended up
as a prostitute child. I never went to school; I could never enjoy my little self.
My mom's the same or worse than me. Drugs are what you think about. I think
he feels good about the life so disgusting that he's put my brothers and me
through. Since I'm the oldest, I had to take care of them... —
Perhaps the biggest stupidity my life, after I ran away, was to have asked the
prostitute about her life. She didn't stop talking after a few hours and stopped
until the dream beat her.
—It seems that your story fascinated you. —
—Very interesting. — I lied, in doing so I received a couple of friendly pats on
my back.
48
—At the end of the day, you're always right. Yes, we belong to a place, we just
must look for it. —
—What a motivational sermon. —
Both laughter was released as well as new expectations for the near future.
Dusty hopes shook and gave way to a remarkable change in attitude.
From that starting point, new stories have already been blown up by people just
as worn out. With the arrival of the young prostitute, to whom we awe Boop,
Hill's sad and tragic story approached. And how if we had never heard cries of
anger and despair, he recounted to us how he lost his grandparents, the only
family he had, in a fire. Unbeknownst to it, she shouted at the four winds that it
was not an accident, but murder by a family corrupted by the greedy desire for
the small savings of a couple of elderly men. No one believed him, and what he
did was flee to the mountains, where he felt calm, where his grandmothers again
stroked his cheeks and offered him a cup of milk with chocolates. Hill baptized
herself by the nickname ever since she found us. "Call me Hill. Just Hill. If you
want to run, count on me. No, I may not take you to a different world, but to a
different place than this, yes."
Felix came as sudden as the turbulent blizzards and flooding on Alejandria
Street. Instead of him finding us, we found him, as he walked drunk through the
suburbs, determined to jump onto the subway tracks. We hold his arm, pull him
to the ground, and determined to leave with a pleasure of helping a person who-
knows-who, Felix followed us cautiously. "When I was on the edge, I thought a
new life awaited me. Just like a cat, it would have more opportunities and more
lives." That's how ridiculous the reason for his nickname.
As we went our way, the resources were running out, the money had
disappeared from my partner's hands. And yes, withdrawing from this absurd
mission was the right thing to do for everyone. Until one of us spoke, and from
there, the unusual idea was never erased.
—Look, that man has taken money out of that bank! — cried Boop, hugging his
stomach. Maybe he did it by imagining the amount of food he'd buy with all
those thousands deposited in that black leather wallet. And how to blame her,
we all thought that. — If only we could take it off. —
My hand trembled. My backpack began to vibrate to rumble a sound in my
consciousness. No one knew that before I left my stinking house, I had searched
the troglodyte furniture for some money, anything I could pawn, clothes, a knife.
Although by mistake, under his filthy ball-made socks in the last drawer of the
bureau, there was wrapped death made gun. I don't know the caliber, with some
doubt that it worked, I put it in my hands. He rumbled, felt the power to sin in
one movement. I could have killed him, but I didn't do it again. Maybe I have a
49
deep grudge against my mother, so I decide in every case I don't help her
anymore. I don't know her.
"Where did you get that?"
The word still rumbled in my ears. My partner's voice fell apart in a thousand
pieces buzzing in polluted air. When did I get it? It was supposed to be a
surprise.
—Before I left my house, I found her. — I replied still without thinking I'd seen
his.
—Does it work? —
—I don't know. —
—It should. — he took it as if it were his, supported her against his head, and
closed his eyes.
Each of us was perplexed. yes, we thought he'd shoot himself in the head, and
while some were yelling "no," I just stood still, completely motionless, like a
scared kid, or anxious spectator of his show, I don't know.
—Yes, it works, — he said, removing that death from his head, laughing until
small tears formed between his eyelashes. —This is the solution to the problem.
It doesn't have a cartridge, but we can easily fool. So good-bye famine. —
Smart, stupid, witty, cute. Tell me how to criticize him, I really have no idea. I'm
sure you pointed to the first, or the second. I would point out both, and until the
third. But in what we discuss what this being really is, let's go with my friends,
who deduced well the plans in order to eat like kings in a situation of the poor.
Flattery and several flirting glances left Boop for the brave, with some
intervention and unwanted to be a party pooper, I asked:
—How do you know it doesn't shoot? —
Gradually the sounds disappeared, each one's pupils were nailed to me and my
reference.
—What do you want to shoot for? — he may be the kindest and most perfect
being in the world, almost like a god, but when he bothered he showed it with
the tone of voice and his eyelids slowly closed, as if he doubted, although in
reality it contained frustration and warned that the mouth will shut me.
—I understand, it was a bad question. —
—A bit. —
50
The beginning within the development, strange, but true. This was also the
starting point for our small assaults on wealthy people. And yes, I felt like scum,
even though there were limits. We were the updated Robin Hood, because we
only took money from people who had a little left over. Parents who worked
extra hours and received a pittance of pay, we didn't even look them in the face.
It will sound the lowest, yet, inspecting well, it's the best we can do. At first
using mud to cover our features, and then becoming discarded masks, made by
our hands.
When we reach our destination, the dark, dark forest, completely alone and
abandoned, we do not leave the life of the assault. It was greed that made us
grow to such an extent that we could possibly achieve our dreams that we
couldn't leave it overnight.
The trees became our accomplices, our surroundings became the desired home
to spend a couple of months, and as we adapted, the news of us was given little
by little. The money was saved, and as if the firearm were multiplied, we all
now own at least one weapon of the same caliber or better, with a small
difference, are determined to fire at point-blank range. We're the most wanted
group of young men for those patrols that you see going through the early
mornings.
Indeed, assaulting people with high economic levels is not low, do you know
what is lower? Betray those you once mentioned as "family."
One day, we found the assaults small, they no longer satisfied as they did a
while ago, and unfortunately, we wanted more and more, until our goal became
a bank; our first slaughterhouse, taking more than five people to an unknown
place like death or the afterlife. Fear was the one I felt when they found me,
when the commander of the officers threatened me with death recognized me,
God knows how. Two options offered me: help or die. We ended up making a
deal where we both benefited. The life of my companions in exchange for
staying with all the riches and my freedom. I know it's one of the highest
betrayals, sorry for being such a coward, but I won't achieve my dreams if I
don't have the life to please myself. That's how Boop "accident" disappeared,
while we were crossing a parade after raiding one of the finest restaurants on the
street. The alert started in the group, while I gave every step of our plans as a
police informant. Still, we weren't easy to catch, my colleagues were elusive,
and four attempts by the police failed.
That's why we're here. Felix was caught today, shot in the back in an oversight.
We managed to "run away, " and what happened. Tonight, my friend is so close
to me, he watches me with distrust, analyzes me. In his brown pupils he's sad to
know what I've done.
—Why? — he asks me disappointed.
51
—And why not? — I replied. —One way or another, Boop and Felix's dreams
weren't going to come true, just like Hill. I gave them peace. And I hadn't seen it
that way until someone made me open my eyes. — I extolled myself carefully
and finally calmed down.
—They were our family... —
—No, they weren't. —
—Then? — from an outburst he rises, pushes me against the wall of the cave
and enraged his eyes in me. —Will you kill me too? —
—No. — I breathed; the back pain began to present. —You are my family. —
—How to believe you after your betrayal? —
—Never plan to kill you. The original plan still stands. I never break my
promises, I didn't promise them anything. That's the difference. —
The silence seemed eternal even though they ran only a couple of minutes, their
breath also seemed to stop. He turned away a little from my essence and sat
down again in front of me.
—What is the plan to get rid of Hill? —
It was the point to explain to him all the benefits that betrayal could bring us.
With little talk he understood all the steps due to accomplish the task.
In the morning the sound of death was heard, we made the girl believe that she
would be safe with us as usual. We ran out of the noise of sirens, yelled at Hill
that she would follow, after all, we'd be fine. That's how she was left alone with
that golden-plated beast. The leaves were heard creaking, a scream came out
from among the trees and the birds put on a dark spectacle.
She was dead.
Despite the stumbles, we head to the exit of the nightmare, touching the sun's
rays with our fingers. We made it strangely to the precipice of a turbulent river.
Confused my companion watched back and forth. Each time the cops were
closer and surrounding us by any exit.
—It wasn't a good idea after all, was it? — at the same time, I was walking my
arm out, taking and pointing at his head a precise shot with the first gun that was
in my palms.
—You're right. — just as I smiled, I began to shed tears by mistake. — What I'm
going to do shouldn't hurt. But that's how it feels when you kill the person you
love so much. —
52
—You wouldn't. —
The shot scoffed. Who was the dead man between me and him. You'd never
know exactly in the eyes of the viewer.
Corazón de margarita
¿De dónde vengo? ¿A qué lugar pertenezco? Amigos
míos, no lo sé decir con exactitud. Claro que vengo de
una familia, ni muy pobre, ni muy rica, ni muy noble,
ni muy desagradable. Provengo de tierras mexicanas, y
me ubico en el estado del mismo más escuchado igual
que los pitidos de tráfico en horas pico. Una zona roja,
así suelen decirle lo que temen cruzar las calles sin
ninguna alarma que alerte cual bomba por si lo
grandes, y al mismo tiempo pequeños, cavernícolas
delgados se cruzan en el camino a pedir la hora; una
que le costara las próximas al triste antiguo poseedor.
Déjame contarte las carcajadas que me produce la controversia del asunto, ya
que yo, mi inocente de dos coletas pasa por mis recuerdos en el mismo rumbo a
comprar una paleta, saltando y cantando dos sílabas por brinco.
Sí, visualizo mis rumbos partidos y criticados. Pero no es de dónde yo vengo, y
mucho menos al que pertenezco. Que mi corazón deje de latir si miento, pero el
mismo me dice que a un campo de margaritas yo pertenezco. A ellas y a más
fragancias inimaginables llenas de música tocada en un par de cuerdas a medio
romperse.
Daniela, fue como me nombraron desde el vientre de mi ángel hasta estar en sus
brazos por primera vez, bajo las luces del hospital que yo misma visitaría más
tarde. Llámenle común o justicia divina. De una u otra manera, lo único que
encontrarán es mi esencia y lo que esperabas en tal vez lo que nunca hubieses
imaginado. ¡Sabrán los cielos lo que mis mayores esperaban de la cría!
Sentenciándole un nombre de líder por naturaleza y alguien dispuesto a
conseguir escalar la montaña, beber de un río sagrado, para después bajar como
si de haber subido las escaleras se tratase. Me presento. No soy un tulipán, como
ustedes desearían que fuera, y si nunca lo hicieron, aún lo sigo lamentando, ya
que soy la simple margarita disfrutando de la brisa en la colina quieta.
53
Como platos redondos y brillosos son mis ojos cafés al hablar sobre mi amada
madre Angélica, quien forma no solo parte de mi hogar color miel, sino que
también llevo consigo su llamado.
Admiración y estimación para mi padre, que, a pesar de trabajar montado en una
montaña rusa, que va más de bajada que de subida, ha decidido que el apoyarme
no suena mal.
Maravilla para mí el haber nacido, y al mismo tiempo una pesadilla eterna que
se cumpliría un junio de 2002. Permíteme vivir y llorar por primera vez en la
época que dibuja en chino un caballo. Sostenida un viernes, rodeado por un
reciente pasado, manchado de sangre activista mientras corre el buen aire, y, por
otra parte, la celebración finalizada por una pelota de propiedad sudamericana.
Margarita, naciste en donde menos lo imaginaste. No en un campo, no en una
maceta de barro, sino en un lugar rodeado de blanco, que años más tarde
visitarías para obtener la cúpula tan refrescante que te devolvía la vida.
Curioso, naciste en el cerro del viento con más de 1.6 millones de flores, unas
más marchitas que otras, y, aun así, te sientes fuera de lugar.
Inspeccionas tu alrededor con atención bajo la luz del sol o la luna, desde
distintos ángulos. No te gusta. Devuelves la mirada y te vas a buscar otro lugar,
lo estudias de forma idéntica. Repites los gestos varias veces hasta que
encuentras uno aceptable –aunque no te convenza del todo- y te quedas.
Estás donde la música te indica, si encuentras el sonido correcto estás en tu
hogar. Si piensas en lo que nadie imaginó, entras a tu mundo, donde lo que sea,
hasta nadar en la claridad de tus sueños, es posible.
He caído, he logrado sentirme feliz gritando que por mi raza hablará mi espíritu.
En tinta de corazón he decidido hacer mis palabras. Quiero darle vida a mis
sentimientos y anhelos, a pesar de no ser muy fuerte, ni tener una estrella dorada
pegada en la frente. Anhelo algún día mostrar mi mundo y mi hermoso campo
de margaritas a los que hoy me aman y mañana también.
Heart of Daisy
Where do I come from? Where do I belong? My friends, I can’t say exactly. Of
course, I come from a family, not very poor, not very rich, not very noble, not
very unpleasant. I come from Mexican lands, and I find myself in the state of the
same heard as the whistles of traffic in rush hour. A red zone, so they usually tell
you what they fear to cross the streets without any alarm that alerts like bomb in
case the big, and at the same time small, thin cavemen cross the road to ask for
the time; one that will cost you the next to the sad old keeper.
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Let me tell you about the laughter I get from the controversy of the matter, as I,
my innocent two-ponytail, pass through my memories on the same course to buy
a popsicle, jumping and singing two syllables by jumping.
Yes, I visualize my paths broken and criticized. But it’s not where I come from,
much less where I belong. Let my heart stop beating if I lie, but he himself tells
me that to a field of daisies I belong. To them and to more unimaginable
fragrances full of music played on a pair of strings half broken.
Daniela, it was as I named from the belly of my angel to be in his arms for the
first time, under the lights of the hospital that I would visit later myself. Call it
common or divine justice. One way or another, all they’ll find is my essence and
what you expected in maybe what you never imagined. The heavens will know
what my elders expected of the calf! Sentencing him a leader’s name by nature
and someone willing to climb the mountain, drink from a sacred river, and then
go down as if he had climbed the stairs. I come. I am not a tulip, as you would
wish me to be, and if you never did, I still regret it, as I am the simple daisy
enjoying the breeze on the quiet hill.
As round and shiny dishes are my brown eyes as I speak about my beloved
mother Angelica, who is not only part of my honey-colored home, but I also
carry with me her calling.
Admiration and esteem for my father, who, despite working on a roller coaster,
going more down than up, has decided that supporting me doesn’t sound bad.
Wonderful for me to have been born, and at the same time an eternal nightmare
that would be fulfilled in June 2002. Allow me to live and cry for the first time
in the time I drew a Chinese horse. Held on a Friday, surrounded by a recent
past, stained with blood activist as the good air runs, and on the other hand, the
celebration ended by a ball of South American property.
Daisy, you were born where you least imagined it. Not in a field, not in a clay
pot, but in a place surrounded by white, which years later you would visit to get
the dome so refreshing that it brought you back to life.
Funny, you were born on the hill of the wind with more than 1.6 million flowers,
some more withered than others, and yet, you feel out of place.
You look around carefully in the sunlight or the moon, from different angles.
You don’t like it. You look back and go find another place, study it the same
way. You repeat the gestures several times until you find one aceptable -even if
it doesn’t convince you completely- and you stay.
You are where the music tells you, if you find the right sound you are in your
home. If you think about what no one imagined, you enter your world, wherever
it is, until you swim in the clarity of your dreams, it’s possible.
55
I’ve fallen, I have managed to be happy that my spirit is my own. In the ink of
my heart I make my words. I want to give life to my feelings and feelings, even
though I am very strong, and I don’t want a gold star. I yearn someday to show
my world and my beautiful field of daisies those who love me today and
tomorrow too.
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Esa noche fue igual a ésta, a decir verdad, todas han sido igual a esa desde
entonces.
Mientras que mi madre iba a consultas con el doctor, se desfilaba entre
medicinas y antidepresivos, yo navegaba en lo que solíamos ser. No me atreví a
preguntarle el paradero de mi padre, porque sabía que al hacerlo ella se hundiría
un día más en su cuarto y, como si su vida dependiera de ello, tragaría cada vez
más esas horribles pastillas. Lo que hice fue dar por muerto a mi padre. Y estaba
seguro de que era ciertas mis suposiciones, pero por qué. ¿Sería alguien capaz
de asesinar a un hombre tan bueno y honrado? ¿Habrá sido asesinado por esos
zapatos tan elegantes, o quizá por envidia de sus consejos románticos?
No lo sé. Sin embargo, estoy seguro de que no se trata de algo más que la
muerte. Sé a la perfección que sólo cuento con doce años, soy ingenuo, tan
ingenuo para atorarme en el barandal de las escaleras o para creer que, un
incierto día, Kiara me besará con esos labios creados por el más grande artista
justo como en mis sueños; pero hay niveles, y un idiota eso sí que no soy, señor.
Sacándome de mi razonamiento igual que un arrebato, un grito resuena entre las
paredes de la casa, uno proveniente de la pieza de mi madre que me hace pegar
carrera hasta llegar junto a ella quien yace acostada en su cama, ardiendo de
fiebre como si el infierno bailara sobre su rostro Los ojos hinchados de llanto
acompañado de la mano por el dolor insoportable que demostraba entre sus
dientes que chocaban entre sí. Las mejillas escurridas y pintadas de carmín, el
sudor resbalándole cautelosamente en su tersa y gélida piel blanca.
Me paralicé, lentamente tomé su mano lo más rápido que pude. Ésta temblaba y
con rudeza apretaba mi agarre. Quizás pensó que si me soltaba también me
perdería justo como él. Pero…, con la más grande sinceridad en mi palabra, yo
sentí que la perdía a ella.
—Mamá, — dije asustado con necedad acariciando una y otra vez su cabello
impregnado con aroma a miel. — ¿Qué te pasa? Dime, por favor. ¿Tienes
hambre? ¿Quieres un té? ¿Un pan como cena estaría bien? — No me respondía,
solo se limitaba a cerrar los ojos de manera brutal. Tanto le dolía que le
cuestionara porque simplemente no sabía qué diablos responder. - ¡Dios mío!
¿Qué hago? - mi angustia no dejaba de engrandecerse a cada traspaso de
segundo. Traté de zafarme de su esencia para ir por un teléfono y pedir socorro,
tan siquiera bajar la colina donde vivimos y gritarle a la gente. Necesitaba
ayuda, aunque fuera una pobre alma o el milagro de un ser que dudo de su
existencia.
—Peter. — la escuché decir, dejé de patalear y le observé. —Hazle un favor a
mamá, — continuó en voz entre cortada; se moría frente a mis ojos y no podía
hacer nada más que prestar atención, qué coraje. —Quédate. No te muevas.
Abrázame. Imagina que voy a caer de un barranco, y no me sueltes. ¿Harías eso
por mami? — Asentí con la cabeza en silencio, había aceptado un pacto con el
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cual no estaba de acuerdo en lo absoluto, un jalón se apoderó de mi fuerza de
voluntad y mojó entre lágrimas mi camiseta, de esas lágrimas que no tienen
forma de frenarse, mis pequeños brazos rodearon al instante sus prendas
percudidas, sus mejillas quemaron las mías de tanto ardor, pero no me importó,
nada me importó a excepción de estar con ella lo que se me permitiera.
Quería que se tratara de una pesadilla, reírnos del drama de esta noche en
veintiocho, sólo es una broma de mal gusto que nadie desea. Pero esto es la vida
misma, no es ninguna broma ni mucho menos el reino de mis sueños macabros.
—Mami, no sé cocinar, tampoco sé dormir en la sofocante noche sin mi beso
que siempre depositas en mi frente, no entiendo las matemáticas y mi lectura en
voz alta es horrible, no sé a quién recurrir si tengo pesadillas ahora que mi padre
ya no está, y ahora también te vas tú. Mami, no sé a quién buscar, tú eres mi
todo, y si no estás mi mundo se hundirá junto a ti. Así que, por favor, no te
vayas de esta forma, sé eterna, o al menos quédate un ratito más, pero quédate.
—
Dejé de sentir calor entre sus brazos débiles, ya no percibí su respiración forzada
y sus ojos dejaron de emanar lágrimas. Parecía estar dormida, dormida en un
sueño tan profundo como el océano mismo. Me alejé delicadamente, tuve una
sensación fugaz de estar muerto también. Tomé aire y dediqué mi tiempo a
desahogarme entre pensamientos encontrados, el por qué y cómo de las cosas.
Salí de la casa sin noción de a dónde dirigirme, mi mente estaba nublada y no
podía ver la realidad, aunque estuviera despierto. Di una larga caminata bajo la
lluvia que no cesaba, lo sé porque mis pies me comenzaron a lastimarme, estaba
empapado y con frío en mis huesos. Finalmente me detuve cerca de un
restaurante que tenía por nombre “Palace restaurant”, era el genuino sitio donde
había luz, además de un rincón que me cubría de la brizna.
Me dio por observar el único lado que no me daría pena ver, el concreto. Me
percaté que lloraba, y entre mis gotas y la lluvia se veían mezcladas en los
charcos. Por obviedad, no se notaba que parte del charco eran mis lágrimas y
que otra parte se trataba de la misma lluvia, por otra parte, lo que sí se podía
visualizar en los charcos era el reflejo, y no me refiero a mí, desgastado reflejo
de triste, por lo contrario, me refiero al reflejo de un hombre con traje y zapatos
cafés bien lustrados. Levanté mi vista petrificado, me encontraba viendo un
fantasma, solo que el fantasma lucía más vivo que nunca. Afirmativo, después
de inspeccionar lo suficiente, digo con toda la seguridad del universo que se
trata de mi padre.
No se ve tan muerto como lo pensé, no veo ninguna herida mortal, no estaba
descompuesto y siendo comido por gusanos, mucho menos en una caja metros
debajo de la tierra.
Un temor se apoderó de mí, no me pude levantar, y creo que fue la mejor
decisión de mi vida, porque minutos después le vi rodeado por dos niños,
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menores que yo por unos años. Abrazaron el traje que yo solía abrazar, le
sacaban una sonrisa a mi padre que sólo yo le sacaba y nadie más, cada cabello
de cada infante fue alborotado por ternura paternal como alguna vez también lo
fue el mío. Una mujer, sin duda, apareció. Estatura promedio, tan linda como el
color azul de la laguna en completa lucha entre oscuridad y luz de luna; ella
sonreía mientras era besada por mi héroe. Esto no estaba bien, papá, ella no es
mamá, quítatela de encima, vamos, ¿qué esperas?
Mi madre estaba reencarnada en una imagen que no deseo conocer en mi
miserable vida, mi reflejo tatuado en esos demonios que parecían ser tan
dichosos del mundo. Mi héroe convertido en villano, mi madre convertida en
una mancha negra, y yo como el espectador que no dice ni una palabra. Henos
aquí. Suelen decir que las cosas llegan al lugar del que partieron, y ese es fue mi
caso. Di media vuelta, volví a casa, subí las escaleras hasta la habitación de mi
madre, y ella sí fue sincera conmigo todo el tiempo, pues seguía ahí. Sentí que
me derrumbaría, así que me hice un espacio entre la cama y la abracé
nuevamente.
Creo que…necesito dormir.
Just between us
A darkness that devoured to pieces on the night of the twenty-eighth managed to
capture my attention to every drop that slipped from the window. This day was
not to the shining moon on the leaves of the garden, already battered by time, of
course. My mother once wished with all her being that this looked like the
eighth wonder of the world, unfortunately, that illusion disappeared along with
my dear father.
I keep wondering why. We probably did something very bad, almost unnamable,
terrible and disturbing. God knows or my own father will judge. I’m just saying,
I haven’t seen your dusty footprints on the welcome mat anymore, those
footprints you left with your shiny, tasteful brown shoes every working day.
There was no night that I was not late, it was his habit to miss the game or the
novel that Mom loved so much, just as it was his habit to play with me. My
father was strutting about his youth, so wise and discreet for what I trusted him;
as if I liked the girl with green eyes, of that curly brown hair that drove me
crazy, those rosy lips so well formed by perfection, Dark skin, Kiara, my great
first love. Well, all of that was analyzed by my father, he kept his discretion, and
he finally gave me advice on how to conquer her, but it didn’t work out for me,
and he just went on shouting that she wasn’t for me, and I was expecting a much
better person than expected. Hell! I loved Kiara, not the “much better person”,
she can eat dirt if she likes. But, to see my father kissing my mother between the
corners of his lips as he drew happiness in life, likewise the kiss stuck on his
forehead that said by itself how much he cared and that she was the cause for his
59
world to turn, I thought you were right to tell me that waiting was the best
option.
My father was my hero. My mother his faithful companion and me his great
admirer.
In short, we loved each other. At least that’s what I thought before I saw my
mother crying while in a chair, shattering all my precious memories of her
smiling so radiant, in her hands resting the photo of my proud father, At every
second the frequency of his crying was more sinister, about to get a curse out, he
kept banging his head in his hands, "He gone, gone. I can’t do this alone”. I
stared at her in confusion, a chill ran down my back and plunging into my neck
shut me up during the show. That night was just like this, the truth, they’ve all
been the same since.
While my mother went to see the doctor, paraded around on meds and
antidepressants, I sailed through what we used to be. I didn’t dare ask her where
my father was, because I knew that by doing so she would sink one more day
into her room and, as if her life depended on it, swallow more and more of those
horrible pills.
I did was leave my father for dead. And I was sure that my assumptions were
true, but why. Would anyone be capable of murdering such a good and honest
man? Did he get killed for those fancy shoes, or perhaps out of envy for his
romantic advice?
I don’t know. However, I’m sure it’s not about more than death. I know
perfectly well that I am only twelve years old, I am naive, so naive to get stuck
on the railing of the stairs or to believe that, one day uncertain, Kiara will kiss
me with those lips created by the greatest artist just like in my dreams; But there
are levels, and an idiot that I am not, sir.
Taking from my reasoning as a rapture, a scream echoes within the walls of the
house, one coming from my mother’s room that makes me race until I get to her
who lies lying on her bed, burning with fever as if hell were dancing on his face
Eyes swollen with tears accompanied by his hand by the unbearable pain he
showed between his teeth shocking each other. His cheeks drained and painted
with lipstick, his sweat slipping cautiously into his smooth, icy white skin.
I froze, in slowness I took the female hand as fast as my being could, it trembled
and with rudeness tightened my grip. Perhaps he thought that if he let me go I
would also lose myself just like him. But, with the greatest sincerity in my word,
I felt that I was losing her.
—Mom, — I said scared with foolishness caressing over and over her hair
impregnated with honey aroma. —What’s wrong with you? Tell me, please.
Are you hungry? Would you like tea? A bread for dinner would be nice? — She
60
didn’t answer me, he just blindfolded me in a brutal way. It hurt so much that I
questioned him because I just didn’t know what the hell to answer.
—My God! What do I do? —My anguish kept growing with every second
transfer. I tried to get out of its essence to get on a phone and ask for help, to
even go down the hill where we live and yell at people. He needed help, even if
he were a poor soul or the miracle of a being who doubted his existence.
—Peter. — I heard her say, I stopped kicking and I watched him. — Do Mom a
favor, — she continued in a voice between cuts; she was dying in front of my
eyes and could do nothing but pay attention, what courage. —Stay. Don’t move.
Hold me. Imagine I’m going to fall out of a ravine, and don’t let go. Would you
do that for Mommy? — I nodded in silence, had accepted a covenant with which
I disagreed at all, a tug took hold of my willpower and soaked in tears my shirt,
of those tears that have no way to stop, small arms immediately surrounded her
clothes, her cheeks burned mine with so much ardor, but I didn’t care, nothing
mattered to me except to be with her whatever was allowed.
I wanted this to be a nightmare, laughing at tonight’s drama in twenty-eight, it’s
just a sick joke that nobody wants. But this is life itself, it’s no joke, let alone the
realm of my ghoulish dreams.
—Mommy, I don’t know how to cook, I don’t know how to sleep on the
suffocating night without my kiss you always put on my forehead, I don’t
understand math and my reading out loud is horrible, I don’t know who to turn
to if I have nightmares now that my dad’s my gone, And now you’re leaving
too. Mommy, I don’t know who to look for, you’re my everything, and if you’re
not, my world will sink next to you. So, please, don’t go this way, be eternal, or
at least stay a little longer, but stay. —
I stopped feeling warmth in his weak arms, I no longer sensed his forced
breathing and his eyes ceased to shed tears. She seemed to be asleep, asleep in a
sleep as deep as the ocean itself. I walked away gently; I had a fleeting feeling
of being dead too. I took a breath and spent my time venting between conflicting
thoughts, the why and how of things. I left the house with no idea where to go,
my mind was clouded and I couldn’t see reality even if I was awake. I took a
long walk in the rain that never stopped, I know because my feet started hurting
me, I was soaked and cold in my bones. Finally, I stopped near a restaurant
called "Palace Restaurant", was the genuine place where there was light, besides
a corner that covered my blade.
I was just looking at the one side I wouldn’t be sorry to see, the concrete. I
realized I was crying, and between my drops and the rain they were mixed in the
puddles. Of course, you didn’t notice that part of the puddle was my tears and
that another part was the same rain, on the other hand, what you could visualize
in the puddles was the reflection, and I don’t mean me, worn-out reflection of
sad, On the contrary, I am referring to the reflection of a man in a well-polished
61
brown suit and shoes. I looked up petrified, I found myself seeing a ghost, only
the ghost looked more alive than ever. Affirmative, after inspecting enough, I
say with all the certainty of the universe that this is my father.
He doesn’t look as dead as I thought, I don’t see any fatal wounds, he wasn’t
decomposed and being eaten by worms, let alone in a box that’s just under the
ground.
A fear came over me, I couldn’t get up, and I think it was the best decision of
my life, because minutes later I saw him surrounded by two children, except me
for a few years. They hugged the suit that I used to hug, pulled out a smile on
my father that only I took off and no one else, every hair of every infant was
disturbed by paternal tenderness as mine once was. A woman, no doubt,
appeared. Average stature, as beautiful as the blue color of the lagoon in
complete struggle between darkness and moonlight; she smiled as she was
kissed by my hero. This wasn’t right, Dad, she’s not Mom, get her off me, come
on, what do you expect?
My mother was reincarnated in an image that I do not wish to know in my
miserable life, my reflection tattooed on those demons that seemed to be so
blissful of the world. My hero turned villain, my mother turned into a black
stain, and I like the spectator who doesn’t say a word. Here we are. They usually
say things get to the place they left, and that was my case. I turned around, I
came home, I went upstairs to my mom’s room, and she was straight with me
the whole time, because she was still there. I felt like I was going to fall apart, so
I made a space between the bed and hugged her again.
I think… I need sleep.
62
Acosta Silva Jesús Ulises
63
Recuerdo cuando entre al CCH el cual nunca me imaginé que fuera tan grande,
conocí a mi primer amigo, ya que desde el primer día nos la pasamos muy bien.
Me acuerdo de la primera vez que reprobé una materia, que por consecuencia
reflexioné que era muy diferente a la secundaria. No he olvidado la primera vez
que fui a una fiesta con mis amigos donde las cosas se pusieron muy candentes,
al transcurrir el tiempo me di cuenta que la responsabilidad es muy importante
pero también necesitamos momentos de echar desastre con nuestros amigos,
esto lo he aplicado y no me ha ido tan mal ya que entro a todas mis clases y
cuando se puede voy con mis amigos a convivir un poco, he comprendido que la
etapa más bonita es el bachillerato ya que he vivido de todo en los dos años que
llevo.
I am from Cuautepec, the great hill of eagles, the place where the enormous and
famous hill of Chiquihuite surrounds it, where there came to be a military school
where the Aztecs prepared the brave jaguar warriors. I am the second and by the
way the one in the middle of the 3 high children that my parents had, I feel very
astonished to know that the surnames that they offered me have a very
interesting origin since Acosta is considered that the oldest Spanish surname and
it is an inclined land, on the other hand, Silva is from Italy, that has the meaning
of an ecosystem which is the enormous and humid jungle.
64
I remember when I met that best friend in high school, the one with whom I still
live pleasant experiences, is the best friendship I've known, those bad tastes in
my mouth to spend most of the day at the address along with my colleagues for
having committed some wrongdoing. That girl when I passed through my room
stole enough my attention, to which I never encouraged me to tell him that I
liked, the times that my mother was excited when he looked at my name on the
honor roll and was very happy with me.
I remember when I entered the CCH, which I never imagined was so big, I met
my first friend, since the first day we had a great time. I remember the first time
I failed a subject, which I consequently reflected was very different from
secondary school. I have not forgotten the first time I went to a party with my
friends where things became very hot, as time went by I realized that
responsibility is very important but we also need moments of disaster with our
friends, this I have applied and I have not gone so badly as I enter all my classes
and when I can go with my friends to live a little, I understood that the most
beautiful stage is high school because I have lived everything in the two years
that I have.
Cruel asaltante ocupa a una persona que le robe todo; el corazón, su lado
romántico, tiempo para disfrutar los mejores momentos de su vida, muchos
besos y sonrisas.
Cruel assailant occupies a person who steals everything; the heart, his romantic
side, time to enjoy the best moments of his life, many kisses and smiles.
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Cárdenas Estrada Akbal Yhue
I know it will sound cliché to say that finishing my studies, having economic
stability, a home and a family are wishes that many have in the future, however,
I can differentiate a bit from them, since my greatest wishes are to be the best
artist in leather, to continue being a great daughter for my parents, who have a
great and long life my loved ones and family. I belong to a world out of the
ordinary, out of the ordinary, where you live and enjoy yourself, as if it were the
last day of life, so beautiful that it makes the sky jealous, so outgoing that no
introvert ruins your day , where I always have a happy heart and a laugh for
every moment, since for every good feeling life gives me a good discount.
I am Akbal Yhue.
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BIONARRATIVE
Noche de Luna Azul entrante, significa mi nombre, gracias a un viejo amigo
chamán, que me hizo una gran carta astral. En 3 adjetivos me describo como
creativa, reflexiva, aventurera, tal vez no en ese orden, pero si en ellas puedo
destacar. Acampar, salir a aventurarse, aprender cosas y amar nuestra cultura,
son cosas que mi madre y yo compartimos a la perfección y amamos de cada
una. Bailar danza folclórica y ser la chica más aventada eran cosas que amaba de
mí y que extraño hacerlas, aunque por desgracia, la vida me veía como un
trompo, sin parar de girar y girar, hasta me puso un estate quieto.
Se que sonará a cliché el hecho de decir que terminar mis estudios, formar una
estabilidad económica, un hogar y una familia son deseos que muchos tienen a
futuro, sin embargo, puedo diferenciar un poco de ellos, ya que mis deseos más
grandes son ser la mejor artista en piel, seguir siendo una gran hija para mis
padres, que tengan una gran y larga vida mis seres queridos y familiares. Yo
pertenezco a un mundo fuera de la rutina, fuera de lo habitual, donde se vive y
se goza, como si fuese el último día de la vida, tan bonito que le da celos al
cielo, tan extrovertido que ningún introvertido te arruina el día, donde siempre
tengo el corazón contento y una risa por cada momento, ya que por cada buen
sentimiento la vida me aplica un buen descuento.
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Chávez Lara Joyce Alondra
“Mientras haya vida, hay esperanza”-Stephen Hawking
JAULA DE AMOR
Capítulo 1: Dulce prisión
Estoy dentro de una helada y enorme jaula, sin salida, sola, triste, con frío y de
vez en cuando algo de calidez. Aún siento en el pecho los residuos de dolor por
mi último intento de escape. Veo las paredes hechas de largas varas de hierro
sólido, a veces parece que se cierran y siento como una horrible y asfixiante
claustrofóbica se apodera de mí, así que cierro los ojos y entonó la melodía más
bonita que sé hasta suavizar mi miedo y quedarme dormida.
¿Porque no me dejas ser libre? ¿No te das cuenta de que me haces daño?, deja
de acariciar tiernamente mis alas y de alimentarme con el más rico alpiste para
luego arrancar cruelmente mis plumas. ¿Acaso no ves que quiero volar lejos de
ti?¡Déjame ir! .... por favor. Por fin estaba levantando el vuelo, cuando silbaste
la más bella melodía y lanzaste al cielo de nuevo aquel delicioso manjar para
atraerme a la jaula una vez más.
Como odio esa horrible jaula, en la que, si quiero forzar un solo barrote siento
como un brutal dolor ataca mi corazón ¿POR QUÉ? ¿QUÉ ESTÁ PASANDO?
¿Acaso esta cárcel está conectada a mí? O.... ¿será que la jaula también soy yo?
Un barrote por su aroma, otro por enamorarme su sonrisa, otro por admirar su
pelo, uno más por amar sus bellos ojos, uno grande y firme por adorar que haga
reír, otro par por su risa y el brillo de sus ojos y una gran puerta abarrotada en
nombre de aquella pasión que posee por lo que ama.
Con cada barrote va un pedazo de mi corazón. Y pensar que la jaula que hoy me
encierra también está hecha de mí…si arranco un barrote también lastimó de
alguna forma mi ser.
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No sé cuánto llevo aquí ni cuándo aguantaré, pero algo es seguro, si quiero salir
de esta dulce prisión.... no será intacta.
LOVE CAGE
Chapter 1: Sweet Prison
I am in a frost and huge cage, no way out, alone, sad, cold and occasionally
some warmth. I still feel pain in my chest from my last attempt at escape. I see
the walls made of long solid iron rods, sometimes it seems that they close and I
feel like a horrible and suffocating claustrophobia seizes me, so I close my eyes
and sing the prettiest melody I know to soften my fear and fall asleep .
Why don't you let me be free? Don't you realize that you hurt me? stop gently
stroking my wings and feeding me with the richest bird and then cruelly
plucking my feathers. Don't you see that I want to fly away from you? Let me
go! ... please. Finally, I was flying, when you whistled the most beautiful
melody and threw the delicious delicacy into the sky to lure me into the cage.
more time
How I hate this horrible cage, in which, if I want to force a single bar, I feel like
a brutal pain attacks my heart WHY? WHAT'S GOING ON? Is this jail
connected to me? Or .... is it that the cage is also me?
A bar for his scent, another for falling in love with his smile, another for
admiring his hair, one more for loving his beautiful eyes, one big and firm for
loving to make him laugh, another pair for his laughter and the brightness of his
eyes and a great crowded door in the name of that passion he has for what he
loves.
With each bar goes a piece of my heart. And to think that the cage that encloses
me today is also made of me ... if I tear off a bar it also hurt my being in some
way.
I don't know how long he took here or when I will endure but something is
certain, if I want to get out of this sweet prison ... it won't be intact
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Chávez Ramírez Óscar Manuel
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Otredad Otherness
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Estrada Maravilla Viridiana
DÉVELOPPÉ
“Busca un futuro, no un momento…”
Actualmente puedo decir que mi mayor logro ha sido ingresar a la máxima casa
de estudios porque mi más grande anhelo es estudiar lo mismo que Asclepio
simplemente porque el cuerpo humano es la máquina más perfecta y magnífica
que existe.Y por eso entiendo que todos los sacrificios de ahora algún día
rendirán frutos.
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DÉVELOPPÉ
"Look for a future, not a moment ..."
My name is Viridiana, like Buñuel's movie, the cinema alchemist, and it means
"who has hope", though I don't certainly know how to interpret it yet. My last
names are: Estrada Maravilla. For multiple reasons, "Maravilla" is my favorite,
but especially for its history; my great grandfather comes from that beautiful and
colorful island, the one who saw Castro's born. And I proudly carry the legacy of
my ancestor.
I was born on April 14th, 2001 in The Great Tenochtitlán, a majestic empire that
floats in the middle of endless canal, built by great star readers, those who we
recall with admiration. Even though it's well known that today we call it Mexico
City. Biologically, I come from the entrails of my mother, but in reality I come
from the dance, especially from ballet. I belong to the unison of shoes colliding
into the ground and performing their perfectly coordinated choreography, I
blend myself with the music and I turn into a grand jeté, a pair of fouettés or
even a développé and I hope that in my deathbed I can listen to one classic of
classics within this beautiful discipline: Tchaikovsky.My adolescence began
with a roller coaster of emotions, starting from the stormy breakup of my parents
that left a broken home and a Viridiana who spent all her time submerged in all
kinds of books with the purpose to scare away sadness.
For a long time I've felt how a big and heavy black storm haunts me and even
though I seek for cover, it always finds me. However, everything changed when
a small being came into my life. Changing my selfish perspective of being only
daughter.
Nowadays, I can say that my biggest achievement has been to enter to the
highest house of studies because my greatest yearning is to study the same as
Asclepius. Simply because the human body is the most perfect and magnificent
machine that exists. And that's why I comprehend that all the current sacrifices
will bear fruit someday.
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García Méndez María Fernanda
“No puedo volver al ayer, porque ya soy una persona diferente.”
- Lewis Carroll
Además, por esto mis recuerdos iban creciendo, mis experiencias y la forma en
que descubriendo más cosas de la vida con la fortuna de tener una familia que
me apoya, aunque mi apellido es muy común, aunque pocos saben que significa
“Garra de Oso”, algo curioso ya que hace referencia a aquellas personas
valientes o que procuran la paz.
Igualmente, como todos en la vida hay veces en que nos ocurren cosas
repentinas como lo fue el que me rompiera la clavícula en clase de Educación
Física justo el día del aniversario del Atentado de las Torres Gemelas un
acontecimiento muy conocido por la gravedad de muertos que hubo.
Por último, solo podría expresar que es largo el camino que debo recorrer para
alcanzar esas promesas que tengo conmigo misma, puede que fracase en
algunas, pero lo que vale la pena es el no darme por vencida, aunque sufra o
llore más de alguna vez, sé que la vida es así por lo que no debo rendirme, solo
debo seguir adelante.
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Garcia Mendez Maria Fernanda
"I can't go back to yesterday, now I'm already a different person."
-Lewis Carroll
In addition, for this reason my memories were growing, my experiences and the
way I discover more things of life with the fortune of having a family that
supports me, although my surname is very common, few know what "Bear
Claw" means, something curious since it makes a reference people who are
brave or seeking peace.
Likewise, like all in life there are times when sudden things happen us how it
was one break my collarbone in Physical Education class just on the anniversary
of the Twin Towers attack, an event well known for the severity of the dead that
was.
But currently my goal is to finish middle school, know new things, also make
more memories and above all be curious about what awaits me, even if they are
not relevant things can change your life or the way you the see that , but how
everything we don't know that I will happen morning.
Finally, I could only express that I is long the way I must go to reach those
promises that I have with myself, I may fail in some, but what is worthwhile is
not to give up, even if I suffer or weep more than ever I know that life is like this
thus that I must not give up, I just have to move on.
Destreza
Comenzando la mañana como cualquier otra me dispuse a realizar las tareas del
hogar y del trabajo; Eran quince cosas en total de las cuales realizaría cinco,
pero requerían una verdadera destreza para realizarlas, me ayudarían en tres de
ellas mientras las dos restantes las completaría por mi parte. Tuve tal éxito que
nadie se dio cuenta de quien cometió el asesinato.
-MAKI
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Egoísmo
Comencé a pensar en todo la que había hecho, pero sé qué buscaba, sentí a esas
ganas de llorar, un arrepentimiento muy profundo y después de ello ya no había
nada, solo seguir fingiendo que todo estaba bien, sonreír era lo único que no
podía hacer y al final solo él estaba casi muerto. Lo extrañaba como a nadie, era
la mejor persona que había llegado a mi vida y simplemente no me di cuenta de
ello, era lo peor y no lo aceptaba, no quería rendirme, pero de qué me servía,
solo aumentaría mi ego y mi costumbre de decir que lo amo.
-MAKI
Skill
Starting the morning like any other I set out to do the housework and work;
There were fifteen things in total of which I would do five, but they required a
real skill to do them, they would help me in three of them while the remaining
two would complete them on my part. I was so successful that no one realized
who committed the murder.
-MAKI
Selfishness
I started thinking about everything I had done, but I know what I was looking
for, I felt like crying, a very deep regret and after that there was nothing left, just
keep pretending that everything was fine, smile was the only thing I couldn't do
and in the end only he was almost dead. I missed him like nobody else, I was the
best person who had come to my life and I just didn't realize it, it was the worst
and I didn't accept it, I didn't want to give up, but what was it for, it would only
increase my ego and my habit To say that I love him.
-MAKI
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Garrido Paulín María Fernanda
S S
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Nada Nothing
Nadie lo dijo, nadie lo pensó, None said it, none thought it,
Pero pudimos ser algo más que but we could be more than friends
amigos
and less than enemies.
y menos que enemigos.
We were afraid of failing,
Teníamos miedo de fracasar,
nothing happened
Nada pasó
and now that fact
Y ahora ese hecho
is just arrogance of my memory
Es pura arrogancia de mi memoria.
― Charles Darwin
Hablando de historias, mi vida está llena de ellas; desde las leyendas de un par
de duendes que nunca paraban de intercambiar las cosas de su sitio en una vieja
tlapalería, mi abuelo, hasta el cuento de una solitaria niña que cortaba los
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mangos en forma de flor para mantener a sus hermanos, mi abuela. Ciertamente,
todos estamos formados de historias, incluso antes de que lleguemos a este
mundo. Así pues, no era de extrañar que con tantos relatos a mi alrededor me
convirtiera en un ávido lector desde una edad muy temprana. Primero de las
situaciones mucho antes que de los libros.
Todo esto terminó al poco tiempo, pues rápidamente llegué a comprender mejor
el lenguaje escrito que a mis semejantes. Sin embargo, la notable falta de libros
en mi hogar provocó, más pronto que tarde, una gran desesperación por
encontrar algo que leer. Aquella búsqueda de historias fue la chispa que me
alentó a buscar trabajo, ¿por qué otra razón un niño quisiera ganar dinero?
Ciertamente yo no era el niño más normal de todos. Ahí fue cuando comencé a
lanzarme dentro de los contenedores de basura para buscar botellas, latas o
cartón que pudiera vender a cambio de algunas monedas. La ignorancia no era
alternativa.
Tras un par de años, los duendes dejaron de visitar la tlapalería. El llanto fue
generalizado, todo se redujo a sufrimiento. Las nubes dejaron de bailar mientras
el cielo cambiaba de un tono azul pastel al más profundo de los grises. Pasaría
un buen tiempo hasta que la tormenta amainara.
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Sin demasiados problemas, pero también sin demasiadas alegrías, exceptuando a
un par de amigos; termine indiferente ante mi paso por aquel edificio que en
alguna ocasión intentó asesinarme. No, no exagero ¿la (casi) caída de un ladrillo
sobre mi cabeza y repetidas electrocuciones les parece poco? Las sombras
comenzaban a menguar.
No recuerdo cómo, quizá nunca lo haga; pero, al continuar con mi camino llegue
hasta un paraje perdido en el corazón de la tierra de las hormigas, ubicado a un
costado del jardín perteneciente al antiguo señor quiebra piedras, hogar de
cachorros auriazules. En sus salas, pasillos y patios he aprendido, he llorado, he
sufrido y he amado. He vivido. Cuando todo parecía frío e impasible los
habitantes de aquel lugar, mis hermanas, hermanos, y aquellos que no lo son
tanto; me acogieron y apoyaron. Vuelvo a descansar tranquilo, no porque el
sendero que me espera sea menos accidentado, sino porque ahora ya se con
quién transitarlo. Una vez más alzo mi mirada hacia el cielo, regresan a mí las
esponjosas nubes danzantes y el azul profundo. Estoy en casa.
― Charles Darwin
Although I was born in the navel of the Moon, I must confess that I have always
preferred the company of the clouds (please don't tell that bright, silver lady).
Every morning of my childhood I was watching the slow pilgrimage of these
immense clusters of fizzy water on the blue canvas of the sky, first from the
comfort of a cardboard box in the yard of my house, and later on the forbidden
and fleeting getaways to the roof of it. No one can blame me, there is something
hypnotic in its changing silhouette. Even today I get lost in the mysterious
stories told by the ever-changing clouds, passing the winds.
Speaking of stories, my life is full of them; since the legends of a couple of elves
who never stopped exchanging things from their place in an old ironmongery,
my grandfather, even the tale of a lonely girl who cut the mangoes in the shape
of a flower to sustain her brothers, my grandmother. Certainly, we are all made
up of stories, even before we reach this world. So, it was no surprise that with so
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many stories around me I became an avid reader from a very young age. First of
situations long before books.
All this ended soon after, for I quickly came to understand written language
better than to my fellow men. However, the remarkable lack of books in my
home caused, sooner rather than later, a big desperation to find something to
read. That search for stories was the spark that encouraged me to look for a job,
why else would a child want to make money? I certainly wasn't the most normal
child of all. That's when I started throwing myself into the dumpsters to look for
bottles, cans or cardboard that I could sell in exchange for some coins.
Ignorance was no alternative.
After a couple of years, the elves stopped visiting the ironmongery. The crying
was widespread, everything was reduced to suffering. The clouds stopped
dancing as the sky shifted from a pastel blue to the deepest of grays. It would be
a long time before the storm subsided.
Among the wide winds my presence dissipated. While the storm remained
around me, both natural and the one produced by the other three anemoi; I
remained like a ghost, always expectant but never important in events. I barely
had time to appreciate what was left of my innocence when I was dragged
through the storm to a flat, ramshackle building, next to a gigantic tower full of
the deepest emptiness. My classmates called it prison, for me it was just high
school. They a family, I the indifferent visit.
Without too many problems, but also without too many joys, except for a couple
friends; I ended up indifferent to my time in that building that once tried to kill
me. No, I don't exaggerate, does the (almost) fall of a brick fall over my head
and repeated electrocutions seem little to you? The shadows began to wane.
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I don't remember how, maybe I never do; but, as I continue my journey, I reach
a lost place in the heart of the antland, located on the side of the garden
belonging to the ancient lord bankrupted stones, home to auriazul puppies. In its
halls, corridors and courtyards I have learned, cried, suffered and loved. I've
lived. When all seemed cold and impassive the inhabitants of that place, my
sisters, brothers, and those who are not that much; they welcomed and supported
me. I rest easy again, not because the path that awaits me is less bumpy, but
because now I know who to walk it with. Once again, I look up to the sky, the
fluffy dancing clouds and the deep blue return to me. I'm home.
Los gusanos
Hoy se cumplen siete días.
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Temerosa de ser consumida, desde el principio de los tiempos la muerte les
obsequio a los gusanos la inmortalidad. ¿Quién sino sería capaz de duplicarse al
ser despedazado? Monarcas incuestionables de todos los reinos. Exploradores de
los lechos marinos. Pasajeros de las aves, polizones de los cielos. Mascotas
predilectas de Plutón en el inframundo.
The worms
Today is seven days.
I feel every bite, every scream, every move. That's the worst thing, the traffic of
all those tiny beings lurking around, crawling inside me.
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A common denominator is prevalent in all: the gluttony.
Fearful of being consumed, from the beginning of time death gave the worms
immortality. Who else would be able to double when torn apart? Unquestionable
monarchs of all kingdoms. Seabed explorers. Passengers of birds, stowaways of
the skies. Pluto's favorite pets in the underworld.
It didn't matter anything, there's no escape; the only certainty in life is that, with
the end of it, you too will become part of the worm's breakfast, lunch and dinner.
It was clear that I would not be the exception to this primal rule. As soon as the
last shovel of dirt was laid upon me, I automatically became a new city
belonging to that race of insatiable mouths. My blood was tubed inside their
bodies, my veins became streets and avenues, my muscles were hollowed out to
form houses and buildings.
Finally, a week after the beginning; I can feel the movement slowly within my
remains is slowing down. Perhaps what is left of me is no longer so appetizing
to the larvae; or maybe they find themselves in a momentary truce, while they
wait patiently like pupae, eager to emerge in the form of some other vermin that
will continue with the eagerness to consume me. Never mind, either way this
suffering is minimal compared to the pain I was victimized by for long years,
those in whom the beings who devoured me were a species of worms, called
"people”.
Personajes
Apertura. Luz.
- Oye…
- ¿Sí?
- ¿Aún estás aquí?
- Si.
- ¿Recuerdas cuando morimos?
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- Todavía no hemos muerto.
- ¿Cómo lo sabes?
- Simple, alguien nos está escuchando ahora.
- ¿Quién?
- Aquel que sostiene el libro.
Characters
Opening. Light.
- Hey...
- Yes?
- Are you still here?
- Yes.
- Do you remember when we died?
- We're not dead yet.
- How do you know?
- Simple, someone's listening to us now.
- Who?
- The one holding the book.
Haiku
Hoy Today
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“La calidad del viaje se mide por la cantidad de recuerdos que en él
acumules-Benito Taibo” (Persona Normal)
Por último, recuerdo la emoción que sentí al saber que fui aceptada en la mayor
casa de estudios de México, y el orgullo que aún siento de tener sangre azul y
dorada que todos los días riega las raíces y el árbol de mi vida, hubo cambios de
casa, de paradigmas y formas de ver el mundo, pero para mí, no hubo mejor
despertar que aquel que me ha dado el conocimiento, y sobre todo la
preparatoria. Mientras tanto sigo en la construcción y lucha todos los días por la
persona que quiero ser mañana.
To begin with, I remember the golden light coming through the window every
morning, waking up every day with the song "Wake up Juan, Wake up Juan it's
time to get up" that my mother sang sweetly every morning before going to
school, Also I remember those afternoons when after eating I used to go out and
play in the big garden that I had down the street, I still feel as if it had been
yesterday, all the scratches, all the laughs and happiness that was immersed in
me, like the Golden dust, that we can see in the stripes of the light of the Sun, I
remember listening to the bell of my house at 7 or 8 pm and knowing that it was
time to return house, I used to be full of pickets of botfly, sweat and a little bit
covered of dirt.
I remember the sweetest taste of the "Giralda" gummies or the "Laposse" raisins
with chocolate that Dad always brought home after work every night,
accompanied by his smile from ear to ear and open arms ready to receive a
warm welcome from my mother, me and my two older brothers, Pablo and
Matias.
Meanwhile, after that, I remember how I couldn't sleep a day before entering
1rst year of middle high school and the nerves I felt, after that, the stormy 1st
year of high school in which my hair was so short that my classmates used to
call me Justin Bieber, I also remember my father after the exit picking me up in
the gray and old pointer we used to had, and the stories he used to tell me every
meal. And the smell of the burnt rice that my father always cooked and his raspy
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voice. On the other hand, I still hearing all the laughter, and all the love I had for
my friends, more than for myself, and the countless failed attempts of an old me
in the search for a movie love.
I remember the pain of a broken heart, which realizes that life is short,
ephemeral and sudden, and how it can break your soul in crystals, I remember
the cry of a woman in love, and a strange smell of hospital and tears.
But I also remember the strength and love of a family, which suddenly became
one with 4 members, suddenly the smell of burnt rice had vanished, but the
smell of the cigar never really left my parents' bed, Suddenly Serrat's songs
became my father's raspy voice, and his distant memory is in a hidden part of
my soul.
Finally, I remember the emotion I felt to know that I was accepted in the greatest
house of studies in Mexico, the UNAM, and all the pride I still feeling of having
blue and golden blood that every day waters the roots and tree of my life, there
were changes of house, changes in the paradigms and forms to see the world, but
for me, there was no better awakening than the one who has given me the
knowledge, and especially the high school. Meanwhile I continue in the
construction and I work every day for the person I want to be tomorrow.
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Otra vez lo escuche está noche, la curiosidad me invadió y salí a caminar por las
calles, a lo mejor lograba encontrar a Sirius, sin embargo, mis pelos se pusieron
como agujas y mi sangre se heló como un chapuzón en una tina fría. Escuché el
silbato y esta vez pude ver lo que lo provocaba. Apareció un hombre, viejo, con
unos ojos profundos que escrudiñaron mi alma sin siquiera preguntármelo, en
una bicicleta y con un silbato. Se presentó, y sentí su mano muy cálida a pesar
del frío de esa noche, me dijo que mi perro estaba con él, (aunque yo no pude
verlo) y ahora él cuidaría de Sirius. Comenzó a platicarme que él era un hombre
en busca de cosas perdidas y su misión era encontrarles un camino.
La verdad, aunque estaba confundida nunca sentí miedo, y le platiqué que solía
escucharlo de niña. Entonces él me dijo: “solo los jóvenes tienen el don de
escucharme, pero nunca podrán verme, y solo pueden verme quienes tienen el
don de seguir perdidos en medio del mar y no sentir el miedo con el que muchos
viven” Entonces ahí fue cuando me di cuenta de que él estaba muerto, y yo,
también.
Now time has passed, the years, and now it's just a vague memory. A few days
ago, I was on my way to my apartment, I was driving late at night and my co-
pilot was Sirius, that beautiful stray dog that became my best companion. It was
raining and I crashed sharply against what I think was a moose, I don't really
remember much, I can´t even remember when I left the hospital, and Sirius
disappeared without a trace. I write all this because, I am listening to that old
bicycle sound and the whistle I used to hear as a child, maybe the accident hit
my head so hard that it removed a couple of memories.
I heard it tonight, again, so the curiosity invaded me, and I went out to walk the
streets, maybe I could find Sirius, however, my hairs became like needles and
my blood froze like a dip in a cold tub. I heard the whistle and this time I could
see what caused it. A man appeared, old man, with deep eyes that scrutinized
my soul without even asking me, on a bicycle and with a whistle. He introduced
himself, and I felt his hand very warm despite the cold of that night, he told me
that my dog was with him, (although I could not see him) and now he would
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take care of Sirius. He began to tell me that he was a man in search of lost things
and his mission was to find a way for them.
The truth, although I was confused, I never felt fear, and I told him that I used to
hear it as a child. Then he told me: “Only young people have the gift of listening
to me, but they can never see me, and only those who have the gift of being lost
in the middle of the sea and not feeling the fear that many people live with can
see me.” That's when I realized that he was dead, and me, too.
Mi primer amor.
Me resulta un poco raro plasmar mis sentimientos por escrito porque, por lo
regular, suelo reprimirlos; sin embargo, creo que lo vale por ser la primera vez.
A pesar de eso, se me hace más fácil expresar por medio de esta carta todo lo
que siento por ti.
Pero existe un miedo que no me deja entregarme por completo. Todo esto es
nuevo y aun así trato de arriesgarme, pero hay muchas inseguridades que no me
dejan avanzar, que no me dejan estar tranquila. Quisiera pensar que esto irá para
largo, que será eterno, pero ¿quién puede asegurarlo?
My first love.
It is a bit weird to express my feelings in writing because I usually repress them;
however, I think it worth it cuz it is the first time. Despite that, it is easier for me
to express everything I feel about you in this letter.
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It is a bit difficult to explain how I feel, I cannot describe it by myself. The only
thing that is clear is everything that you cause in me, every sensation that is
generated with the simple fact of heard your name. I cannot forget that first time
I saw you, from that moment my brain cannot stop thinking about you.
But, there is a fear in me that does not allow me to surrender completely. All this
is new to me and despite that, I try to take a chance; but I have a lot of
insecurities whose do not let me move forward, do not let me be calm. I would
like to think that this will take a long, that wil be eternal, but who can ensure
that?
-San Agustín.
Es ahora.
Todo radica en esperar, en ver cómo todo se va por la borda,
incluso cuando nadie más lo puede ver y cuando menos se lo
esperan, sin deberla ni temerla, te vas.
Is now.
Everything lies in waiting, in seeing how everything goes
overboard, even when no one else can see it and when they
least expect it, without owning it or fearing it, you leave.
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Herrera Soto Lilia Selene
Mareas.
Vi cómo te trajo el mar, en un día soleado, dentro de una marea calmada. Yo
descansaba en una hamaca, pero en realidad llegaste a darme calma, esa que
llevaba anhelando por años. En mi cabeza buscaba liberación, pero en verdad
eras solo tú lo que me faltaba. Llegaste con tu voz a darle calma a mi corazón,
pusiste toda tu alma en esa canción, esa a la que tu risa le daba melodía, como se
la daba a mis días que previamente me dolían. Pero la noche siempre tiene que
llegar y a la luz de la luna solo pude observar, como con la marea alta
desaparecías.
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Tides.
I saw how the sea brought you in, on a sunny day, in a low-tide. I was resting in
a hammock, but it was you that brought me peace, the one that I was longing for
years. I was looking for something to finally set me free, but it was only you that
was missing. You came along with your voice to calm down my heart, you put
your whole soul in that song, the one that your laughter gave its melody, like to
my days that previously hurt. But night always has to come and in the moonlight
I just can saw, how you disappeared into the riptide.
Carta a Fátima.
Nunca supe si te gustaban más los perros o los gatos, pero, por la persona que
eras, sé que te gustaban ambos. Jamás te pude cantar las mañanitas, pero
siempre que te recuerde te voy a cantar. Me gustan tus playeras de conciertos y
me gustan tus tenis blancos con verde, cada vez que los veo pienso en ti. Tengo
tu lista de canciones y escucho las canciones en tu memoria.
Letter to Fátima
I never knew if you were a dog or a cat person, but, due to the person you were,
I know you liked both. I was never able to sing to you Happy Birthday, but I
will always sing for you whenever I think of you. I like your concert T-shirts
and I like your white and green tennis, everytime I see them I think in you. I
have your playlist and I listen to the song in your memory.
And it’s because I miss you like you can´t imagine, and I don’t know when will
stop.
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THE WAY OF PAINTING
They thought I was surreal, but I wasn't. I never painted my dreams, I just
painted my own reality.
Frida Kahlo
I was born in a red month, where the earth opens up and the people gather and
from which it rained about wet after the festivities; but in a privileged day 30 for
Peruvian Baroque painting.
I come from the colony San Felipe de Jesús, bloody neighborhood so called that
land of others and never returned, where every Sunday apart from going to
Mass, there is no lack of chacharear in that place of red, yellow and blue
tarpaulins, smells and noises that will make you flip everywhere . That colony
that even the most insignificant knows you.
My name means "strong woman" and he assured me that I am at the time. For
from a young age I was presented with a man in white robes and knives piercing
my entrails; and my life persists in this world, that's why I'm a survivor.
My last name is a stir from the muralist and communist Diego Rivera. My
family sine is made up of my parents Rivera and Salinas and 4 unbearable
siblings but always united with heart and thought. I know we have lived in flesh
misfortunes, but I only know that we have to go on as if nothing, as if no one
and as if never.
Sometimes I think my family is crazy, but I see the others and I really realize
there's nothing like mine. Since my great-grandfather has marked this struggle to
move forward, this great man recounted that as a family boy he should not
know, it was a rough time during the revolution but this one, he did not give up.
We are proud piñateros who make it but do not break it, those piñatas are of
great stir challenging colored paths in markets, it is workmanship made of heart
and taste. From them I have learned to work honestly and with happiness.
I know that my life I have had achievements as well as defeats, one thing that
has taught me; a thing of seto is the drawing, I would not say that drawing so
beautiful but the only thing I know is that he drew the only person i know totally
that that despite being broken as paper has been stuck on its own and with the
help of people around me. If I know, I've had more defeats than achievements,
but I've been strong about it.
Just one thing, I'll prove to you that I'm a complete criminal. I will continue to
study despite any adversity, and I will continue to be that person with values,
who Will never forget where it comes from.
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-Isabel Allende.
Me acuerdo de que cuando era pequeño, mi paciencia era tan larga como la de
una tortuga al caminar varios kilómetros; me ha gustado, desde siempre,
escuchar y entender a la gente. Para así, como ya he dicho, tratar de sacar a la
gente cercana a mí, del hoyo de la arrogancia e hipocresía. No entiendo cómo es
que la gente puede ir sonriendo descaradamente a las personas de las cuales
alguna vez hablaron mal; no saben ser felices si no es a costa de la crítica nefasta
hacia los demás. La gente me platica sobre sus problemas, problemas personales
que se convierten en problemas comunes y corrientes, como si fuesen una
grabadora con el mismo disco que gira una, y otra, y otra vez sobre el mismo
tema.
Cabe mencionar que en donde se realizaban las peleas, era en una plataforma
con una altura de 40 cm. Mientras yo trataba de quitarme de encima a este niño,
mi pie izquierdo estaba debajo de la plataforma, tratando de apoyarse en el
mismo. Pero en ese instante, se abalanzó otro niño por detrás del niño que me
tenía abrazado, y, a manera de empujo, el niño detrás de mí cayó sobre mi
rodilla izquierda a su vez que yo caía hacia delante. Esto provoco que sufriera
una luxación de rodilla y así, mi sueño de jugar futbol desvaneciese; dado que
sufría ya de los ligamentos cruzados rasgados y con esto mismo, quedé en grave
estado, siendo que, si volvía a sufrir otra luxación, sería sometido a una
operación de ligamentos cruzados y nunca podía volver a jugar futbol.
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Jiménez Paredes Edgar Jair
“My life is done by telling it and my memory is fixed with writing; what I don't
put in words on paper, time erases. "
-Isabel Allende.
My name is Edgar, "who defends his lands." An individual, like any other, who
lives in the dark and disgusting reality of envy, heartbreak, discontent, arrogance
and ignorance. I hate when the world rises in arms and rebellion when there is
only a material reward in between, a hypocritical world, double moral and
shameless
I remember when I was a kid, my patience was as long as that of a turtle walking
several kilometers; I have always liked to listen and understand people. So, as I
said, try to get people close to me from the pit of arrogance and hypocrisy. I do
not understand how it is possible that people can go blatantly smiling at the
people they once spoke badly about; They do not know how to be happy if it is
not at the expense of harmful criticism of others. People tell me about their
problems, personal problems that become common and usually problems, as if
they were a recorder with the same disc that turns repeatedly on the same
subject.
I also remember that, at the age of 13, like any other 13-year-old child, I loved
to play soccer, in that sport, I developed an incredible ability with football, I
played in the basic leagues of a recognized soccer team in my neighborhood.
However, a series of events would come to change my destiny forever. It
happened, it was that on June 9, 2016, in high school, on a normal school day;
My friends and I decided to organize a bunch of rough games inside the room.
So incredulous, I did not know the fate that awaited me. The game consisted of
the typical "luchitas" that any rebel high school kid organizes, there was a
tumult of children inside the room, then, I decided to approach to see what
happened, but when I got to the tumult, a boy pounced at me from behind, as a
hug trying to throw me to the ground.
It should be mentioned that where the fights were held, it was on a platform with
a height of 40 cm. While I was trying to get rid of this child, my left foot was
under the platform, trying to lean on it. But at that moment, another child
pounced behind the boy who had me hugged, and, as a push, the boy behind me
fell on my left knee as I fell forward. This caused me to suffer a knee dislocation
and on that way, my dream of playing soccer faded; Since I was already
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suffering from torn cruciate ligaments and with this, I was in serious condition,
being that if I had another dislocation again, I would be subjected to a cruciate
ligament operation and I could never play football again.
Tóxico
De pronto, mientras hablábamos, cambió de tema bruscamente y me dijo:
- Las personas tóxicas lo único que hacen es criticar y no traen nada más que
chismes y cosas negativas a tu vida, por eso a las personas tóxicas yo ni les
hablo.
Continuó diciendo, esta vez, además de por su boca, por sus ojos empezó a
brotar el mismo líquido viscoso cada vez que decía “personas tóxicas”.
Añadió, mientras el líquido verde empezaba a salir también por su nariz y oídos.
Toxic
Suddenly, while we were talking, we abruptly changed the subject and I said:
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I did not understand what he meant by the term "toxic people", but I was very
surprised to see what every time he used a bright green viscous liquid from his
mouth.
- The only thing that toxic people do is criticism and they bring nothing but
gossip and negative things into your life, that's why I don't even talk to toxic
people.
He continued saying, this time, in addition to his mouth, the same viscous liquid
began to sprout from his eyes every time they said, "toxic people."
- Because toxic people make you sick, they contaminate your sentimental
environment, and they infect you with their toxicity. That's why toxic people
must be cut.
He added, as the green liquid also began to flow out of his nose and ears.
- Every time I see a toxic person, I walk away ... Excuse me for a moment.
Fortunately, the phone rang, and I took the opportunity to sneak away and
escape. I still don't understand anything about "Toxic People." Although as I
walked away, I turned my eyes and understood everything, because by then your
whole body was covered by that viscous bright green liquid.
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Lemus Ayala Abril Jimena
105
López fuentes Jennifer Valeria
Sin rencores
Recuerdo aquel día en el que te fuiste, el día en que me regalaste una última
sonrisa, en donde creí ver la promesa donde la distancia no se convertiría en un
impedimento para que estuvieras a mi lado. Sin querer saberlo, tu partida
marcaría un antes y después en mi vida. Con tu partida, aprendí que cualquier
persona pude darte la espalda, que un te quiero y un te extraño pueden significar
nada. Y que yo, en realidad, no signifiqué nada para ti. Creo que está bien,
supongo, tu partida pudo significar más después de todo. Sin rencores.
No hard feelings
I remember that day you left, the day in wich you gave me one last smile, where
I thought I saw the promise were de distance would not become an impediment
for you to be my side. Without wanting to know it, your departure would mark a
before and after in my life. With your departure, I learned that anyone could turn
their backs on you, that an “I love you” and an “I miss you” can mean nothing.
And that I, in reality, mean nothing to you. I think it's fine, I guess, your
depature could mean more after all. No hard feelings.
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López González Daniela Naydeli
"Creo que no hay necesidad de vivir tu vida a base de los estándares de otros"
-Kim Namjoon
Condenada a vivir en una pequeña casa, pasé mis primeros cuatro años de vida
bajo la sobreprotección de mis primerizos progenitores, y aunque cualquier niño
de mi edad se negaría a los caprichos protectores de su madre o padre
personalmente me acostumbre. Yo veía con normalidad que mis padres no me
dejaran salir a jugar, que me alejara de mis primos y sus juegos bruscos, que
vigilan a mis amigas, que tuvieran miedo incluso si el aire me golpeaba. Si,
actualmente soy una joven saludable y modesta, pero todo a costo de mi propia
paz mental.
Si bien perdí lo que pudo haber sido una infancia hermosa no me arrepiento de
perderla por mi hermano, no me arrepiento aun si me dicen que mi ansiedad,
insomnio y pánico es por culpa de mi infancia pérdida, no me enojare. Cuando
nació mi última hermana yo iba atravesando la oscura e incómoda pubertad, vi
los tiernos ojos de la recién nacida y me di cuenta de que yo no tengo tiempo
para crecer lento.
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detuve a pensar el daño que tenía en mí ser desde hace mucho. Mientras
estudiaba para hacer sentir orgullosos a mis padres intente manejar uno de los
sentimientos más destructivos, el amor; falle totalmente y me fui de la
secundaria resignada y sin esperanzas.
Aun así, mi ingenuidad es eterna y eso no fue más que un cebo para las malas
personas que me dañaron en lo más profundo, cuando entre al CCH deseaba
encontrar un lugar lejos de esa gente, quería un lugar donde no me conocieran y
pudiera iniciar de nuevo y lo logre.
Ahora soy lo que quiero, actuó sin la necesidad de complacer a alguien, rio
fuerte para que me escuchen y lloro en silencio porque el miedo aún no se va y
las pesadillas a veces regresan.
Sin embargo, cuando veo mi reflejo lleno de arrugas, hinchado, rojo y triste no
hago más que sonreír. Porque el dolor es lo que nos mantiene vivos y fuertes,
esperando el siguiente golpe de la vida para poder levantarnos y decir que
logramos superar un obstáculo más, porque a pesar del llanto y el dolor aún hay
muchas cosas que me hacen sentir viva, desde algo tan simple como comer un
chocolate hasta sentir algo tan complejo como el amor. Por eso, a mis 17 años
puedo decir que todo pasa y que lo malo mejorara pues la vida está en constante
cambio.
-Kim Namjoon
Although my parents deny the reality I am aware that my birth was a small
mistake, it was not the time to have a baby, my mother was just starting her way
in what would be a tough adolescence and my father enjoyed a bright and
successful youth, a little being who taking care of everything was not what they
needed, even so and against all odds against, I was born on July 13 ready to be
the first born of a young and newly formed couple.
Condemned to live in a small house, I spent my first four years of life under the
overprotection of my primal parents, and although any child of my age would
refuse the protective whims of his mother or father I personally get used to. I
saw normally that my parents would not let me go out to play, that I would stay
away from my Cousins and their rough games, that they would watch my
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friends, that they would be afraid even if the air hit me. Yes, I am currently a
healthy and modest young woman, but all at the cost of my own peace of mind.
Although I was happy with the birth of my brother everything began to change,
change for the worse, I no longer had the protective arms of my parents, I felt
alone, displaced and very afraid; Even so, I didn't stop and I never lowered my
head, I decided to protect my brother from the evil of my whole family, take
care of him and don't let him hear the screams and fights that only raised the
level, save him from watching the scenes of blood, alcohol and beatings
performed by my uncles and cover his tender ears so he wouldn't hear the
rumors that said about our mother.
While I lost what could have been a beautiful childhood, I don't regret losing it
for my brother, I don't regret even if I am told that my anxiety, insomnia and
panic is because of my lost childhood, I won't get angry. When my last sister
was born, I was going through the dark and uncomfortable puberty,
I saw the newborn's tender eyes and realized that I don't have time to grow
slowly.
However when I was in high school I had a moment of despair thanks to the
death of the only person with whom I could run away, but it didn't last long
because I didn't have time to be weak, although it left havoc on me I didn't stop
to think about the damage it had on me for a long time. While I was studying to
make my parents proud, I tried to deal with one of the most destructive feelings,
love. I failed completely and left high school resigned and hopeless.
Even so my naivety is eternal and that was just a bait for the bad people who
hurt me deeply, when I entered the CCH I wanted to find a place away from
those people, I wanted a place where they didn't know me and I could start again
and I achieved it. Now I am what I want, I acted without the need of please to
someone, I laugh hard to be heard and I cry in silence because the fear still does
not go away and nightmares sometimes return.
However, when I see my reflection full of wrinkles, swollen, red and sad I do
nothing but smile. Because pain is what keeps us alive and strong, waiting for
the next blow of life so we can stand up and say that we have overcome one
more obstacle, because in spite of crying and pain there are still many things that
make me feel alive, from something as simple as eating a chocolate to feeling
something as complex as love.
Therefore, at 17 years old I can say that everything happens and that the bad
things get better because life is constantly changing.
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Bruja
Mi nombre es Naydeli Daniela, más Naydeli que Daniela
González López soy y no quiero que me llamen por ninguno de los dos.
Witch
My name is Naydeli Daniela, more Naydeli than Daniela
Strong, sensitive and direct, even if let me be carried away by the sensitive
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I'm guilty of having feelings in a heartless crazy family,
I'm a witch who loves the moon, the cold and the rain
I come from Mexico country of witches without a voice, hiding and afraid
González López I am, and I don't want you to call me for either of them.
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Esme se mantuvo en silencio, mientras el hombre que llamaba a su puerta esa
mañana leía las noticias en la pantalla de su tableta electrónica, no sin cierta
dificultad. Parecía no haber visto nunca una de esas en su vida.
—Clarissa.
Lo escuchó sollozar entonces, mientras giraba sus ojos hacia ella. Una parte de
Esme estaba conmocionada, pero otra estaba fascinada. El hombre no había
envejecido un sólo día.
Pero aquello no sirvió de nada, el extraño, cuyo nombre era Leonardo, siguió
sollozando, aterrado al descubrir que habían transcurrido 70 años desde la última
vez que alguien supo de él. Sus padres habían muerto, así como su prometida,
Clarissa. Leonardo había desaparecido una semana antes de la boda. Todos
creyeron que había huido, temeroso al compromiso, pero Clarissa sabía que no
era así. Había esperado a su novio hasta el último día de su vida.
—2 años.
Leonardo rompió en llanto, uno tan lastimero y doloroso que Esme lo estrechó
entre sus brazos con fuerza. Creía conocer a ese hombre, su abuela siempre lo
mencionaba. Para Esme, Leonardo era la imagen idealizada del hombre
perfecto.
—No llores —murmuró ella —por favor no... Si puedo hacer algo...
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Esme remained silent as the man who knocked on her door that morning read
the news on her tablet screen, not without some difficulty. He seemed to have
never seen one of those in his life.
—Clarissa.
She heard him sobbing then, as he turned his eyes to her. One part of Esme was
shocked, but another was fascinated. The man had not gone away a single day.
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Esme did not answer, looking at the photographs strewn on the floor, they were
all of her grandmother Clarissa.
—Grandma talked a lot about you— whispered the girl. —she always said you
would come back one day. And you did.
—2 years.
Leonardo broke into tears, one so pitiful and painful that Esme held him tightly
in his arms. He thought he knew this man, his grandmother always mentioned
him. For Esme, Leonardo was the idealized image of the perfect man.
And as she said it, Leonardo was looking at her his nose red and his eyes
slender. He was a destroyed man, a man who suffered from the death of the love
of his life, a man who suffered knowing that he had lost everything and could
not understand how he had done it. A man Esme loved as much as her
grandmother.
Desde que tengo memoria me ha gustado estudiar y considero que una de las
mejores decisiones que he tomado a lo largo de mi vida ha sido seleccionar al
CCH Azcapotzalco como la escuela donde estudiaría mi bachillerato, ya que
gracias a esta escuela pienso que me he convertido en una persona más crítica y
con los ojos más abiertos.
Regresando un poco a lo que me gusta hacer, recuerdo que el primer libro que
leí fue Harry Potter, yo era una niña cuando leí estos libros, y desde ahí me
convertí en una gran fanática de la literatura de fantasía; por azares de destino,
abandone el hábito de la lectura, y lo retome hasta 2do de secundaria, donde uno
de los mejores maestros que he tenido a lo largo de mi vida, llamado Joaquín
Calderón, me encomendó leer El Conde de Montecristo, del gran Alejandro
Dumas, que más tarde se convertiría en mi libro favorito; después de este libro
continúe leyendo, y adopté gustos muy variados, como ya mencioné me gusta
mucho la literatura de fantasía, me gusta la literatura clásica y la histórica, y un
poco la literatura contemporánea.
It was 2002 when my mother brought me into the world. I anticipated my arrival
a month since I got entangled in my umbilical cord and they had to take me out
of emergency, so I came to the world on October 16. I was born in Coacalco de
Berriozábal, but I lived and grew up in Tultitlan de Mariano Escobedo, until I
was 15 years old, that I moved to Naucalpan de Juárez; from my point of view,
three historically unimportant places speaking, but at the top of the crime and
insecurity lists.
Since I have remembered, I liked to study and I consider that one of the best
decisions I have made throughout my life has been to select the CCH
Azcapotzalco as the school where I would study my baccalaureate, since in this
school I think that I have become a more critical person with more open eyes.
Returning a little to what I like to do, I remember that the first book I read was
Harry Potter, I was a child when I read these books, and from there I became a
big fan of fantasy literature; for destiny hazards, I abandoned the habit of
reading, and resumed it until 2nd year of high school, where one of the best
teachers I've had throughout my life, called Joaquín Calderón instructed me to
read The Count of Montecristo, of the great Alexander Dumas, which would
later become my favorite book; after this book, I continued reading, and i came
up with very varied tastes, as I mentioned, I like fantasy literature a lot, I like
classical and historical literature, and a bit contemporary literature.
For now, my greatest desire is to finish high school. Obviously I would like to
continue my studies, but surprisingly I still don't know what I want to study; I
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find it very frustrating and I wonder how is it that someone who is just starting
to live has to decide what they want to do for the rest of their life? But I still
have some time to think about it, meanwhile, as they say, I will only live the
moment.
Su segunda amiga se llama Tristeza, esta viene acompañada de sus hijas, las
lágrimas. Llega al mismo tiempo que dolor; sus hijas se desbordan por tus ojos
cuando menos te lo esperas, y hay ocasiones en las que tristeza ni siquiera te
deja conciliar el sueño. Al igual que Dolor baña con su presencia todo lo que
está relacionado con el fallecido, pero a diferencia del primero, se desvanece con
más facilidad, sus hijas ya no recurren a tus ojos con tanta frecuencia y solo
queda un recuerdo de cuando tristeza acaparaba todo tu ser.
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Death and his Friends.
The way to see life is to imagine that it is a party, and suddenly that annoying
presence comes, that which nobody wants to arrive, but still presents itself,
because it is inevitable. His name is Death, and if that were not enough, he does
not come alone, he brings his friends.
Her second friend is called Sadness, this is accompanied by her daughters, tears.
It comes at the same time as pain; their daughters overflow with your eyes when
you least expect it, and there are times when sadness doesn't even let you fall
asleep. Like Pain bathes with his presence everything that is related to the
deceased, but unlike the first, it fades more easily, his daughters no longer turn
to your eyes so often and there is only a memory of when sadness monopolized
all your being.
The last friend of Death is called Loneliness. She arrives a little later, arrives
discreetly, takes advantage of when Pain and Sadness monopolize all your
attention to settle into your life. You realize that you are in his presence when
your heart shrinks when you see a place on the table that used to be occupied
and is now empty, when you see a hollow bedroom, when you become aware
that you begin to forget a voice that you longed for so long and when you realize
that you will never return to feel a hug, hear a joke, no more talk from that loved
one; It simply is gone. That's when Loneliness is permanently installed in your
life.
Although Death's visit is momentary, it leaves you with the company of his three
friends to remind you that he was there, and that he left, taking a part of you,
leaving a mark on your soul and a void in your heart.
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Eres lo que amas
No eres la opinión de otra persona sobre ti
No eres una persona dañada solo porque has cometido errores en tu vida
You are not a damaged person just because you have made mistakes in your life
You are not the things that chase you in the middle of the night
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Marquez Mulia Samuel
MI HISTORIA.
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Las sombras y los susurros se fueron, de vez en cuando me visitan, pasan por
aquí para recordarme que no se han olvidado de mí.
Esa casa fue testigo de que encontré el amor en alguien que no esperaba. Un
amor nuevo, un amor salvaje, impulsivo, pero con esto aprendimos que no
sabíamos amar, hubo celos, odio, rencor, traición que jamás se supo superar,
éramos tan distintos y afines a la vez, teníamos complejo de huracán, estábamos
en una constante guerra, jamás pudimos calmar las cosas así que los dos huimos
lejos para no morir en el intento.
Conocí la salida fácil, no quería pasar por el dolor otra vez, así que me deje
tomar, me rendí ante ellas, me elevaban, me hacían reír, ver y escuchar cosas,
me hacían sentir bien, me hacían olvidarme de ella, pero todo lo bueno debe
terminar. Después de las risas, de la alegría comenzaron a mostrarse como en
verdad eran, cada vez necesitaba más y más, ya no para reír u olvidarme de ella,
si no para estar tranquilo, para estar normal.
Pero eso no importa en las noches cuando estoy solo veo su mirada se que está
ahí esperando, quieren que regrese, me quiere para ella, a veces aún me
acompañan, me despiertan, me distraen un poco de los problemas.
Miro hacia delante y sin importar lo que haya pasado y lo que vaya a pasar me
veo de pie, me veo vivo y feliz, solo quiero eso, es lo que buscamos, lo que
anhelamos, es el tesoro al final del arcoíris.
MY STORY.
Everyone tells me that I live with my head on the moon, but I think they are
wrong, my thoughts are always in the wáter or in the leaves of trees that fall in
autumn, in the raindrops that hit this jungle of buildings.
I was born on june June 18, 1998. To be honest I don't have a great story to tell,
maybe you find it good. All my life I have lived in the same place, I have
traveled the streets where my parents met and fell in love, where my
grandmother belittled my mother and father, where my father and his brothers
fell into vices. Where everything and nothing could happen.
My grandmother's old store was famous here, thanks to that place most people
know my family and me. Just above that store was my apartment where I lived
20 of my 21 years, in that house several things happened, there was light and
there were shadows, love, fear, and resentment, sometimes it was the warmest
place but in others that house looked like a desolate place, where there were
hundreds of laughs, there were also hundreds of tears. Marks that pierced the
walls and became evident in my arms, four walls that drowned me, made me
tremble with fear when I went to sleep. I told them there were shadows, there
were one in particular that was next to me every day, at night I saw myself from
the door of my room, I expected him to do it, I expected the whispers. I expected
him to take the knife and the fear, emptiness and pain did their job, that they
stained the sheets and the floor of my room in crimson red, on three occasions a
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shadow accompanied me, I called it “rest”, the truth is that I wanted to sleep a
dream very deep, I wanted peace inside my head for a moment of silence.
Al the time all eyes were on me, I was once again child who could not leave
alone and despite all that, attention, care and concern was unable to feel
anything, there was no pain, sadness, just a void that day by day it was getting
bigger, to feel something I let the whispers guide me but I still couldn't feel.
I think it would have been easier to have been born in the water to be able to be
free or been a big tall an old tree waiting for the day when I can return, but
sometimes life is not as we want, It shows a dark side that we have to leave or
that darkness will eat us alive.
The shadows and the whispers left, from time to time they visit me pass by here
to remind me that they have not forgotten me.
That house witnessed that found love in someone I did not expect. A new love, a
wild, impulsive love, but with this we learned that we did not know how love,
there was jealousy, hatred, resentment, betrayal that was never overcome, we
were so different and similar at the same time, we had a hurricane complex, we
were in a constant war, we could never calm things down so as not to die trying.
I knew the easy way out, I didn't want to go through the pain again so I left
myself go, I gave up to them, they raised me, they made me laugh, see and hear
things, they made me feel good, they made me forget about her, but everything
good must end. After the laughter, of the joy they began to show themselves as
they really were, every time I needed more and more, no longer to laugh or
forget her if not to be calm, to be normal. I left them without wanting to do it, I
missed its effect, many time I had the opportunity but it wasn't going, little by
little I was improving, I didn't need anything to be calm.
But that doesn't matter in the evenings when I´m alone I see her look I know
she's waiting there, she wants me to come back, she wants me for her
sometimes, they still accompany me, they wake me up, they distract me a little
from the problems.
I look forward and no matter what happened and what is going to happen I see
myself standing, I look alive and happy, I just want that, it´s we all look for,
what we crave, it´s treasure at the end of the rainbow.
LA CASA.
Imaginaba cómo sería descansar, todos los días era lo mismo, escuela, trabajo.
Viviendo solo me di cuenta de lo necesario que era tener compañía, un amigo,
alguien, un alma que rompiera este ensordecedor silencio del que era preso día y
noche. El lunes al llegar a la escuela vi a lo lejos a un amigo que tenía años de
no ver, para cerciorarme de que era quien yo creía grité su nombre - ¡Mauricio! -
volteó rápidamente se acercó hacia mí chocando con todo mundo, todos nos
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miraban como un par de raros. Pasamos gran parte de la mañana platicando del
pasado y ese tipo de cosas. Me comentó que tenía poco tiempo que había
regresado y que no tenía un lugar donde quedarse, sin pensarlo dos veces le
ofrecí vivir conmigo, acepto. Ya no estaría solo, un amigo había llegado a mi
rescaté. Él no dejaba de estar preocupado, parecía como si alguien lo estuviera
siguiendo; por las noches gritaba sin parar a causa de sus frecuentes pesadillas,
era peor que cualquier película de terror, al escuchar esos gritos desgarradores
me hacían paralizar, todo mi cuerpo se tensara y erizara. Pero sin importar esa
noches de terror, su compañía me tenía alegre. Mauricio conoció a Mariana, una
chica de la escuela, muy pronto comenzaron una gran amistad, era como si se
complementarán, me la presento y de un momento a otro ya éramos tres en la
casa. Éramos muy diferentes entre sí, Mauricio para estar tranquilo y dejar de
sentir que lo seguían, subía a la azotea, tanto Mariana como yo sabíamos que se
drogaba, pero si eso le hacía pasar una noche tranquila, sin pesadillas estaba
bien. Mariana no salía del baño, siempre se miraba al espejo diciendo que
odiaba su físico, que odiaba su forma de ser, su mirada era tímida, nunca
hablaba con nadie en la escuela, decía que prefería estar sola, que quería ser
invisible para todos. Yo solo podía estar contento por ahora tener amigos con los
cuales hablar por las noches, siendo honesto me ellos me salvaron de la locura,
esas noches solo era horribles, noches donde mi mente jugaba conmigo y me
hacía ver sombras o escuchar voces a lo lejos, pero ellos me salvaron. Un día
Mau, estaba en la sala fumando marihuana, salí del cuarto y al verme dijo: Odio
saber que está ahí, que me vea en la noches parado en la puerta de mi habitación.
Lo que dijo Mauricio le dejó pensando demasiado. Al día siguiente Mariana
salió llorando del baño gritando por toda la casa que se odia profundamente, en
la noche su llanto no nos dejaba dormir, era horrible escuchar ese lamento,
gritaba y golpeaba algo, jamás pensamos que fuera ella misma, pero al día
siguiente tenía moretones en los brazos y piernas, rasguños, marcas de dientes,
no quisimos hablar sobre eso. Después de día, cuando todos estábamos más
tranquilos fuimos a dar una vuelta, ahí fue donde conocimos a Paola cerca de un
parque que estaba por la casa, me acerque a ella sin importar lo que Mauricio y
Mariana me decían: Vamos Alex, mírate, no puedes, que desperdicio, das risa,
perdedor, muérete, hazlo, déjala correr, mira como corre. No sabía qué pasaba
con ellos, eran mis amigos. Paola era diferente , siempre hablaba de irse muy
lejos, de descansar, imaginaba que era una rosa marchita de pétalos secos, sin
vida, negros, sin aroma. Ella era la única que entendía mi sentir, el deseo de
querer descansar, de dejar todo de una vez, de irme y jamás volver, lo único que
queríamos era una noche tranquila, poder cerrar los ojos y dormir. Nos hicimos
amigos, y fue la cuarta persona en la casa. Ya en la casa muy pocas veces salía
de su habitación, cuando salía era solo para hablar conmigo, para decirme al
oído que lo hiciera, que de una vez y por todas lo hiciera, después comenzó
hacer lo mismo con Mau y Marina, ellos no le hacían caso, solo yo, porque
cuando hacía lo que ella me pedía sonreía y me encantaba verla sonreír porque
sus ojos brillaban al verla correr, al ver el rojo carmesí. Una noche cuando todos
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estábamos en la sala Paola se levantó y nos dijo: hay que hacerlo, todos
queremos descansar, Mariana, tu quieres dejar de sentir esas burlas, las puedes
callar, Mauricio, tu quieres que te dejen de seguir esas sombras, las puedes
borrar, Alex tanto tú como yo queremos dormir y no despertar, podemos
hacerlo. Todos nos miramos, pero nadie hablaba, ni un ruido, sin decir nada
fuimos a nuestras habitaciones. En la madrugada todos pensábamos en lo que
había dicho Paola. Pasaron los días, Paola salía con más frecuencia, ahora
también Mau y Mariana lo hacían, todos dejábamos que corriera, todos bañados
en rojo carmesí, Paola era la que disfrutaba más, al hacerlo veíamos paz en
nuestros rostros, todo lo malo se iba, quedábamos libres. Una noche estando
todos una vez más en la sala Paola nos volvió a proponer lo ya antes
mencionado, la paz eterna, todos estuvimos de acuerdo, queríamos descansar.
Saltamos. Dormimos para no despertar, cerramos los ojos y jamás los volvimos
abrir, cuando abrieron la puerta de la casa, estaba solamente yo, colgado, sin
vida con un charco de sangre bajo mis pies.
THE HOUSE
I imagined what it would be like to rest, every day was the same, school, work,
Living alone I realized how necessary it was to have company, a friend,
someone, a soul that broke this deafening silence of which I was imprisoned day
and night. On Monday when I arrived at school. I saw in the distance a friend
who had not seen for years, to make sure that it was who I thought I shouted his
name –Mauricio!- He turned quickly approached me colliding with everyone.
Everyone looked at us like a couple of weirdos, We spend much of the morning
talking about the past and that kind of things. He told me that he had little time
that he had returned and that he had no place to stay, without thinking twice I
offered to live with me, he accept. I would not be alone anymore, a friend had
come to my rescue, He kept worrying, it seemed as if someone was following
him; All night he screamed non stop because of their frequent nightmares, it was
worse than any horror movie, hearing those heartbreaking screams made me
paralyze, my whole body tense and bristle. But regardless of those nights I
scared you, his company had me happy. Mauricio met Mariana, a girl from
school, very soon they began a great friendship, it was as if they would
complement each other, I introduce her and from one moment to another there
were already three in the house. We were very different from each other,
Mauricio to be calm and to stop feeling that he was being followed, went up to
the roof, but Mariana and I knew he was on drugs, but if that made his spend a
quiet night, without nightmares it was fine. Mariana did not leave the bathroom,
she always looked in the mirror saying that she hated her physique, that she
hated her ways of being, her eyes were shy, she never talked to anyone in
school, she said that she preferred to alone that she wanted to be invisible to
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everyone. I could only happy for now to have friends to talk to at night, being
honest they saved me from madness, those nights were only horrible, nights
where my mind played with me and made me see shadows or hear voices in the
distance, but they saved me. One day Mau and I was in the living room smoking
pot, I left the room and when he saw me, he said : I hate knowing that he is
there, that he sees me at night standing at the door of my room.
What Mauricio said left him thinking too much, The next day Mariana came out
crying from the bathroom screaming throughout the house that is deeply hated,
at night her crying did not let us sleep, it was horrible to hear that regret, she
screamed and hit something, we never thought she was herself, but the next day
she had bruises on her arms and legs, scratches, teeth marks, we didn't want to
talk about it. After day. When we were all calmer we went for a walk, that's
where we met Paola near a park that was around the house, I approached her no
matter what Mauricio and Mariana told me: Come on Alex, look at yourself, you
can´t, what a wasted time, you laugh, loser, die, do it run, watch it run, I didn't
know what was going on with them, they are my friends. Paola was different,
she always talked about going too far, of resting, imagining that it was a
withered rose of dry, lifeless black fragrant petals. She was the only one who
understood my feeling, the desire to want to rest, to leave everything at once, to
leave and never return, all wanted was a quiet night, to close our eyes and sleep.
We became friends, and she was the fourth person in the house, Already in the
house she rarely left her room, when she left it was only to talk with me, to tell
me in the ear to do it, that once and for all do it, then she began to do same with
Mau and Mariana, they did not listened to her, just me, because when she did
what she asked me she smiled and I love watching her smile because her eyes
shone when she saw run, when she saw the crimson red. One night when we
were all in the room Paola got up and told us: we have to do it, we all wants to
rest , Mariana you want to stop feeling those teasing, you can shut them up.
Mauricio, you want them stop following those shadows, you can erase, Alex,
both want to sleep and no wake up, we can do it.
We all looked at each other but nobody spoke, not a noise, without saying
anything went to our rooms. At dawn we all thought about what Paola has said.
Days went by, Paola went out more frequently, now Mauricio and Mariana did it
too, we all let her run, all bathed crimson red, Paola was the one who enjoyed
the most in doing so we saw peace on our faces, everything bad was going, we
were free. One night being all once again in the Paola room we proposed again
the aforementioned, eternal peace, we all agreed, we wanted rest.
We jump, we slept so as not wake up, we closed our eyes and never opened
them again, when they opened the door of the house, it was only my, hung,
lifeless with a pool of blood under my feet.
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Mexicano Romero Domenica
“No hay medicina que cure lo que no cura la felicidad”
Recuerdo soñar con el ferrocarril que atraviesa la tierra. Me veo parada con una
libreta en la mano y observó a dos hombres; un viejo esbelto y otro no tanto,
dicen que iremos a China. Entonces la tierra tiembla y se abre un gran hoyo en
el suelo; el ferrocarril no se detiene, no hay vía y solo caemos por el hoyo, tiene
una pequeña luz brillante al otro extremo; supongo será la salida; pero no
llegamos, nunca llegamos.
Recuerdo tener la luna justo frente a mis ojos, está se acerca cada vez más y más
hasta que llega a un punto en el que creo estar en ella, tengo miedo, pero no
quiero moverme ¿O no puedo?
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and others say that my great-grandmother Sofia, changed her last name so that
her beater husband could not find her.
I remember dreaming of the railroad that crosses the land. I see myself standing
with a notebook in my hand and observed two men; A slender old man and not
another too much, they say we will go to China. Then the earth trembles and a
large hole opens in the ground; the railroad does not stop, there is no way and
we just fall through the hole, it has a small bright light at the other end; I guess
it will be the exit; But we don't arrive, we never arrive.
I remember having the moon right in front of my eyes, it's getting closer and
closer until it reaches a point where I think I'm in it, I'm afraid, but I don't want
to move, or can't I?
I remember the innocence with which I projected in the future; My life will be
happy, I said you will be great, and nothing will be missing, but best of all, you
can play all day. Soon I will be of legal age and that doesn't worry me, I can't do
anything to avoid it anyway. I'm about to take the next step, for which I may not
be ready. But being honest, who is it?
Humanidad
En un lugar muy apartado del planeta estaba un enorme museo con pequeñas
figuras de plástico, cada una de ellas pertenecía a un grupo que representaba una
etapa histórica, pero ellos formaban parte de una sociedad futurista que se
adaptó para sobrevivir a la contaminación. Este museo se rodeaba de árboles con
hojas violetas y flores blancas; mantenían al museo en el anonimato.
Ana era una joven callada que buscaba nuevas experiencias, venía con sus 3
amigos; Gaby, Efraín y Josué; nadie sabía de la existencia de aquel museo, y
aquellos chicos formaban parte de la época del 2019. Tenían planeado acampar
en el bosque y beber alcohol hasta perderse. Llegaron a donde estaba el museo y
comenzaron a indagar en él.
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Humanity
In a very remote place on the planet there was a huge museum with small plastic
figures, each of them belonged to a group that represented a historical stage, but
they were part of a futuristic society that adapted to survive pollution. This
museum was surrounded by trees with violet leaves and white flowers; They
kept the museum anonymous.
Ana was a quiet young woman who was looking for new experiences, came with
her 3 friends; Gaby, Efraín and Josue; nobody knew about the existence of that
museum, and those boys were part of the 2019. They planned to camp in the
forest and drink alcohol until they got lost. They arrived where the museum was
and began to investigate it.
Time passed and they realized that the little plastic figurines moved but could
not speak; perhaps they were trying to prevent them from what awaited them, as
this had already happened before. Ana did not understand, so they kept going
on their way. They entered a dark room where they saw the future of humanity;
Their future; but immediately they became little plastic figurines, unable to
reveal what they saw.
Tu partida
Eras una persona que a mi llego un día
Your departure
You came to me one day
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A long time ago, everything changed
Micro relato.
Un día desperté y deje de ser la misma, ya no sentía emoción, deje de hacer las
cosas que me gustaban, las cosas dejaron de importarme, deje de sentir, me volví
diferente, no estaba bien, me estaba apagando. La luz que aún quedaba en mí se
fue extinguiendo. Me fui perdiendo día tras día. Estaba muriendo.
Micro story.
One day I woke up and I stopped being the same, I no longer felt emotion, I
stopped doing the things I liked, things stopped caring, I stopped feeling, I
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became different, I wasn't well, I was shutting down. The light that was still in
me was extinguishing. I got lost day after day. I was dying.
- Máximo López
Yo me recuerdo que mi infancia fue como uno de los momentos un poco más
duros de mi vida en lo que podría yo decir, mis padres se divorciaron cuando
asistía en la primaria, llegue a sufrir bullying lo cual a veces me afectaba en las
calificaciones, pero siempre tuve a mi madre ahí cuando más la necesitaba,
cuando sentía que no podía yo solo, pero nunca la valore demasiado. Siempre
admiraba por delante de ella a mi papá, pero hasta la fecha me siento mal de no
poder haber abierto los ojos, así como los tengo ahora.
I remember when I was bullied, I just wanted it to end. And I remember when I
smoked my first pot and he began to like that drug little by little. I felt that I was
"clearing" my problems.
I remember that my childhood was like one of the hardest moments of my life in
what I could say, My parents divorced when I attended elementary school, I got
to suffer bullying which sometimes affected me in the grades, but I always had
my mother there when I needed her most, when I felt that I could not alone, but I
never valued her too much, I always admired my dad ahead of her, but to date I
feel bad that I couldn't have opened my eyes as I have them now.
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had to go through a lot, I went to live with my dad, thinking that everything
would be fine but no, everything was when I was about to leave high school
although we already had friction between the two of us and his wife.
I remember that I started a different path here in high school, I remember that I
just wanted to be better, fight for what others just dream of and show me that my
confidence in myself is the most important thing, that nobody will stop me,
besides, here I had new experiences, new friendships, I know that I failed and
this is my fourth year but I know that this is the last milestone for which I must
go ahead and get up again.
MI CÁRCEL
A veces piensas que todos están en tu contra
MY JAIL
Sometimes you think everyone is against you
DÉBIL O GUERRERO
En esta vida, siempre pasa lo que menos puedes esperar.
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Puedes sostener amistades o hacer rivalidades, pero
WEAK OR WARRIOR
In this life, what you can least expect happens.
In this life one decides to be the weak one who is always subjected
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Solo ten en cuenta, que es lo que quieres ser.
Or leave everything behind to forget what you were not and pretended to be.
A wolf in lambskin
El conejo y el puma.
El conejo caminaba por su arbolado y frío bosque, moviendo sus pequeñas y
esponjosas patitas de una manera rápida, pero tratando de conservar la
vigilancia. Todos los días repetía esta secuencia de caminar y caminar y siempre
estaba temeroso, eso se notaba porque con cada paso miraba hacia todos lados
como si estuviera buscando algo, además de que su olfateo siempre estaba
acelerado. Ya fuera por un pequeño crujido de rama o pájaros en las copas de los
árboles el asustadizo animal siempre corría para alejarse. Un día husmeando por
el espesor del bosque, observó un extraño movimiento en un arbusto silvestre.
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Su mente y piernas le pedían a gritos que huyera, que se alejara, pero su corazón
quería algo más, algo más allá de solo caminar desconfiado, de mirar a todos
lados, de solo huir de los sonidos, quería saber lo que era vida.
Sin escuchar a la razón, saltó apresurado a ver que sorpresa había detrás del
arbusto, impulsando sus patas traseras que aún temblaban, rebotó cual resorte
suspendido en el aire hasta llegar al otro lado, pero debido a la propulsión cayó
bruscamente. Al despertar, una mirada fría, pero pacífica lo observaba con
curiosidad. Con gran velocidad el conejo engarruño sus patas y empezó su
olfateo. La criatura era grande, elegante, con un pelaje de sol y unas garras
resistentes como el acero. Este se alejó del conejo, pero pedía que lo siguiera. El
conejo dudando de confiar o no en ese animal fue seducido por la curiosidad,
siguiendo sus pasos. Mientras caminaban descubrían paisajes maravillosos;
riachuelos, campos cubiertos de flores, pastizales. Esa criatura era un puma y a
partir de ahí se convertiría en guía y amigo del conejo de grandes aventuras.
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Padilla Quezada Diego
“No importa qué tipo de vida lleve una persona, su fin siempre será la muerte.
Es lo único cierto. Y en esa vida ¿Sabías que una persona sólo tiene dos
opciones a elegir?, ¡Actuar o no actuar! Esas son.”
Inio Asano.
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adelante con lo que he aprendido a lo largo de mi vida y daré el paso para
convertirme en la estrella que quiero ser y brillar.
“Hay momentos en los que un hombre tiene que luchar y hay momentos en los
que debe aceptar que ha perdido, su destino, que el barco ha zarpado, que solo
un tonto seguiría insistiendo. Para mi suerte, siempre he sido un tonto.” (Albert
Finney, El gran pez, 2003)
Inio Asano.
I remember being a turtle, I got into my shell every morning, except Saturdays,
Sundays, vacations and holidays. Those days I rested from my little shell and
my turtle tasks. People made fun of me for being a turtle, I didn't like to take off
my protective breastplate, but it was necessary to be able to get the school
supplies inside. I was happy being a turtle, I slept and played a lot, I didn't have
to understand my environment, I enjoyed being a happy and ignorant turtle. The
blows and screams disappeared inside my blue shell, nothing mattered or made
sense within him, God and the angels smiled at me in the universe and I
laughed, love was only for my family, my life was beautiful and I did not know ,
I didn't care about the abuses because my mind winked at me while the others
hurt me, the rest didn't hurt because my shell was there to comfort the crying,
years later they took away my beloved shell, I was torn from that glorious place
for a simple reason... They had bought me a new backpack.
”With hope, in solitude and ecstasy” Inio Asano, 2008.
Now I felt naked, I had been thrown into a world of chaos and responsibilities
where reality and truth beat me mercilessly. The bandages of my body,
especially those of my eyes, were snatched away, friends came and went and I
spread my being towards everything. The feelings and experiences came and
went in a fleeting way... Until I met another type of love... a girl, the most
beautiful in the world, came to my eyes and enslaved me. I felt fear and
happiness. My love radiated for her but my feelings were never revealed to her.
Tragic mistake at that time!
That's how adolescence came, everything changed, nothing was constant except
me, everything good had moved away from me and now I was in the world of
reality, it was a soft stone that was being awkwardly molded, a deformed work
that had no sculptor, everything was experimentation, time passed and love was
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now my main executioner, the one who tormented me and ecstatic at night. I
needed to understand everything and learn, I needed to go my way but suddenly
something or someone came to me, it suddenly clung to me abruptly, it just
arrived and took me by the arm, I was surprised, It was a companion that I still
don't want to admit that, by then, I didn't want to know... The responsibility, that
lady who had come to stay would accompany me for the rest of my life and I'm
still waiting for it to be a more enjoyable company, love and responsibility was
only a small part of the burdens that came my way to being the man of my
future. What I was forging.
“This of being depressed is great you can behave like a pig if you feel like that.”
Hornby, 1995
Shortly after I learned that my life and their experiences were hardly a glimpse
of what destiny had prepared for me; entering high school has brought me
hundreds of experiences, all as good as bad. A new world opened before me and
my mind would explode to leave my soul free, it is of general knowledge that
when a species is placed in a habitat other than the native one, it is very normal
for changes to occur in its organism, that happened to me, but not only or maybe
not at all in a physical level. My human essence had been released and I did not
know how to control it, but I think the most shocking thing for me was the
arrival of a new woman; before others she is something simple and without
much beauty, but before my eyes was the most beautiful young woman that I
could have known, I loved her natural essence and her fun and exciting figure, I
realized what it was to be alive. It was thanks to her that my body opened up to
new possibilities and experiences that I never thought I would embody... But we
did everything very fast. It is also public knowledge that excess is bad in
everything, our excesses brought a few more misfortunes that still echo in us.
Currently my heart cries to that girl who has left only a slight breeze of what
was once; the same girl who made me a pathetic melancholic, or was it already
one before her? This reminds me of a phrase that goes: “What came first: music
or sadness? Did I get to listen to music because I was sad? Or was I sad because
I listened to music? Don't you turn all those records into a person with a
melancholic tendency?” (Hornby, 1995, High fidelity).
But not everything at this stage has been a tragedy, the new life that the College
gave me has really been an adventure. Not only has it prepared me for the
University, but also for life, teachers and extraordinary colleagues from whom I
have learned values , techniques and knowledge for my future... it has taught me
what I want to be and who I am. I am still afraid, I have never stopped having it,
it is a natural feeling, but I am ready to face whatever it comes, I will learning
throughout my life and I will take the step to become the star that I want to be to
shine.
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“There are times when a man has to fight and there are times when he must
accept that he has lost, his destiny, that the ship has sailed, that only a fool
would continue to insist. To my luck, I've always been a fool.”(Albert Finney,
Big Fish, 2003)
-MARCO AURELIO
El tiempo pasó y fui creciendo, fui aprendiendo y fui viendo la vida de una
forma diferente, al igual que la vida me vio de forma diferente, poniéndome a
prueba en circunstancias interesantes y poco usuales para mi edad,
enfermedades diversas, problemas difíciles entre mi familia, pero ¿qué sería de
la vida sin circunstancias así? ¿qué sería de la tierra y del cosmos, sin las miles
de catástrofes que han acontecido para llegar a todo lo que conocemos hoy?
Así como el diamante, primero fue carbón, con el pasar de los años he ido
madurando, desarrollando mis propios pensamientos, mi propio criterio. Aunque
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a gran parte de la mayoría le desagradan, empezando por mi familia y a veces lo
más cercanos a mí; considero mi forma de pensar y mis ideas como el sol, a
algunos los alumbra, a otros los quema, a unos les da vida, a otros se las quita;
así considero algunas ideas mías, unas veces fulminantes, concisas,
impenetrables e inalcanzables como una muralla y otras veces torpes, erróneas y
escurridizas como la arena, sin embargo, el sol es la estrella más brillante y
grande de nuestro sistema solar, la que ha perdurado más años y la que nunca ha
apagado su brillo, por alguna roca espacial cualquiera. Trato de seguir una
propia filosofía donde predomine la libertad y la moral como lo hacen los lobos
y los leones, el mejor de la selva y del bosque. Creo que mi propósito de vida
podría ser como el significado de mi nombre, dar un mensaje, para muchos o
algunos cuantos.
-MARCO AURELIO
My appearance in the world was written in sixty minutes before midnight, but is
divided into 2:30 minutes of suffering and agony on my mother's part and thirty
minutes of happiness for my parents.
Time passed and I up, I was learning and I saw life in a different way, just as life
saw me in a different way, testing me in interesting and unusual circumstances
for my age, illnesses, problems among my family, but, what would life be
without circumstances like this? What would become of the earth and the
cosmos, without the thousands of catastrophes that have occurred to reach all
that we know today?
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Just as the diamond, first it was coal, over the years I have grew up developing
my own thoughts, my own judgment. Although most people dislike, starting
with my family and sometimes those closest to me; I consider my way of
thinking and my ideas as the sun, some are enlightened, others burnt, some are
given life, others are taken away; so I consider some ideas of mine, sometimes
fulminant, concise, impenetrable and unreachable as a wall and other awkward,
erroneous and elusive as sand, yet the sun is the brightest and largest star of our
solar system, which has endured longer and the one who has never turned off its
brightness, by any other space rock. I try to follow a philosophy of my own
where freedom and morality dominate as do wolves and lions, the best of the
bush and the forest. I think my purpose of life might be like the meaning of my
name, giving a message for many people or a few.
HAIKÚ
Sol sin brillo Sun without light
REFLEXIÓN
Gabriel
¿Estaré confundido?
Los días son muy cortos para parar y pensar si la vida es un chiste
Qué infortunio
REFLECTION
Gabriel
Will I be confused?
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The days are too short to stop and think if life is a joke
Maybe I don't even see the stars, or the sun won't shine
What misfortune
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-José Ortega y Gasset
CONFORMARSE
Molestia, inconformidad, miedo, coraje, eso es lo que ella sintió; ardor en el
estómago que le carcomía por dentro, lagrimas ocultas al punto del desborde.
Cada una de sus palabras a tinta había sido ignoradas, exiliadas del
entendimiento. Pesar que le hunde en la nube de su auto desprecio. Pesar que le
toma el corazón entre las manos jugando con él sintiéndose contraerse, romper,
crujir cual vidrio siendo destrozado. Calla y sigue, confórmate que es lo único
que puedes hacer.
CONFORM
Annoyance, nonconformity, fear, courage, that's what she felt; burning in the
stomach that was eating inside, tears hidden to the point of overflow. Each of his
ink words had been ignored, exiled from understanding. Regret that sinks in the
cloud of hisself-contempt. Even though he takes his heart in his hands playing
with him, feeling him contracting, breaking, cracking which glass being
shattered. Shut up and keep up, confess that it's the only thing you can do.
PROHIBIDO PROHIBITED
Ojos negros como la noche Black eyes like the night
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Amor que aprieta mi garganta Love that squeezes my throat
El que descendió
Leal y eficaz pero siempre sutil
En una relación eterna con la felicidad
Me encantó la soledad y el misterio de escuchar los latidos de mi corazón.
He sentido decepción pero al mismo tiempo fuerza
Temo no cumplir mis objetivos
Estoy orgulloso de haber llegado a donde estoy ahora
Deseo en el futuro no perseguir mis sueños, mejor alcanzarlos
Debería haber pertenecido a los 60, música y máxima expresión.
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Come back
Vuelve
Dile que no vaya tan rápido,
Dile que nos está dejando atrás,
Cuando pase el ya se habrá ido,
Cuando yo toque ya no abrirá
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Sosa Lima Areli
La monarca sangrienta.
Era una noche lluviosa de 1796 en Francia, donde los pueblerinos morían de
hambre, debido a la cruel realidad social y económica a la que se enfrentaba la
ciudad Francesa, las personas morían por la peste negra que los conducía a lo
más profundo de los campos elíseos si es que habían cumplido su propósito de
bien en el mundo, o si la tiranía los llevaría con la oscura sombra de la diosa
Morrigu al inframundo.
Una noche en la que María Antonieta desconsolada y triste por el desprecio que
la gente le mostraba, salió a caminar por la noche sin guardias y sin compañía de
nadie, fue raptada por un grupo de personas que al parecer eran paganos y
hacían uso de magia negra, después, la maldijeron mediante un ritual satánico.
Luis XVI culpable de lo que había hecho decidió advertir a su reina para que
pudiera escapar pero esto solo le costó su muerte en la guillotina, al enterarse de
esto la monarca decidió crear su plan de escape para luego regresar por
venganza, de este modo sacrificó a una joven parecida a ella para que la
guillotinaran, pero antes de eso se encargó de que el pueblo francés se enterara
de los verdaderos crímenes que había cometido, solo por haber sido la esposa no
amada de un monarca dictador y absolutista y el desprecio más grande del
pueblo.
From the Versailles castle the "autrichienne" was preparing to escape from the
death, since she was condemned and tried before the French people, for haved
committed big crimes against the habitants of her city. Ready for her escape the
hangman who was in charge to guillotine the wolf of Austria went to her room
and he opened her door to his chambers and found the monarch with the bloody
bodies from people of the court.
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It all started when the restlessness of the people in the city of Paris began to
manifest, blaming the court and the kings for the disappearances of young
virgins and children. Everyone in the villages commented on the devastating
losses of the mothers, and fearful that the night would come, when all resided in
their deepest dreams, an innocent creatures of light disappeared.
The nobles and dukes of the court let the discontents of the population pass and
over time people began to live with these murders day by day, the only and cruel
truth was that the monarchs knew the true and dark secret that lived in the castle
of Versailles and for this reason they let go of what happened in France.
One night in which Marie Antoinette disconsolate and sad about the contempt
that people showed her, she went for a walk at night without guards and without
the company of anyone, was kidnapped by a group of people who were
apparently pagan and use black magic, then, they cursed her, through a satanic
ritual.
The curse made Antonieta made her became part of the pagan sect, condemning
her to live from the death of children and young people to stay forever young,
since her husband Louis XVI had made an exchange of power with the sorcerers
, for the soul of his wife that he did not love; full of suspicion and fear the
monarch began to commit her heinous crimes by taking revenge on her
population.
Knowing this, the French court took care of the secret since their king had
threatened them, turning his wife into a deadly weapon against people who did
not follow his leadership, so it was that Marie Antoinette in front of the nobles
and dukes fed in front of they as an animal of the flesh of their victims, that is
why they called it the "wolf of Austria", also bathed in the blood of the virgins
so that they always kept their youth afloat.
As time went by, Marie Antoinette gained the contempt and antipathy of the
people and the people around her, accusing her of wasteful, presumed and
manipulative was a great excuse to implant theft crimes, insufficient resources
and lack of interest in the affairs of the state to be able to take it to the guillotine
without escaping from the eyes of society.
Louis XVI guilty of what he had done decided to warn his queen so that he
could escape but this only cost him his death in the guillotine, upon learning this
the monarch decided to create his escape plan and then return for
revenge, sacrificing a young woman similar to her to be guillotined, but before
that she made sure that the French people found out about the true crimes she
had committed, just for being the unloved wife of a dictator and absolutist
monarch and the most contempt big town.
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Valenzuela Alvarez Luz Daniela
“Aceptamos la realidad del mundo que nos presentan.”
Ed Harris
EN MEDIO DE TODO
Mi madre, dice que cuando nací esperaba ver un niño con su mismo color de
ojos verdes con rayas rojas como los rayos que salen del sol y no fue así. Es más
pensaba que el día que iba a nacer ni siquiera era labor de parto, creyó que le
había caído mal el pozole que había comido. Creo que por eso no soy muy fan
del pozole. Nací en la época en la que la gente se vuelve loca por la víspera de
las fiestas patrias, la época donde el cielo es iluminado por explosiones de
colores, mismos colores que veo adornando las calles de mi colonia; eso es algo
que disfruto mucho. También tiene que ver con que mi mamá bailó durante más
de 20 años bailes regionales mexicanos y mi papá siempre ha sido un amante de
los pueblos mágicos. Tanta suerte tuvo que nació en “Delicias” Chihuahua, un
pueblo mágico inundado del sonido de trenes y pobreza, peculiar e interesante
para un señor como él.
Me pusieron el nombre de Luz por mi bisabuela con el mismo nombre, pues ella
cumplía años al día siguiente de mí. Me hubiera gustado conocerla mejor, ella
falleció cuando yo tenía apenas meses de edad, solo la recuerdo por fotos. Se
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parece a mi abuela, ambas con arrugas en la cara, pero sin ninguna mancha, su
cabello tan blanco como la nieve y un brillo platinado tan hermoso que parecía
tela de seda y los ojos grandes y saltones como canicas. Luz es un nombre de
origen latino que significa “la que da claridad”, algo que más adelante me
serviría para saber qué hacer con mi vida.
Crecí con mi abuela, las memorias de mi infancia las recuerdo junto a ella, la
base de su crianza fue que hemos nacido para ser ganadores, nacimos para
triunfar o al menos, es lo que me enseñó mientras crecía, mi mamá me dijo que
también perder es negativo.
Llegó un día la claridad ante mí y tomé entonces mi filosofía de vida como una
competencia, cuando me comprometo a hacer algo lo hago. Pero debe de haber
algo siempre que me compita, algo que me haga superarme o me motive,
también me gusta rodearme de personas que me complementen y me ayuden a
crecer. Mis logros que más aprecio son los académicos pues realmente son a los
que he dedicado más tiempo, además de que necesitaba de esto para ganar
siempre y no perder, también algo que amo es hacer ejercicio eso para mí es una
competencia diaria conmigo misma, es algo que me encanta y le da emoción a
mis días.
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that I would have felt like a survivor, and is that in this life we are all survivors,
so much so that we sometimes become selfish by nature, some more than others
and that is why such terrible acts of this magnitude occur.
My mother says that when I was born she expected to see a child with the same
color of her green eyes with red stripes as the rays coming out of the sun. she
thought that the day he was going to be born was not even labor, she thought
that the pozole she had eaten had fallen badly. I don't think that's why I'm a big
fan of pozole. I was born at the time when people go crazy on the eve of national
holidays, the time when the sky is illuminated by explosions of colors, the same
colors I see adorning the streets of my colony; that's something I enjoy very
much. It also has to do with the fact that my mom danced for more than 20 years
in Mexican regional dances and my dad has always been a lover of magical
towns. He was so lucky that he was born in "Delicias" Chihuahua, a magical
town flooded with the sound of trains and poverty, peculiar and interesting for a
man like him.
We are creatures of instinct and our tendency has always been to survive. My
two realities of losing and winning as a little girl were not easy for me to
understand, but I needed to survive in the midst of them. But it's not that simple.
I like to think that we weren't born to lose, but losing is part of the process of
winning. I don't know how many times there is going to be a defeat, but I know
that it can be followed, and although sometimes we don't believe it, we can still
give more, it's part of survival.
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One day clarity came before me and I took my philosophy of life as a
competition, when I commit to do something I do it. But there must always be
something that competes with me, something that makes me better or motivates
me, I also like to surround myself with people who complement me and help me
grow. My achievements that I most appreciate are the academics because they
are really the ones that I have dedicated more time to, besides that I needed this
to always win and not lose, also something that I love is to exercise that for me
is a daily competition with myself, is something that I love and gives emotion to
my days.
I don't like to think much about the future, I like to enjoy each day of reality, but
every night I think about what I will do the next morning when I wake up to go
out to exercise, I also don't like to think about the past, although I know it's part
of me, which is what I am so I take all the good stuff. I don't have dreams, I have
goals, and I work every day to reach them.
-Daniel J. Boorstin
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Villanueva Hernández Libertad Melina
Yo recuerdo
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Yo recuerdo la primera vez que mi mamá me dijo la razón por la
que me había puesto “Libertad Melina” como nombre, uno nada
común. Libertad porque quiere que sea libre de ataduras,
prejuicios y miedos que no son míos. Y aunque me ha costado
algo de trabajo, hasta el día de hoy no le he fallado a ella ni
mucho menos a mí misma. Melina porque significa “Dulce como
la miel”. Juntos forman un lema de vida fascinante y que he aceptado con
mucho orgullo, mientras agradezco profundamente a mi madre por regalarme
este destino marcado en mi nombre.
“La vida comenzó con despertar y amar la cara de mi madre” George Eliot
Yo recuerdo un mundo donde las voces eran de colores, las mismas que están
hoy presentes aunque por existir tanto tiempo están ya algo descoloridas. Desde
siempre mi mamá me dormía entre sus brazos y quizá guardaba silencio, porque
fue hasta los 6 años que me enamore de su voz. Era de noche, una que pecaba de
común, mi cabeza estaba en su pecho y comenzó a hablar con alguien que no
recuerdo, sus latidos y su color de voz combinaban perfecto. Alce la mirada y vi
desde abajo a la persona que deseo en mi vida siempre, porque ella me la dio y
porque yo la amo.
“Porque en noches como ésta la tuve entre mis brazos, mi alma no se contenta
con haberla perdido. Aunque este sea el último dolor que ella me causa, y estos
sean los últimos versos que yo le escribo.” Pablo Neruda
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Yo recuerdo a mi fiel amiga la noche, que tras horas viviéndola, demostró que
puede relajarme con su natural arrullo. Me enseñó que incluso puede ser
romántica conmigo. Y quizá ella misma, como una prueba, fue la que trajo hacia
mí, a mi querido Hombre, con nombre común, vida única y luminiscentes ojos
de ebriedad. Que fue la verdadera razón por la que me busco al pie de mi
ventana para apagar su pobre soledad. Pero cómo podría aceptar a desperdiciar
mi noche si ella no prometía engañar o lastimar… y él sí. Por fin lo vi alejarse
en su carro rojo con el mismo vacío con el que llegó. Porque prefiero mil veces
mi propio dolor al que él pueda seguir causándome.
I remember…
I remember the first time that my mother told me the reason why she calls me
"Libertad Melina" as a name, one not common.
Freedom because you want it to be free from bonds, prejudices and fears that are
not mine. And although it has cost me some work, to this day I have not failed
her, much less myself. Melina because it means "Sweet as honey." Together
they form a fascinating life motto and which I have accepted with great pride,
while I deeply thank my mother for giving me this destiny marked in my name.
"Life began with waking up and loving my mother's face" George Eliot
I remember a world where the voices were colored, the same ones that are
present today although for so long they are already somewhat discolored. My
mother had always slept in my arms and maybe I was silent, because it was until
I was 6 that I fell in love with her voice. It was night, one that sinned in
common. My head was on her chest and she started talking to someone I don't
remember, her heartbeat and voice color combined perfectly. I looked up and
saw from below the person I always want in my life, because she gave it to me
and because I love her.
“to me, poetry and thought are a system of communicating vessels. The source
of both is my life; I write about what I have lived and lived. ”Octavio Paz
I remember a romantic girl, wanting to feel and a hidden talent, who found me
every time I saw in the mirror. I also remember a nice boy, gentlemanly and
careful, that I looked at in school. One day, as it was necessary to happen, he
broke my innocent heart. And because I no longer knew what else to do apart
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from thinking about him, I began writing to give the world in general, little of
what you can express feeling inside of you. My first words were “Here and now,
before the hoarder darkness of the night I let my pen dance on paper Be free!”
And so far, it has not been possible to stop, because with it I remember what I
live, sometimes with More pain than joy.
“Because on nights like this I had it in my arms, my soul is not content to have
lost it. Although this is the last pain she causes me, and these are the last verses
that I write to her. ”Pablo Neruda
I remember my faithful friend the night, who after hours living it, showed that
she can relax me with her natural cooing. He taught me that he can even be
romantic with me. And perhaps she herself, as a test, was the one that brought
my dear Man to me, with a common name, a unique life and luminous eyes of
drunkenness. That was the real reason why I look at the bottom of my window
to turn off his poor loneliness. But how could I accept to waste my night if she
didn't promise to cheat or hurt ... and he did. I finally saw him walk away in his
red car with the same emptiness with which he arrived. Because I prefer a
thousand times my own pain that he can continue to cause me.
Luna
Es el dilema lo que me hace recurrir a ti, luna. Me han murmurado que lo
contemplas todo en la oscuridad, y es en esa pérdida oscuridad dónde está mi
corazón. Entre el susurro, el rose y sus labios; que no saben más que besar
cualquier otro par de labios
Moon
It is the dilemma that makes me turn to you, moon. I have been murmured that
you contemplate everything in darkness, and it is in that loss of darkness where
my heart is. Between the whisper, the rose and its lips; They don't know more
than kiss any other pair of lips.
Noches de soledad
Hoy por primera vez, cuando ha pasado más de un mes, admito que quizá
extraño dormir en su pecho. Sé que simplemente es una cálida noche más, en un
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día ajetreado, de mi vida abrumadora. Pero en estos instantes que suelen durar
una infinita punzada en lo vulnerable, donde me conformaba con su recuerdo,
ahora entiendo que lo espero. Espero le llegue el vacío y la angustia, porque es
justo ahí donde está más propenso a encontrarme a mí. Admito que esta noche
en que la dignidad, el orgullo y el enojo han cesado en un sueño, me atrevería a
besarlo de nuevo. ¡Lo extraño! Y ojalá que en la búsqueda de compañía me
encuentre, porque estas horas jamás impuntuales, están hechas de soledad, de
melancolía y de recuerdos.
Lonely nights
Today for the first time, when more than a month has passed, I admit that I may
miss sleeping on his chest. I know it is simply one more warm night, on a busy
day, of my overwhelming life. But in these moments that usually last an infinite
pang in the vulnerable, where I was satisfied with his memory, I now understand
that I expect it. I hope that emptiness and anguish will come to him, because it is
right there where he is most likely to find me. I admit that tonight when dignity,
pride and anger have ceased in a dream, I would dare to kiss him again. I miss
him! And I hope that in the search for company I find myself, because these
never unpunctual hours are made of loneliness, melancholy and memories.
Te escribo
Nuestra aventura me ha llenado la mente de recuerdos, mi corazón de latidos y
mi libreta de letras. Letras que forman palabras, oraciones, inclusive hojas
enteras, que no llevaran a nadie nunca a ningún lado.
Grito porque quiero que sepan que eres tú. Escribo porque quiero que alguien
me diga que es verdad, que tengo el derecho de ver por la ventana como yo
quiera.
Que sí te fuiste y algo de mi paz de robaste. Que aprendimos poco y aun así
seguimos adelante. Es ese deseo de hacer lo que no terminamos, lo que no
pudimos ni probar de un modo más que del tuyo, lo que atormenta mi mente. Ya
no soy fuerte como el día en que me burle de “enamorarme de ti” Ya no soy
fuerte porque se hizo realidad y no estás aquí.
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I write to you
Our adventure has filled my mind with memories, my heart beating and my
notebook. Letters that form words, sentences, including whole pages, that will
never take anyone anywhere.
I scream because I want them to know it's you. I write because I want someone
to tell me that it is true, that I have the right to see through the window as I want.
That you did leave and some of my peace you stole. That we learned little and
still we move on. It is that desire to do what we don't finish, what we couldn't
even prove in a way other than yours, that torments my mind. I am no longer
strong as the day I teased to "fall in love with you" I am no longer strong
because it came true and you are not here.
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- Jean Paul Sartre
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Every human being is the sum of years of life, it is a construction, an idea rather
than a simple matter. In principle we are molded by the family, but at a certain
age we have the power to mold ourselves.
After the materialization of Ivy as a person, the time came when he faced other
thoughts, however the road was almost always clear, since they were rarely
affronted and there were almost always similar.
Our ability to modify the world is not in the classroom, becoming part of the
systematization of a problem under the pseudo solution of the power that
knowledge gives us, it is actually in the use we give to those tools that are given
to us in the schools.
Espejo
¿Quién está realmente cautivo en las jaulas del zoológico? ¿Desde dónde vienen
las miradas? ¿El simio contempla el espectáculo del hombre? ¿El hombre
contempla el espectáculo del simio? ¿Se miran? ¿No se observan?
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El eterno femenino
Se anunciaba con estridente fuerza el espectáculo de la mujer barbuda, la niña
transformada en cocodrilo, la mujer tarántula, la niña tortuga y demás
atrocidades de las cuales hacer mofa e inclusive, llegar a sentir lástima.
Mirror
Who is captive in the cages of the zoo? Where do the looks come from? Does
the ape contemplate the spectacle of man? Does the man watch the ape show?
Do they look at each other? Are not observed?
What nobody noticed is that the spectacle was announced by the bearded man,
the crocodile boy, the spider man, the turtle boy and other fossils like that.
Zamora Tania
“[…] No es en los hombres, sino en las cosas donde hay que buscar la verdad”.
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Platón.
El lugar en la que crecí y resido es tan similar a otras ciudades dentro del país,
que carece de autenticidad. Los efímeros recuerdos de mi infancia se remontan
específicamente a una azulada casa de habitaciones y pasillos muy angostos,
techos aplastantes y puertas particularmente enanas. Mi dependencia hacia este
lugar fue penosa, pues a pesar de odiar sus sombrías y melancólicas paredes el
zumbido que producía su silencio fue el acercamiento más humano que tuve
durante ocho años.
En algunos meses la transición a la era adulta –que hace algunos años veía
remoto- se convertirá en mi realidad. Ha llegado el momento en el que toda
acción que lleve a cabo va a ayudarme a trascender; mi futuro próximo es ya mi
presente. Por otro lado, la interrogante ¿para qué? me es de suma importancia;
como individuo es imprescindible conocer el lugar al que perteneces y sobre
todo sentirte perteneciente, la trascendencia debe ser individual –
principalmente- y no debe perderse el sentido.
Zamora Tania
“[…] it is not in men, but in things that the truth must be sought”.
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-Platón.
Sadly, I had the misfortune of being a radical city girl condemned to live under
the thunderous murmur of men and their machines. It is hard for me to fantasize
about green roads with non-synthetic smell, with a single perpetual turquoise
sky crowning the day after day and with the virgin air benches that its
inhabitants surely enjoy. However, the less tangible they are to me, the more my
mind insists on making them more and more sacred.
The place where I grew up and live is so similar to other cities within the
country, which lacks authenticity. The ephemeral memories of my childhood
date back specifically to a blue house with very narrow rooms and corridors,
crushing ceilings and particularly dwarf doors. My dependence towards this
place was painful, because despite hating its dark and melancholic walls, the
buzz produced by its silence was the most humane approach I had for eight
years.
Thanks to the birth of my sister, my parents opted to redirect the space and
family environment to a less languid place; fortunately, it turned out to be more
devoid of silence and the shadows no longer made an act of presence. In a few
months the transition to adulthood -which I saw remotely a few years ago- will
become my reality. The time when every action I take is going to help me to
transcend has come; my near future is already my present. On the other hand,
the question for what? Is of utmost importance to me; as an individual it is
essential to know the place to which you belong and above all to feel that you
belong, the transcendence must be individual -mainly- and the sense must not be
lost.
The sense, my sense, is still in the process of developing along with my life
project, but the only thing I’m sure of is that under no circumstances do I want
to return to the blue room, to its distant, indifferent and suffocating blue.
Perpetúa Condena
Se advierte a todo aquel ciudadano del mundo que rondando anda aquel
malhechor responsable de infinitos asuntos impunes de procedencia en el
corazón. Si su virtud es mucho más perspicaz e indagadora que prudente, debe
procurar entonces caminar frívolamente –y de preferencia sea lento en su andar-
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por las soleadas calles de su ciudad. Justo aquí no hay marcha atrás, su destino
está transcurriendo ante los ojos de este infeliz.
Perpetuate Condemnation
Every citizen of the world is warned that the delinquent responsible for infinite
unpunished matters of origin in the heart is hanging around. If his virtue is far
shrewder and inquiring than prudent, then he should try to walk frivolously -and
preferably slowly- through the sunny streets of his city. Right here there is no
turning back, his destiny is passing before the eyes of this wretched.
You’ll know of your accurate arrival when you hear thunderous rhythmic swirls
of wind buzzing in your ears. It is recommended that you do not stop or attempt
to look for the bearer of that sound, because most probably the only sign that
holds that it is not the product of you reckless imagination is the dark mark on
the floor, projected by the luminosity of the beautiful day on which you have
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decided to leave, from wings in bestial dimensions and surprisingly sharp
pointed. Even under the present circumstances, continue in a straight line.
It is certain that this individual causes him jubilee to evaluate his objectives to
play with his feeling before realizing the decisive blow; he is a complete
predator and in the matter of discomfort he is incomparable. Despite of
executing this ritual in a constant way, he never takes his task lightly and much
less carries it out for leisure. So, if you feel observed without discretion, you are
undoubtedly about to be the victim of the case.
After a dozen -maximum- of steps you will feel the blood coagulate inside your
body, your lungs expanded inside the thorax will beg for a breath of air and your
almost exorbitant eyes will affirm that something has crossed your chest. Yes,
he did. I’m sorry, but you’re in love now. This being has confined him to forget
himself, to detach himself from his soul and voluntarily give it to another being
of the same nature. The effect can be lasting but not infinite, and I assure you sir
that this outlaw of volatile impetus will return sooner or later to dissolve with his
arrow in silvertip, the fierce feeling established in you to replace it with one
even more ruthless.
Tyler Joseph
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rayo de luz dentro de todo el desastre fue la llegada de mi hermano Santiago.
Enfrentando la separación de mis padres y la soledad que esta conllevaba mi
embarcación naufragó por unos años en una pequeña isla de auto sabotaje,
ansiedad, depresión y tristeza. Asimismo, encontré refugió en la música, los
libros y la naturaleza lo que me llevó a perder cualquier habilidad social, me
escondí por mucho tiempo y por consecuente cuando salió el sol en aquella
tormenta no supe que hacer ni qué camino tomar.
Tyler Joseph
I came to earth in the place of the four houses and I am a Sateluco by birth.
Among complications I met the world, my birth was wrapped like my umbilical
cord around my neck. Once outside my mother's womb, I faced the reflux that
did not allow me to give my parents rest, the constant fear that I could die
drowned led them to create a feeling of overprotection with me. Over the years I
was raised in a Christian home and school, when I was only three years old my
brother Moses arrived. The childhood passed and flew like a good movie, I
enjoyed it with joy and tranquility. With open arms at the age of eight I received
my sister Dara.
In the same way my puberty began, calm and serene, subtle and transparent, but
on the horizon of my future a storm began to appear. This storm would hit the
small boat and destabilize the tranquility, the ray of light within the whole
disaster was the arrival of my brother Santiago. Facing the separation of my
parents and the loneliness my ship entailed, I was shipwrecked for a few years
on a small island of self-sabotage, anxiety, depression and sadness. Also, I found
refuge in music, books and nature which led me to lose any social ability, I hid
for a long time and consequently when the sun came out in that storm, I did not
know what to do or what path to take.
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After the sun came out and it was time to move on to my adolescence, I took the
boat again, doubtful and with inner fears I left that island. Unfortunately, my
fears were the reason why I was shipwrecked again, although the situation was
momentary it was the point of explosion of my anxiety and panic. Once again on
the boat I made visible a green island and that promised to be my salvation,
that's how I arrived at UNAM, I embarked on the CCH Azcapotzalco where the
natives welcomed me as one of them. They offered me a treatment for my
anxiety, although sometimes there are relapses, they also opened the doors to be
useful on the island. I found my home.
Digewi
A veces me pierdo en los pasillos de este inmenso lugar, me confunden sus
intrigantes susurros e hipnóticos cantos. A veces quisiera salir corriendo de esta
cárcel disfrazada de atracción, pero no puedo, mis padres no me lo permiten
pues ellos siguen financiando mi estadía aquí. Todos somos internados contra
nuestra voluntad desde temprana edad y algunos nunca logran salir, hay rumores
de que aquellos pocos que han logrado salir se esconden en las cuevas de los
acantilados y de vez en vez vienen para llevarse a unos cuantos. Normalmente
cuando se da una desaparición entre los unegas, así nos llaman los gigageis, no
se investiga mucho ya que se da por hecho de que ha escapado con ayuda de los
digewi.
A este inmenso y callado laberinto se entra como un unega, una persona que aún
no es iluminada y que está en proceso de convertirse en alguien productivo para
servirle a la ciudad de Eusti. Una vez que se logra salir de ese ruidoso infierno
se recibe el título de asgaya para poder vivir y trabajar para la comunidad de
Eusti en donde todos son iguales y reciben lo mismo, aunque si se decide tener
hijos o hijas se tiene que pagar su instrucción dejando así en deuda a los padres
que a su vez dejan a cientos de unegas abandonados en el laberinto.
Querido padre:
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Sé que tal vez te decepcione está noticia, pero tengo que hacerlo porque
recuerdo perfectamente aquella vez que me visitaste en mi cumpleaños número
quince y me dijiste -Sigue tus sueños- aunque eso te costó un veto de por vida al
laberinto. Te encontraré, buscaré la forma de llevarte lejos de aquí, también a
mamá, por favor dile que estaré bien.
Digewi
Sometimes I get lost in the halls of this immense place, I am confused by their
intriguing whispers and hypnotic songs. Sometimes I would like to run out of
this jail disguised as an attraction, but I cannot, my parents do not allow it
because they continue to finance my stay here. We are all interned against our
will from an early age and some never manage to leave, there are rumors that
those few who have managed to leave hide in the cliff caves and occasionally
come to take a few. Normally when there is a disappearance among the unegas,
as the gigageis call us, it is not investigated much since it is taken for granted
that it has escaped with the help of the digewi.
This immense and quiet maze is entered as a unega, a person who is not yet
enlightened and who is in the process of becoming someone productive to serve
the city of Eusti. Once you get out of that noisy hell you receive the title of
asgaya to live and work for the Eusti community where everyone is equal and
receives the same, although if you decide to have sons or daughters you have to
pay your instruction thus leaving in debt to parents who in turn leave hundreds
of unegas abandoned in the labyrinth.
Fortunately, I am one of the few unegas who still have the funding of our
parents and a great aspirant to become a gigagei, that puts me in great debate
since today at midnight I will become a digewi. Yes, today I will leave
everything for what my parents once paid, but this is not me, I just hope that
they can understand it if they ever find out that I have escaped. They probably
find out since some gigagei teachers are friends of my father, speaking of him I
think I will leave him a letter.
Dear father:
I know that this news may disappoint you, but I have to do it because I
remember perfectly that time you visited me on my fifteenth birthday and you
told me -Follow your dreams- although that cost you a lifetime ban on the maze.
I will find you; I will look for a way to take you away from here, also to mom,
please tell her that I will be fine.
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With love, Kenai.
Alumna Francés I
Me gusta, no me gusta
Arias Nava Ana Camila /142
Me gusta: la sandía, las almendras, el olor a pimienta; el aroma de la naranja, del
limón y de la toronja cuando están recién cortados, el vapor en el aire de una
taza de té caliente, los días lluviosos, el olor de la tierra, las gotas de agua del
jardín, los animales, los chocolates rellenos, el pan tostado; con un poco de
mantequilla y azúcar o un toque de mermelada de fresa, los ojos color miel, la
poesía de Oscar Wild, el realismo de Márquez y la literatura de Mark Twain, la
música de Taylor Swift, la hermosa voz de Niall Horan y las notas altas de
Harry Styles, etc.
No me gustan: las faltas de ortografía, las gorras, las comedias románticas, los
pelos rizados, los niños pequeños, ni los payasos..
171
Creative Writing Workshop/
Dream / Biopoem
To be an artist is to die alone in a gallery
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Sueño / Biopoema
Ser artista es morir solo en una galería
Mind
My thoughts
Empty place
173
Mente
Mi pensamiento
Lugar vacío
Moctezuma Gringo
Then Tlatelolco
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Moctezuma gringo
Y después a Tlatelolco
Auric Shine
Pure gold: m Latin
Looking back at the stone that made me full and rise proudly
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Trapped under debris, surrounded by orcs
Busted in tears when sticking the Golden Flag on the top of the mountain
Aurora
Open my big eyes
Summer smell
Soft sand on my feet
At the beginning they made us for help their everyday life, but now we took
control. Their guns were garbage, deforestation, polluted water, and forest
burning. Their lethal gun was pollution.
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This species « humans » -called themselves-, said that they were the most
intelligent, but they weren’t. They barren their home and took helpless animals
to extinction or gave them an only use to fulfill their function.
Who they believe they are? Why do they kill nature?, Why do they finish their
world?
I didn’t see sunlight or I saw the birds singing in the mornings anymore. The
sunlight hid behind the mountains, The dogs running and playing, the intense
scent of flowers. None of that exists more in this world.
It is 2030 and here there are only my species and tons of garbage.
She has fears like everyone else, to injections, spiders and heights like many,
Win a competition was the first, being a good daughter the second, but be in the
UNAM was the best of her accomplishments,
She’s like a fish in the water, she will always belong to the sea,
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La vida después de la muerte
Estoy completamente segura de que todos alguna vez hemos pensado acerca de
lo que nos ocurre después de la muerte, o tal vez como moriremos, ¿que sucede
con nuestra alma? ¿a donde va?. Siempre hemos tenido la intriga, puesto que
logicamente nadie ha regresado para contarlo, solo tenemos que esperar y
comprobar cada uno por nosotros mismos que es lo que pasa. Y para dar una
explicación han surgido diversas teorías, teorías que nos dejan pensando, que
aterran o suenan simplemente maravillosas, pero que sobre todo nos hacen dudar
sobre nuestra existencia en este mundo y lo que está a nuestro alrededor. Tal vez
es por ello que muchos le temen a la muerte, el no conocer que es lo que nos
espera en el más allá es símbolo de miedo, pero solo para algunos, por que para
otros representa más bien la curiosidad.
Tantos misterios
en su belleza.
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So many mysteries
in its beauty
Matiz divinidad.
Mensajero sagrado
Angel Lopez.
Divinity nuance
Sacred messenger
Angel Lopez
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María Fernanda Bautista Lino
Construido por cada uno de los rostros que vieron sus ojos
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Bliss and whim lover in eternal days.
I dreamt you in failure, I felt you in collapse, I cry four you in separation.
Sitting she shines on what she cannot see, what I cannot see.
In my soul linage.
Haikus
182
Sombría herencia Inheritance Somber
Maleza testiga Undergrowth, she witnesses
Sosegada pared
Custodiando el fragante aroma de la histeria
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Y estos ojos ven un momento con un giro
Desprovisto de elegancia
Quiet wall
Keeping the hysteria fragrant scent
Devoid of elegance
184
Trasunto
Intransmisible tempestad,
De la imaginación
185
Para establecer la capacidad
De la discrepancia de la locura.
Salgo de la concordancia
A la soledad
Transcript
Transmissible storm
186
Running with the ponding sound
Of the imagination
Sensibility
To set capacity
To loneliness
187
Montserrat Chávez López
Mi escala
Siendo común y única Aficionada, libre y reservada
My stopover
common and unique being amateur, free and bashful
Loyal to herself
Desolated by the past, distrustful of the present, and enthusiastic about the future
Promise of her title hanging on the wall of her grandfather, optimism for
conquering the world inside and outside herself, as well as the total security of
her living soul
Take the taxi in her street with a passport in hand to any destination.
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Montserrat
Reloj de arena
Llené mi vista de este paisaje incomparable.
estática.
Sand Clock
I filled my sight with this incomparable landscape
Ecstatic
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That Time is nothing
H.E.L.M 1993
No tenemos mucho que contar más que esa ocasión hace ya más de veinte
quinquenios cuando nos levantamos en armas al llamado del hambre cuenta la
gente que incluso los árboles pedían limosna de tan pobres que éramos.
Nací en una fecha de cuyos dígitos no quiero acordarme la cual confieso que
comparto con un argentino nacido en cuba, el Congo, Bolivia, más simple en
todos lados, tengo la gran carga de la figura metálica del Guerrillero colgando
siempre sobre mí. Semejante a lo que es la aureola para un ángel de ahí mi alma
revolucionaria frente a los males del mundo.
Con el papel del hermano mayor en una familia chica me desenvuelvo como
extranjero semejante a las letras que se pierden entre otras. Mi padres no
conocen mi vocación como poeta de medio pelo ¿que saben ellos de mi? Tal vez
con sumo esfuerzo solo mi nombre.
Ya por último reconozco que es una lástima que ni siquiera yo me salvo del
saber que todos tomamos tinta y papel a causa de una mujer.
190
En mi caso Anel por supuesto gracias a su fe depositada vivo con figuras
contemporáneas observando desde polvorosas repisas a la expectativa de mis
letras, le declaró la guerra a los posmodernos.
Por eso escribo lo que tanto pienso, visto de manera realista lo que nunca digo.
We don't have much to tell more than occasion do more than twenty
quinquenniums, when we took weapons to the call of hunger, people tell that
even the trees were asking for alms due to the poverty in our town.
I was born on a day of whose digits I don't even want remember, the which I
confess that I share with a Argentinian born in Cuba, the Congo, Bolivia, simply
from everywhere. I carry the heavy load of the metallic figure of the
bushwhacker always hanging about me. Similar to what an aura is for an angel,
hence my revolutionary soul in the face of all the evils of the world.
With the role of older brother in a small family, I develop as a foreigner similar
to the letters that are lost among others. My parents don't know my vocation as
a half-haired poet, what do they know about me? Perhaps with great effort they
know my name.
By the way, I wanted to remind my teacher Rodrigo Osorio, that for the sakes of
life he read us the "Llano en Llamas", my influence. I admire Rulfo so much
that by mere respect, I haven’t read him. Finally I recognize which is a pity that
not even me saved me of knowing that we all take ink and paper due a woman.
That's why I write what I think, seen from way realistic what I never say.
191
Dualidad
Yo sólo puedo ofrecer lo que sale de ml cabeza, en las noches de insomnio el
relieve de mi figura taciturna me hace presente en la oscuridad.
13 de mayo 1994
Duality
I just can offer what comes out my head.
13 de May 1994
como te pasó a ti
192
Muy mal visto esta añorar
193
The arrival of final thought
A fireman
Ale Ro?
In love for his school and the incredible friends and family that the life gave
him.
Doing worthless verses, writing and express himself is what he most appreciates
and likes.
Now he feels stronger, happier and fascinated by this life, but he knows that the
worst is yet to come, and he is ready to face it.
194
His home, the CCH Azcapotzalco, the best thing that has ever happened to him
in life.
Between thoughts
Entre pensamientos
Ver la vida
En mi árida mente
Dreams
My head rest in a pillowcase
In colorful snow
Burning my fears
195
Sueños
Sobre la almohada
En la matiz nieve
Humanity
The humanity’s cold
Humanidad
Tenemos frio
Y seguimos igual
Trees
Waiting in the trees
196
Árboles
Espero en los arboles
Y oigo el mar
Yeray López
Dedication…
I didn't write before, because I didn't know
197
Dedicatoria…
Antes no escribía, por no saber
Worth it
Worth it is the smoke from the trucks
Vale la pena
Vale la pena el ruido
199
We have to go
Chicks and liquor tonight
In a silence, I separated
Loneliness.
200
Hay que irse
Chavas y licor en esta noche
En un silencio, me separe
Soledad.
201
EPILOGO
En esta antología hemos tenido de todo un poco, nos muestran un pedazo de
cada realidad que ven los estudiantes de preparatoria, así como la forma de
describir la misma, limitadas hojas significa poco para plasmar, pero en
ocasiones un artista apasionado hace que el escaso material que le dan se vuelva
una gran obra.
Cuando un escritor toma una pluma, se abre una gran brecha con distintos
universos, cada uno de estos es influenciada a las experiencias de el autor,
cualquiera puede escribir, pero no cualquiera puede expresarse de la manera
correcta para conectarse con el lector.
En esta antología se dan a conocer todas estas vivencias que han experimentado
los compañeros a lo largo de un gran recorrido llamado vida.
Miren al pasado y recuerden que todos tenemos una historia que contar
202
Caligramas
203
204
205
206
Avalos Vega Liliana
Liliana
Young, intelligent, kind, generous and peaceful
Who feels happy when he is with his family and friends, free when he is
traveling or knows other places, and sad when he sees another person sad or
frustrated.
Who finds happiness in books, in the company of people laughing and enjoying,
and being alone listening to their favorite music
Who gives the best of herself, supports those who need you’re ok and loves her
family
Who would like to see a shower of stars, a glacier and an unusual animal on
Earth.
Who likes to wear comfortable clothes, bags and things to decorate her notes
Avalos
207
Liliana
Joven, inteligentes, amables, generosas y pacíficas.
Quien se siente feliz cuando está con su familia y amigos, libre cuando viaja o
conoce otros lugares, y triste cuando ve a otra persona triste o frustrada.
A quien le gusta usar ropa cómoda, bolsos y cosas para decorar sus notas
Avalos
208
Carol Montserrat
Brave, witty, liable, cheerful.
Daughter of Blanca Castro and Salvador Granados and sister of Alieen Danae.
Who feel happy when she plays with her family, frustrated when she has a lot of
homework and proud when things go her way.
Who gives love and support to her family, loyalty to her friends and advice to
people who ask for it.
Who fears the death of her parents or sister, of not being happy when she gets
older and die in a very ugly way.
Who would like to see and know different countries of the world, snow fall and
her married sister and her children.
Granados Castro
209
Carol Montserrat
Valiente, ingeniosa, responsable, alegre.
Quien siente, feliz cuando juego con su familia, frustrada cuando tiene mucha
tarea y orgullosa cuando las cosas salen bien.
Quien da, amor y apoyo a su familia, lealtad a sus amigos y consejos a las
personas que lo solicitan.
Quien teme, la muerte de sus padres o su hermana, de no ser feliz cuando crezca
y morir de una manera muy fea.
A quien le gustaría, ver y conocer diferentes países del mundo, la caída de nieve
y su hermana casada y sus hijos.
Granados Castro
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