Votantes majos, políticos ejemm…

Últimamente me estoy sintiendo cada vez más acogida en Madrid. Quizás es porque, debido a mi trabajo actual, me veo obligada a someterme en una intensa inmersión cultural: desde el idioma, hasta el uso de ese idioma para la comunicación corporativa. El caso es que, gracias a esa “obligada” (re)educación, tengo la oportunidad de conocer más a los españoles. Y ¿sabéis qué? Pues que son majos. Mucho.

Hacen que un país bonito sea aún más encantador por su calidez, amabilidad, tolerancia y alegría. Todo esto ha facilitado nuestra adaptación a los cambios del año pasado (mudanza desde Francia, nuevo trabajo, guardería del niño, etc.) y está contribuyendo a formar a mi hijo para convertirse en un ciudadano cercano, optimista y, ¿por qué no?, divertido.

Quizás una de las características que más me ha gustado de los españoles es su capacidad para quitarle hierro al asunto, lo que viene a decir que no se toman las cosas demasiado en serio. Eso hace que haya casi siempre un ambiente agradable.

Y lo más importante: contrario al mito de que son vagos, están demostrando ser bastante trabajadores, sobre todo la generación más joven. Cierto es que en todos lados siempre está el típico caradura, o el que es simplemente holgazán. Pero por lo general, trabajan mucho, trabajan bien, y si trabajan en lo que les apasiona, los resultados son impresionantes (fíjate en Antonio Banderas, Ainoa Arteta, Pedro Duque ,Mireia Belmonte, o estos académicos, entre otros).

Entonces, ¿por qué España tiene los dirigentes políticos que tiene?

Lo pregunto porque actualmente, observo que frente a toda esa riqueza de capital humano, y la gran potencial de construir un fuerte capital social, ningún líder votado por la mayoría parece representar a un español medio.

Un sabio una vez dijo que el pueblo se merece los políticos que le dirige. Y eso me hizo pensar:

¿Será por querer quitar hierro al asunto que perdonan y “se olvidan” del pasado, lo que les hace votar otra vez más a los mismos corruptos y sinvergüenzas de siempre?

¿Será porque trabajan tanto con el fin de revitalizar la economía que eligen el “menos malo” de los candidatos?

¿Será verdad aquello que escuché una vez en una peli: “España nunca aprende de sus errores”?

Sea cual sea la razón, esta reflexión me hizo mirar hacia otros países.

También me animó a hablar con personas de diferentes nacionalidades.

Me tentó a leer, escuchar entrevistas, buscar opiniones…

¿Y?

Me di cuenta de que muy poca gente se siente realmente representada por los políticos que actualmente dirigen sus países.

Incluso en Filipinas, donde uno puede encontrar los más fervientes defensores del presidente, la mayoría de las personas no se sienten identificadas ni con su política, ni con su persona. (No es tan difícil ver el porqué)

¿Entonces?

No sé. De verdad que no sé.

No obstante, en una entrevista, el actor José Sacristán compartió que: “lo malo es que los políticos salen de nosotros, que somos quienes los votamos”. ¿Estaríamos proyectando lo peor de nosotros hacia las personas a quienes vamos a delegar la gestión del país? Y en el caso de ser verdad, ¿qué dirían los psicólogos de esto?

Da mucho que pensar.

Así que si encontráis la respuesta me escribís o me comentáis algo en Facebook. Quisiera hallar la explicación. Gracias.

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Spring Fever II

Amidst the clamor, at the height

of confusion,

your stillness stood out.

Giving color to the season.

Now songs are sought,

poems get written,

laughters are echoed

by hearts

no longer hollow.

Only skies, and seas

and sapphires are blue.

The prevailing woe

is no more.

 

Wouldn’t it be nice, darling,

if I saw you in the corner?

– Karessa Ramos

 

 

Enraged

This path I choose to take.

It is, albeit dark and uncertain,

lighted by the whiteness of rage.

The brightness of this ire,

cleansing, almost healing,

ever burning

the venom I inhale.

So pure and searing,

energizing, never stifling

this life

I live. For now, seething,

yet trusting

that rancor will purge

the foul and the grime.

To reveal a clear, starry sky.

-Karessa Ramos

A lesson in retrospect

She was always hesitant to make friends over the internet. Most men she met were gross slobs, and correspondence with women would stop after a couple of messages. But this guy seemed very different. He was well-spoken, formal, even. It was as if one of Jane Austen’s characters time travelled and made a Facebook profile.

It took some time, but slowly, and through heated political (virtual) debates at first, she started to learn more about him: he was a ballet dancer, he was not much older than her, but possessed an old soul’s wisdom, he was American but considered himself Canadian, he was gay, he sent money to many Filipino families, and he loved the Philippines. His age, former profession and exposure would explain his online demeanor. She was in awe.

Pretty soon, they started swapping life stories. He learned about her love for writing, she discovered about his foster son; he told her about his poor beginnings, she shared about her dreams; he confessed his concern for the Philippines, she owned up having authoritarian tendencies; he admired her mastery of the English language, she praised the athletic discipline ballet dancers possess… and so forth.

The messages they exchanged, whether long or short, interesting or trivial, personal or professional, got her through the day. She was thankful for the distraction at first, but eventually, she developed a real appreciation for this peculiar, interesting and bordering-the-eccentric man. Her admiration for him grew when she discovered that he held the title of a “Ballet Master”. He told her that himself, but she already knew it, thanks to her Google searching abilities.

She would respond to him no matter what her mood was, regardless of the battles she was waging. As a personal challenge, she set herself up to always reply with the same courtesy, richness in vocabulary, and coherence that caught his attention. She never told him so, but his correspondence provided her a peaceful oasis amidst the terrible sandstorms in her heart- choking her tears, clogging her chest, blinding her sight. At least when she wrote to him, she was forced to breathe right and dry her eyes so she could type correctly. It gave her a purpose for herself, she felt useful and appreciated. Lifted and encouraged. She never thanked him for that.

Because she was sinking deeper and deeper in her quicksand, she had to excuse herself from their exchanges. He, gentleman that he was, acknowledged how tough her situation must be, and sweetly bid her adieu.

That was the last time she heard of him.

That would also be the last time she would neglect the people in her life, no matter what issues she has.

To regret is to waste time. But to mourn the deceased, whether superstition or not, could help ease their final journey. So mourn, she will.

Farewell, Edward. Thank you.

*This article has been updated on January 1st. Edward was not octogenarian, as was previously written.

To the friend who left

Dear friend,

I was quite surprised with your slow, unnoticed retreat. Was it too sudden, or were you gone already? Perhaps I was too preoccupied with my own projects and woes, that I wasn’t able to perceive your need for company. Maybe I was the one who slipped away, not you. It’s also possible that both of us simply drifted apart at the same time.

Nevertheless, I didn’t write to keep tabs. Nor did I send this message to make you feel bad. I actually wanted to thank you: for sharing your time with me, for helping me when I needed it, for trusting me with your secrets, and for letting me give you advice when you felt lost. I learned a lot from you, I laughed a lot with you and I wouldn’t be the person I am now if not because of you.

I’m sorry if I did anything that made you change your mind about our friendship. I wish I could say I want to know if there’s anything I could do so we could be friends again. But the truth is, if I hadn’t even noticed you gone, then I guess this is the natural course of our relationship.

I wish you all the best in life.

Summer sadness

Tell me how

– Karessa Ramos

Tell me how to forgive,

to overcome and forget.

Tell me how to keep calm,

tell me how to unsee,

unhear.

Tell me how to unfeel.

 

Tell me,

what paradise will accept you?

Where will you go?

After hurting the innocent,

and the most innocent of all?

 

Tell me how to heal.

Tell me how to stop

the rage,

the thirst for revenge.

Tell me how to reconcile

love for mankind

with your desire

to see people die?

 

Tell me how to forgive,

tell me how to unsee

tell me how to heal

tell me how to stop

the spread of hate.

I don’t know how.

Tell me how.