I remember the first time I got on a bus alone. He was then nine years old and my father had taken me to school on a Saturday morning to meet Diosito in Catechesis of the First Communion. I stopped at the door with my pad of recycled paper in hand and my book with prayers, holy images and a profound lesson of the Body of Christ, amen. I said today I come home alone, I reached a few coins and I repeat once again how to get on the green bus that went to the Esperanza Trujillo.
In Catechesis not remember anything, thank goodness. But I will never forget the return trip. First because I was wrong to micro, rather, I took the wrong side and that was the opposite. I was just so for a single ticket - otherwise I'd spent a lot of bread with steak and onions and a chicha morada watery-so I said what goes down must go up, without regard to the reach the final idle drops to around the world and if you want to get on again you have to pay again. So let me Justito the side where the devil lost his poncho is in the middle of a clearing and surrounded by mangy dogs. What did I do? Walking. I made the same way the micro ... back. And I got back to school, then I realized that I still lacked all the way home. O followed him and arrived on Sunday night and I was up to the mike again, this time steering home sweet home. I did the second. It was the first time I went piola unpaid ticket. When I reached my stop I told the collector "and I paid you for a while, choche" and put my child's face just out to talk to Papa Lindo in Catechesis can have more devout. Thousand hours later I was finally home.
were other times. One to nine years could be lost at the end of the world, walking among mangy dogs, get on the mic alone retrace I walked and laughed years later of what bastards we were innocent. I never stole, nor frightened, nor kidnapped me, and I saw orange skies as a prelude to apocalypse. He was a boy walking down unfamiliar streets, learning a bit more life.
As an adult I've seen my cousins \u200b\u200bfor the first time to ride a bus or a van with many more years then, however, was a risk, a danger was gamble, and my aunts were accelerated presses the thought that went the poor, fourteen, fifteen years, all alone in the streets, as if the world had changed a few years, worse, infected.
Lima When I left I realized I was leaving behind this new breed of cautious people, with eyes at the back, walking down the street cautiously, as if walking from one side to another outside an obligation rather than a walk. And I realize that the world is following. If Americans are doing the light off in droves to buy water, batteries, blankets, they think of massive attacks, fleeing in terror. I talk to many people here in Spain and I have now that the crisis is unique, daunting, and as compared to the "banana republic"-with forgiveness, Jesus, I always say, " nobody can stop talking about rising oil prices, the mortgage bubble. People are crying blood against a background believe mitigates bleak and with beers on the terraces and collapses on the road for vacation in August. I talk to my parents who live in New York and tell me they are pulling their hair, that people do not know what to do, than gasoline, that food, that if Obama wins ... I talk to people in Peru despite the economic boom and the figures of envy, people can not remain silent, they see a crisis, the darkest night. Everywhere blame Bush, war, oil, Chavez. What's happening?
few weeks ago I read an article in El País Semanal on a grim new trend, catastrophic, reflecting in his absolute fog, the very end of the world only worse, because humans survive to see it, or something. Article played all eyes were on U.S. President that the new Hollywood movies, video games and new bookstore best seller had no mercy with Bush and the world in a nutshell it is going to hell.
Of the countless examples of the newspaper article because I just remember two of Claritas view. The first is I am Legend, Will Smith movie with the talking head of a lone survivor of a deadly virus has to face human beings turned into night. The second is the record book records in the U.S., The Road, by Cormac McCarthy. The story of a father and son who roam U.S. highways after the world became ashes and soot. The fiction of both stories is scary, extremist, and an excellent example-fully hyperbolic, "but at last example of what, as individuals, we can produce [1].
Le film is bad, the novel is great. But I doubt that both have been gestated and have come to light with Bush in their sights. It would be a disappointment and a shame to do so thinking of someone like him. There are more interesting things in the world. And as these other examples of the article. Nevertheless remains concerned that some call new post-apocalyptic vision. Is it what we want, what we want?
I prefer to keep seeing the world as it always was, a cyclical process, with El Niño events in five or ten years, with earthquakes every hundred, with good and bad-balance-blessed, and people coming and going, which makes and breaks to give rise to the following. I follow up on buses and taxis and subways in cities where I now have to live and I always remember with nostalgia when a combi Lima upload a child alone and pay your ticket and sit in silence, and playing Tetris, and forget that you have to give the seat to the elderly, and runs his own all the way straight home. And loose a smile. Because now be more difficult. Cities are not the same, no games, nor the world, but it remains a place to live, it is worth it's up to us. ----------------------------------------------
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[1] In plans is to get the book of American journalist Alan Weisman, The World Without Us, a crushing test on what will be this planet from the day after the man disappeared from Earth.
