Marta Sanchez, Payasa sin FronterasRelato de Laura Kathryn (en inglés)
August 2nd, 2006
Nervous for tomorrow. A farrago of emotions I feel now strangely in my feet. Portland is so beautiful, with the rosy blue fog a soft cover for Mount Hood and two young stars beside gleam bright. I want to talk with someone who loves me. I want to calm their fears. The sun sets here as I write – colors unduplicable. Hours to go and I’ll be skipping into time… the closest to time travel there ever will be. Now I catch smiles from strangers, but I know that I will soon lose all my words. “Don’t think, only feel”. I pray I am kept safe and will read and remember these precious documented thoughts. My eyes are open and my mind is free. This writing revives my core and in spite of my grounded self, I am ready to take-off.
August 3rd, 2006
It has been just minutes in Costa Rica, but I feel sad. And alone. 10 months to go.
October 22nd, 2006
I’m writing today because I can hardly handle the machismo bullshit of this entire culture that I am just so unconnected with. It can I suppose, just be considered old fashioned for a middle-aged man to give up his seat on the bus to a completely healthy and able-to-stand 20 year old woman. Their prerogative, I guess. It is tolerable to see in this culture outside, on the bus, random gestures of antiquity. However, it is right here in my house – and that I cannot fucking stand. The man I live with here, Wilberth Rojas, works for the government-owned electricity company. Carmen, his wife, stays at home everyday making money occasionally by painting or making artsy crafty things for people like pillowcase covers. Other than that, she cleans up the house, washes all the clothes, and makes all the meals, cleans up after them, etc. I spoke with Wilberth about all this once, and he said he had never cooked anything in his life. It’s not that he’s unappreciative… it’s just sad to see. For example: One night, Wilberth was away and dinner was ready. Carmen and I began to eat without him, because she didn’t know where he was. Halfway through, Wilberth came in with a few bags of groceries, which he plopped down on the kitchen floor *obviously for Carmen to put away later). He proceeded to sit down in his rocking chair. Nobody said a word. Carmen asked him if he was going to eat, and he responded with a simple and direct: yes. She then interrupted her meal, stood up and prepared a plateful of food, and set it down on the table. Only then could Wilberth sit down and begin to nourish himself. How pathetic – to not even be able to put some food – that is already prepared, mind you – on your own fucking plate. God, it’s like a baby or some type of handicapped person, who has to rely on others for ...
August 3rd, 2006
It has been just minutes in Costa Rica, but I feel sad. And alone. 10 months to go.
October 22nd, 2006
I’m writing today because I can hardly handle the machismo bullshit of this entire culture that I am just so unconnected with. It can I suppose, just be considered old fashioned for a middle-aged man to give up his seat on the bus to a completely healthy and able-to-stand 20 year old woman. Their prerogative, I guess. It is tolerable to see in this culture outside, on the bus, random gestures of antiquity. However, it is right here in my house – and that I cannot fucking stand. The man I live with here, Wilberth Rojas, works for the government-owned electricity company. Carmen, his wife, stays at home everyday making money occasionally by painting or making artsy crafty things for people like pillowcase covers. Other than that, she cleans up the house, washes all the clothes, and makes all the meals, cleans up after them, etc. I spoke with Wilberth about all this once, and he said he had never cooked anything in his life. It’s not that he’s unappreciative… it’s just sad to see. For example: One night, Wilberth was away and dinner was ready. Carmen and I began to eat without him, because she didn’t know where he was. Halfway through, Wilberth came in with a few bags of groceries, which he plopped down on the kitchen floor *obviously for Carmen to put away later). He proceeded to sit down in his rocking chair. Nobody said a word. Carmen asked him if he was going to eat, and he responded with a simple and direct: yes. She then interrupted her meal, stood up and prepared a plateful of food, and set it down on the table. Only then could Wilberth sit down and begin to nourish himself. How pathetic – to not even be able to put some food – that is already prepared, mind you – on your own fucking plate. God, it’s like a baby or some type of handicapped person, who has to rely on others for ...
( click to read the complete report)
Photo: Stupa de Bouddhanath, Nepal
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