Alan y yo (yo soy Alan)

El delincuente es el dueño de la verdad Porque es el dueño de las pruebas El delincuente intimida Porque es el dueño de la intimidad y del concepto legal de La Privacidad El delincuente es el jefe de la vergüenza Porque no tiene vergüenza.

If I could go back, I'd have done this. I'd have chosen this other thing. I'd have worked harder, and I'd have hung out more. Many of the things I wished I'd have done in the past are, in fact, irreconcilable with each other: I wish simultaneously to have had more rest and to have had more nights out.  It is easy to think about how our lives would be better if we had done this other thing or chosen this other path. Paradoxically, we are incredibly optimistic when thinking about the 'what would've been' , and yet very risk-averse in the present moment: I forget about the trade-offs I considered back then on today's regrets. Yet these trade-offs come back -as it is natural- in our everyday decision-making, in our everyday building of the future. There's even a term for this:  hindsight bias.                                                      ...

Cruda como el cielo. Así es la verdad. Rampante y escalofriante. La verdad tiene rostro de mentira. O porqué no la reconocemos cuando la vemos? O porqué la primera fase del duelo es con frecuencia la negación? I wanna see you in the eyes.  La verdad, quiero jugar. Playfulness ist vielleicht the closest experience to the presence, to the gegenwart .  I don’t wanna play with words tho. I want to play with my body. I want to dance well-accompanied.  Es la verdad liberadora? I don’t know Is it empowering? Es fibrosa? Es mía? It is nobody’s Is it connected to the earth? It is connected to the soul, question mark It is connected to one’s being, question mark Es la voz Es el cielo Qué es I don’t know But it is here Until I finish writin writin writin  It is the awkwardness of NOT speaking one’s truth, not expressing one’s opinions, ignoring one’s body and one’s intuition,  It is the awkwardness of self-sabotaging It is fear Cada quien es dueño de sus propios miedos Cad...

Migrants and second-language speakers are incredibly important for reproducing old, rigid, and traditional language norms. There are only so many venues where the English of the Queen is spoken, and one of them is in the classrooms of English Language Learners in fancy British bilingual schools across the world, as well as many other low and middle-income language institutions (sometimes publicly financed) who place an economic bet on assimilation. The same thing happens with the German Language. Not too long ago a teacher corrected one of my friends on the basis of a grammar mistake, yet I knew for a fact that the form she used is slowly becoming the norm in German spoken language. I told the teacher, and he responded laughingly, “Don’t tell her.” I also had two teachers in Berlin who explicitly told us they are not spending too much time teaching us how that particular conjugation is used in everyday life, because they prefer the old one. They eagerly want the old form (the genitive)...

Honestly, I never thought I would ever have anything close to impostor syndrome. But this Semester I did. It all started when I realized that for a couple of my classes, if it were not to be for the EnorMous help I am receiving from preceptors, friends & te ch nology, I would not be able to manage my courseload at all. I also realized the GPA some of friends have is at this point mathematically impossible for me to achieve.  I guess it worsened off when I felt happy about my test score, only to find out it was below the 25th quintile... I still believe it was a pretty good grade, that happened to be below average. But there are also a lot of videos, readings & other things that I am not doing, because I don’t have the energy to do them.  Am I learning? Yes, I think so. Am I learning as much as others? Probably not. “Comparisons are tiresome” said often one of my high school teachers. A better comparison I perform is with myself. Am a better version of myself than a fe...

Pasado, presente y futuro. Decisiones, pensamientos y arrepentimientos.  Hoy otra vez tengo que elegir qué camino seguir.  Mi corazón, mi bolsillo o mis excusas.  Mis miedos, o las penas.  El hoy o el mañana.  Las estrellas, O la luna. 

Hay gente que conocemos de a partes y de a momentos y aún así se acercan al corazón.  Lucas lo conocí sólo de a partes, por lo que escribir sobre él es un atrevimiento, pero desde la lejanía, es mi única manera de expresar mi luto y poner con él mi granito de arena en la narrativa de su memoria, cuya honra pertenece a Gaia, a Salvi y a Gloria, y a sus amigos y familiares más viejos y cercanos, que mejor puedan recapitular y entender al Lucas dentro y fuera de Turbaco.  Lucas era amable, cariñoso y soñador. Un artista puro a mis ojos inexpertos, y para muchos otros más expertos, también. Alguien que pintaba con el pincel y la palabra. Y con el hacer. Descendiente de una familia política, Lucas rompió con los esquemas para perseguir el arte y el amor muy por fuera de las expectativas y manías de clase del círculo cachaco en el que nació.  Algunas veces me trató de explicar su arte pero yo no le entendí. Aunque me impresionaban sus pinturas, y con unos folletos muy bellos de...