Today goes a little story, unreal and impossible to happen: 'Separated'.
Mazén, is a 30-year-old man, Schizophrenic ?that is written with a capital S? who had fled from a neighboring country at war. He managed to embark with the family of his twin brother who had always taken care of him, Samir and Rana and five children: Ahmad, Khaled, Mohamed, Fátima and Sara. During the journey to Europe ?which is written with a lowercase e? they went through all the calamities listed in a catalog of calamities.
Two of the children died in the attempt, his brother Samir lost his mind and brutally attacked a soul trafficker and is in prison, and his sister-in-law prostitutes herself absorbed in a non-being on the streets of any city. Meanwhile, of the three boys, one is missing, another belongs to a gang of thugs and the little one survives half abandoned with his mother.
Mazén, who life mysteriously and in full paradoxical madness brought him safe and sound to Europe ?which is written with a lowercase e?, was picked up by a psychiatrist who was looking for homeless schizophrenics to experiment with a new therapy; a noble woman, compassionate and dedicated to the common good.
The therapy worked and he is now able to have an almost "normal" life. He has a home, food, a small job and human affection in the center where they treat him. He doesn't know what happened to his family. Mazén wonders what the madness of the rest is. And how it can be treated if everyone else suffers from it. He asks himself that in moments of maximum lucidity and pain.
How to get them to stop hearing those voices in their minds that again and again tell them that they are separated, that they are different from the rest. That they are victims of everything. How to get them to stop hearing those voices in their heads that again and again push them to war.
The Islands
The Islands. Any day they will rise up to the very core and demand accountability from the one who defined them by the sea that surrounds them. Islands? Isolation? Who said the sea separates? Perhaps the forest or the mountains, the properties or the borders separate more. The sea is space, as space is distance, as space is longing or as space is waiting; space is what is gone and space is what returns.
Thank you clouds, sailboats of sanity.
By Ginés Díaz
