And we will forget it.
As we had already done with Aylan and his shoes.
Because we don't put ourselves in those shoes. We don't worry about those who are "so far away", nor do we do it because of our bad memory, we simply live for the day. Carpe diem mode ON. Yes, we live in a daily tragedy. It doesn't last more than a day.
Sensationalism and yellow journalism irritate our eyelids with tears and laughter simultaneously. Overlapping each other. And faster and faster. We adapt.
And in the blink of an eye. Hell. Which is always there, it just changes places.
Hells are the seas, but they are also the lands that were paradises in other times. And you have to flee from hell, it is human to flee. You would, I would, and even the neighbor who votes for VOX would too. He would also leave. Because we are alive and we want to live. And it is human to flee from hell.
Look at the Mediterranean! that cries seas of blood and they don't even pay attention, even though it screams. And it can be heard. Little remains of that Mediterranean that Serrat sang about with a catchy thread of joy and hope in the background. Because Serrat spoke with pride of a sea that today is looked at with shame. That is deep, but that has been loaded with guilt. Those who have never put themselves in Aylan's little shoes.
Between seas I found thousands of hopes, sunk and lifeless. Between seas I know they exist, I know they are sunk, between seas... lost.
The problem is that if this father and daughter had reached their destination, they would NEVER have lacked looks of complaint and reproach. Insults and contempt. As if the lands were ours. As if the streets had a passport to walk.
I wonder what they would say about us, the Canarians, not so long ago in Venezuela...
"Look, here come the Canarians, to take away all the aid and work, they are scoundrels... they come to be in flip-flops without lifting a finger!"... it hurts to hear it, huh, and I'm sure they said it...and almost certainly some of ours felt bad for hearing it... and felt that they had no place there. But that Canarian was also fleeing. From hell. Because hell is always there. It just changes places.
By Amalia M. Fajardo
