Life is miserable. Not my life, but life in general, as a whole. Even through we try to keep standing, with our heads up; even through we try to be the best in our jobs and return home to comfort our families and our couple, even when we smile and have good moments and joke. I see movies of people having personal struggles, or issues and I realize that I have a perfect life. I have a loving family who would do anything for me, I have a perfect boyfriend for me, I have loyal friends, a career, a full time incredible job, a couple of hobbies; not a lot of money but enough to keep decent standards sometimes. And yet, life is miserable.
That line comes as one breathtaking truth every time I enter a mall and its lights are half on: only the necessary ones for you to walk through the hallways. The rest are of: the lights of the shelves are off; the lights of some areas of the parking line are off.
Whenever I enter a place from the subway to a shop to realize that there is no air conditioner on; where you used to need a sweater, people are now sweating and you can read it in their eyes: the heat is a reminder of how miserable our lives have suddenly become.
Whenever feel guilty every time I turn on the TV or plug any other equipment, or charge my laptop; it is miserable or avoid turning on the lights even at night; because if your electricity bill arrives and you have no lower your watts consume, you will be fined and even have your service cut for 24 hours; you realize that life is miserable.
Life is miserable if the streets look darker than usual in one of the most dangerous cities of the world.
Life is miserable at least twice a week and during this week it was miserable five days of it; because we didn’t have running water and our tank, as a result, is now empty. We were getting used to run every time we noticed we had running water, to take a bath and wash the dishes and, if we were lucky; our clothes.
Now my mom is telling us that we might have to use our clothes more than once and take more baths using pots and saving every drop of water that we can. Tell that to someone like me, a girl like any other, accustomed to the comforts of a middle class life and with very high hygiene standards.
My sister just went out to buy as many bottles of water she can find, big or small because we don’t know when we are going to have current water again.
My days are now hot and dry, and dirty too. Uncomfortable, sad, always asking me how much I can take.
I can’t scream, I can’t complain. There is nothing we can do about it. We are in the middle of dry season and no proper investments were made to go through this season without lacking basic resources.
We are here fighting hard to keep our living standards, but our living standards seem now distant to me. My bathroom looks now like an ornament because nothing of it works without water. And the TV, DVD, lights, microwave, and washing machine are also ornaments because even if we have electricity, we are warned to not use them much. My whole house looks like a reminder of another age, where resources were abundant and we did not have to worry about it. We could have the luxury of worrying about anything else.
You know, today is my second anniversary. I’m remembering my first anniversary and I’m carrying a smile. I was worried about looking beautiful and nothing else. Now I’m filling some pots to take a bath, I feel ashamed because I can’t take a complete bath in the shower to go to my anniversary lunch. Before going to lunch, my boyfriend and I must stop at some supermarket to buy as many water as we can and bring them back home, even if this bothers our initial budget for having a lunch at a good restaurant.
I feel ashamed, sad, and over all miserable; when I should be smiling because I’m going to celebrate the joy of spending two years with the greatest person I have ever met. But no life is perfect if you are missing some drops: some drops of water, some drops of dignity, some drops of respect, some drops of freedom.
No smile is complete, if is surrounded by misery.
That line comes as one breathtaking truth every time I enter a mall and its lights are half on: only the necessary ones for you to walk through the hallways. The rest are of: the lights of the shelves are off; the lights of some areas of the parking line are off.
Whenever I enter a place from the subway to a shop to realize that there is no air conditioner on; where you used to need a sweater, people are now sweating and you can read it in their eyes: the heat is a reminder of how miserable our lives have suddenly become.
Whenever feel guilty every time I turn on the TV or plug any other equipment, or charge my laptop; it is miserable or avoid turning on the lights even at night; because if your electricity bill arrives and you have no lower your watts consume, you will be fined and even have your service cut for 24 hours; you realize that life is miserable.
Life is miserable if the streets look darker than usual in one of the most dangerous cities of the world.
Life is miserable at least twice a week and during this week it was miserable five days of it; because we didn’t have running water and our tank, as a result, is now empty. We were getting used to run every time we noticed we had running water, to take a bath and wash the dishes and, if we were lucky; our clothes.
Now my mom is telling us that we might have to use our clothes more than once and take more baths using pots and saving every drop of water that we can. Tell that to someone like me, a girl like any other, accustomed to the comforts of a middle class life and with very high hygiene standards.
My sister just went out to buy as many bottles of water she can find, big or small because we don’t know when we are going to have current water again.
My days are now hot and dry, and dirty too. Uncomfortable, sad, always asking me how much I can take.
I can’t scream, I can’t complain. There is nothing we can do about it. We are in the middle of dry season and no proper investments were made to go through this season without lacking basic resources.
We are here fighting hard to keep our living standards, but our living standards seem now distant to me. My bathroom looks now like an ornament because nothing of it works without water. And the TV, DVD, lights, microwave, and washing machine are also ornaments because even if we have electricity, we are warned to not use them much. My whole house looks like a reminder of another age, where resources were abundant and we did not have to worry about it. We could have the luxury of worrying about anything else.
You know, today is my second anniversary. I’m remembering my first anniversary and I’m carrying a smile. I was worried about looking beautiful and nothing else. Now I’m filling some pots to take a bath, I feel ashamed because I can’t take a complete bath in the shower to go to my anniversary lunch. Before going to lunch, my boyfriend and I must stop at some supermarket to buy as many water as we can and bring them back home, even if this bothers our initial budget for having a lunch at a good restaurant.
I feel ashamed, sad, and over all miserable; when I should be smiling because I’m going to celebrate the joy of spending two years with the greatest person I have ever met. But no life is perfect if you are missing some drops: some drops of water, some drops of dignity, some drops of respect, some drops of freedom.
No smile is complete, if is surrounded by misery.