Odette Casamayor

Odette Casamayor

2020 has been, Smile

2020 has been, Smile

Will we ever forget 2020? Today most may not believe it possible, but I’m not so sure. Human beings are capable of adapting to everything, even to their own disappearance; and that has been one of the teachings of the year that has just―it seems―ended. What was it What is it still? The year of death and rebellion. Of loss. Of loneliness. Of obstacles. Of the end that is not the end, it seemed Nicolás Guillén Landrián was repeating to us every day of 2020 from his chilling lucidity. Every day, a new adventure has been added to another misadventure towards the most recondite of human complexity; and so we won’t forget it, there’s Netflix―warehouse of dreams and laziness in this year so, so, so (you decide the adjective). See, if you distrust your memory, Death to 2020. You will find something there: the saga of the Wuhan bat, Brexit and the lynching of George Floyd together with the triumph of the film Parasite at the Oscars, the protests and counter-protests, the forest fires and the dead and those who defied the virus because they could in no way stop going to the corner bar or shopping at Walmart, much...

Havana-Paris-NYC (in any order, from anywhere)

Havana-Paris-NYC (in any order, from anywhere)

And the names and dates  and our follies will be erased and the light will remain, bróder, the light And nothing else Sigfredo Ariel   I would like to talk or rather speculate about the presidential elections, which is what many of us have in mind lately all day and at all hours; but the words get stuck in my throat—such is the fright that inspires the possibility of falling even more into hell overheated by so many stale people with red caps. That’s why, for those of you who have the privilege of voting, use it today. Tomorrow will be too late. Meanwhile, I resort to the cities, I take refuge. Cities are chosen and we are chosen by them. They seem to be like a gift for whoever passes through them, cradling the tourist and the inhabitant alike under their cloak of anonymity. New York and Paris, Tokyo and Casablanca, there where lovers travel seeking a hideaway, that the explosion that they are doesn’t rumble and doesn’t knock down. But it is all deception: cities don’t belong to everyone and to all. It is not enough to choose it; a city must be won over. Many years ago,...

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