The following text is not mine. I'm copy-translating a text a dear friend of mine just wrote in Spanish, in Facebook. He writes far better than I do (much better than most people I have known). I am not also a great translator. If you can read Spanish, go read the original.
I hate my country. I want to get the hell out of here. This country stinks.
Phrases that appear in talks between Mexicans since yesterday. On the network and outside of it. And to tell the truth, I would have put them between quotation marks if I had not thought them as well. At some point. Because that is the edtent of the pain. Enuogh to hate, to insult, to give up.
But we talk and write without realizing that it might be the most terrible thing in all this mess. That the pain makes us give up and consent to play a role in the game that they, the executioners, would pleasedly look at from their tribunes, laughing at us while they hand each other the popcorn. That would be over the line. So lets not give them that joy.
Because they surely don't realize we have the obligation to notice it from the very beginning and do something to avoid falling there: The root of the pain they caused us yesterday is because that's how the annihilation of hope feels like.
The shout "Alive they were taken" –they do not realize but we do– is a shout of hope. A pronouncement for the possible goodness in the human being. A testimony of hope in the future. A bet for life. And with his cold address, the federal attorney yesterday wanted to finish the killing of our already aching hope. We cannot grant him that joy.
They say it's the last thing that dies. I'd say it's the only thing that should not die. Ever. It finishes and everything finishes.
There is no possible justice for the parents of the 43. Much less for the 43. Not even however much the official discourse wants to gets us dizzy with the propaganda saying "we will not rest until". Not even if the president quits that would bring back to their classrooms even one of those that by today are just ashes. And sadly, that's the excuse that man wields to not stop boarding his plane and travel wherever he pleases. The farthest from Mexico, the better. Lets not do the same.
Lets remind the world this country is full of us, not of them. That the face of a persn is not the dirtyness on his forehead and cheeks, but the skin that's below, that feels and throbs. Lets show the world Mexico is more the verse than the blood, more the idea than the terror.
And to them...
Lets not give them the joy.
To them, lets make them see that, however hard they try, there are things they will never take from us.
Our love for this country, for example.
The country, over all things.
- Antonio Malpica. After what appears to be the bitter and sadly expected end of a sad, terrible, unbelievable collective social rupture we have lived for ~50 days.
And what comes next? How can it come? How can we expect it? I have no way to answer. We, the country's people, are broken.
Summer is cool in Mexico City.
It is cool because, unlike Spring, this is our rainy season — And rains are very predictable. Almost every day we wake up with a gorgeous, clean, blue sky.
Cool, nice temperature, around 15°C. The sun slowly evaporates the rain throughout the morning; when I go out for lunch, the sky is no longer so blue, giving way to a seemingly dirty white/grayish tint. No, it's not our world-famous pollution: It's just yesterday's rain.
Rain starts falling usually between 4 and 7 PM. Sometimes it starts as a light rain, sometimes it starts with all of its thunder, all of its might. But anyway, almost every night, there is a moment of awe, of not believing how much rain we are getting today.
It slowly fades away during the late night. And when I wake up, early next morning, everything is wet and still smells fresh.
Yes, I love our summer, even though it makes shy away from my much enjoyed cycling to work and school. And I love taking some minutes off work, look through the window of my office (located ~70m over the level of our mostly flat city) and watching how different parts of the city have sun or rain; learning to estimate the distance to the clouds, adding it to the direction and guessing which of my friends have which weather.
But I didn't realize our city had so clearly defined micro-climates... (would they really be *micro*-climates?) In fact, it even goes against my knowledge of Mexico City's logic — I always thought Coyoacán, towards the South of the city, got more rain than the Center and North because we are near the mountains, and the dominant air currents go Southwards, "clumping" the clouds by us.
But no, or at least, not this year. Regina (still in the far South — Far because she's too far away from me and I'm too egocentric; she returns home after DebConf) often asks me about the weather, as our friends working nearer the center of the city. According to the photos they post on their $social_media_of_the_day accounts, rains are really heavier there.
Today I heard on the radio accounts of yesterday's chaos after the rain. This evening, at ESIME-Culhuacán, I saw one of the reported fallen trees (of course, I am not sure if it's from yesterday's rain). And the media pushes galleries of images of a city covered in hail... While in Copilco we only had a regular rain, I'd even say a mild one.
This city is bigger than any cloud you can throw at it.