Hiroshima and Nagasaki story: the elephant and the loneliness of the survivors

Stories and News No. 881

While the US President Obama was visiting Hiroshima at the Memorial of the atomic bombings, embracing one of the survivors, a female elephant named Hanako died in Tokyo, described as the loneliest in the world by many animals rights activists.
It was a 'gift' by the Government of Thailand and had lived most of her life completely alone in a small concrete fence at Inokashira Park Zoo.
Exactly as much the time that separates us from those bloody days in August, Hanako lived about seventy years.
More precisely, she survived...

Before and after.
Photo from The Telegraph

I know.
Indeed, I remember.
I know and remember what I know what they says about elephants.
We have good memory.
Maybe I had not been an elephant.
Maybe I was just a lucky exception of the above rule.
Because I know.
I know and remember.
That it has not always been so, the captivity called life.
There was a before and an after.
They say.
The people by the soft floor used to say, whenever the shock wave - that even now upsets destinies in the silence, touches them: the world will never be the same again.
We are now already in the after.
Well, you have to know that this happens every second far away from you that look beyond the bars and discover the other's solitude in the shelter of a camera, possibly with suitable sweeteners filters.
Photo from The New York Times
I know and remember that before.
Because that is where I have never stopped living.
With whom at that before remained.
In all natural dance of things.
In the daily wounds and joys.
More than ever in feared nights, drowned in the dark skies and screaming rains, that only now I see as small and precious frames of the only true life I had.
I remember because I know and I know because I could not forget.
I owe it to the damn heart that still gave music as a gift.
To the air that did not stop cross me like it was mistress of my body.
To the light that did not give up and found me whenever it could.
I owe it especially to you.
That in all this time, in many came here and went away like the waves on a shore where we were trapped.
I know it.
I know because I remember perfectly all those who were next to me before the giant who delete stories walked on us.
I am the enormous imprint of his colossal shoe.
I am the shadow that exceedingly lingers and unnaturally stretches.
I have always been alone to really know and remember what it means.
And after.

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Woman found after three years: what's left of me

Stories and News No. 880

Last year there were found the remains of 66 years old Geraldine Largay, who had been reported missing in July of 2013 after leaving the Appalachian Trail during her walk.
Details revealed only recently, the woman, aware of going to die has left the following message: "When you find my body, please call my husband George and my daughter Kerry. It will be the greatest kindness for them to know that I am dead where you found me — no matter how many years from now."
Before surrendering, Geraldine has survived twenty-six days...

What's left of me.
Photo from The Guardian

What's left of me in twenty-six fragments.
One, the first time, all the first times, each first time that we have lived together, convinced that the miracle would be repeated again. Rarely it goes really like that, but we can certainly not complain of this.
Two, the steps I did, all the steps that I did, but only small ones, respectful for the time and the persons involved, as in the room where my daughter faced the first essay in school.
Three, when I was angry with you, my husband, all the times that I was angry with you and we had no way to turn aversion into its opposite. Well, I do now, now it's up to you.
Four, the trips we did, my loves, all the trips we did and we never went back because there was nothing to return to.
Five, the strength that I stole from you, all the strength that I secretly stole from you, I swear that I have not wasted a gram.
Six, the person that I forgot, all the people I wanted to forget, I am sorry just now, despite being late.
Seven, the tears that I have hidden, all the tears I hid are free, now, because there is nothing to be ashamed of when it receives all the weight that really deserves.
Eight, the hands I shook, all hands that I made no eye contact with life behind them, only now I see and understand.
Nine, the air I did not breathe, all the air that I have not breathed that day because I was not there, though I should be.
Ten, the ground which I rest on, all the ground which I could rest on, only now resonates identical and made of the same earth.
Eleven, the kiss that you wanted to give me, companion that I leave, give me all the kisses you wanted, do it now and I will stand still forever.
Twelve, the music that made me dance, all the music that made me dance, inside, but I remained still for modesty.
Thirteen, the images that have made me move, all the images that moved me, inside, but I remained silent for custom.
Fourteen, the scenes that made me indignant, all the scenes that made me indignant, and I raised my voice, the sky or whoever bless them one by one.
Fifteen, the night we made love, every night we made love only with your eyes, my beloved one, I will bring with me.
Sixteen, the day when our daughter smiled, as often as she smiled when in fact I was sad, or just tired, I leave those to you.
Seventeen, life around me, now, all that is alive around me, in this very moment that I am about to disappear, I thank, yes, I thank it.
Eighteen, the road I have traveled, all the roads I have traveled on the wrong way because it was the heart to order it.
Nineteen, the fast hug, all fast hugs that lasted too little, I wish the time to stop and render them motionless as the trees that will be my friends forever.
Twenty, the falls on the way, all falls on the way that made you cry, adored daughter, kiss again for me those wounded knees.
Twenty-one, the food that was enough for me, all the food was not special but it was enough, I thank too, yes, I thank it too.
Twenty-two, the water that was enough, all the water that was not due, but was enough, I have to thank, yes, I have to.
Twenty-three, the departures of no return, all departures without apparent return, except the last one, this.
Twenty-four, the sunset that I have not loved, all the sunsets that I have not loved at all, because the most beautiful day was at the end, except the last one, this.
Twenty-five, you, all of you in my life, thank you, yes, and thank me you too, if you will be so nice.
Twenty-six, dear husband and sweet daughter, for all the times that I uttered these words, do as I would have said it thousand other times and pick up everything within you.
With what is left of me…

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Child labor in Indonesia 2016: the sons of smoke

Stories and News No. 879

According to a report published by Human Rights Watch, thousands of children work in the tobacco industry in Indonesia, where they are exposed to nicotine poisoning and pesticides.
Indonesia is the fifth largest tobacco producer in the world...

We are the sons.
Photo from The New York Times

Yours, if you want.
Someone else, if you prefer.
But there is little difference, almost none, in this our life.
We are all equal here on the ground, even at the same point we would come if we got up.
Yes, I know it is absurd, all this.
But this does not prevent us to live it.
Maybe the opposite happened, as the ghost named normality that so much they used to talk about, above the perennial clouds, ran down on us.
Pure chance would be fine too, we would be here waiting for him, anyway.
You will see a very few distinctions in our doing.
The game is in our bare fingers wielding death.
And the school is in the very opened eyes measuring how long the cruel movie might be.
A break is the result of a breath from abused nature.
And work is everything, actually, in spite you can call it in a thousand other ways.
It ennobles, they say.
Maybe, but here we would rather avoid so much inherited lineage.
If only we had awareness.
If only the years and guile, especially the muscles, were proportional to our mutilated tenderness.
Then we would get up together and united in one voice would scream our desire for a present, before a future.
However, it takes time that we did not have to know the alternatives.
Here it is the life that moves away from itself, or the worst version which you may fall in.
That is difficult, almost impossible, whereas you draw all the turns by yourself.
Like the celebrated families by the famous Russian narrator, all the happy children are alike, but every unhappy child is exploited differently.
But when the way is the same, we are all brothers.
Few differences between us, I said.
Because we are all sons.
Of a single parent.
Father, mother.
Reason for living.
And its opposite.
The infamous, cursed.

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When a plane falls

Stories and News No. 878

Who were the victims of the flight MS804? 66 people, including 56 passengers from 12 different countries, seven crew members and three security officers.
This is one of many questions that those who remain arise.
When a plane falls...

When a plane falls.
When a plane falls means that the dream of flying is over.
Because when a plane falls it leaves you the gift of fear.
And when a plane falls you cannot help but put it there, on the scale always ready to welcome our time’s terrors.
But when a plane falls, heaven forbid that the weight will steal the show to courage.
Since when a plane falls do not say that audacity of those who made the short trip was spent in vain.
When a plane falls you cannot help but cry.

Because you were not there with them.
And at the same time, when a plane falls, you cannot help but feel relief.
For the same reason.
When a plane falls we are obsessed by the answers that the dark box will deign to reveal.
Because when a plane falls the guilty is such in the worst meanings.
But when a plane falls, heaven forbid this man to steal the spotlight at the other culprits hidden in the shadows.
When a plane falls the magic disappears and there only the tricks remain.
And when a plane falls we remember only flames and wreckage.
Because when a plane falls we forget everything else.
But when a plane falls is like photographing the stormy sea and being convinced that the blue painted placid waters were just an illusion.
And then, when a plane falls, anything goes.
When a plane falls the pain is the most logical track and at the same time worthy of respect.
But when a plane falls silence would be a smart choice for the audience.
When a plane falls, now, we are not impressed anymore.
And when another plane falls you do even less.
Because when a plane falls there is only the noise of the explosion to lord.
Yet, when a plane falls, you may tighten the ears and do the same with the eyes.
And imagine what it would be if the plane had never crashed.
However, when a plane falls, you cannot go back, but from that moment the miracle that defeats gravity, and all fear it weighed, needs you.
All of us.
Because when a plane falls it means that the dream of flying is over.
But for each plane has fallen, and every dream that ends, a thousand others are ready on the runway.
Ready to fly.
To dream.
Until the wings allow it...

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Idomeni: the wonderful world of mistaken monsters

Stories and News No. 877

The clashes in Idomeni between police and refugees, including thousands of children, are becoming more violent.
A story of monsters...

Real monsters, now, we are no more afraid of.
We have learned to fear the others.
The mistaken ones.
Among the most improbable, I have to mention fires spitting dragons and blood donor mosquitoes.
Tsunami that return villages and landscapes even refurbished.
Earthquakes that offer just likable syncopation to those who have already danced enough, until now.
Seas wrecking in the finally safe hearts of the children on the barges.
Hunters who dismantle guns while reassembling animals, fragment after fragment, as a puzzle.
But also ghosts who tell bedtime stories and a happy ending nightmares.
Lethal injections of syrup for cough and cough syrups that treat vengeance sickness.
Civilians who blow their life up in the public square.
And some of the most extraordinary examples of the blind in this world, blessed eyeless creatures that should be cloned and disseminated everywhere as human deterrents against stupidity: those who do not see differences where there are none and see equalities where they should be.
One, ten, a hundred men surrounding a woman alone, helpless on the road, far from light and all together the save her from everything that could make her bad.
Walls that decide to build strong people, and people simply just wise to knock down walls that would never be strong.
Soldiers men who become children and children who rightly become able of not being both, men and soldiers.
People who love other people's love and hates their hatred for the love of others.
Incessant rain of useless tears that rise into the sky to create black gray clouds of all forms, even the most threatening one, but destined to dissolve thanks to the wind.
Blowing on the contrary, by a mountain of candy to the eternal spectators of the fruitful table.
Blessed army pushing sad past away extending their arms.
To welcome and succor, as if it were the most natural thing on earth, the future, the only possible future.
Of everyone’s present...

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