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Migrants on rocks in Ventimiglia: we won

Stories and News No. 764

A message in the bottle from a young immigrant on a rock in Ventimiglia.
Entrusted letter to the sea waves, hoping it gets to destination.
Without breaking…

Dear mother,
we won.
You and I, we did.
More or less...
For dad.
Who wanted nothing more than that.
For us.
Who could not ask for more.
Not reaching the goal. Never touching the promised land. Maybe putting on our feet and feeling it ours.
Meanwhile, we watch.
We are the ones who do not cry when the ground finally appears on the horizon, because the joy is unstoppable, breath escaped and the forces are all in the latest effort: the victory.
Screaming at the finish is a privilege for the ancestors of the memory sick guys, which today demean our souls, ignoring of doing the same with their very own.
And they are right, if some of these people cling to the idea that their ancestors were very different from us.
Yeah, it is so, but not for the reasons they think.
Because ‘travelers for the life’ of the last century came on ships worthy of the name.
Everything but clusters of wood, hopes and fears, countless fears.
All linked by live blood that flows copiously from indomitable hearts.
Read as well as ‘who can be so naive to think they can stop us?’
We are crazy, right?
Once they kidnap and chain us, promising a hell of oppression and injustice.
Today we come with our own free will, often encountering the same destiny.
You know, it might be that humans of the visible side of the moon were so nice.
Perhaps it happens because we really want to rob them of their future.
Or maybe we realized that they threw it to the sea and we have smelled it.
We could be just creatures who jump into the sea hypnotized by a spell called horizon.
Possible one.
And now we have won, Mom.
You and me.
For dad and for us.
More or less...
Because the rest of us know that our victory will never be getting on the highest podium. Lifting the Gold Cup. And receiving the ovation of the crowd.
Watching is our reward.
Watching the end with a very naked eye.
So the beginning.
The rest of the world that you can admire from a rock, a few meters from the new story, the missing earth.
We will wait to get there, we will wait for it to get to us.
Meanwhile, beloved mother, exult.
We won because we are still alive.
And who does not understand it.
He is dead.
Or he never really was.

Read other stories about life.

Storytelling with subtitles
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