Friday, April 27, 2018

Refugees umbrella

Stories and News No. 1091

It can’t rain all the time, they say.
Yes, it cannot.
But in the meantime it's raining, and all, really everything that keeps us alive, joined together, it’s a strange kind of umbrella.
We found a refuge under it.
Nonetheless, we wait for it to end, the worst day of our common story.
We hope that the weather will be benevolent, and so the future.
Meanwhile, it's raining.
With the imminent arrival of the monsoon rains 700,000 Rohingya refugees risk their lives in Bangladesh
The drops become insistent, insensitive and icy as much as the eyes that scrutinize us all.
Let’s be honest, right?
No government leader will launch proclamations and expensive missions to save us, with or without the support of the assembled nations.
No coalition will take the field against our enemy, unless to lift a colossal finger, pointing it there, where the money and selfishness hurt.
There are no rock stars who will organize mega concerts for charity and commitment.

They won’t write songs, for us.
The hands will not stop in due silence before the slow, inexorable narrowing of our horizon.
Nobody will print gadgets and wave flags to remember the rejected children of the third millennium.
Well, if all that was not enough, it's raining too.
The tears we ourselves have sent into heaven are falling on us.
Back to the source, sent back with a receipt of a bitter return.
Then, all that remains to us is clinging to what remains.
As said, an unusual type of umbrella.
A coat that can remember every drop.
Every noise of the latter on the surface of the holy skin that protects us.
Each fragment of relief at the thought that it could have been worse otherwise.
In that brief moment of rediscovered courage, held in the embrace of our brotherhood, we become one with our only friend.
We are the umbrella, therefore.
We ourselves are the border between the life we have and the one we should have.
Because we are the love for the land we occupy, wherever it is, everyplace it will be, which resists and survives everything.
It cannot rain forever, it was said.
Well, when it will stop, because it will do.
We.
Will be.
The sun…


On the same topic:
What I offer

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What are viruses today

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Thursday, April 26, 2018

The creature

The creature

By
Alessandro Ghebreigziabiher


"A terrible feeling, you have no idea, believe me..."
"Sure... tell me everything, Peter."
"I’ll try…
"The thing... I suddenly realize the thing.
"It’s inside of me.
"It’s alive, it moves and thinks.
"At that moment I understand that it's not a thing...
"It's a creature, an alien that lives in me, like that sci-fi movie.
"But we’re not in a movie, I don’t live in a movie.
"I am a person like many, a common guy, of flesh and blood, who may get hurt, who can die.
"Someone who has to worry about himself, because life is already hard on its own, it pushes you to protect you, makes you selfish, because you have to survive.
"Because I want to survive.
"However, at that very moment I could not think of it anymore...
"I felt incredibly weak and helpless, fragile beyond any possibilities, like the most thin tissue paper at the mercy of the most innocuous waste.
"Fear has further taken possession of myself, aware that at that instant of maximum vulnerability the creature has manifested itself inside my body.
"In the juncture where I needed the most of my strength.
"Then, with a breath of pride, I tried to exhort every muscle, each nerve, and all the organs to make one in order to face my existence’s invader.
"The effort was in vain and it’s at that point that my anguish has reached unimaginable heights.
"The creature seemed to take advantage of my incoming energy.
"As if it benefited from every attempt of mine to resist.
"As if it were completely the my body’s owner.
"I wanted to hate it with all of myself, but I couldn’t do it, noting that every feeling that might somehow reject it was banished.
"In my life I have had lots of experiences, I have overcome difficulties and sufferings, I have grown in many ways and I have learned a lot.
"I have read much and traveled far and wide.
"I consider myself a conscious and strong adult.
"Nevertheless, nothing I had from mine had prepared me for such a panic.
"It's not human, all of this, I told myself.
"This is supernatural stuff, I thought.
"There is only room for me in there, I screamed at the creature.
"Come out, please, I even got to beg it.
"And then…"
"And then you woke up."
"Yes, Cindy. Then I woke up. What a nightmare. It was horrible, you have no idea what I felt... "
"Sure, honey…"
...
"Peter?"
"Yup?"
"I think it's time..."
"Really?"
"Really, take the car, and bring me to become a mother."
Of our creature...

Friday, April 20, 2018

Time for excuses

Stories and News No. 1090

Once upon a time there was the time for excuses.
"We are truly sorry", said the members of the Basque terrorist group ETA, responsible for the killing of over 800 people during forty years of armed campaign, publicly apologizing for the suffering caused and asking for the forgiveness of the victims and their families.
Imagine that it is the time, now.
Close your eyes with me, and let's see together before the day of all excuses, but really all, gathered in a colossal chain reaction of conscience, albeit belated, but very necessary.
Make the vacant spaces of the incomplete memory shine for good, because the list will be long.

United States will stand up and with the head bowed will apologize for slavery, of course, the oil-wars disguised as peaceful trips, obviously, putsches disguised as revolutions and revolutions hit even before being born from the random puppet president. However, more than anything else, they will beg forgiveness from them, the native souls, those exterminated by first, the true Americans, who were not Americans at all, and that was perhaps the beginning of their misfortune.
A the same time, the long-standing rival, the great mother Russia, will rise straight, and with sincere repentance they will apologize for the gulags, of course, but it would be evident, because in practice they will have to respond more or less about the same sins of the historical enemy, between all the sacrifice of human rights and the systematic annihilation of the off-key voices among the natives.
Because power is a very predictable skyscraper, the peregrine falcon used to say, enjoying a privileged view on human affairs. The more you climb to the top, the more rooms and occupants look alike.
Nevertheless, it would be rather simplistic if the dance stopped here, with the usual suspects.
In fact, the unavoidable third one to apologize, will be the United Kingdom, and even here, be patient, because it won’t be short, despite the benevolent aid of the synthesis in the words so far dedicated.
Sorry for India and Africa, Asia and Oceania, the British guys will say, sorry for the slaves, because we too are guilty for that, but mainly sorry for the colonies... and although we should open here an infinite parenthesis of massacres and torments, we pass over and we hope for your mercy for all the conflicts provoked and in time fed.
Among other things, together with our colleagues, we take this opportunity to promise you to stop once and for all with war movies, especially the patriotic and heroic ones.
Sorry about that…
Sorry for not only bringing death and destruction into the lives of others, but also showing the ignoble brazenness of telling the posterity that we were the good guys.
Following this unexpected, extraordinary example, France and Spain, Germany and, among the many, Italy as well, will go on.
Because if there's one thing we all have always done, it's not just getting on the winner's wagon, but on the bigger one, wherever it was headed.
Here it is, therefore, the apologies procession.
The moment when they will all come down on earth, trying to get some grace from the latter.
Well, if this mirage was tangible, you should find a comfortable seat, because it would be a show that would go on until the end of time...


On the same topic:
Us and Them

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What are viruses today

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Thursday, April 19, 2018

Avatar for everything

Avatar for everything

By
Alessandro Ghebreigziabiher


Once again, in a possible future...

We are at a shop counter of the most popular store inside the Web Virtual Supermarket Discount or whatever its name is. Sorry, but scrutinizing the horizon puts a strain on the heart and eyes with the same virulence.
The customer is one of the precious ones, very loyal to the buying and ready to be drained by the savvy seller.
"Good morning, miss," he says. "I would like some information about your products."
"Tell me more," the attractive hologram in the form of a shop assistant replies.
"In particular, I'm interested in the face..."
"Of course, sir, I see we go on vintage."
"What do you mean?"
"Well, the face avatar is primordial stuff, here."
"Yes, I see. So, do you have anything for me? "
"I do have everything for you," the ephemeral interlocutor answers persuasively. "I can offer you any face, from the most fascinating actor to the charming singer, passing through the model with a magnetic look."
"Really? Could I have a mix of all these? "
"Obviously. I wrap it? "
"Yes, yes, do it."
So, the man goes floating at least ten bits from the ground for joy.
The following day he is back at the counter.
"Good morning, sir, all right with the product?"
"All right, yes, nonetheless, here... there's a problem... but it's not your fault. In short, the star's face works, but jars with the voice, do you understand me? "
"More than anything, I hear it."
"What?"
"Excuse me, I don’t want to offend, but you speak as if someone were squeezing your..."
"No, you’re right, as a child I was very teased, you don’t know how much. Anyway, can you help me?"
"I'm made to help you," she says with shining eyes for the high resolution on time. "Do you prefer the warm voice of a theatrical actor, the Greek speaker in full orgasmic monologue, or that of the strong commander speaking to his armies before the final battle?"
"I don’t know…"
"Do we make a mix again? Do I wrap it? "
"Okay, I take it."
He comes out further satisfied for the upgrade of its disappointing identity.
Nonetheless, the next day he’s still at the store.
"Miss, good morning."
"Hello, what brings you back?"
"Forgive me, it will seem strange..."
"Far from it, sir. Open up with me, please, I'm made to understand your needs."
"Well, the voice matches perfectly with the face, but the body... no, I mean, did you see me?"
"Yes, and I'm still laughing."
"Excuse me?!"
"No, I'm sorry, but do you want me to tell you lies?"
"No, of course..."
"So, I cannot help but notice that ridiculous fat belly of yours, compared to the perfect face and the incredibly sexy talk. In fact, you know what's up? It’s more evident, now…"
"Yes... can you fix it?"
"Of course, sir. Look, since we are here, do we want to give a total update to everything?"
"All?"
"Yes, the whole body, the complete package and stop thinking about it anymore."
"Can you?"
"Here you can have everything, as I told you the first day you came. What do I do? Do I wrap it all? "
"Fine, do it."
The guy greets the young lady convinced of finally starting the life he has always dreamed of.
Despite this, the following day he appears at the counter.
"Good morning, sir, how are you?"
Although endowed with an image worthy of any cover, he has a disquieting expression, overwhelmed by anguish and terror.
"Miss, help me!"
"Tell me, I'm here for that."
"Nobody recognizes me anymore, at work or at home... my wife has changed the lock, she thinks I’m a thief and my son... the other day they didn’t let me take him at school, I said I’m his father, but they didn’t recognize me... that’s right, I'm cool, now..."
"I understand, sir."
"Well, then, if you don’t mind, I would like to return the goods."
"It's not possible, sir."
"Why?"
"Because now the products have been purchased."
"Purchased? You never asked for money, miss... I want my real life back... "
"Really, sir?"
What do you think you've paid with, so far?

Wednesday, April 18, 2018

Why are there chemical weapons in Syria?

Stories and News No. 1089

The screams, yes.
Those on air, a fraction of a second after hell from heaven fell on hell on earth.
The screams, yes right.
Those later, on resentful or conspiracy, anti or simply still capable of feeling human pages.
Those are all finely heard.
Then again explosions, and other cries, of proud pain or just fear of being lucky, for now.
This time.

Nevertheless, the crucial question arises over in the dust that slowly thins out.
You cannot die forever and the time comes that you can finally ask: why?
It’s enough the appearance of the precious question to displace the protagonists and reporters of the same level, did you see?
However, the grammar of the civil war - but you may also read eternal, provides for a small number of queries, and very rarely there is one among them that debuts in such an inescapable manner.
Why, yes right again.
But you dare and give an objective complement to the aforementioned interpellation: why are there chemical weapons?
You could also stop here, without any spatial coordinates, therefore temporal, and you would still be dangerously off topic.
The antivirus responsible for the control of public discussion would immediately intervene to face this naive mispronunciation.
Exactly, because this would be the instrumental fault to reject the extraneous doubt.
The much exploited childish candor, unsuited to deal with the complexity of the global tangle of interests and power.
Otherwise, by facilitating the immature objection, you may find yourself in highly prohibited areas by government syntax.
Asking who manufactures chemical weapons and who finances them, who sells them and who protects their trade, who legislates in favour or just abstains hand and conscience.
This would lead to an unacceptable scenario for regime screenwriters.
The one based on the idea that things are much easier to understand than they seem.
From the beginning of the world, this is the most feared event by the defenders of pyramidal architecture, other than revolution and resistance.
That is, everyone is able to understand everything, in the first place what decides the common horizon.
Nonetheless, you write the question down and start to read it.
In your mind too, if you don’t want to be heard.
Even a piece at a time, if you wish to avoid suspicions into the professional senders to sleep.
Why?
Why are there chemical weapons?
Why are there chemical weapons in Syria?


On the same topic:
How we escape

Watch the video storytelling with English subtitles:
What are viruses today

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Friday, April 13, 2018

I will marry you

Stories and News No. 1088

I’ll marry you, Marielle and Mônica.
In spite of every limit of logic and possibility, ideal ground for madmen from excessive courage and naive scribblers like myself, I am going to marry you.

I will marry you and I will be the celebrant, that’s right.
Because in the place where this page and all the aspirations erased from the vilest hate live, it doesn’t matter who celebrates who or what.
What is worth the price of the slightest presence is the tangible, realized desire that from this extraordinary moment is written colour on colour, no black on white.
Since beyond such a window on one of the many perfect tomorrow, we have just touched, there are all the imaginable shades and no one of the latter will feel entitled to overlap the others.
Forgive me, Mônica, while you're still awaiting Marielle's return a month from her unacceptable disappearance, if I offer only a drawing as a gift to this cruelly wounded feeling.
That is maybe the worst fault of a whole generation of fragile accomplices, deluded by the belief that with the more or less passionate combination of words and tones, the task could be exhausted.
Behind the presumed poetry of the moment, there is a whole world, fused together with admirable dignity and prowess in a single soul that sees every moment, even now, its shreds pulled away by obtuse beasts, now accepted as ordinary.
This is why the people who will cling the baton of the righteous will have to treasure these inhumane griefs and bring the rough road under their feet
and the mud on their hands.
Because of rough road and mud is made the way and the life of those who resist the servants of the powerful villains.
Forgive us, Marielle, if modern space and time have not accelerated enough to protect your precious wings.
That’s what we are, today, and it’s still too little to avoid nightmare scenarios for an intolerable number of people.
Nonetheless, what was vibrating and warming hearts and eyes is here. And for our good luck
memory suffers unspeakable beatings, but still breathes, and shows us something worth fighting for.
The feast of a love that has lasted for fourteen years and that in 2019 would have been officiated not as it deserved, but as it deserves.
Because we have to do everything to convince the cowardly murderer of living wonders that has taken away much less than he believes.
For that and a thousand other reasons, I will marry
you.
Marielle Franco and Mônica Benício, I will marry you, at least here.
I will marry what you could achieve, along with what you left behind.
I marry the world you wanted, so the one you started.
And, if anyone is contrary to this union, well, speak now, but then shut up forever.
Because you can kill lives in millions, but you'll never be able to scratch an inch of the dream that made them one thing...


On the same topic:
Stories of women killed in Mexico

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What are viruses today

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Thursday, April 12, 2018

Forbidden to watch

Forbidden to watch


By
Alessandro Ghebreigziabiher


Once again, in an hopefully distant future...

The alarms start to sound, that is, to scream and rattle with unspeakable rage.
Who dared?
Who could get to that?
The crowd is packed around, joined in amazement and head bent over the personal, sovereign monitor.
"Madam," the agent in charge says, staring at the woman framed on his screen, "your son is under arrest."
The mother of the guilty one is incredulous, more than frightened.
"Excuse me," she addressed the diligent official portrayed in the video of her mobile phone. "But, I must tell you that..."
"I don’t accept your excuses," the man replies, while the curious horde begin filming and tearing away shreds of the unusual event like lewd dogs around the prey revealing blood and fragility. "Your child has violated the sacred rule."
"He violated it..." people around murmur in a chorus, almost chanting, gradually approach to gain definition for the unexpected image. "The sacred rule... he violated it..."
"Like everyone, you know perfectly that outside no one can look up from their phone."
"Of course," she tries to explain, "I know it well, I know the sacred rule, but my child..."
"Of course," the city clerk interrupts her again, "now you’ll bring out the usual story of the little kid, who is young and innocent, poor him... but did you see what these budding offenders used to upload today?"
Suddenly the audience marks with a common negative thumb the woman’s answer.
Because if it’s popular to get on the winner’s car, these days it’s just as easy tearing it to pieces finding it going through the canonical street in the opposite direction.
"Look, sir, there's a misunderstanding, I didn’t mean..."
"Are you without a bit of decency?" the diligent guardian of the status quo apostrophizes her. "You should be a guide for your son, instead of making him falling into the vortex of sin..."
"Shame..." echoes the crowd as above. "In the vortex of sin..."
"What sin?" The woman still tries to be heard. "You didn’t understand..."
"Shut up!" The guardian of the granted livery exclaims. "I begin to think I'll have to arrest you too, along with the criminal you’re raising..."
"Arrest her!" The populace whispers in full, ecstatic enthusiasm.
"My son is not a criminal!" The woman yells back overwhelmingly overpowering the din.
"Why not?" The mad policeman replies. "He violated the sacred rule, we have all seen it, we see it even now, the scene is viral on every screen. The child has moved his head away from the monitor and is looking around."
"Sinner!" The numerous witnesses of the serious transgression rant.
"But you don’t understand", the mother exclaims with renewed vigor. "My son is blind..."
A very pleasant silence falls inexorable in that moment.
"Oops..." the policeman mortified says. "So he's looking at nothing..."
"You're wrong," the woman corrects him.
We are doing that...

Wednesday, April 11, 2018

USA vs Russia’s fairy tale

Stories and News No. 1087

Once upon a time there was a fairy tale.
Indeed, once upon a time there was a repeated story over time, with different settings and customs, but immutable morals.
In the middle, the protagonists, who faded and merged from one side of the contest to the other one.
Because without conflict, there is no storytelling.
The knights in the field were two, as the simplest narration requires.
USA and Russia, yes it is.
Both the adversaries showed without surprise the most trite and rough attitudes worthy of the worst bully affected by inflated testosterone.
In the rhetorical game of roles, USA was the savior and Russia the aggressor, the former the powerful ally and the latter the others friend, and then add also West and East, We and Them, and other semantical tricks to fill eyes and ears, generation after generation, of apparently impotent readers.
The fable was ever told from parents to children, as if it were inevitable, as if it were the world’s story itself, as if the world wrote it on its own.
As if, in short, none of the actors were accountable for the monotonous plot.
Among the most paradoxical of the spectators there was juxtaposed the most elderly portion, able
to incessantly swallow this affair without discussing, despite perfectly knowing each  conscious typing error, any instrumental abuse of the adjectives in favour of an interpretation against the other and vice versa. Although, above all, they had seen the ending and the bitter consequences of the tale an incredible amount of times.
It could have been easy to discover the cards and notice the unexpected scenography behind the even less credible characters, although they were made up according to the fashion of the time.
It could have been easy to extract synopsis of the best-selling story to the accomplice humanity.
It could have been easy to start and finish it.
In fact, without bragging about the qualities of synthesis, here is the childish subject in a strophe, or a little more: a cruel sovereign, with the help of Russia, exterminated the rebels, but USA intervened and defeated the bad villain.
Again and again.
Again.
And yet.
Again…
Rewriting the identical farce on the same page, until it was consumed.
If you think about it, it would be impossible to fall in such a paradoxical loop in everyone's daily life,
because sooner or later, once you reach the age of reason, you would look for the motivations of your choices and those of others, making disenchantment your primary lens.
However, with fairy tales… well, with fairy tales it's totally different.
You believe them and you would never change them, because they reassure you and help you sleep fine.
Because they put things right and the current morals are respected.
USA against Russia, Russia against USA, and further peoples, fortunately far away from us, along with as many casualties, are promptly sacrificed to the altar of the ritual clash.
So that tomorrow we can start all over again with the usual fairy tale of the two enemies...





On the same topic:
Ali's victories

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What are viruses today

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Friday, April 6, 2018

Samar Baltaji Maher Attar photo story

Stories and News No. 1086

It was 1985.
In Beirut, between war and war.
On a civil and uncivilized, tolerated and intolerable, far and more than ever closer one.
Because that’s what men against men brings.
It confuses the opposites, in the violent mixture of hatred and blood.
On the background, you can see Samar, inside the

veracity of black and
white, contrasts of the past and, despite the illusion of colour, also today.
With the woman, there was a girl child.
With her, a glance full of dignity and pride, despite the wounds.
With both, the still warm shadows of the massacre.
Despite the left leg prematurely erased by the worst editor in the world, that is, the dull war, yet, still it, always it.
On the other side of the lens, there was Maher.
A thief of images, but a good one.
An atypical version of Robin Hood, which steals memory where all want to disintegrate it, and then he gives it to posterity.
So that they see the day after what has passed in vain under the eyes of the protagonists.
In fact, the pitcher of remembrances in the bottle among the waves of the future was blocked immediately after taking possession of that precious piece of lived history.
Everything was about to be lost, when Samar herself made her choice.
Let him take this moment of mine.
Let it survive this time.
Let it go.
The significant portrait found the right way to the rooms that matter, and the woman with the girl child in the rubble of Beirut became front page in the New York Times.
In the following years, other papers were sold and burned.
Other future was slaughtered, other wasted opportunities.
Nonetheless, the journey of the little ones went on between bags of cardboard and cardboards in the form of a bag, between present without future and future without a past, between citizens turned into refugees and refuges without a city as a home.
Because this is what the feud between human and human does, if it stealthily repeats, over and over again.
It turns things around, changing their names, but every time you carefully look at them, you always see the same face of those who just wanted to walk without fear.
It’s 2018, now.
Thirty-three years later, again in Lebanon, Beirut.
In the middle of the drawing, there's still her, Samar.
With her, Maher, the stealer of living souvenirs. With him, the kept
promise, not to forget and, above all, not to make forget.
With both, the difficult existences of entire peoples who are lost and find themselves among the remaining pictures and words.
Along with the hope for all the fragments that are still torn away from the heart of the world to embrace again, no matter where, maybe in a photo.
Because, as Samar confided to Maher, sometimes I sit on the balcony and think and I begin to cry. And then I think I’m lucky to be alive and I go back to being patient…


On the same topic:
Ali's victories

Watch the video storytelling with English subtitles:
What are viruses today

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Thursday, April 5, 2018

Story about social media: Close everything

Close everything

By
Alessandro Ghebreigziabiher


Somewhere, that is, in many homes of the socialized, modern world...

Tom?

Tom?!
...
Tom!!!
Here I come, Mary, what’s up?
What’s up?! I didn’t hear you shutting the door, honey...
Really?
Of course, yes, close it, hurry up, the sun got out a long time ago!
You're right, I'm going.
...
Tom?
What?
Tom!
I said what!
I see, but come here, please. Do we have to talk from one room to another? You want strangers to hear us?
Right, I'm sorry, I'm coming. So, what is it?
Did you close the door?
Yup…
What about the bolt? And the alarm?
Oops... you're right...
Tom... do you want thieves to enter the house? These days, at this hour, who knows who’ll be out there... close everything!
Yes, my love, luckily you’re there.
No, luckily we have an alarm and impact-proof glass.
Also, love, but you are the best.
...
Tom!
What's up now?
What’s this air?
Well... I think it's the window in the kitchen...
It's open?!
Yes, you did it when we finished dinner. For the fried, you said...
Of course I said it, but it was half an hour ago, I told you that night has come!
All right, but could not you do it?
I just turned on the laptop...
Of course, I’ll do it.
Go, close, close for good, and pull the damper down, right to the bottom.
Why?
Because there's a new neighbor, that's why, right in front of us, a guy with a dark beard and a dark face too.
Seriously?
Seriously, close everything.
I run.
And... Tom?
Yup?
Please, go to see the baby, check if his window is well closed too.
Of course, I go.
...
Tom?
...
Tom?!
...
Tom!!!
I'm here, Mary, what's up?
Did you close everything?
Yes I did.
Door and windows?
Closed.
Dampers? You know that when it gets dark, we cannot see anything anymore, with those people around...
All dropped, closed and locked.
Perfect, now that we’re safe from strangers, tell me where is our picture’s son, the one we did at his first bath in the tub. I want to upload it on Facebook, Instagram and Twitter along with all those from birth up to six years old...

Wednesday, April 4, 2018

Missing children found years later story

Stories and News No. 1085

Once upon a time the human journey.
You can call it dance, if you prefer to hover between seconds.
The climb, when the cruel destiny’s face has chosen you as an example.
Quite the contrary, if the soft side has been given to you. In that case, don’t waste it, dear privileged soul.
Nonetheless, the key to the melody that we all support it's the same: I lose you, I find you.
Just as it happened twenty-four years ago, to Wang Mingqing and his wife Liu Dengying.
The two used to work as greengrocers in the streets of Chengdu and, like many far from being lucky, were forced to bring with them their daughter Qifeng, only three years old.
Wang left the girl child briefly alone to go to a next door shop and get the change for a client.
When he returned, the headlines of the terrible nightmare movie began to flow on the screen: the daughter was gone.
In other words, I lose you, Qifeng.
We lose you, lovely daughter.
The certainty of the worst page in a living story, with the words written at the bottom of a horrendous chapter, with ink colored of weakly hope: we’ll found you.
Thus, according to a tragically obvious script, the parents undertook a desperate search that has never stopped until today.

After the tragic fact, Wang bought a taxi and began patrolling the city of fourteen million people during work hours.
He put a flyer on the car window, after printing business cards with his daughter's information, telling each passenger what had happened.
I lost her, we lost her, and the most horrendous meaning, that is, she has lost us.
Here it is the unacceptable sharing that binds us all along.
The emptiness, not the fullness.
The eager hands, never the full pockets.
Desire, fervent dream, irrepressible aspiration, everything but the vault full of vanity of the richest people.
I find you, the little Qifeng heard from far away, more than twenty years ago.
We find you, a man and a woman murmured closely, as many open brackets on the missing present.
We find those who have been lost, the adoptive parents of Qifeng said, who is now nearly thirty years old and lives thousands of miles away from her hometown in the northern province of Jilin.
Once she learned their sad past by the two, the girl began to live curious about who their biological mother and father were.
I lost, who lost me, in short.
It took two decades for the step to be complete.
You could name it the leap backwards, for the professional turnovers.
The utopia that becomes tangible, due to the fortunate exceptions on the common narration.
Here we are at the sad story that shows the miracle of the sun in the storm.
I find you, her father whispered with difficulty, overwhelmed by tears.
We find you again, thought with no less emotion her mother, won by weeping.
I find you, that you find me, the sense of everything.



On the same topic:
Chinese mother woken from coma

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