to thank
was born in a September afternoon in the South
when time is spring, encourages
when the sun rises
tired and lazy, so much nap.
I had peace, I love, I had family,
my mother was brave and good woman,
my father was a good man and brave
both gave me determination and strength.
I was lucky to have brothers and have never missed
fights
we still a body that defends
loyal and supportive, their borders.
I had a childhood like any other,
between fantasy and the unconscious;
remember playing a kid tough
hands of my grandmother.
We, sometimes, wine and meat, sometimes kiss
poverty
time I walked in many years
car and had to go on foot or by bicycle.
I like everyone, I was like no other,
never accompanied me good and I point
by chatty and distracted,
a common complaint of teachers.
I saved the notes, figures, numbers
honoring my notebook, though I
bored me like a mushroom
to "ma-me-mi-mo-mu" and nagging! I grew
far more than they should
and soon began with dieting,
with sweets banned, pasta
"you should not eat, because you raise."
I said "walk" and walking
shared parks, plazas and sidewalks,
first with my father and suddenly
old girls who are absent.
boldly, victories and failures, I
serene through adolescence and I knew that love wears sometimes
of that friend who has nice legs.
I was with friends who
retain the best, without urgency,
went through the same challenges and share
tears and stones. Women met
the time,
a rent, some for sale, and said
lie after lie just for a kiss, what innocence!
We play it all in the game
-that everything is nothing when it starts, "
and started a path
us slowly, without even thinking.
When you're young never gets the time, it does not matter
summer or spring,
is moving forward without turning back the face, no wonder
things that are left.
never knew if I was in love,
if they were illusions or fireflies,
if any of the many dropouts
could be called love, for sure. However
the
nobody wanted as there may never in his love them, others took
caresses,
I stole his faith, simple and first.
One day I wrote a few words
to what was then the most beautiful,
anyone knew it, began to laugh,
and since then say, "is a poet."
studied law for five years,
am bachelor of law-no offense-
decided not to exercise while
knew that justice was for sale.
I became a teacher because the twentieth
poor teacher pay is good,
and saw the light of so many
tied after the ferocity of a folder. They learned
desire, courage,
courage and will, I learned them;
my students give life to my life and joy unexpected
immense.
I have also published some books that few read
patiently
and I discovered that life has
some truth and much of the novel.
I have a woman beside me there
on the waves of any story,
with a simple and generous soul,
with passion, will and intelligence.
I have a country that is not limited to vulgarity
flags
and a city without a heaven to which
strange because she was born, and she expected.
I have family, friends, freedom,
I have three dogs and a library, a beating heart
yet
a dream, an emotion and a poem.
I owe so much to so many who were guides
, arms, sentinels, and I am a bad payer
, I apologize, I was always clumsy
canceling debts.
Life is a beautiful
nonsense and making sense of it rises,
comforts us, gives us
perpetuates and redeems us from our miseries. Just
write
to thank everyone, for your time and patience, because they are complicit
in
miracle of love and love and who love me.
Friday, September 28, 2007
Sunday, September 23, 2007
Skates For Flat Narrow Feet
VIVA MEXICO!
Beyond any unpleasant experience with some gendarmes, Mexico is its people and its people are friendly, sympathetic, affectionate. While it is too early to talk about dear friends, is not to say that, after the introductions, you can find warm and friendly people willing to give a hand to advise where to buy, you walk through the labyrinthine streets of DF or simply , explain the best way to prepare some chiles rellenos.
Michelle and Luis are our neighbors. We live, "wall medium", in the same condo and are extremely cordial and friendly people. When we were invited to his house "to give the cry" (and do not think atrocities), I found a fascinating opportunity to witness how Mexicans celebrate their national holidays.
What marks September 15 is the beginning of the revolutionary process that started with the anti-Bonapartist movement led by the famous priest Hidalgo in the town of Dolores, when it alerted by the wife of the Corregidor, the famous conspirator Josefa Ortiz de DomÃnguez, hastened to implement the plans discovered seditious and in the mass of dawn on 16 September 1810, urged the people to take up arms with the cry "Viva la Virgen de Guadalupe!, down with bad government!, live Fernando VII! "(because that's" Viva Mexico!, repeated three times or the very famous "Death to the Spaniards!" were added later, as "Mexico" only so named after independence and the proclamation of independence was not a priest but contrary to the Napoleonic invasion of Spain). All this I found out surfing the Internet to not get completely uninformed of the meeting promised to be, Michelle told us, very exciting.
not mistaken. In the house would be half a dozen families and a dozen children from a few months and fourteen years, all residents of the same place. Puberal were there, making a mess impressive, coming and going, running, the boys playing football in the playground, the girls doing choreography with some songs I did not know. I was impressed see all the girls dressed in traditional costumes, some of "Chinese Puebla" others "Adelita" (the legendary hero of the Mexican Revolution).
The meeting was lively, one of those neighborhood meetings where everyone brings something, all carry over and there is food, beverages and alcohol for the next three weekends. The hours passed between the teenager sound of music and talks so loudly that we held between adults and revolving worthy of the date, between the political and historical themes, seasoned, of course, by gossip and the latest occurrences farandulesca within the condominium. After the "Snacks" of law (which here are called "snacks") heard the mellifluous song of siren Michelle announcing "pass at the table, the food is ready" and begin to taste a variety of Mexican dishes (a topic which I take care another time).
We were in full fatigues food when someone said "are now five to eleven" and, as if it were a military order, they all stood up and walked towards the TV that was in a sitting room where up to a minute ago fewer boys were boys do not know what channel that broadcast strident music videos. Changed to another which showed the transmission Live from "the base", the main square of Mexico City, crowded, colorful, full of light and Mexican flags and thousands of people huddled in front of the presidential palace.
All were awaiting the appearance of the president. The honor guard was on his quest, the president went to meet the military and, after the usual greetings, the commanding general of the Mexican army, he took the banner-wielding guard and walked steadily toward a balcony. In the room where we were was respectful silence around the TV we were all we had gone there and nobody, not the smaller, said nothing, staring enraptured how the president came out to meet people who overflowed the square.
He faced the audience and repeated the speech that is historically true or not-has been repeated by all Mexican presidents for decades. The speech that in every square of the republic is also released by the governors and mayors, the speech that is pronounced in embassies anywhere in the world and in any place where a group of Mexicans gather in the name of their homeland. Each of the three "Viva Mexico!" Campaign launched by President echoed in the room where I was, multiplied by all the shouting in unison, large and small. Band immediately began playing and the "Mexicans, at the cry of war" filled the room, there was the sound that came from the television speakers, no, it was Mexico's national anthem sung so loudly, proudly, for all I accompanied him there and, as "the roar of cannon," which is mentioned in the letter, the song washed over everything and it was all adults and children, invaded by a fervor that unfortunately never saw in my country, singing with the same enthusiasm, with the same enthusiasm, with the same love for their homeland. When the president, who only sang the first verse was removed in room where I heard my neighbors with excited surprise, all continued to sing the anthem with reverence and respect, with force and courage, without fear or shame. Only at the end, when it was time that the president had left the podium, someone gito "Viva Mexico!" Again and they all responded.
And nothing else, the night went like all but my eyes could no longer be the same. I was surprised and admired the fervor that saw not only in all the plazas of Mexico through television, but there live, where I was surrounded by ordinary people who, leaving aside their political differences, they felt that night and, above all things Mexican.
What is the boundary between the identity and fanaticism, where do you draw the line that separates those who are proud of who they are for those who kill because they think they are the only thing that can be? I do not know, just know that that night I witnessed a celebration of harmony, affection, love of country and respect for tradition, these ancient traditions, at the end of the day we are as members of a community.
Yes, maybe tomorrow we will all live proud to be sons of the soil and siblings of the same life-ephemeral but wonderful-that touches us, maybe tomorrow the borders are only bad memories and patriotic hymns are replaced by a great song that binds us together as members of the same human community, maybe. Meanwhile, in the midst of dark times, when solidarity has become a dirty word, see the love and pride Mexicans gathered around its history, has been an unforgettable experience.
Beyond any unpleasant experience with some gendarmes, Mexico is its people and its people are friendly, sympathetic, affectionate. While it is too early to talk about dear friends, is not to say that, after the introductions, you can find warm and friendly people willing to give a hand to advise where to buy, you walk through the labyrinthine streets of DF or simply , explain the best way to prepare some chiles rellenos.
Michelle and Luis are our neighbors. We live, "wall medium", in the same condo and are extremely cordial and friendly people. When we were invited to his house "to give the cry" (and do not think atrocities), I found a fascinating opportunity to witness how Mexicans celebrate their national holidays.
What marks September 15 is the beginning of the revolutionary process that started with the anti-Bonapartist movement led by the famous priest Hidalgo in the town of Dolores, when it alerted by the wife of the Corregidor, the famous conspirator Josefa Ortiz de DomÃnguez, hastened to implement the plans discovered seditious and in the mass of dawn on 16 September 1810, urged the people to take up arms with the cry "Viva la Virgen de Guadalupe!, down with bad government!, live Fernando VII! "(because that's" Viva Mexico!, repeated three times or the very famous "Death to the Spaniards!" were added later, as "Mexico" only so named after independence and the proclamation of independence was not a priest but contrary to the Napoleonic invasion of Spain). All this I found out surfing the Internet to not get completely uninformed of the meeting promised to be, Michelle told us, very exciting.
not mistaken. In the house would be half a dozen families and a dozen children from a few months and fourteen years, all residents of the same place. Puberal were there, making a mess impressive, coming and going, running, the boys playing football in the playground, the girls doing choreography with some songs I did not know. I was impressed see all the girls dressed in traditional costumes, some of "Chinese Puebla" others "Adelita" (the legendary hero of the Mexican Revolution).
The meeting was lively, one of those neighborhood meetings where everyone brings something, all carry over and there is food, beverages and alcohol for the next three weekends. The hours passed between the teenager sound of music and talks so loudly that we held between adults and revolving worthy of the date, between the political and historical themes, seasoned, of course, by gossip and the latest occurrences farandulesca within the condominium. After the "Snacks" of law (which here are called "snacks") heard the mellifluous song of siren Michelle announcing "pass at the table, the food is ready" and begin to taste a variety of Mexican dishes (a topic which I take care another time).
We were in full fatigues food when someone said "are now five to eleven" and, as if it were a military order, they all stood up and walked towards the TV that was in a sitting room where up to a minute ago fewer boys were boys do not know what channel that broadcast strident music videos. Changed to another which showed the transmission Live from "the base", the main square of Mexico City, crowded, colorful, full of light and Mexican flags and thousands of people huddled in front of the presidential palace.
All were awaiting the appearance of the president. The honor guard was on his quest, the president went to meet the military and, after the usual greetings, the commanding general of the Mexican army, he took the banner-wielding guard and walked steadily toward a balcony. In the room where we were was respectful silence around the TV we were all we had gone there and nobody, not the smaller, said nothing, staring enraptured how the president came out to meet people who overflowed the square.
He faced the audience and repeated the speech that is historically true or not-has been repeated by all Mexican presidents for decades. The speech that in every square of the republic is also released by the governors and mayors, the speech that is pronounced in embassies anywhere in the world and in any place where a group of Mexicans gather in the name of their homeland. Each of the three "Viva Mexico!" Campaign launched by President echoed in the room where I was, multiplied by all the shouting in unison, large and small. Band immediately began playing and the "Mexicans, at the cry of war" filled the room, there was the sound that came from the television speakers, no, it was Mexico's national anthem sung so loudly, proudly, for all I accompanied him there and, as "the roar of cannon," which is mentioned in the letter, the song washed over everything and it was all adults and children, invaded by a fervor that unfortunately never saw in my country, singing with the same enthusiasm, with the same enthusiasm, with the same love for their homeland. When the president, who only sang the first verse was removed in room where I heard my neighbors with excited surprise, all continued to sing the anthem with reverence and respect, with force and courage, without fear or shame. Only at the end, when it was time that the president had left the podium, someone gito "Viva Mexico!" Again and they all responded.
And nothing else, the night went like all but my eyes could no longer be the same. I was surprised and admired the fervor that saw not only in all the plazas of Mexico through television, but there live, where I was surrounded by ordinary people who, leaving aside their political differences, they felt that night and, above all things Mexican.
What is the boundary between the identity and fanaticism, where do you draw the line that separates those who are proud of who they are for those who kill because they think they are the only thing that can be? I do not know, just know that that night I witnessed a celebration of harmony, affection, love of country and respect for tradition, these ancient traditions, at the end of the day we are as members of a community.
Yes, maybe tomorrow we will all live proud to be sons of the soil and siblings of the same life-ephemeral but wonderful-that touches us, maybe tomorrow the borders are only bad memories and patriotic hymns are replaced by a great song that binds us together as members of the same human community, maybe. Meanwhile, in the midst of dark times, when solidarity has become a dirty word, see the love and pride Mexicans gathered around its history, has been an unforgettable experience.
Friday, September 14, 2007
Waxing Ottawa Reviews
IS AGAINST THE LAW IF I AM CITIZEN
The guy who called me was very unfriendly, but let's be honest, it was the face of who really is a miserable, it was the good guy in uniform by necessity or chance which complexes are many who believe that if makes the gesture of a grumpy gendarme constipated and not be respected. Well, not without reason in this society, ours, which have white skin and six feet deep voice immediately makes you "doctor" or "engineer", whereas five feet tall, sallow skin and Andean small voice of lament, is likely to be told " Hey you "," boy "or anything else that you reduce to pawn or concierge. We
the mysterious door close on the opposite side to the "waiting room", as euphemistically called the cell without bars where we had "retained." After the threshold I met a bureaucracy, gray, off, where are there are so willing to work like us to stay at the checkpoint forced. There were a few desks, papers everywhere, the odd computer, printer scandalous, cell types and in uniform, faced heads, officers, if those taking decisions there.
I approach one of the desks, the subject is sitting there does not make the slightest gesture, and I remain standing while the guard who accompanied me leaves me and goes who knows where and the officer continues fingering roles including I can see my passport. Absorbed in his research, totally ignoring me for several minutes for me, put in your hands at that moment, is eternal. The subject is rereading papers as if it were something really important, open and close my passport, checked my visa, all one by one, like someone suspicious, like someone trying to find in the middle of stamps, dates and signatures, the error demonstrate that I am an illegal immigrant who wants to use his country as a springboard into the American dream. Futile task of uniformed poor, would have sufficed to ascertain to what flight had arrived and understand that it would be difficult to come to Florida to land in the Federal District, take a bus and go, by force to destroy my battered back, almost two thousand kilometers from the capital of the northeast and there hire a coyote that a few thousand dollars swindled me telling me that it will cross the border and leave me for fat, and slow, tired, in the middle of the Sonoran desert to die dehydrated.
The truth is that the minutes seem endless but I resist, stoic, stand without giving in to fatigue in my legs and fatigue of my hard-working poor knees makes walking so much in making my humankind. I stand, waiting for the resolution of the subject in front of me, sheltered by the metal desk, his badge, his uniform and walked around several guards watching. As it is not hard to imagine, my mood was, by now slightly vinegary. Tired, exhausted and, especially, hungry, they were not neurons but gastric juices, which began to hold the reins of my character. By this afternoon I cursed my foolish decision to start my umpteenth diet just for the trip. "A little juices and two toast," I said this morning, "get to Mexico City shortly after two and before three I'll be having lunch, in addition, it is good to go with a full stomach to match, and of course and was past five and was still there looking at the nape of the uniformed determined to not know what my research papers. Impatient now, I interrupted:
"Excuse me, officer ...
(silence)
-Official ... (silence)
- Lord!
(the keeper slowly rising as the eyebrows in disbelief that I had dared to raise the tone)
-Official Is something wrong?, I have more than three hours here and my papers are in order.
"Well, that's what I decide ...
" Certainly, just ask him to take into account the time that has elapsed ... "Here
all serve well, do you have a complaint?
"Beyond the lost hours, the discomfort, the problem that means ...
" Do not follow, not follow, I'm finished with you ...
(silence, now mine)
"I'll do you a favor ...
(silence)
" Because there is an irregularity ...
- A blip?
"Well, you have two visas and that's against the law of the land, if I let go with both visas would be committing a crime and could even lose both visa and be deported ...
(silence)
- ... so I have to cancel the tourist.
"Well, is your country, are your laws, you decide.
"Yes, I decide, but I wanted to understand ...
-Gazette, what I understand or not is irrelevant.
"Well, true.
"Proceed, because my bags are thrown do three hours somewhere in the airport and did not know who will be responsible for losses ...
" In the airport your luggage is very safe, do not hesitate ...
(silence) "We're
professional ... (silence)
-proceed to cancel the visa of tourist ...
(silence) And you can
out ... Then I saw how my precious tourist visa for five years and multiple entries was crossed by the vulgar red ink a pen that the subject had in his hands, or a seal, or an explanation nor anything, only two crossed lines crossed over the visa, as if he had a six bored in a holiday afternoon.
I said nothing, kept an angry silence and let me drive through the aisles to the door where, abandoned, carelessly, placed side by side a corner, I found my bags.
The guy who called me was very unfriendly, but let's be honest, it was the face of who really is a miserable, it was the good guy in uniform by necessity or chance which complexes are many who believe that if makes the gesture of a grumpy gendarme constipated and not be respected. Well, not without reason in this society, ours, which have white skin and six feet deep voice immediately makes you "doctor" or "engineer", whereas five feet tall, sallow skin and Andean small voice of lament, is likely to be told " Hey you "," boy "or anything else that you reduce to pawn or concierge. We
the mysterious door close on the opposite side to the "waiting room", as euphemistically called the cell without bars where we had "retained." After the threshold I met a bureaucracy, gray, off, where are there are so willing to work like us to stay at the checkpoint forced. There were a few desks, papers everywhere, the odd computer, printer scandalous, cell types and in uniform, faced heads, officers, if those taking decisions there.
I approach one of the desks, the subject is sitting there does not make the slightest gesture, and I remain standing while the guard who accompanied me leaves me and goes who knows where and the officer continues fingering roles including I can see my passport. Absorbed in his research, totally ignoring me for several minutes for me, put in your hands at that moment, is eternal. The subject is rereading papers as if it were something really important, open and close my passport, checked my visa, all one by one, like someone suspicious, like someone trying to find in the middle of stamps, dates and signatures, the error demonstrate that I am an illegal immigrant who wants to use his country as a springboard into the American dream. Futile task of uniformed poor, would have sufficed to ascertain to what flight had arrived and understand that it would be difficult to come to Florida to land in the Federal District, take a bus and go, by force to destroy my battered back, almost two thousand kilometers from the capital of the northeast and there hire a coyote that a few thousand dollars swindled me telling me that it will cross the border and leave me for fat, and slow, tired, in the middle of the Sonoran desert to die dehydrated.
The truth is that the minutes seem endless but I resist, stoic, stand without giving in to fatigue in my legs and fatigue of my hard-working poor knees makes walking so much in making my humankind. I stand, waiting for the resolution of the subject in front of me, sheltered by the metal desk, his badge, his uniform and walked around several guards watching. As it is not hard to imagine, my mood was, by now slightly vinegary. Tired, exhausted and, especially, hungry, they were not neurons but gastric juices, which began to hold the reins of my character. By this afternoon I cursed my foolish decision to start my umpteenth diet just for the trip. "A little juices and two toast," I said this morning, "get to Mexico City shortly after two and before three I'll be having lunch, in addition, it is good to go with a full stomach to match, and of course and was past five and was still there looking at the nape of the uniformed determined to not know what my research papers. Impatient now, I interrupted:
"Excuse me, officer ...
(silence)
-Official ... (silence)
- Lord!
(the keeper slowly rising as the eyebrows in disbelief that I had dared to raise the tone)
-Official Is something wrong?, I have more than three hours here and my papers are in order.
"Well, that's what I decide ...
" Certainly, just ask him to take into account the time that has elapsed ... "Here
all serve well, do you have a complaint?
"Beyond the lost hours, the discomfort, the problem that means ...
" Do not follow, not follow, I'm finished with you ...
(silence, now mine)
"I'll do you a favor ...
(silence)
" Because there is an irregularity ...
- A blip?
"Well, you have two visas and that's against the law of the land, if I let go with both visas would be committing a crime and could even lose both visa and be deported ...
(silence)
- ... so I have to cancel the tourist.
"Well, is your country, are your laws, you decide.
"Yes, I decide, but I wanted to understand ...
-Gazette, what I understand or not is irrelevant.
"Well, true.
"Proceed, because my bags are thrown do three hours somewhere in the airport and did not know who will be responsible for losses ...
" In the airport your luggage is very safe, do not hesitate ...
(silence) "We're
professional ... (silence)
-proceed to cancel the visa of tourist ...
(silence) And you can
out ... Then I saw how my precious tourist visa for five years and multiple entries was crossed by the vulgar red ink a pen that the subject had in his hands, or a seal, or an explanation nor anything, only two crossed lines crossed over the visa, as if he had a six bored in a holiday afternoon.
I said nothing, kept an angry silence and let me drive through the aisles to the door where, abandoned, carelessly, placed side by side a corner, I found my bags.
Friday, September 7, 2007
Maxtor One 300 Gb Driver
SPANISH ...
Nothing more distressing to be stopped at an airport in charge of migration without further explanation that a "please attach the guard." You ask the uniformed what happens and it responds with such creepy ranging from evasive "and you will be informed" to "is a issue that I can not deal with you "and so we walked to a door leading to another door that is guarded by armed guards faces other impost try to look respectable or fearful below (actually" up ") of such uniform remind me of my childhood chocolate strolling around the neighborhood with its trucks and the unmistakable sound of the trumpet announcing ice in summer, and cookies and chocolates and sweets in the winter. Although the badges and boots do not help much, so many weapons around one begin to generate some hives but no way, not much to do about it. "Wait a moment" and suddenly, you find yourself in front of a dozen subjects as confused as you on that, as I infer, have told the same "wait" not "one time" has nothing because, as I understand the conversation that has the cleavage to Colombia is seeing Australian you do to get your selling pharmaceuticals, both have been there for two hours (and still does not get his number?, if reversed, the Colombian not only have the number of Australia but also would masajito and giving "for stress").
The place we so kindly confined (dry would be the guards their ways, but educated as well) was a rectangular room with three walls of brick and consists of a large window with thick glass, very thick, almost say shielded. Two of the walls, the two long paths had gates, into one, which I entered, the number of guards guarding it, on the other, by entering the migration agents, a series of plates and locks which could only be activated from the other side. Through the glass, forming a small wall, saw it as "others", the rest, the lucky ones, passed immigration control and headed to the same place where abandoned our bags should lie down and ready to be forwarded, with us, the place of origin if the authorities decided that "no, sorry, can not enter the country, does not comply with the required documentation, join me, please", as I heard tell a uniform bound for a Venezuelan who was there with us and it continued to claim, demanding "to see his boss" and mentioned something about "asylum" before they did not listen more because he disappeared behind the mysterious door that led, as I learned later, the immigration offices.
Around me stood the United Nations, there were people of varied nationalities, I discovered that the passage of minutes, either listening to talk, when they did it in my language or the other I mean stumbled, or whether indiscreetly sniffing among the papers all had held between the fingers as the pass that will free them from war or tags that airlines placed in hand luggage.
Two Senegalese to understand them a couple of "GUI, GUI" and some other "merci" they said, were well dressed, very modern clothes, stylish and brand names (at least one wearing a green Lagartito Printed in black T-shirt under the jacket looked white cassock newly consecrated priest), and animated conversation, without looking at the surroundings, like someone is having a coffee at "The Pendulum" Polanco (magnificent library) without much trouble, worry, and wanting to prolong the evening until it passes rain. Talked and talked without stopping, but they were not alone.
A three or four meters were a couple of Peruvians, let my land unmistakable me know they were fellow countrymen. Greeted them with a gesture, from a distance, but I responded, looked askance at me, looked at everyone with suspicion, spoke a mixture of Castilian and Quechua and could barely understand a word, "contact" "Friend", "fix", "N", enough to infer that my fellow citizens had no intention of staying in the land of Pancho Villa, but, as it once did the revolutionary leader, tried to cross the border and "encroach "the north country. Apparently something had gone wrong in the chain of cheating visas and forged documents because they had good times there and were concerned printed on the face.
Soon came a group of Chinese (that I knew by the cover of a book that had one of them with garbled characters to Westerners and their four golden stars on a red background surrounding a bigger star), most were scared face, looked puzzled and spoke softly, not looking at anyone else, do not know who would, seem, for the taken and age, young workers, workers, technicians on any system. The truth is that lasted little place a few minutes later a guard came along with an eastern wearing a fine suit, would the consul, the ambassador, the entrepreneur who brought them to work?, And asked them all papers that one, the more nervous, was slow to find in the chaos of his briefcase full of papers, books and clothing. The accompanying oriental the officer said something and went back five minutes later and spoke again to the group who smiled in unison. Everyone grabbed their bags and left.
For there appeared a most unusual type, small, flat, without actually dwarf, thin, with hair like new in hair, clothes that bordered on the bizarre and with a roll in his hand. That is, a holder, like those used by students of architecture. He looked angry, fierce, angry, without a hint of concern and a great show of being about to make a fuss. Beside him was a Caribbean, I never knew if it was Panama or Costa Rica but said both countries in the middle of the talk in which he sailed with the indignant. The deliciously contrasting moods, the hairdresser cut burning with indignation and the other sitting on his briefcase, relaxed, quietly smoking a cigarette, even the sign "No Smoking" useless glistened on his head. The Caribbean was a tourist, "I always confuse with Cubans," said for any explanation and the other began to curse because "I do not know what the hell I listened to John and I came with the Cuban passport if I am a English citizen ..." , was a painter, lived in Florida, the air was escaping when he spoke and John, the of bad idea, a partner. In the paper holder has been "very important" paintings of his that he was going to expose "as a favor" to not know what Mexican Museum, "because I usually explain in Europe." I was very distracted
amid claims the artist so I did not realize that three hours had passed until my knees, and colleagues tested adventures kilos, began to remind me that, "for reasons of weight," it was best to quit my Spartan stoicism and sit in the first chair that some distracted vacate or in the frozen soil for several slab where they were. You will understand sit on my briefcase was a possibility ruled out of hand, was new and not given to support overhead. That led me to think about my options for stand ground in one motion and without too much scandal ...
"dignity or knees?" Was the dilemma in which I was when I opened the door and said my name ...
Nothing more distressing to be stopped at an airport in charge of migration without further explanation that a "please attach the guard." You ask the uniformed what happens and it responds with such creepy ranging from evasive "and you will be informed" to "is a issue that I can not deal with you "and so we walked to a door leading to another door that is guarded by armed guards faces other impost try to look respectable or fearful below (actually" up ") of such uniform remind me of my childhood chocolate strolling around the neighborhood with its trucks and the unmistakable sound of the trumpet announcing ice in summer, and cookies and chocolates and sweets in the winter. Although the badges and boots do not help much, so many weapons around one begin to generate some hives but no way, not much to do about it. "Wait a moment" and suddenly, you find yourself in front of a dozen subjects as confused as you on that, as I infer, have told the same "wait" not "one time" has nothing because, as I understand the conversation that has the cleavage to Colombia is seeing Australian you do to get your selling pharmaceuticals, both have been there for two hours (and still does not get his number?, if reversed, the Colombian not only have the number of Australia but also would masajito and giving "for stress").
The place we so kindly confined (dry would be the guards their ways, but educated as well) was a rectangular room with three walls of brick and consists of a large window with thick glass, very thick, almost say shielded. Two of the walls, the two long paths had gates, into one, which I entered, the number of guards guarding it, on the other, by entering the migration agents, a series of plates and locks which could only be activated from the other side. Through the glass, forming a small wall, saw it as "others", the rest, the lucky ones, passed immigration control and headed to the same place where abandoned our bags should lie down and ready to be forwarded, with us, the place of origin if the authorities decided that "no, sorry, can not enter the country, does not comply with the required documentation, join me, please", as I heard tell a uniform bound for a Venezuelan who was there with us and it continued to claim, demanding "to see his boss" and mentioned something about "asylum" before they did not listen more because he disappeared behind the mysterious door that led, as I learned later, the immigration offices.
Around me stood the United Nations, there were people of varied nationalities, I discovered that the passage of minutes, either listening to talk, when they did it in my language or the other I mean stumbled, or whether indiscreetly sniffing among the papers all had held between the fingers as the pass that will free them from war or tags that airlines placed in hand luggage.
Two Senegalese to understand them a couple of "GUI, GUI" and some other "merci" they said, were well dressed, very modern clothes, stylish and brand names (at least one wearing a green Lagartito Printed in black T-shirt under the jacket looked white cassock newly consecrated priest), and animated conversation, without looking at the surroundings, like someone is having a coffee at "The Pendulum" Polanco (magnificent library) without much trouble, worry, and wanting to prolong the evening until it passes rain. Talked and talked without stopping, but they were not alone.
A three or four meters were a couple of Peruvians, let my land unmistakable me know they were fellow countrymen. Greeted them with a gesture, from a distance, but I responded, looked askance at me, looked at everyone with suspicion, spoke a mixture of Castilian and Quechua and could barely understand a word, "contact" "Friend", "fix", "N", enough to infer that my fellow citizens had no intention of staying in the land of Pancho Villa, but, as it once did the revolutionary leader, tried to cross the border and "encroach "the north country. Apparently something had gone wrong in the chain of cheating visas and forged documents because they had good times there and were concerned printed on the face.
Soon came a group of Chinese (that I knew by the cover of a book that had one of them with garbled characters to Westerners and their four golden stars on a red background surrounding a bigger star), most were scared face, looked puzzled and spoke softly, not looking at anyone else, do not know who would, seem, for the taken and age, young workers, workers, technicians on any system. The truth is that lasted little place a few minutes later a guard came along with an eastern wearing a fine suit, would the consul, the ambassador, the entrepreneur who brought them to work?, And asked them all papers that one, the more nervous, was slow to find in the chaos of his briefcase full of papers, books and clothing. The accompanying oriental the officer said something and went back five minutes later and spoke again to the group who smiled in unison. Everyone grabbed their bags and left.
For there appeared a most unusual type, small, flat, without actually dwarf, thin, with hair like new in hair, clothes that bordered on the bizarre and with a roll in his hand. That is, a holder, like those used by students of architecture. He looked angry, fierce, angry, without a hint of concern and a great show of being about to make a fuss. Beside him was a Caribbean, I never knew if it was Panama or Costa Rica but said both countries in the middle of the talk in which he sailed with the indignant. The deliciously contrasting moods, the hairdresser cut burning with indignation and the other sitting on his briefcase, relaxed, quietly smoking a cigarette, even the sign "No Smoking" useless glistened on his head. The Caribbean was a tourist, "I always confuse with Cubans," said for any explanation and the other began to curse because "I do not know what the hell I listened to John and I came with the Cuban passport if I am a English citizen ..." , was a painter, lived in Florida, the air was escaping when he spoke and John, the of bad idea, a partner. In the paper holder has been "very important" paintings of his that he was going to expose "as a favor" to not know what Mexican Museum, "because I usually explain in Europe." I was very distracted
amid claims the artist so I did not realize that three hours had passed until my knees, and colleagues tested adventures kilos, began to remind me that, "for reasons of weight," it was best to quit my Spartan stoicism and sit in the first chair that some distracted vacate or in the frozen soil for several slab where they were. You will understand sit on my briefcase was a possibility ruled out of hand, was new and not given to support overhead. That led me to think about my options for stand ground in one motion and without too much scandal ...
"dignity or knees?" Was the dilemma in which I was when I opened the door and said my name ...
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