Month: February 2022

I woke up in Germany time, and found out that in Thailand there was a film critic page criticizing a 3D animation that I worked on the script as propaganda for the Royal family in Thailand.

The animation is based on the story of a boy and his friend who went back to the past to learn about Thai history. Thai history that they have learned is mainly the glory stories of how each Thai king saved the country. During the process we worked intensely with historians and we had to follow the information they gave to us. It was the first time I got to work with the Minister of education and the first lady in person.

This project is planned to be broadcasted in one Educational TV Channel that is funded by the Royal non-profit organization, but when the pandemic hit, they decided to show the cartoon on the main national television for children to learn from home.

The post has been shared to the anti-royalist group, with 2.4 million members, it is on the top 30 of largest Facebook groups in the world. Some of the comments called it as the romanticization of the past, low-class propaganda art, worse than Nazi art, and comparing this work as North Korean media strategy. People in the group started to dig for more information and found some connection between the animation company owner and the government. 

The work that I thought no one would be interested in seeing, stabs me in the back. I am shattered by the comments, but at the same time I truly believe that it is a great lesson I have to learn. Though I know myself that I am not on the side that people said the animation is, but I can’t make any argument back to them rather than I was in need of a job at that time.

I am not looking for an excuse space. Without these complaints, I would probably never think about the consequences of the work. Isn’t this how the complaint works? I have learned my lesson. However, I am not sure the bigger establishment such as the animation company or the government who funded this project would feel the same way or not.

At the same time, once in a while I can still see posts on social media attacking the cartoon going on. I have carried this burden of feeling guilty, and I don’t know when the complaint stops. Strangely enough, I started to get used to those lashing because somehow, I realized the person who they are attacking is not mainly me but something bigger than that. Something that makes them feel it would be a threat to the kids that is why they have to make a complaint about this animation.

A year ago, when I just moved to Weimar, I was introduced to a telegram group called “Weimar-Sharing is Caring”. The group functions as a platform for people to share their giveaways with some certain regulations written on.

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“ Sharing is Caring (SiC) – Weimar

Hier könnt ihr Erfahrungen, Veranstaltungen, Informationen, heiße Tips, Lebensmittel, Dinge und ähnliches solidarisch und geldfrei teilen.

-> Gerne Weitersagen

Diese Gruppe versteht sich explizit als politischer Ort. Rechte Inhalte werden nicht geduldet. Solidarische Aufrufe gegen rechte Hetze und für eine solidarische Gesellschaft sind explizit erlaubt.

Keine Verkaufsangebote!”

“Für eine besser Übersicht:

Du bietest/suchst –> wer Interesse hat/helfen kann, schreibt dir PN –> du löscht deine Nachricht, wenn es sich erledigt hat.

Achtet bitte auf eure Sprache: Diskriminierendes Verhalten wird nicht toleriert!

Unangemessene Kommentare werden gelöscht.

Belästigungen fremder Personen durch Privatnachrichten die nicht dem Sinn dieser Gruppe entsprechen, werden nicht geduldet. Bei Vorkommnissen wendet euch an die Admins.”

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From time to time I like to scroll through posts, looking for free treasures. However, oftentimes we can also see demonstrations promoting photos, discussions about harassment, reports on what is going on in Weimar.

One day, there was a person shared this message into the group…

“hallo liebe Leute, ich möchte Hermes verklagen, aber ich weiss nicht wie. Man darf nicht bei Hermes seine Pakete abholen in case du hast kein deutsches Passport, und das ist unmenschlich. Ich fühle mich irgendwie diskriminiert. Wenn jemand mir helfen kann, werde mich total freuen:) danke im voraus”

One thing led to another,

• “Kennst du jemanden mit Pass oder Ausweis? Wenn ja, gib diesem einfach die Vollmacht, dass er dein Paket abholen kann. Dann reicht deine Unterschrift auf dem Postzettel. Klingt dämlich, funktioniert aber.”
• “Mein Paket spielt überhaupt keine Rolle, mein Problem ist so ein ekelhaftes Paragraph. Die meisten Ausländer, die Sie auf der Straße sehen, haben keinen Pass. Im Leben haben wir genug Probleme ( wir können unsere eigene Wohnung nicht selber suchen, wir dürfen weder einen Mietvertrag noch Arbeitsverträge abschließen) Wenn es nicht Rassismus ist, was ist’s überhaupt”
• “Bitte per PN weiter…”
• “oh wow, wenn es um rassismus erfahrungen geht ist das thema plötzlich belästigend und darf bitte schön woanders weiter diskutiert werden… sharing ist >caring< sollte auch ein ort für so eine diskussion sein, nicht wahr? arman, ich kenne mich leider nicht damit aus aber falls du irgendeine andere form von unterstützung brauchst, sag gerne bescheid.”
• “Es gibt eine Anti Diskriminierung Organisation für Thüringen und die Bauhaus Universität hat auch eine Anti Diskriminierung Stelle”
• “Also in dem Sinne. Lasst uns was zum verschenken suchen” “Finde auch, dass genau solche Fragen hier auch hingehören. Die Gruppe lautet nicht “zu verschenken – Weimar” sondern SiC! Zu der Frage, was ich bis jetzt gelesen habe, gilt leider der Aufenthaltstitel nur mit dem Pass zusammen. Häufig wird es vermutlich trotzdem so anerkannt und es ist auch eine dumme Lösung, weil kein Mensch will seinen Pass mit sich die ganze Zeit herum schleppen. Insbesondere, weil es so ein wichtiges Dokument ist und man den nicht verlieren will. Trotzdem rein rechtlich hat man da, was ich bisher gelesen habe (bin auch nur Leihe), leider keine Handhabe und Hermes darf es so hinschreiben und durchsetzen. Was natürlich nicht heißt, dass das nicht trotzdem kacke von denen ist.

Some parts of the conversation from the Sharing is Caring group

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The person feels discriminated by the policy from Hermes company, they chose to share their thoughts and experience in order to find the way out. People started to join in the conversation, some supported them in the work against the corporation, some see that Sharing is Caring is only for sharing free objects and the discussion should happen somewhere else. Though some recommended the place to file a complaint, but somehow this suggestion doesn’t seem to be so effective since they believe it would lead to nowhere.

Can Sharing is Caring be the space for filing our concerns? Why people chose to write it down on Sharing is Caring instead of going to the office? And what should the space for complaining be?

If we look to the regulations of the group,

“Diese Gruppe versteht sich explizit als politischer Ort. Rechte Inhalte werden nicht geduldet. Solidarische Aufrufe gegen rechte Hetze und für eine solidarische Gesellschaft sind explizit erlaubt.”

The group positioning itself as political place and a solidary society is explicitly allowed. Then in this case, the report on Hermes should be permitted. I believe that, the group which not created under any institution can work the problems much faster. We can have a direct communication with the people who are facing the same circumstances or even on the opposite side, and that is what most complainers expect, for them to be heard.

“To hear complaints, you have to dismantle the barriers that stop us from hearing complaints, and by barriers, I am referring to institutional barriers, the walls, the doors that render so much of what is said, what is done, invisible and inaudible. If you have to dismantle barriers to hear complaints, hearing complaints can make you more aware of those barriers. In other words, hearing complaints can also be how you learn how complaints are not heard.”

Sara Ahmed, Complaint! (2021)

Perhaps if we changed the group name into “virtual complain office”, then the argument wouldn’t happen, but would people still feel comfortable to share their concerns? I believe in reality we need more spaces like Sharing is Caring, a place outside of institutions that ones can share their problems and be heard by the community with care.

In the following short text, I will briefly describe Tania Bruguera’s performance piece Untitled (Bogotá, 2009) and discuss some of the critiques made in the Colombian media and link this with an idea from Sarah Ahmed’s book: Complaint! (2021)

The performance took place the 26th of August 2009 on the second floor of the Fine Art department’s building of Colombia’s National University. It was part of the 7th Gathering of the Hemispheric Institute of Performance and Politics. For her piece, Bruguera invited 3 panelists to discuss the political construction of the hero. The panelists were: a community leader of a group of forced migrants, a former member of the FARC guerilla and the sister of a victim of kidnapping (still in captivity). While each of the panelists were talking about what the hero figure means to them, Bruguera circulated a tray of lines of cocaine for the audience to consume. Some time later, representatives of the university and the event interrupted the panel and voiced their opinion against drug consumption on campus. After this some members of the audience grabbed the microphone and started to talk for or against the performance. At the end, Bruguera grabs the microphone, thanks “all Colombian members of the audience” and leaves.

After the performance, the artist writes a letter on her website
addressing some aspects of her practice and a few of the reasons why she decided to conduct the performance as she did. In this letter she explains Untitled (Bogotá, 2009) is part of a larger body of work comprised of Untitled (Havana, 2000), Untitled (Kassel, 2002) and Untitled (Gaza, 2009), a series of works where she explores the dynamic nature of the public and what she calls behavior art, “a type of art that works with social behavior as material, product and documentation as means of expression”.

On her website Bruguera also states the following: “I would like to clarify that the work presented was entirely funded by me without the support of any local or foreign institutions. The institutions backing this event are not accountable for the opinions expressed or for the actions carried out since they did not agree with the piece, as was expressed that day. Now well, although the work of the institution is to carry out implementation from its point of view, artists are not obliging beings.”

In Esfera Pública, a Colombian online art critic publication, there were several essays and papers published about this performance. Some authors, like Ivan Rikenmann, praise her work saying the adverse reaction of the audience was intended and was part of the piece. Other Esfera Publica contributors, like Maria Alejandra Estrada and Jorge Peñuela, condemn the poor treatment of the Colombian conflict and of the victims in the work.

Victor Albarracín, in his book El tratamiento de las contradicciones complains about the long lines at the event and discusses the missed opportunity of engaging with real victims and actors of the Colombian conflict. I would say there was a missed opportunity of engaging with anyone at the event. At the beginning of the performance, the audience already knows there will be some sort of element of surprise, something shocking. When the cocaine tray does its round thru the audience and some start consuming cocaine in front of everyone, the individual stories of the panelists are quickly set aside and tucked away to make room for the spectacle of the cocaine. The Hemispheric Institute and the organizers at the university, incapable of censoring the consumption of cocaine within the frame of the performance, condemned the use of drugs but at the same time sponsored the whole event and paid the artists.

In her book Complaint! Sarah Ahmed writes about what she calls non-performativity. “By nonperformativity, I refer to institutional speech acts that do not bring into effect what they name.” (Ahmed, 2021 p. 30). We could extend the term institution to actors working within institutions, like Tania Bruguera being commissioned to do a performance piece for The Hemispheric Institute inside a University building.

According to The Hemispheric Institute’s website the goal of Bruguera’s performance was to “coexist and co-create a parallel, temporary universe as an act of international reconciliation.
The artist set out to explore a society in conflict as an “interlocal” artist and transform the audience, both a mixture of national and international guests into a “translocal” audience. However, in my opinion, she ended up alienating herself, her collaborators, the event organizers and the audience given their actions in the aftermath of the piece. In this sense Untitled (Bogotá, 2009) could be a non-performative performance.

In the performance, Bruguera turns itself into another institution that fails to provide a safe space to openly discuss the conflict through the voice of real victims and perpetrators but instead turns it into an echo chamber where the sound of cocaine snorting and the absence of her own voice drown all possible conversation.

My name is Camilo Londoño Hernández. I am from Colombia and living with HIV since 2016. Three months after my diagnosis, I reached undetectable status. Since then, I have not stopped taking my pills. In October of 2021, I moved abroad to Germany to study for my master’s degree. I have a scholarship between the Colombian and German governments, writing foundations around the world, and having the advising consultant service from the University. However, I have not been allowed to access health insurance because of my “preexisting condition,” which implies a limitation for “terms and conditions of coverage.” Therefore, I am not authorized to receive my medication in this country.          

Hoping to solve this problem in two months, I came with a reserve of 60 pills. It was not possible. Besides, I did not know how I would get my next bottle. So, in November, I decided —without medical supervision— to intersperse the dose to one day yes and one day no. In December, one friend who traveled to Spain brought me 30 pills more. My mom could pick them up with Colombian social security. I had to travel to Madrid for them. I took back my regular treatment. In January, a friend of a friend brought a new bottle to Dresden. My professor, who lives there, delivered it to the city where I live. By February, I wish to be part of the German health system. 

 Sara Ahmed’s book, Complaint, speaks about two ways of objection: formal and informal. In both cases, their tension affects the body and mind of the complainer. Hence, this force is just the reflection of the nonperformative system. In other words, institutions are like an organism without skin or head that penetrates the vulnerability of those who claim. In this way, they set free themselves and avoid the social, political, and ethical responsibility that they cannot assume or cover.

While I could figure out my formal complaint and be part of the German health system, I wrote this diary during the days I did not take my pills. These words are rabid reflect of my informal complaint. Consequently, I would like to believe that this voice performs and resists against that nonperformative system.  

***

Mi nombre es Camilo Londoño Hernández, soy colombiano y vivo con VIH desde el 2016. Tres meses después de mi diagnóstico alcancé el estado de indetectable. Desde entonces no he dejado de tomar mis pastillas. En octubre del 2021 me mudé a Alemania para iniciar mis estudios de maestría. A pesar de tener una beca entre el gobierno colombiano y el gobierno alemán, escribir a fundaciones alrededor del mundo y tener el acompañamiento de la universidad, no he podido ingresar al sistema de salud porque mi “condición preexistente” supone una barrera para sus “términos y condiciones” de cobertura. Por ende, no estoy habilitado para recibir mis medicamentos en este país.

Viajé con una reserva de 60 pastillas. Esperaba resolver este problema en dos meses. No fue posible. Sin saber cómo iba a conseguir la próxima botella, decidí —sin acompañamiento médico— intercalar la dosis a un día sí y un día no. En diciembre un amigo que viajaba a España me trajo 30 pastillas más. Mi mamá las reclamó en el sistema de seguridad social colombiano. Tuve que viajar a Madrid por ellas. Retomé mi tratamiento. Para enero una amiga de otra amiga trajo una nueva botella hasta Dresden. Mi profesora que vive allá las transportó hasta la ciudad donde vivo. Espero en febrero ya haber ingresado al sistema de salud.

Sara Ahmed, en su libro Complaint, habla de dos formas de denuncia: las formales y las informales. En ambos caminos su tensión afecta el cuerpo y la mente del denunciante, y dicha fuerza no es otra cosa que el reflejo de la no-performatividad del sistema. Es decir, las instituciones, como un organismo sin piel ni cabeza, penetran la vulnerabilidad de quien se queja. A través de este procedimiento se liberan y evaden la responsabilidad social, política y ética que no logran asumir ni cubrir.

Mientras logro resolver mi queja formal y hacer parte del sistema de salud alemán, escribí este diario durante los días que no injerí mis medicamentos. Estas palabras son el reflejo rabioso de mi queja informal. Así, quisiera creer que esta voz actúa y resiste contra esa no-performatividad.  

***

PS.

I post this diary from back to ahead in time to play and read upside down.

Publico este diario de atrás hacia adelante en el tiempo para jugar y leer al revés.

Today is my first day without pills. I breathe. Weird dreams pop up in my mind when I take my meds. Language is gone. They are like oneiric hallucinations. I enjoy them. Will I dream today? I think about the first pill I swallowed. I think of the trembling in my chest. The warm air of Medellin surrounded my naked back. The skyline of the city as a backdrop. It was at night six years ago. I have ingested 2,190 pills since then. I wanted to throw up because the dizziness of the first morning never stopped. The side effects have been phasing out until today. Today, I don’t shake. I do not think. I don’t think about what is going to happen. I eat, brush my teeth, and breathe. I am feeling light. Although it’s still early, the sky is dark. I take my phone to spend the time. I breathe. I breathe. I breathe. Watching porn is what I want to do. I don’t do it. So, I watch a series instead. One episode. Another one. Another one. I like the music. The softness of the story is waiting within this slight banality. I breathe. Another chapter is coming. I check my cell phone. I answer a couple of messages. I look at the pills. I stand up. I put them in the closet. The closet. The closet. The closet. Another chapter. It’s almost midnight. I turn off the computer. I turn off the light. I turn up the heater. My back is covered. My chest is covered. I don’t shiver. I sleep. I do not dream.

***

Martes 16 de noviembre del 2021

Primer día sin pastillas. Respiro. Cuando tomo mis medicamentos tengo sueños extraños. No hay lenguaje. Pequeñas alucinaciones oníricas. Las disfruto. ¿Soñaré hoy? Pienso en la primera pastilla que ingerí. Pienso en el temblor de mi pecho. El aire caliente de Medellín sobre mi espalda desnuda. La ciudad al fondo. La noche. Seis años atrás. He ingerido 2.190 píldoras desde entonces. La primera mañana fue un mareo interminable. Ganas de vomitar. Sus efectos fueron mermando hasta hoy. Hoy. No tiemblo. No pienso. No pienso en lo qué va a pasar. Como. Me lavo los dientes. Respiro. Me siento liviano. Es oscuro. Aun es temprano. Pierdo tiempo en el celular. Respiro. Respiro. Respiro. Quiero ver porno. No lo hago. Veo una serie. Un capítulo. Otro. Otro. Me gusta la música. La suavidad de la historia. La leve banalidad de esperar. Respiro. Otro capítulo. Reviso el celular. Respondo un par de mensajes. Miro las pastillas. Me paro. Las guardo en el closet. El closet. El closet. El closet. Otro capítulo. Es casi media noche. Apago el computador. Apago la luz. Subo la temperatura del calentador. Mi espalda cubierta. Mi pecho cubierto. No tiemblo. Me duermo.

No sueño.

***

PS.

I post this diary from back to ahead in time to play and read upside down.

Publico este diario de atrás hacia adelante en el tiempo para jugar y leer al revés.

I breathe normally. I have a lot of things to do. Some University stuff is due in Colombia. I work double time. Double time. No changes in my body. Will I see transformations in my skin? I’m hungry. I cook pasta. I eat in my room. The kitchen smells so bad. I don’t talk to my roommates. I didn’t dream yesterday either. I breathe normally. One day yes. One day no. I stick to my strategy. “The side effects of these pills range from sleep disturbances to psychotic conditions. You can also get hives on your skin.” I know the side effects of taking this drug. 600 mg of Efavirenz. 300 mg of Lamivudine. 300 mg of Tenofovir Disoproxil Fumarate. I have no idea about the side effects because of abstinence. I breathe normally. “With these pills, you can have a normal life.” I don’t want to be a normal one. I want to sleep. I have to work. I must pay for health care in Colombia. I should write emails. I need to solve this problem. I breathe normally. It’s the middle of the night. One video call. Another one. Another one. I breathe normally. The days are long. The light is short.

I want to sleep. 

***

Jueves 18 de noviembre del 2021

Respiro normal. Tengo mucho por hacer. Cosas de la Universidad. Entregas pendientes en Colombia. Trabajo a doble jornada. Doble tiempo. No hay cambios en mi cuerpo. ¿Veré cambios en la piel? Tengo hambre. Cocino pastas. Como en mi pieza. La cocina huele mal. No hablo con mis roomates. Ayer tampoco soñé. Respiro normal. Un día sí. Un día no. Me aferro a mi estrategia. “Los efectos secundarios de estas pastillas van desde alteraciones del sueño hasta cuadros psicóticos. También te pueden dar ronchas en la piel”. Conozco los efectos secundarios por tomar este medicamento. 600 mg de Efavirenz. 300 mg de Lamivudina. 300 mg de Tenofovir Disoproxil Fumarato. No conozco los efectos de abstinencia. Respiro normal. “Con estas pastillas podrás tener una vida normal”. Yo no quiero ser normal. Quiero dormir. Debo trabajar. Pagar la salud en Colombia. Escribir correos. Resolver este problema. Respiro normal. Es media noche. Una videollamada. Otra. Otra. Respiro normal. Los días son largos. La luz es corta.

Quiero dormir.   

***

PS.

I post this diary from back to ahead in time to play and read upside down.

Publico este diario de atrás hacia adelante en el tiempo para jugar y leer al revés.

Yesterday I had a class for 5 hours. Today I have another one for 8 hours. We discuss Haraway and her Cyborg Manifesto. She talks about HIV. She talks about pills. She talks about stress. She talks about biological technologization. Her words are my body. She talks about the immune system. She talks about technology and nature. The sophistication. The delicate survival strategy. My body. Properly, she speaks with irony. She laughs. I do not laugh. I wonder, am I a cyborg? Why? I still don’t know what will happen to my pills when they run out. Strategies of death. Strategies of healing. I want to overlap my HIV with class subjects and what I do. It is what I want to do. I won’t have this class again until December. Three weeks left to figure out what to do with the subject matter, the pills, the health insurance, the residency permit, the mails, with living here. On my way home, I smoke a cigarette. This town is dark and cold. I call my mother. I breathe. I order groceries. It’s more than I can eat. I continue the series. Another chapter. Another one. Another one. Another cigarette. Another one. I eat it all. I don’t brush my teeth. I turn off my cell phone alarm. I must respect the monotony of Sundays. I turn off the data. It is two o’clock in the morning.

I fall asleep.

***

Sábado 20 de noviembre del 2021

Ayer tuve clase. 5 horas. Hoy tengo clase. 8 horas. Discutimos a Haraway y su Cyborg Manifesto. Ella habla del VIH. Ella habla de las pastillas. Ella habla del estrés. Ella habla de la tecnificación biológica. Mi cuerpo. Ella habla del sistema inmune. Ella habla de la tecnología y la naturaleza. La sofisticación. La delicada estrategia de supervivencia. Sus palabras son mi cuerpo. Ella habla con ironía. Con propiedad. Se ríe. Yo no río. Me pregunto, ¿soy un cyborg? ¿Por qué? Sigo sin saber qué va a pasara con mis pastillas cuando se acaben. Estrategias de muerte. Estrategias de sanación. Quiero cruzar mi VIH con los temas de clase. Con lo que hago. Con lo que quiero hacer. No volveré a tener esta clase hasta diciembre. 3 semanas para saber qué hacer con la materia, con las pastillas, con el seguro médico, con el permiso de residencia, con los correos, con vivir aquí. Fumo un cigarrillo. Camino a casa. Este pueblo es oscuro. Frío. Llamo a mi madre. Respiro. Pido comida a domicilio. Es más de lo que puedo comer. Continúo la serie. Otro capítulo. Otro. Otro. Otro cigarrillo. Otro. Me lo como todo. No me lavo los dientes. Apago la alarma del celular. Debo respetar el tedio de de los domingos. Apago los datos. Son las dos de la mañana.

Logro dormir.

***

PS.

I post this diary from back to ahead in time to play and read upside down.

Publico este diario de atrás hacia adelante en el tiempo para jugar y leer al revés.

I write an e-mail. Another one. Another one. Another one. I write to foundations in Germany. I write to foundations in Colombia. I write to foundations in the United States. I contact my friends. How could I get HIV pills as a Latino and migrant in Germany? I write. I write. I write. These are not the things I want to write about. I want to write poetry and love stories. I want to write stories about my friends. I want to be a writer. I want to write about the night, the night that crushes us. The night that shrinks us and extends itself. I write in Spanish. I write in English. I write to friends of friends. I write to strangers. I don’t want to type these emails. I call my mother. I eat late. It’s late night. I can’t sleep. I have class tomorrow. I grab my cell phone. I touch the screen for hours. Hours. Hours. Hours. I go to a porn site. I see memes. I see memes. I see memes. I want to write. It’s three in the morning. I have no words. No language.

I have no dreams. I have no pills.  

***

Lunes 22 de noviembre del 2021

Escribo un correo. Otro. Otro. Otro. Escribo a fundaciones en Alemania. Escribo a fundaciones en Colombia. Escribo a fundaciones en Estados Unidos. Escribo a mis amigos. ¿Cómo conseguir pastillas para VIH siendo migrante latino en Alemania? Escribo. Escribo. Escribo. No son las cosas que quiero escribir. Quiero escribir poesía. Cuentos de amor. Historias de mis amigos. Quiero escribir. Quiero ser escritor. Quiero escribir sobre la noche. La noche que nos aplasta. La noche que nos encoge. La noche que se alarga. Escribo en español. Escribo en inglés. Escribo a amigos de amigos. Escribo a desconocidos. No quiero escribir estos correos. Llamo a mi madre. Como tarde. Es media noche. No puedo dormir. Mañana tengo clase. Agarro el celular. Toco la pantalla por horas. Horas. Horas. Horas. Entro a una página de porno. Veo memes. Veo memes. Veo memes. Quiero escribir. Son las tres de la mañana. No tengo palabras. No hay lenguaje. No tengo sueño. No tengo pastillas.   

***

PS.

I post this diary from back to ahead in time to play and read upside down.

Publico este diario de atrás hacia adelante en el tiempo para jugar y leer al revés.

A foundation from the United States replies. The president writes directly to me. He is working to find a cure. What does cure mean? “While we do not offer medical services, I reached out to a colleague who may be able to help. If it would be okay with you, I would like to connect you with the executive director of another organization that sends medications to people in need. This organization takes excess medications from the U.S. and ships them abroad.” He tells me. He explains. How many pills will they send? How much will be the excess in the U.S.? This lack of medication seems more like an overproduction of laws than a low supply of resources. I want the cure as well. I don’t want more meds. A friend tells me: “My boyfriend is coming to visit me this week. He will be in Europe for three months.” “Can you bring me the medicines?” I ask her. “Yes, but he must send them today from Medellín to Bogota,” she says. I call my mother. Then, I write to her boyfriend. I call different courier offices.

I don’t write anymore.  

***

Miércoles 24 de noviembre del 2021

Una fundación en Estados Unidos me responde. Me escribe directamente el presidente. Él trabaja por encontrar la cura. ¿Qué significa la cura? “Nosotros no ofrecemos servicios médicos. Te pondré en contacto con otro colega que te puede ayudar. Si estás de acuerdo, te conectaré con el director ejecutivo de otra fundación que envía medicamentos a personas que lo necesitan. Esta organización toma el exceso de pastillas en los Estados Unidos y las despacha a otros países”. Me dice. Me explica. Me sugiere. ¿Cuántas pastillas enviarán? ¿Cuánto será el exceso en USA? Esta falta de medicamentos parece más una sobreproducción de leyes que una baja oferta de recursos. Yo también quiero la cura. No quiero más pastillas. Una amiga de la maestría me cuenta: “Mi novio vendrá a visitarme esta semana. Estará tres meses en Europa”. “¿Puede traerme los medicamentos?”, le pregunto. “Sí, pero debe mandarlos hoy mismo de Medellín a Bogotá”. Llamo a mi madre. Le escribo a su novio. Llamo a distintas oficinas de mensajería.

No escribo más.   

***

PS.

I post this diary from back to ahead in time to play and read upside down.

Publico este diario de atrás hacia adelante en el tiempo para jugar y leer al revés.