Venezuela . . . this is for you.

A LETTER TO VENEZUELA

Life in Venezuela, is hard and unfair, in many aspects I’d rather not think of, sometimes.

Maybe we’ve all been indifferent at a moment, even for a second, when we said, screw this, it isn’t affecting me now. Yeah, I have. We have been wishing for all this to stop, even for a day, to experience tranquility and a pacific day. But we can’t, we can’t afford that.

I can’t say I am living exactly bad, because I’m not. I still have food, I still have education, even if it’s getting harsher each day. I’m in a private school, perhaps too expensive for our medium sources of money, where they teach me all sorts of things, from English to even French, and I get educated with principles and morals. Many of the people of my school are filthy rich, I’d say, but I’m not critiquing them. I’m critiquing the way some of them aren’t grateful for the things they are given, for the good quality of life they still have.

I still complain sometimes, that I can’t get the top I wanted, or that maybe I can’t have countless good headphones – because they always break somehow – or that maybe I can’t eat sushi all the fucking days.

Anyway, this isn’t about me, or my family, or my “good” quality of life I still have. This is about Venezuela, my country, maybe your country, our country. It all started on February 12th, a Wednesday when a pacific protest had taken place. We didn’t go to school, because of course; it was a massive protest, mostly because of the insecurity, the lack of food and materials, and the economical crisis. I remember I had told my Mom to take me to cut my hair, because I wanted to surprise my Dad, since he was in Anzoátegui, in the family’s land or property or barn or whatever. That day, at night, things were going wrong. So, so wrong.

Things started getting ugly: the protest wasn’t so pacific anymore, and my Dad hadn’t come home yet. It was spread that they were getting the tanks in the routes, exactly where my Dad was supposed to go. They were dead and hurt and detained students, who were tortured in prison and many, many people disappeared.

I honestly wasn’t expecting to go to school on Thursday, but it got extended to Friday, and still, we weren’t going to school. There were protests each day, each day more and more people uniting to protest, starting from a tiny state, to the whole country.

As these events happened on the streets, guns fired, tear gas bombs everywhere and explosions and all sorts of tragedies, things were also getting ugly on the other aspects. It was from a long time ago, that our production had been decreasing significantly, so we had to import technically all our food, which of course, was damn expensive. It was then, when our president had cut laces with Panama, which was obviously a bad thing, because the only way of ships with food to get here, was through Panama’s channel. There has been shortage from a long time ago, and it wasn’t getting any better.

Whereas this shortage kept going, in Ukraine, there had been a similar problem, with protests. It was awful, it really was, but I could . . . relate. To all this hopelessness and despair. I am sad, very disappointed for not being able to help as much as I want to.

There is more to Venezuela that the world’s eye meet, more than pretty women, breathtaking landscapes and delicious chocolate. It’s us, the people who love our own country, and the people who that through this still smile, still joke, still manage to survive in here. This isn’t honestly about living anymore . . .  this is about surviving.

We are more than a fucked-up country.

So I’m making this letter, mostly explaining quarter of the things happening, and to tell to everyone reading this, and rather asking for a small petition. If you are someone living somewhere else, and I know you wouldn’t give two flying shits about us, because it isn’t affecting you. But I’m asking for you to spread this, to tell about this, to talk about this . . .  even a little research. A research of everything  happening right now.

To the Venezuelans reading this . . . I honestly think we shouldn’t give up, we shouldn’t leave all this deaths there like nothing ever happened, still pretending everything’s okay, when it’s clearly not. I’m not one to talk about hope and positive feelings, but I am one that I’m willing to sacrifice everything for my country . . .  We need hope. In midst of all this mess, we need to smile, we need to help, and we need to keep our good spirits or whatever shit to keep fighting for a better Venezuela. I’m asking for a tiny thing, I’m asking for you to help. Yes, you. Whatever you can do, whatever you can do to collaborate, don’t be afraid to do it.

And, finally, to my dearest Venezuela . . . my country. This is the place where I wanna live, this is the place where I want to see my children [if I ever have children] growing up, and my husband [if I ever marry someone] to progress. To see us all go a step ahead, to see us all happy and smiling. To see us all in a better country, the country we’ve always dreamt of. Venezuela, here is where I want to die. I want to stay here, I want to live here.

But I can’t do that if we give up.

We cannot give up.

And lastly, the last thing I’ll say is that I won’t let my, our Venezuela die, because if not I’m dying with her.

If you want any more information, research about Venezuela, our government and such, and you’ll see. Please spread this, or be aware of this situation. We aren’t asking other people to come here with guns to kill every-fucking-one who aren’t willing to collaborate. No, it doesn’t work that way.

Just . . .  please.

Thank you very much for reading, I love you very much, and I really hope you think about this, even for a minute and decide to help us. I cannot thank you enough for that.