Of Love and Shadows...

February 2000, Cerro San Cristobal, Santiago de Chile. We’re drinking white wine. It was my idea, a little revenge to the world, a failed attempt at enjoying a world which could be so scary. My friends think that we’re being civilized. I tell them about Love and Shadows, how drinking white wine on the Cerro, laughing there, loving there, playing with the soft rays of the evening sun, was the least we could do. I’m too damn intense, again.

I had read this book a year before while interning with a big human rights organization. My days were full of things I wished I did not know, and full of our daily failures at changing them. And while my evenings were full of parties, I clung to this book as I identified with Francisco. I was 19, I was fucked up. I ran straight into the wall. I still haven’t recovered.