By Edgar Larrea
Hate me, for pity's sake, I beg you; hate me without limit or mercy
I’d rather hate than be indifferent… because resentment hurts less than being forgotten.
Julio Jaramillo, “Hate Me”
My first semester at a graduate school in this country quickly taught me that I was going to need much more time and (above all) money than I had available. By the end of those first 14 weeks, I was completely exhausted, both physically and mentally.
Por Ernesto Hernández
Bajo los cielos de México, tan amplios y brillantes,
la vida bailaba en colores, de la mañana a la noche.
Calles empedradas besadas por el sol,
eco de risas de niños en su rol.
Then I began to feel it again: the crushing weight of loneliness. It wasn’t a deep pain, nor was it constant suffering. It was, perhaps, a strange uneasiness, a weary and sad restlessness that kept me awake at night.
Boredom and anger are just around the corner,
they accompany each other intermittently;
That's the price you pay for being aware.
While in the stands everything seems like a farce,
a cheap, poorly acted play.
Ezequiel siempre había sentido que no estaba solo, incluso cuando no había nadie más en la habitación. Desde que tenía memoria, una presencia lo acompañaba, una versión de sí mismo que nunca se alejaba: el otro Ezequiel.
When Teresa was born, silence filled the room. She didn’t cry. There was no shrill cry to announce her arrival into the world. Only her tiny, slippery body, covered in blood and placenta, lay there, motionless, as if the weight of life had fallen upon her too soon.
