David Bowie, Fantastic Voyage

One more year just went trickling down. I see small drops making paths, some other gaining momentum for the future. As I look past the window it's also necessary to look beyond one's own  framings. I wonder how many of today's events are sentenced to live desperately in isolation, on their own, without the understanding of others. Polarisation seems so terrifying these days. Every continent is choosing it's own battles. Some of them are for life improvement, some for human rights, others for plague or territory-resources control and the real lucky ones are already anticipating towards future events.

I worry about silent battles, about small broken pieces nobody will ever shine the light towards. About innocent falling amongst crossfires, about second class citizens crashing against the waves, their despair drowned to the bottom of a forgotten Atlantis. 

The ghosts of this generation are not those of Macbeth, Pedro Páramo, nor Isabel Allende's House of Spirits. Our ghosts, at least in Latin America, are the disappeared ones. Those file cases gathering dust, creating a desert so vast and complex of anonymity and injustice. Disappeared is such an innocent looking word. These are not vanquished bodies or displaced people. The word cleverly relies on it's uncertainty principle leaving an unidentifiable trace, questioning even, it's prior existence. To these families, there'll never be a closure, the final period to a recurring ellipsis.

I think we purposefully need to make an effort to breach towards others point of view. Not fashionably display it, but really try to compassionately destroy our closed off points of view. Let our guard down, deviating quick judgments on a U-turn and evaluate them again, not against ours, but with the notion that everyone we meet is either an explorer of other worlds or a voyager of innerscapes in it's own right.