Some Motivations

"Some motivations seem more significant than others; often, they simply conceal shame or make others believe it. This isn't about helplessness but about complicity and cowardice driven by convenience. That comfort allows you to enjoy preferred music, consume what others endorse, and feel pleasure or irresponsible ease without fear—though for some, this results in frustration and disappointment. This leads to blaming others, even for issues that, if true, are more severe than the bloodshed in genocide. Indeed, the tons of carbon emissions, which shouldn't be inhaled, are more critical than the impunity and hypocrisy faced in the contexts of death, terror, and tyranny. The pollution generated by others is more significant than the pollution caused by the other, or others, which has led to the pollution entering the mountains for local consumption. Does he forget the accumulation of the same? The rubble? The poverty and misery? I certainly admired them for their courage. Their banners, despite the imposed terror. They were and can be felt where they were, and they are not few. They are true, if not thousands, still a minority compared to millions who only observe, and a few others who generate more noise than they truly represent. Yes, how could I not admire them? Thanks to them, to those moments, despite all individual weaknesses, humanity exists above civilization, and that makes the difference. Yes, I admire them, and I hope that songs and paintings are created to leave no doubt that, despite the widespread shame, some fought against the meanness and terror of this civilization. 

It seems that in the effort to understand diversity and value individuality, selfishness manages to dominate those who are capable, based on their intellect and historical influence. Intellectuality without empathy is useless and only prolongs privilege and oppression, even without justifying it. It's arrogance, not pride. It's a laugh amidst tears, and the worst part is that even its descriptions are tiresome. Although true, they don't allow for any action, which is something they should consider. Yes, because even the most crushing power falls before intelligence. But we mustn't forget that those who are successful in their terror, who reason and plan, take advantage of the stupid. My story and my journey start with a trip. Usually, there's excitement, but not this time. My trunks were full, and there were still hours before I crossed that makeshift bridge and lazily sat on a cabin cot to wait for food, with no interest in looking at the horizon. Was I excited to return? No. There couldn't be, except later when I would visit other Caribbean islands and come back. That return would bring excitement.

What can be done in the face of terror and genocide with a strategy that seems relentless and highly effective? The anomalies in human history, along with reason and empathy from minorities, have somehow managed to challenge shame and injustice. It's assumed that this is no longer a time for revenge. Many things are assumed, but beyond assumptions, what's needed are reflections and consistent actions. The obvious is clear, and this isn’t a time for revenge but for justice. Not for divinities, but for humans. Political correctness and digital insensitivity seem to define what humanity should be aiming for. But that's not how life is, especially not human life. It's how a system operates, but without descending into anarchy or chaos. Isn't acting in the face of injustice a matter of freedom? What isn't shown isn't sold, and she knows it. She knows it because those are her motivation, some motivations, that have allowed her, out of her passion, to attain things. Love? No, what others call love neither provides satisfaction nor feeds her—she repeated it to herself, and there would always be someone wanting to penetrate her. Not to listen to her, because her mouth would be busy with a penis inside her, or she would simply be moaning. He hoped she would be free with him, but their motivations were different, even though they didn't come from such different worlds. Of course, she had been sold a long time ago, in a time when the sale of women wasn't supposed to happen, especially with indigenous women. He was a free agent, free from the burden of being a lord, but also from the burden of not being a native. Just another Creole, between poverty and servitude. Only he had decided to be free. To go from here to there. And in that going from here to there, he met her, and it pains him to have desired and loved her. The only good thing is that she never told him she loved him. And neither did he tell her, although he did show it.

Some motivations, such as not dying or suffering, make men brave. Sometimes they are more daring than others, despite the thirst for power and the rhetoric of revenge. Yes, it's a time of widespread shame, disappointment, and frustration at not feeling powerful in the face of the power that comes with wealth and strength, which, even in its stupidity, threatens them. But since they are idiotic humans, they simply cannot risk their lives without intelligence. So, some think (fortunately) and feel that it can nevertheless be won, since neither reason nor feelings are on the side of oppression. And that, with a certain amount of hope and a lot of optimism, humanity will prevail over civilization. What could I say to her? I don't want to say anything. I would definitely smile and listen. But she doesn't speak. She was sitting there across the street, voluptuous. Beautiful. Proud. He hadn't noticed her presence, and he didn't want her to know about him either, not at that moment, perhaps when she saw him leave. How was he? And that bothered him because he didn't feel attractive, valuable, or admirable enough with her... like he had in the years of her betrayal. But it was something he only felt in her presence. So? It's the problem of desire and how bad thoughts take root in minds like mine, he said to himself while stirring his coffee. She noticed. She couldn't smile; her expression shifted to a mix of sadness and helplessness. He wanted to smile, but what smile would he give her? He took his coffee and continued looking at her. So did she. And so it lasted for several minutes until it began to rain. Then a truck cut in between their gazes, and neither of them would cross the street. It was the last time they saw each other close enough."