It was a decision that changed my life, not an event. I chose to let my way of life – dark but comfortable, to look for an opportunity to help others and me like a journalist. I had to leave all that I had, including my lovely country, but it was worth the trouble.
Everything began the day when the mirror returned to me an image of myself that I had never seen before. ³Is that me? ³, I wondered. There was hatred, hopelessness, pain, and a yellow shine on my cheeks. And there was nobody in my apartment to hear me.
Before, I had struggled with my ex husband about ethics. He won a contract with the chavista¹s army force, due to his family¹s relationships with important people in the Government, in a moment when Venezuela was paralyzed by an oil strike in 2002.
Outside of the window, a noisy street complained. I got out and walked around my middle-class neighborhood looking for answers. In front of the Italian food stores, all close, there were many homeless people lying in the sidewalk looking for food. It was plenty of misery.
I decided to go, because I was not working (due to the economical crisis) and had free time. In the park, the teenagers dancing with the sound of the pots (used like drums in this case) and the adult people raised banners. Nobody had guns, but many shots whistled in the air and the people ran trying to protect their lives. Where was the democracy?
My ex-husband screamed for me to go, but everybody had left! Why did he go? He does not care about the others, except his material possessions. All these things are the reflection of value¹s decay. Everyday there was plenty of misery. And I decided to change it.
Run away! Far away! Where? Here in Miami. Now, after a divorce, a pre-cancer and without money, I am here.