Helplessness makes me go out to the streets to yell to
injustice and impunity. But, after the demonstration, dissatisfaction and
unrest are still there. My feet are tired, but my hands feel light. I do not
know how to do it, but I join to the task of embroidering for something.
The cause could not be more terrible: someone is not
there, someone is missing. Someone has been torn off its environment by force…
And that Someone multiplies by tens of thousands. My country is plagued by
absences we’re not even able to count or recall, for daily tragedies come and
cover yesterday’s tragedy.
Then, I embroider. The needle bounds my indignation
with my good wishes. Each embroidery is the acknowledgement and reminder of
that absence. A name made out of thread represents the agony of whole families,
while it materializes my sorrow for that land which still feels like home. And
with this same thread not only one can denunciate; but a joint honest narrative
is built, one that brings closer together those who hurt and those who care: I
embroider, but not on my own. Ours are collective stitches. We embroider so we do
not forget.
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