Since January 16, 2019 I´m in Mexico City. I try to get a space in this city to live, to settle in and then bring my family that has stayed in Caracas, enduring a difficult and degrading situation. There is a lot of pressure for everyone. Anguish, fear, anger and depression are constant feelings in our recent life. Mexico City is huge, complicated, attractive, overwhelming, contradictory. It is a space that provides diversity and opportunities for those who know how to understand it and prepare to fight the day-to-day precariousness that every big city offers to those with limited resources. You have to get ready to survive in an ecosystem like this, to do anything that generates some money, but I can’t, I can’t move out of things that are done with property, outside of my professional field. And besides, I’m not young anymore and I’m exhausted.
In Mexico City, housing is expensive and a simple job does not give enough to cover the rent of an apartment that receives a couple with a five-year-old child. You have to work a lot and hard, unless you manage to place yourself in a large transnational company or you are a successful trader, or you get currency in dollars. I have no spirit for any of these things. I never prepared myself to be what they call an entrepreneur and not to dedicate myself to trade. I have been an employee all my life and even worse it with artistic inclinations. I am a journalist, photographer and writer, but also an involuntary migrant. I speak two languages, but not English (great sin in this globalized society).
Life in Mexico City has made me heavy and full of anguish. Thanks to the kindness of some Mexican men and women, I have made progress here. I have managed to place myself in a couple of photography schools as a teacher, but the attempts to get a steady, safe and well-paid job have not worked. Every time I travel less the city. The mood falls and this makes me in a confused state of mind, to the point that I can no longer discern which situation conflicts me the most, which one makes me more painful, and this raises questions about the best decision to make: whether to continue in Mexico City or return to Caracas with the family and to a safe roof, despite the hard crisis that my country is going through.
My mind of involuntary migrant is exhausted, also my body. There is pain and anger. My mind screams that it does not want to remain strong, my body can no longer be strong. What my mind sees of this city where I try to survive is less and less because it is enclosed, protected and feared. What my mind sees is no longer the attractive urban landscape, but the spaces where I barely manage to protect myself and feel safe to avoid being devoured by uncertainty.