fotos de un lugar bien lejos

Que tal mucha, les mando un album de fotos de esta ciudad en la que estoy, Lahore, Pakistan.
Les mando todos los mejores deseos a todos, y un abrazo de aquellos que son en persona.
http://picasaweb.google.com/luisfogarty/OfMyPakistaniDaysLahore#

Cuentenme, que onda con ustedes, locos!

Benji

Cobertura en las Noticias

Me parece interesante como los diferentes noticieros cubren lo que uno mismo vive. Al leer noticias de varios lados, uno ve cuales son los mas llenos de mierda y cuales dicen la verdad. Es una de las pocas instancias en las que uno puede comparar casi objectivamente las noticias que sacan los jiganges de los medios.
Les reuni varios links para que vean lo que digo:

New York Times: http://www.nytimes.com/2010/06/02/world/americas/02guatemala.html?partner=rss&emc=rss

BBC: http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/world/latin_america/10200440.stm

Estos dos anteriores casi dicen lo mismo, con poca variacion....
Ahora:

CNN: http://edition.cnn.com/2010/WORLD/americas/06/01/guatemala.sinkhole/index.html?iref=allsearch
(in a fucking footnote!)

Sky News?: http://news.sky.com/skynews/Home/World-News/Guatemala-Tropical-Storm-Agatha-Triggers-Giant-Sinkhole-That-Swallows-Building-And-House/Article/201006115641463?f=rss

Agatha, Volcanes y Pana.

Hola mucha,
Les escribo viendo por la ventana una lluvia fuerte que me recuerda mucho a Stan.
Llegue a guate hace dos dias. Desde el aeropuerto hasta Pana estuvo lluvioso. Ha llovido bastante en las ultimas semanas, asique las tierras estan ya muy bien regadas por los dioses. Se ha pronosticado que seguira lloviendo hasta el Lunes o Martes siguientes. Segun la vecina, Dona Mary, quien me acaba de llamar totalmente friqueada, el puente cerca de San Andres se va ir y los bomberos le han dicho que estan evacuando a Patanatic y que partes de pana corren peligro. No he oido nada respecto al gran pedazo de montana floja. Espero mandar esto antes de que se vaya la luz, que ya esta parpadeando por aqui. La tormenta afuera de las costas se acaba de crear, se llama Agatha. Viene hacia las costas y solo alli haban vientos fuertes. Por aca solo lluvia.

Lo que podemos esperar es que seguramente no habra paso dentro de poco tiempo, y si se lavan algunos puentes, tomara unos 5-10 dias para que se rahabilite. Estoy a punto de salir a llenar los autos con gasolina, y apuesto a que se va a cancelar la tercera noche de la obra, que esta sucediendo en el terreno de Jan y Sid, abajo del puente amarillo.

Los vuelos ya no entran ni salen de guate por Pacaya. La Prensa dice que hasta el Domingo en la tarde, pero por la tormenta Agatha no se sabe. Ojala podas entrar Dani, aqui te espero yo con un te.

No se como cantan los pajaros aun, deberian estar mojados. Pues todo el amor hacia ustedes que estan lejos. No es cosa de tener miedo, sino de saber lo que esta pasando y anticipar los dias que vienen.

Un abrazo bien fuerte a todos y a todas,

Benji

el colegio, los colegios y John

bueno...

Llevo acá unos días y la situacion del colegio esta medio complicada. Primero, les cuento que esto ha sido difícil para mi, yo quiero muchísimo a John por todo lo que me ayudó y bueno, porque como persona me cae bien. Voy a tratar de contarles lo que he logrado entender, pero tampoco confien tanto en mi que yo también ando sin saber que hacer.

Va, parece que hay dos lados, los voy a llamar ¨Las Manos¨ y ¨John y Aliados¨

Las Manos - (gente clave: Jan, Andy, Jobi, Phillippa, Pana Kids, talvez LIFE)->

Lo que dicen es que John si fue bueno cuando estaba con nosotros, pero que ahora nada que ver. Que se la pasa en su trabajo en Antigua y que lo único que le importa de AMA es el dinero extra que le dá. Que nunca está allí y que descuidó todo, ya nadie lo conoce, no da clases, etc. Además, puso a una directora que al parecer esta menopausica y llora todo el tiempo. Entonces, le propusieron comprarle el colegio y que el fuera encargado del programa educativo (pero no de la administración). John se negó porque no cree que un grupo de papás son aptos para manejar el colegio (empezó pidiendo $200,000 y despues lo bajó a $50,000).

Entonces, Jan, Andy y Jobi ya se habían separado y abrieron un colegio chiquitin que la verdad no se como funciona. Phillippa consiguió una donación para comprar Las Manos. Entonces el nuevo colegio va a ser el de Jan, Jobi y Andi en Las Manos. Además Pana Kids se va a ir allí tambien y talvez LIFE, para que estén los niños juntos aunque sea en diferentes colegios.

John y Aliados - (gente clave: John, el profe, Ruben, otros profesores, Ana, Irene, Carolina)->

Dicen que todo es mentira. Que la gente se está inventandose muchos chismes, que el vendería el colegio pero solo a una institución educativa o un grupo de maestros. Que AMA va a seguir y que no importa si muchos niños se van.

AMA se va a mudar a otro lugar, que tambien era un hotel, que según John es buenísimo y segín Sabina son solo cuartos de block sin ventanas ni jardín (yo no he ido a verlo, creo que voy más tarde).

y yo... que pienso?

pues... no estoy muy segura. Pero cada vez me parece mejor Las Manos. Se que el email de Phillippa fue una cagada, pero el único que dice que John ha manejado bien el colegio es John. Todos los papas están enojados de los maestros malos y el lugar chafa. Pero no se... no se nada jajajaja

los quiero mucho.

Free Fall into Atitlan

Hola a todos,

I was doing some random gmail search a few moments ago, and came upon this piece of writing I sent us all early last year. I read it, and I liked some parts a lot, surprisingly.
Let me know what you think...

Time has passed since our lives' paths diverged. Since that moment we've been making our own trails.

To those we know, we're lost. To our own perception, off somewhere in the wilderness of the place we think we know: our modern world.

It's like we all began to run when we last saw each other. A full speed race forward, through the same forest, in a similar direction.

We lose our breathes and slow down to a stop.

We turn around to see the ground we just covered, and do our best to hold still. And there, dizzy from running we imagine, look for, even listen for the people who are closest to what we consider our soul.

We wonder how far away the others have gone, and how close they may be.

As our senses adapt back to stillness, our breathing persists, our dilated pupils take in more light , our sweat sensitizes our skin.a

We hear silence amidst the movement of the trees' leaves and a distant singing bird.

This gaze in silence allows us to know the place we've stopped to the best of our ability. And at that moment our imagination asks questions about the others.

Where are you all? How far away have you ventured from me? How close is where you are to where I am? How fast are you running and can you stop?

Then you move on to imagine them having a similar moment somewhere nearby, but out of sight. Out of sight but still on the tree-covered rolling hills into which we were released the day we said goodbye to Guate.

You feel like yelling to break their silence.

You imagine how fast their hearts are beating, how they've made out from the run, what's on their minds and what's going on in their brains.

I imagine you each bursting through the door of your family house, your dorm or residence, and turning onto the road that connects you with what you occupy your hours with.

All around you, the real, the real, the real. Your world pumps with to do's, worries, introspections, anticipations, deadlines, self-images, images of others, things you look forward to. Your world is permeated by snippets of your best friends in your mind, in people you meet. Your world is attacked by pictures of the outside world of politics, economic catastrophes, mind-numbing shards of a broken civilization we euphemize as "social problems."

These things all float in and out of your awareness, engulfing you with what collectively fills your conscious mind in your everyday life.

Real, real, real, you mold your image of the real, the everyday the outside world with everything you arbitrarily label as real. A way of acting, a way of working, a way of being social, a way of buying groceries, a way of making money, a way of planning your next steps. For me, the irony is that the more real all of this feels, the more unsure you feel about its nature, the more unsure you are of its concrete existence. The more you question its validity, its natural qualities, its humanness.

Oh my, we begin to find how incredibly odd real things are. How incredibly arbitrary, how incredibly contingent the way things happen to be in our lives and in the world.

In light of this, we see how potentially boundless our lives are, but while rejoicing in this feeling of freedom we're reminded of how easy it is to fall into complacency.

It's startling how etched in stone our past and future lives' general trajectory can feel at times.

This street we walk down that makes up this real world is there. Cement, stop signs, some trees, people walking buy, the local businesses. It's there and it doesn't change. The laws that govern how it works are understood in our heads. Their details are formed in our heads. We create this real world in which the tall buildings seem to topple over us from both sides, and the demands of the everyday seem to surround us as if in the air. We ourselves beg reality to suffocate us.

We snap back into our minds from this muse… As we walk down the streets our conscious mind becomes too conscious of the presence of its unconscious, and we lose weight, and float up, high. Higher, higher above your street and towards the south. Your town or city gets further away. You feel the coolness of a cloud envelope you as you lose sight of the surface of the earth. You smell no trace of the refuse of our modern mode of production up here. You are in solitude, free from "reality." Your inner body bursts with a sunshine as you're relived of that weight and its intricate detailed distortion of your human-ness.

You blast out of the clouds, you look back. The sun. As you move through empty atmosphere, the sun beats upon you. So far from the shelter of your tall buildings, your homes, the bodies of your lovers, the still trees, your blankets, your grocery store.

So far from all that has made you what you are; all that's sealed within the emotion you know as comfort.

Before your rational mind has time to catch up with your wandering will, you fall.

Screaming from the inside out you lose the height you gained in a freefall. You fall, you fall, you fall.

A plane of primal blue approaches you in space, you approach it. You plunge into the waters of Lake Atitlan.

The waters that presenced your childhood match the wavelengths of the liquid in your system. The water takes you in and pads your landing. You float up to the surface slowly, observing the hundreds of bubbles. Your lack of air leads to anxiety. You reach the surface, breathe in, and look around. While you lie on your back, you feel you're as close to a home you'll ever be, as close to freedom as ever, the home base where you once said goodbye to with everything to lose, and the world to gain.

You're far from your puzzling "reality." You ask yourself, "how to speak of my "real" life and "real" world while aware of its dumbfounding contradictions, irrationality, its unsustainability, its insubstantiality. An array of "uns" and "ins" can be useful when you try to wrap your mind around your "reality."

Words that dissolve into the purity of the vivid blue sky. You lie on your back; a floating masterpiece of flesh, bones, organs, hair, skin and clothing. Your peripheral acknowledges four inverted volcanoes and a circle of mountains. Your ears hear silence, the hum of your own body, in sync with the tides of the lake. You begin to backstroke towards the shore.

You close your eyes, spin your chest towards the earth, and paddle your feet until you feel one dig into the muddy sand. You shift your weight, into it and your body emerges, wading through the water. You're back in your waters, back , striding thorough the waters of your culture, your home base, your childhood, your makeup.

On your next step, you feel your home's familiar floor beneath your feet. Your right foot is next, soon your body is clothed, your backpack is on, you look up, down the street, directly into the big building you once knew you had to walk to.

You close your eyes, regain presence, feel a smile creep across your face, and pick up your pace, that stride by stride develops into a sprint… The most intentional sprint you've every run.

luck

some people might call it luck, but after all, i dont think luck has anything to do with it. Luck is just an excuse for when something happens at the right time. its all about timing, and perseption. where you are and who you are is exactly where and who you are to be. control...control is an illusion we have, and something we would like to have in hand, but we don't. nothing is in control, everything is a whirlpool of mysterys and fantasies, beliefs ideas, thoughts, and movements and we just need to let loose...im acoustumbed to talk in ploural always saying we, but dont take it wrong, im not giving out some sort of universal truth here, its just ideas i want to share :)...plus i dont even believe in a universal truth it wouldnt be right to have it. back to luck...maybe it gets anoying but im not gana care, Pana, and our situation of upbringing, is sooooo, sooo, did i say so yet? different and unique from so many places in the world. we were pretty much, a first or ok, second generation if we count our parents as the first. being that, a second generation, is HUGE, who influenced us? who were our teachers? who brainwashed us? how and, was it on purpouse? on purpouse by whom. destiny is a nice idea, i believe we create our destiny, our paths arent made for us, yet its a controversy, couse if we have no control how can we create our own destiny? fact is we have no purpous of extance, but we have the idea that creates the illusion of freewill that makes us think that we do have control, and there by we make desitions everyday that stear us in a certain direction. a direction that i have no idea where it is. ive been meating all these people lately, theyre about my age, have jobs, are comming up in the workers comunity, making money, but with no ambition for discovery. maybe im wrong, but my theory is, theyre a lost generation with a social structure already built for them, not to think but to act, let the others think. i consider myself to be in the thinkers position, and i dont need the approval of a paper or mass to view me as such and "respect" me so that i can manipulate that, after all i believe in live and let live...

hurra to us =) i think we've come along way already, and the great thing is i cant see the end of any of our roads yet, at the contrary we are just at the start...

much love to yall thought it'd be cool to post something... = )

I love my school!
Today they had a show called the HADEMI, it's when all the 3rd year students of the HALO (study to be a gym teacher) do this demnostration of all they learn. Gymnastics, dancing, selfdefence all pourd into 2 amazing hours. it's what i love about the school. People enjoying life, enjoying the power of movement.
I would love to show you my life. Share some moments with you again, my dear friend. I would love to let you in, just for a while you know i'm happy.
I want to show you what happens when you open the door to the building. People running around in all types of sports clothes, some in jeans others more fancy. On the right you might have a group coming back from judo class, still all outfitted, down the flight of stairs in the eating area you have a couple practicing dance moves, some others juggling, learning to spin poi, doing a hand stand. It's a sort of circus.
I love it, i'm happy.
I'm going to do the HALO, the teaching study hopefully starting next year and i'll be one of those many juggling, practicing dance moves. so wish me luck