And Now What?

Last Sunday, after going to vote and finding a public school full of people from working-class neighborhoods voting (when some said only the “oligarchs” would vote), and finding the streets jammed (worse than any Monday) with so many people going out to exercise their right to vote, I was so moved that I thought my heart would burst.

This February 12 we lived an unprecedented moment in our history, with record turnout for an election of this kind, where the gloomy predictions of failure and abstention did not come true.

Today I will write again about my Homeland and my fellow Venezuelans (those here and those abroad). My blood boils every time I hear the name Venezuela, and I get furious when people speak badly of her or of my Venezuelans. I also laugh when they try to take away my hope, because they won’t be able to; and my heart swells with passion every time I hear, see, smell or taste something that reminds me of her.

And how can I explain what I feel every time I see one of the many young Venezuelans (Venezuela has 9 million young people!) fighting for a better future for their country? How can I explain what I felt when I saw so many older people (some in wheelchairs) exercising their right to vote, and so many Venezuelans abroad who moved heaven and earth to vote? I struggle to find words for this passion that keeps growing for a country that shows greater maturity and growth every day.

I am convinced that what we lived this weekend is the beginning of something very great that will lead us into a new chapter of our history next October 7.

I don’t care if some call me crazy, a dreamer, naive… What I do understand perfectly is that to love you have to suffer. And we have suffered so much, for so many years, with so many problems, that many of us have gone crazy with love for our homeland, many of us have learned the lesson, and many of us have matured through so many hard knocks.

It seems incredible that not a day or a night goes by without our thinking about the fate of the homeland where we were born. Because its fate is inseparably bound to ours. It is as if we were joined by an umbilical cord, and if we cut it, we would stop being nourished by its wonders, its passions, its memories… we would stop breathing that inexplicable air we can only breathe here.

How do I explain to the world my love for you, my Venezuela? How do I explain to the world that I can’t live anywhere but here, in this wonderful madness of joys and sorrows? How do I explain my obsession with fighting for you, and that I couldn’t care less about giving up the famous “quality of life”? What has happened to you, my dear Venezuela, that you have become the theme of my life, every day of my life? Why is it that every time I see the Ávila I sigh with love like the silliest girl in love? And why do I have to cry every time I hear a cuatro, a harp or maracas? What have you done to me, Venezuela?

All I know is that so many blows have turned me into an oak, and I won’t rest a second until I see you better. All I know is that I will not stop fighting, not for a minute, to do whatever is in my hands so that sooner rather than later we can live in a country where Justice and Peace reign for all. I promise you I will not stop Praying and Fighting, not for a second, so that soon we can begin to write a new chapter in the history of the country where I was born and to which I owe so much.

I love you, my dear Venezuela!