Two days ago I sat with two women, one a long - time patient, and both told me about sexual abuse they had suffered during their childhood, the long - time ptient for the first time. Sometimes I start rejecting men then inside me, while listening, wondering about what seems to be their kind of crooked sexuality, but some of the sbuses were from older to younger girls also.
Then a young man came, the widower of the young woman who 6 weeks ago died invaded by Cancer. He is heartbroken, he is shattered, he fears he cannot live without her and I witness a love that Shakespeare could have created theatre plays about and am deeply moved.
Yesterday I spent my morning with a mother of a young activist, a woman, who exposed the corruption of the governor of Veracruz in a video and was shot to death soon after, the official media declaring that she and her friend, who was a journalist and hot killed with her, had been cocine addicts. No investigation is taking place, even though the case went through the media a few months ago.
The mother is as any mother would be: her life and faith into the world has been shattered.
Then a young woman came. Her husband left her after 10 years. She is indigenous, he was kashlan, which is what indigenous people call non- indigenous people. To be honest: I cannot see a difference in skin color between them. But the differences are deeply engraved into their souls: as a woman in indigenous culture she feels she is not much worth and being in a racist wider society she feels she was just more valuable because of her non - indigenous husband. Her two children are "white" she says and that is why her indigenous family rejects them.
I listen and see her tears and think how much stupid myths we humans create, how much extra suffering....
I eat with friends and they donate me money to help disabled children, I sip a Gin Tonic, tomorrow thousands of teachers who are against the education reform will raise hell in our capital Tuxtla, or so they say.... in my eyes they fight for the right to stay ignorant, many can hardly read or write....roads will be blocked again, maybe even the airport...
I let my taxi driver drive me home. He is a funny guy and jokes around. At home my granddaughter is anxiously waiting for me.
Kiki, can we bake muffins?
Of course we can. Baking Muffins can calm a lot of upset and doubts and pain, can´t it???
Art by Kiki