Sometimes it feels like we are not in pandemia

Pandemia stroke. And we are still sipping the life we had. We are no longer here, nor there. There is a space in between where we are trying to come out of the closet. As a society. With all our sins forgiven. Merciful. Wishful thinking, you know. It’s like chocolote. The illusion of a society according to chocolate. That is, thanks to América.

How are we supposed to change? How are we supposed to evolve into something bigger than ourselves. How do we integrate in the social clash of this great pyramid? Alternative theries come to mind. But none of them state the given unchangable truth of this new believe: we can be different, and better. We can also fall and crush the symbols from our past. And be dust. And from dust, rebuilt a new society from scratch. But we are already ahead of the game. Somehow we’ve allow the elevator of social change to give us scientist to work around a method to improve things altogether. Things we can built iterating each time around.

Second wave is striking again. People don’t realize the worst case scenario until we are stuck in the moving sands all the way to the chest. Then they/we worry. It’s a matter of surviving. As it is today. As it is now. We’ve already come out of the first wave, and now the numbers are climbing in the curve. We are still in this for the long run. Vaccine seems to on the way, but don’t hold your hopes too high. Once it’s here, the inequities of our world will show us, without hesitations, how the power game has been served to those who pray. Did you get a white ball or a black one?

It’s a lottery. Yet it is not the simple aleatory one. States of nature gives you a step ahead in the game if you come from a certain background in the global game. Or even if your cards are marked in the local one. The game is still here to be played. The unleved field will not hold nor adapt itself to a fairer slope. We’ve somehow managed to learn to play with the obstacles standing in the way, sorting around them like slalom rutine, and then scoring at the end line, like a mix of australian football and cricket.

Our mind has been wired to cope. Somehow we survive. The humiliation of being discarded around the game. Somehow we are getting there, step by step, only we don’t allow ourselves to leave our confort zone too much. And when we do we find it cold outside. It’s a crooked game all the way to the end, but we are here to deliver… what? Love? Hope? Laughs? Proofs? Laws? Claims? Products? Experiences? Marketing?

Allow me to take a sit. Or a knee.