Stories and News No. 674
We are the refugees.
All of us.
No one is excluded.
We are the refugees every time we go on Facebook.
Yes, really.
We do when we feel the heat with ‘likes’ and ‘shares’, when we welcome a smiling or winking face, and we feel loved by the number of followers and friends.
Sure, hundreds of so-called friends who are always there, motionless and looking at us as the picture of a family album.
Making us feel like family.
Or at least that is what we believe.
What we find.
Because we need that and because we lack.
To feel protected.
And safe.
We are the refugees.
All of us, every time we turn on the smartphone or, at best, the iPhone, and we are there, ‘whatsapping’, crazy clicking with our fingers, saying, responding, reading, and starting over.
Just so we're all together, never alone, never silent, never empty, inside.
Let’s look, now, for example in the crowded subway. Hundreds of people all with head pasted onto a giant screen, even 5 inches.
All safe.
And protected.
We are the refugees.
Locked in cars in traffic.
Stacked in plastic and metal super-equipped boxes, small or preferably large.
And the bigger car hides the smaller guy, did you see?
Fortunately, there are windscreens in this world, right?
Because it does not protect just us from the breeze.
It makes us feel invisible.
Protected by rival eyes.
Safe.
We are the refugees whenever we strive to do the same thing.
To say the same thing.
To think in the same way.
In order to be all right.
Or otherwise.
But all together.
And then again unmistakable.
Never recognizable.
Protected and safe.
We are refugees when we get back home and we are convinced that it is all there.
The world, our world.
Because aliens are out, beyond the single credible window, the TV.
And the sofa is the privileged island to observe who has not ever found.
A refuge.
Yes, there are also this kind of refugees.
Those who ask heat, listening and support.
A protected and safe place.
To other refugees.
Just like us.
Because there is nothing more normal and logical.
Human.
Than seeking help from those who should know perfectly.
What does it mean.
Being a refugee.
Also on Stories and News:
All of us.
No one is excluded.
We are the refugees every time we go on Facebook.
Yes, really.
We do when we feel the heat with ‘likes’ and ‘shares’, when we welcome a smiling or winking face, and we feel loved by the number of followers and friends.
Sure, hundreds of so-called friends who are always there, motionless and looking at us as the picture of a family album.
Making us feel like family.
Or at least that is what we believe.
What we find.
Because we need that and because we lack.
To feel protected.
And safe.
We are the refugees.
All of us, every time we turn on the smartphone or, at best, the iPhone, and we are there, ‘whatsapping’, crazy clicking with our fingers, saying, responding, reading, and starting over.
Just so we're all together, never alone, never silent, never empty, inside.
Let’s look, now, for example in the crowded subway. Hundreds of people all with head pasted onto a giant screen, even 5 inches.
All safe.
And protected.
We are the refugees.
Locked in cars in traffic.
Stacked in plastic and metal super-equipped boxes, small or preferably large.
And the bigger car hides the smaller guy, did you see?
Fortunately, there are windscreens in this world, right?
Because it does not protect just us from the breeze.
It makes us feel invisible.
Protected by rival eyes.
Safe.
We are the refugees whenever we strive to do the same thing.
To say the same thing.
To think in the same way.
In order to be all right.
Or otherwise.
But all together.
And then again unmistakable.
Never recognizable.
Protected and safe.
We are refugees when we get back home and we are convinced that it is all there.
The world, our world.
Because aliens are out, beyond the single credible window, the TV.
And the sofa is the privileged island to observe who has not ever found.
A refuge.
Yes, there are also this kind of refugees.
Those who ask heat, listening and support.
A protected and safe place.
To other refugees.
Just like us.
Because there is nothing more normal and logical.
Human.
Than seeking help from those who should know perfectly.
What does it mean.
Being a refugee.
Also on Stories and News: