I have been told by different people all over the world that I guess in 7 years all cells change in your body and at the same time some have told me that your body has marked in it our life. 

I think of both of them as I open my eyes and look to the sky in Thailand. The sun is appearing. I can’t remember anything. As I land I know the airport so well.
By the time I am in a little semi bus to Bangkok I look outside and I do not remember the city. The traffic. By the time I am the city I do.

And then I go to the lovely hostel and since I cannot have a room because it is too early I call André and Dra. EUthymia. I eat and I decide to do a Thai Massage.

There I am certain my body has registered so much. She touches me up and down. She stretches me like no one can do but in Thailand. She presses and makes my life bloat of even more gratitude.
I have to tell her I am so thankful. She is absolutely good. I had been in hospital. It is the talk of two strangers who can’t barely speak.
I am reminded of my time here as a volunteer when I developed our languages of profound conversation with little words.

I keep thinking that so few westerners can deal with a real Thai massage. It touches the pain you never remember. It makes energy float. I tell her.

“Good pain. Good. Bad pain is no good. No pain massage no good.”

I know so profoundly this is true. As the Japanese taxi driver told me in Brazil ” here people just want to prevent death and pain. I am not afraid to die I am afraid to be stuck, to give burden to others.” I had written a little about him in my Brazilian blog. And he understood me fighting to live and not surviving.

I am even invited to meet the ladies of the saloon at night to talk more since I did not take oil massage, I did the Thai and we spoke. I sat there and we talked

Yes, that is what I have done hours after the massage. I avoided the talks in the cafes surrounding us. Foreigners were talking about what to consume in short time. They were tourists talking about every continent they had spent little time in months rushing. Since my body remembered the tourists I did not engage in these talks.

I came to my new hostel. I played with a little Thai child. I talked to the Thai. I go to my room and thought it was time to sleep. I had to wake up late to see my news Thai friends at night. 

I posted a picture online on Facebook and Michal sent me a message. We talk. We remembered how we usually ran away from tourists and spent blissful time eating what the local did, allowing every Indian to take a picture with us and talking to them.

My body remembers Michal had crossed Asia to help me when I broke my foot in front of the Mekong. She tells me about Burma to where she could go while I could not. She tells me she misses Asia. 

I tell her Andre and I moved to Peru since we do not support the government in Brasil. She also does not like Bibi and wished she could go away from Israel. We laugh. What is it with our selective group? We feel from nowhere really and we love Asia.

I am in Thailand and my body has no doubts about how much I love this place. I feel almost embarrassed by the amount of joy. Can you imagine me embarrassed? This is how much joy I feel. 

I walk and looked at things and keep thinking I wish André was here. I keep looking, and I know that I barely really see and I am certain he would know even what is behind. As the masseur turns me up and down I think thinking Andre would be amazed by that. He would understand the value of it. I so wanted him to receive a real good Thai massage.

I sleep thinking that after Peru he comes this way. Life is too short and not predictable for people simply to work and not go back to the corners of their bodies that they did not even know before it existed.

I am back home. The day was hot. Now there is wind. My body remembers this too. There will be a wonderful storm. And one day, very soon, in the end of Andre’s contract I will insist he comes and enjoy life. Come and meet Asia. Not the Chinese employer but the land that is proud for never have being colonised. 

I am not sure how to start this post. I have been telling loads of what has been happening in my Brazilian Blog. I should start by saying that I have just received this photo from Nabil who was, and probably still is the love , the companion of Leila Alaoui. You can see in the picture a child that is looking at Leila’s photo. My eyes filled with tears. I felt so grateful to be someone tagged in it. And I decided it was time to write in English.

I was once again in hospital two weeks ago. My MRI had shown I had another inflammation in my brain. I was told to go back to Hospital and I did. 
There I met Fatima the only person who never complained. The only one who had a serious problem that had led her to be paralytical, back walking, paralytical, and back to walk.  And only her and I saw pain as a positive thing. It meant that the part in her body was alive again. We became friends.

So, I obviously was visited by  an enormous time to think. And to think about Leila and Dr Getulio. 
What did they have in common? Why did they have my deep love and respect?  They had enormous courage. Strong thoughts. Extreme concern about the other. They helped as they could those in their path. A brilliant neurologist, and a brilliant photographer. They also had in common a death that surprised us all, it came out of nowhere.
 

Leila was shot in Burkina Faso and died in Hospital, Getulio finished a semi marathon in great time, took  a picture of himself and head a heart attack. Both of them went to hospital and had a visit  of health and enormous improvement.  And the following day they died.

 
The lights that I saw, and the pain in my head came in these two circumstances.  This year. January, and February the day they died. To both of them I knew  before I was told about it. I felt it.

I told Fellipe before he told me, Janete when she told me he was in a coma.  I walked to the hospital alone one hour after he had died. I just felt, and wished I was wrong. Technically, I am not even religious. I just knew it.
And then my world collapsed. Till I had a stroke. So mild. I felt ok. And then I though there is life after departure. In after a month I had to go to hospital again. As I  said I had a new inflammation. 

As I was this time in hospital I bought a ticket to go to Burma. I told the doctor I would go. If my life was to be over, it had to be there. It does not mean I do not want to return. It means that I want to live. I do not want to survive. I took 3 days of cortisone in my vain and it was fine. I was happy. I was joyful. And then I agreed to try an immune supressor. I thought it was fine.

I came home. I vomited from 7 till 3 am non stop. I had diarea. I had so much pain and kept thinking. “Good. Pain is good. Vomiting means this is a poison. I was so fine before entering the hospital. I will never take this medicine again. I will accept my body as it is.”. 
Dra. Karen told me to go back, because I would loose too much water and be dehydrated. I did not. I vomited and drank water with salt and sugar  that André made for me and it stopped.I drank coke. I barely ate for two days.

Then even my mother realised there was no argument, so she told me to eat so that I would be strong. I ate several days meet.
Andre  was hired to go to Peru. We accepted it. He went on Saturday and I will go there in July. Yes, that is it. I am going first to  ( Insh’allah) to Thailand these sunday 29. The first of June Insh’allah I will fly to Yangon.
Passports, hotels, visas, letter from the doctor, the bag it is everything ready.

I have now attended weelky the commision of peace and justice. And saying goodbye to them was hard. Brazil is under a coup but I do not see reason to stay here or to fight. So we decided to leave. And the people who told me they will miss the most are Dona Maria and Seu Francisco. They live in the street. I told them and they said they would not miss me because I brought food. They would miss me because I talked to them. It moved me. Seu Francisco asked me about Andre. Dona Maria asked about my grandmother. Seu Francisco saw Andre once. Dona Maria never saw my grandmother. It made me cry.

So, yes I get a picture from Nabil. And I see Leila is here. Getulio is here in all that they have touched. I will be here in the little that I have done. Simple words that you never realise means the world to the other. Like the words of some mean the world to you.

I hope my next message will be from Abu Dhabi. It is where I change flights. If not, from Thailand and then from Burma:)
I feel more alive than ever. I feel that after 2013 life was given back to me. And though I have suffered I now understand more profoundly Alyosha in Karamazov saying you must feel pain, anger, rage to be further in the path of development. Compassion becomes a real feeling and not an idea. You must loose to give value to what you have.

From my total atheism, I go back to the path, to TAO filled of faith in human beings, in Allah, God,  all of them, spirits, indigenous, Karmapa. 

In fact, I have faith in the path. I do not believe life has more value by the years you have lived. It has value by your actions, your courage, you compassion. 
I know it might shock some, but I must say, if my journey finishes in Asia I accept that. It does not mean I don’t want to return, or live. It means that not going means fighting to survive by not living, by not doing what I give value to. I want to live. For as long as I can. I want to live.

With all my love,

Jules

Ps: I received this from Nabil. I would like to share that too.

Dear Julieta De Toledo Piza Falavina, I am very touched by your words. I know from Leila that you had health concerns, and I read you to discover that some of the conditions persist. Your courage and serenity will help you face this situation. Your strong convictions and causes will give you drive and energy. Your Will is Strong. The Will to Live, the Will to Love, the Will to Be and Do Good. You are right not to be fatalist. It doesn’t help. Be careful and don’t push yourself too much. Doctors will advise you well, and friends will surround you. cried last night as I looked at this photo, and I thought of you and how much Leila loves you, and how she spent hours with you on the phone, eager to stay in touch and be at your side during the tough times you were going through. Leila is still next to you, dear Julieta.

So, today I decided to write about where I come from. Most of you know Brazil is going through a  grave political, identity, economic, judicial problem. You also know, I always feel much more as an outsider than from here. However this explosion of identity crisis of the inhabitants of Brazil made me go back to my family history. I know, some of you know, the person that I love the most if my grandmother Lucia Andrade Piza.  I live with her and as this crisis started I decided I needed to know what had really happened while her brother Auro Moura Andrade in the 60’s was a Senator.  I should add that he was the vice-president, kind of president of the Senate then.

In 61 my great uncle, who I have never met, accepted the letter of renouncement of Janio Quadros, the Brazilian president at the time. Joao Goulart, know as Jango, took the presidency.  Jango seemed to have socialist inclinations. As you can imagine that concerned the militaries and the US. So while  Jango, was still in Brazil Auro declared the position  of presidency opened on  the 2 of Apirl of 64. And Tancredo Neves screamed in the Senate when the lights were off “Canalha, Canalha, Canalha!”Which is ( scoundrel).  And so a dictatorship started here, Castelo Branco took the presidency.

While I am here I have been going to the commission of Peace and Justice, I have been listening to famous professor Fabio Comparato.  And everyday I get even more disappointed by what I see and hear. My grandmother told me that politics corrupts people. And even her seeing the voting of the impeachment thought it seemed like a joke. We had Eduardo Cunha a man who is accused of several crimes leading the voting of the process and several criminals voting pro impeachment. So many spoke of their wives, children and not of the people. Later we were told also of their whatsapp messages to their lovers who were prostitutes.

I did not vote for Dilma. In fact, I almost never voted since I was usually out of Brasil. And suddenly we are attacked with discourses about the constitution ( by people who have never read it), about ethics on both sides. We see a total disaster in both sides. And what shocks me the most is to see this country becoming a Fundamenlist Evangelical  country. Hearing deputies speaking is so absolutely outrageous that would make you laugh if you were not to think that the only reason something worse has not happened  yet it is because they are still not the government.

It is a way back to stupidity, racism, prejudices, women loosing their rights. Rights that they had fought for years.  I remember of the time of when I was in Turkey. My Turkish friends who were artist, gays, modern were very afraid of the growing of Islam. I could see why it had happened. The muslim neighborhoods were in better situation than the neo-liberal ones. And the artist I met were asking for  the militaries to be back. They wanted Ataturk. I was very intrigued by that at the time.

Now, think Brazil, this enormous growth of Evangelical Churches is  connected to corruption, to manipulation, and to Neo-liberalism. These men are connected to scandals, and they are admiring torturers. My own 91 year old grandmother sees a total growth of backwardness. Every single person who is serious, who is filled by  responsibility is deeply depressed… We do not see a way out.

I felt an outsider, now I see my deep connection to the political history of this country and while I am not a nationalist I declare I will never support this path. This is the path to reduce the rights of those who have few, the rights of women, social movements. It is connected to deep corruption and deep violence of the police, to prostitution. And unfortunately, the hate floats in the streets and once friends now they no longer speak.  Don’t get me wrong. It has nothing to do a specific religion as I have learned from the amazing Muslims, Jews, Christans, Buddhist, Atheist, Hindus  I have met. It has to do with neo-liberalism, with corruption and with the abuse of rhetoric and power.

I walked the other day caring with me a question. “Why do you need so much to go back to Asia.”. Why do I feel not from Brazil?  I answered thinking about Karmapa and about the Thais I know, the Mekong.  And then I walked kms home and I thought more profoundly about it. It was hard to address the roots. And suddenly it became clear I lost my roots. I had to think I am an “inbetweener” or an outsider.

I pondered about what it really meant to be an inbetweener. And like must of us who feel this feeling we  seem to lack home. I thought about those who had married to someone of some other country. I thought about the children of parents of different countries and cultures.  And though I pondered if it wouldn’t be the same case for couples who had a  blatant difference between social classes I realised that once you throw languages into the equation things become way more complex.

If we are to remove language our fundamental humanity is so obvious. It does not really matter where you are, you can exchange the basic principles of life with anyone if you want. However, when you can speak than the reality of philosophy, religion, and culture become the verbalization of difference.

I pondered and realised that many have lived abroad but that is not what makes you an “inbetweener.”. And I do not even attribute value to this group, I simply pondered about it.  What makes it exist, how can you define  it?  Maybe is the amount of time in transition, through many years, and learning languages. Maybe it is the fact that you start to import parts of what you admire of the outside. And of course, you do not become part  of it. And even more impressive you start to remove some things that come from where you were born. And of course, you do it without realising it.  And then suddenly the solid roots, and nationality that many people carry, we simply don’t. We feel like a human being very similar and different to anyone anywhere.

So, Asia comes to my mind, and there there are many  people  on an eternal quest for home. And the more we search the less of a place we are from. We are always an outsider and we become pleased by that. And it is in Asia that I met people from the west who were like me…. on the road for too long, and they were searching in between lines the reality of that which seemed daily more impossible to be found. So long that none of us could really fix a solid base anywhere, and maybe we do not even know how to. Maybe we can’t, nor want to. Even more profoundly the deepest connections have happened with people you will not see that often, and probably will never see again. But their presence inside of you never seems to disappear. I know that people who have ground tend to fill it is because it is easier than to not deal with something daily. That could be the case, I do not deny, but what I realise is that for whatever reason  there is, we oppose to have a solid ground.  And we probably do not even feel that anyone who is not an inbetweener could really grasp it.

I walked and I thought of Maciek who I met in England, who spent time in Asia, and who is from Poland and now feels it is time to move to a new continent, to learn a different language. I think of Andrey who is from Russia and I met in my Phd in London, he also has been to many places  and now is doing a PhD in Sweden in a new language.  And then I think of Nese who I met  in Amsterdam in a class on conflict resolution,  we spoke in a mix of French, English and basics of Dutch. I met her in her house in Turkey, and now she is in the UK. Then comes to my mind Chi, who was born in Taiwan and crossed China, europe, Africa, mddle East and the Americas. I met him in the UK, years later he came to  Brasil and told me that of all he had seen in more than 3 years on the road he was moved by Iran and Sudan. He was moved by the strength of the people. I think  of my dear friend Leila who lived with me in NY and then floated the world between Lebanon, Europe, Africa,  US  making amazing photos that are now in her institute  and Leila Alaoui is in heaven. Like me she liked to hear the tales of others. So many people come to my mind.

Ironically it is way easier for me to in write in English than to do it in Portuguese or French, the languages of my childhood. It will be filled with flaws in any language I shall attempt to write. I have to recognise the path has made me like that. In a world of violence and wars more and more wondereres there will be.  There will be more people displaced by choice or lack of it. And we all seem to sick a community to which we belong to.

So, I am in Brasil, this country faces a total absurd of a coup. One that can be justified by the process but not for the reasons. People are divided and filled by hate. Lacking roots I see as an outsider. I see a media that is filled with political interest, a judicial system that has no obligation to report to anyone. It judges as they want. My pain comes for the poor because they will pay for this, like they do anywhere. I do not care regret simply because I protested against it. Like I did in the US. I did not support the bombing of Afghanistan, nor Iraq when I was in NY,  I do not support this impeachment. Like I do not believe in pre-emptive attacks, even in my own life I changed doctors because I do not want to throw in my body  infiltrations to prevent the possibilities of an attack. Like I was against the war of Gaza I am against what is happening in Brasil.  In a sense it makes me even more as an outsider. Like I went alone to every continent I realised I missed Asia because  there I stepped next to people like me. None of my friends would ever support a violent police, wars, and would not recognise their privilege to  be able to meet the other. My roots are lacking… and I do not miss them. I am part of a group.  My group are of people who are in between. We are valuing  and working to be  in the path of morality, ethics, and compassion.  We are working, as we can,  for the construction of a better world, we help the person who is next to us in spite of where they come from.

As usual I feel I must share because all that I encountered belongs to all of us. The greatest gift of life is life itself. And our human life is deeply connected to our minds. It is so heard and complicated to talk about a mind. So, I will not be technical because I could not be. I will not speak of synapses I will simply give you  the gift that was given to me. Meditation.

No, you do not need to close yourself for months in a monastery, nor do a ritual, or go to Asia… Every single one of us needs to learn how to calm down our minds. It does not matter in which situation we are in nor where we are. we must  practice this great path. It is not dependent on you believing or not believing in it. It is a practice. I will post it here a site where you can do a 15 minutes meditation.

There are a few possibilities.  They are all important. There are many forms. Here I post audios and the site. RAIN means Recognise, Accept, Investigate and not get Involved in it. It is a great tool to use when you suddenly notice something is very hard. Allow yourself 15 minutes of peace, of meditation and you will notice deeper thoughts about your feelings and more peace will come. This does not mean you will become alienated from what is happening around you. It means you will be able to deal with what is around you. I guess you should do the one you want. You just need to touch the link  below and the name of the meditation… you will hear someone telling you what to do. I truly hope this can help you.

Choose one of the audio file which is in the website

http://www.shambhala.com/MindfulnessPrescription

1. Mindful Breathing
2. Sound, Breath, and Body
3. Body Scan
4. Mindful Walking
5. Mind Like a Sky
6. RAIN
7. Loving Kindness
8. Mindful Presence

http://www.shambhala.com/MindfulnessPrescription

  
I had never planted a tree. I did it last year. It is called Grumixama and I baptised it Vovó Lucia Grumixama.  I loved planting so much that I planted four others.

It is in Ubatuba. I planted and gave them names. Jambo Vovô  Ze Luis, Ipê Cucuru ( which is the nick name I invented for Andre), Araçá Helo ( for my mom) and Juju Manacá da Serra. 

I come often here so the following weak I planted Juju, she was not there. It had been robbed. I was sad and bought another one and that one simply never had flowers. And then three Weeks ago I went to hospital. Got out and went to the mountains seeing many Manacas with many flowers.

Came here last weekend and when I looked Juju Manacá it was dry. There were no leaves. I was so sad that I did not tell my grandma.

I came back yesterday and today I told her. ” Vovó Lucia Grumixama is like you. Alive , green , growing . And Juju Manacá is like me. It is dead.”

“Julieta do not say that. ”

” it is true ”

“Let buy a new one and ask the gardener to plant it.”

This week I spent time thinking about how many times I have wished for death. I started doing mindfulness with the help of Dra Euthymia. And I have decided to work consistently in being in peace. To choose life and not methods of prevention of disease by reducing my immune system. In giving real value of life.

The  shop of trees was closed so I decided to come home and to water the trees that were alive. Suddenly I saw a new tree growing. I was happy and said to Andre:

“Look someone planted a tree here..” Andre came by and knowing way more of gardens said:

“Ju, no one planted this tree. She was still alive under the earth.”

I was so moved by it. It was not the Manacá, it was a tree that once dried, but the strength of life is enormous. I decided I would not ask anyone to plant. I want to be Ju, Jules, Jewels, Chu, Chouchou, Coucou Unknown tree. Maybe it is a lemon tree, maybe a Mexirica . I really have no idea.

The strength of this plant moves me. It does not give up, nor any gardener gave fertiliser to it. It simply appeared filled with green lives from a dead small piece of an old tree. This tree is connected to the life of nature. It fills me with faith for live, gods, nature.

I am once again interned in the hospital. I feel I must share.

2007 I had an epileptic attack in Morocco. I had never had one before so I was confused by it. I visited my friends Mounia Dadi and Leila Alaoui. Friends I knew since 2001 when we lived and studied in NY.

From Morocco I went back to the UK where I was leaving. I told my dear friend and ex-husband Haiko Ballieux and we went to the hospital. When they told me I had to do a lumbar puncture I left, sign it all and I did not take the medicines they gave me. I searched the alternative path, I looked for religious things . In months I started to see lights and I waited for about 2 weeks and then they disappeared.

In February 2008 I had a partial epileptic attack and I flew to Brazil. It was this day that Dr. Getulio Dare Rabello entered in my life and made me make an mri and many other exams. Especially the lumbar puncture. Getulio debated cases and thought it could be multiple sclerosis. I said that since they could not know I would go back to London.

I returned 2009, 2010 to do exams and had nothing. I decided to get divorced, I quitted my Phd and decided to travel like others I met in Asia. 

In 2011 I stayed in Europe, than India, than Europe and then South East Asia.

In 2012 I broke my foot in front of the Mekong walking in flat land. I returned to Brasil because my brother told me I should. In a couple of months I went back to France with my grandma and my cousin Lucia. They went to Brazil and I went back to Israel and Palestine. I bought a ticket to go to India but Michal Treger told me to stay with her and to go back home.

I came back and woke up with my tong turned to a side. Dr. Getulio treated me for multiple sclerosis. I was angry and he won me that day. He said ” you are right, it was wrong but I thought that if it was sclerosis you could die.I don’t want to loose you.” So he won me. But I still rarely used epileptic medication.

2013 I had a strong epileptic attack. And he told me “you can choose the doctor and I can choose my patient. If you don’t take fenobarbital I won’t treat you” I agreed to take it. And did it.

And I went to Europe. I met Eduardo Simantob in Switzerland. I went to England and I felt lost while I went to the Uni some days, I cried a lot, I felt I could have an epileptic attack there. I did not. I met my parents in Italy and then went to Portugal to meet Edu. I also felt sick some days there.

I flew to Thailand and felt very bad when my grandma went to hospital. I slept few hours and still felt like I could have an epileptic attack. When Edu arrived and we went to the Burmese embassy I felt bad. I went out and crossed an avenue and by luck doctors saw me and put tiger balm in my nose and took me to the hospital. The doctor told I almost had an attack, I confirmed it and said I wanted leave. While I talked I had it and still decided to leave after the attack. 

I kept having them and was taken to a Hospital and I was induced into a Coma. My parents flew to take care of with me with Edu. I stood 3 weeks in a hospital in Bangkok and they left me go even though I was far from normal.
In São Paulo Dr Getulio Dare Rabelllo was very shocked to see how I was. No one was certain whether I would get better. I could not recognise people, nor say names of fruits, or remember my password. In fact I could not even look at TVs, computers, books etc.

I suddenly got extremely well in 3 months. When I read the email that was sent about me by Edu to my friends. I was heart broken filled with hatred. Hatred made me recover. And pain never left me. Only with today I can see he did all he could. Only today I am thankful. Before I was angry, felt abandoned and killed.
Time went buy. I travelled a lot. Went out with many people and simply did not trust anyone to be with me anymore. 
Slowly I felt I recovered and I started to date Andre. In 6 months we got married. Leila came to our wedding. Andre is a wonderful man but he is quiet. I remained lonley inside.

In January Leila was killed in Burkina Faso. I tried to remain in peace. But pain kept visiting me. I started to have a headache and to see lights. I called Dr. Getulio and I told him briefly about it. He told me to see him some time, he asked about headache and I said sometimes I had it. Which is not really true.

In February I visited Getulio’s office and found out he had a heart attack the day before. After a semi marathon. I was told he was in a coma and it was controlled. 
Having been in a coma I knew that that was not true. I kept thinking he would loose neurones, he would think about that in a coma, he probably think he would give many problems to his family. And I thought he would not return because of his enormous generosity . I prayed I was wrong since I felt the same about Leila and she had died when people sad she was well. 

I went walking to the hospital at night to see how Getulio was and he had just died. I went up. I hugged his wife. I was really broken. I saw dr Caio crying and I admired him for that.  He seemed deeply human. Janete, the secretary, asked me to get another doctor and I said no.

I left and could no longer eat. Suddenly came lights, pain and I waited 2 weeks and then I got Caio’s number. He accepted to see me the same day. I went there at night. I told him it all. Janete sent all the information by e-mail. So last Tuesday, I came to see him and after I came to the Hospital. 
They did it all. And for the first time they came to a resolution.

Dr. Caio came last night and said ” I am sad that Getulio is not here to know what you have. He never asked you to do an angiography because it is an invasive exam, he did all the work and this time it became clear that you needed to do this exam. You have cerebral vasculitis. It is not a symptom it is what is behind everything ”

This is my enormous story. This my disease . It is auto-imune. I stay still some days here getting cortisone. And then we will finally know what to fight against. And next to me are my grandma, Dr Caio, Laura, Dr. Euthymia, Andre, my parents and most of my friends. And I believe that Leila and Getulio are there helping from above.

What to say? Leila has left this world. She was a victim of an attack of Al Qaeda in Ouagadougou. She is my friend. Will always be it does not matter where she is. She lived with me. She called me weekly after I almost died in Asia. I knew her house in Morocco. I almost visited her in Lebanon. She came last year in September to my wedding and she was part of the ceremony. And I barely gave her all the attention I should have.

I do not know what to say but what I feel I must say is: Please do not feel anger. Do not feel Rage. Do not want revenge. Leila would never preach that. Leila’s pictures say more than the beauty,  it shows she always got the soul of the person, and was allowed by people of places where they believed they were looking their soul. Leila who liked the borders, who went to all over to search the reality of things. Leila deserve nothing but your love, respect, prayers.

Soulaimane who is her brother, the  one who knew her, and was so close to her, was the last to see her  here. Pray for him. For her family. Do not spend this time to feel anger. Despair is common but we must let go in a lovingly way.

I remember she made a Moroccan style thanksgiving in NY to all the abandoned in the Uni. Those who did not have a family there.  She thought of them. It was in our house. We barely knew the people who came. And they thanked us for that so much. She hosted my dear childhood Brazilian friend when she survived the house burning in NY. There are so many good things to say. But, I will stop. I will not speak of that. I pray, I prayed. Mixing all of the religions in the world. We wish you Leila a safe passage. I wish you who are here to not let anger invade you. You who know her must know she would be the last to want that.

With love,

Jules

http://www.leilaalaoui.com/

Since I had written the last post I felt  like I  had to tell  Manuel, who is my Chilean friend who lives in Brasil, after all,  I didn’t want to offend him. He was amazed that I had actually met people who he felt seemed like the upper class of Sao Paulo 🙂 He told me I should have told him I was going there not knowing anyone so that way he would have told me who I should meet. He immediately put me in contact with many of his friends. I smiled, was happy, and thought it seemed like a secret society. And I met his friend and his friends.

We took a bus to Vina del Mar. We were met by Matias who was a teacher in a school. He took us to eat and drink, got us bikes and we rode all the way to Valparaiso. Another friend had come to show us things. They were great people. And my favorite person was Mr. Moises Matias’father.

Moises was older and asked me to say what I had thought about Chile. I was concerned about what to say but was honest and said:

“I think people are apathetic to things here. I am sorry to say that. But it is so hard to get people to talk to us.”

To my entire surprise he replied by saying things like ….

“I am not a nationalist. And I agree with you. We are descendents of fear. My son, and his friends can speak. I grew up going inside of the houses of policemen , our family gave them sweets and then one day Pinochet came. They were no longer our neighbors nor could we ever speak. I am lucky because I was never arrested and tortured but many people that I know have been. So to this day many of us do not speak. We grew up to not trust not even our neighbors. Anyone could condemn you secretly.  I prefer a corrupted democracy than any dictatorship. I also do not support what the USA does. It is true that Pinochet is associated with economic growth but the price we had to pay for that, cannot be supported.”

Moises is a shoemaker.  His family hosted us. He spoke to us. He explained to me why people in the south wanted the death of the Mapuche. The Mapuche is an indigenous population. He knew way more about the cause than the younger boys. He admired the fact that the youth could speak. I am very thankful to Moises, Matias and Andres. They showed and told me a lot of things.

And then I had short time. Enough to see again an old lady in Santiago selling some cards. I offered her a meal. She cried. I was still doubting whether she was simply crazy but I invited her to seat with me inside of Juan Valdez. She told me her story never making a single mistake about it. Every single time I asked her the same thing. She said the same. She was hungry. She ate fast. She lived with two grandchildren. The mother had disappeared 7 months ago. And she was so shocked by it. And then her 41 year old son. The father of the grandchildren fell in love with another woman and left them. That had happened just 2 weeks ago.

“I am lucky that I have my own house. It is made by wood but it is mine. The school I cannot pay. I cried a lot and they let them stay there this month. In fact the only problem I really have is that my gas finished. So thought my neighbours have given me some food I can’t cook. I give them bread in the morning and while they are in the school they can eat. Thank you so much for this meal. I hope I can sell those cards now that is close to Christmas”.  She never really asked me for anything. I believe she was lonely. Despaired and very hungry. No one has thanked me so much for a meal before.

That happened yesterday and we took the tube to go to the airport and suddenly we were trapped. The metro stopped and women dressed in red and yellow came running in the station. People around me were not too concerned and I was trying to pay attention and suddenly the speaker said that someone had tried to commit a suicide. The lady next to me asked me whether I had understood what had happened. I told her, I had barely understood it.

“The people you saw running outside is part of a special force there is there to pay attention on people in the platforms, they are there to prevent people from jumping in front of the metro. They are not always successful like today. It happens many times here in Santiago.”

I was rather surprised that such a service existed. I am aware many people jump in front of trains but I do not think it is so common to have people specialised to prevent that.
I left, with more cordial feelings to Chile, I left with friends.  But I left thinking there are many people who are depressed, lonely. It was confirmed to me that the roots had to do with colonialism and  the fear created by Pinochet. People do not speak that much. And to enter Chile, I guess it was necessary for me to actually tell my Chilean friend in Brazil. I wish I had told Manuel way earlier. Could have heard way more things.

I sometimes wonder whether we are the victims of having little time to visit this country or rather they are the victims of being so isolated by mountains and Pinochet. Differently than most people who might have loved this country I feel rather bored by it. Sometimes it feels it is very  non Latin America, people don’t speak much, or sometimes someone is open to speak to say they wish the  destruction of the Mapuche. They speak of their terrorism, they speak about how correct was their taking of Bolivian exit to the sea. So then they seem like colonisers. So, though I was asked to have tales to tell about Chile, and Chileans all I have to say it is a country that feels apathetic to it all.

Sometimes I stopped and though it could be simply the amount of mountains, rivers, that made it feel so slow but then immediately came to my mind how the Himalayas have never taken away the personality of those lands around them. How could you forget being in the Himalaya. Here I can support the statement that the wine is good, the mountain is beautiful, and it feels peaceful but unfortunately I cannot say much more. It feels I will forget most of it entirely.

I might be the victim of having seen too many places in the world so I expected more. We have spent more than 16 hours in a bus to cross this country by day and night and still was not enchanted by it at all. I would advise my friends who love mountains to go to the Himalayas. To those who want to see Latin America to go to Venezuela, Colombia, Peru, Bolivia,  Brasil  etc…but not really here……

So the tales I have are not from Chileans…. those tales were boring. Were racists…. I thought the tales that came from Colombians and from Indians were more interesting.

The coffee here is always burnt. So I went to Juan Valdez. I learned the story behind Juan Valdez which is not a person. It is a common name in Colombia. The coffee in Juan Valdez  comes from many farms in Colombia. There I met Pablo, who is gay, and came when he had broken up with his boyfriend in Cali. His homosexuality was never a problem with his family. But latin american as he is, he explained, the end needed something radical. So he moved to this country and found a Chilean gay lover. But  even while I was here he was bored by his apathy. Pablo’s father is a coffee farmer who also sells coffee to Juan Valdez. He told me a lot about how it is that it works the organisation of Juan Valdez. And then I met Andres from Medellin who told us he  also came from a coffee farming family and answered to me a lot about Escobar.

As it had been told to me by another Colombian, Escobar was still admired in Medellin by people who came from poor families. Today that was confirmed to me.  Escobar did a lot to people in Medellin. And then I also met Indians. First I met a whole family in Puerto Varas that thought Chile was rather boring. Yesterday in my eternal attempt to return to India I took Andre to Saffron, the indian restaurant closed to where we are staying. I am also in the house of a Indian Brazilian , who has been my dear friend for many years. As I entered this gorgeous restaurant I had more feelings than being days here. My senses were immediately touched. Strong incense, many people coming towards us to speak and to ask what we needed, Indian music, food with lots of flavour. Lots of colours surrounding us all over. It was wonderful food, amazing tea, flavoured dessert, perfect plates and the right to eat with your own hands 🙂

Those are my tales….. The nicest people I have met here were Colombians, Indians and Argentinians. The Chilean do not seem to be that interested in talking to us. Did not seem to be interested to know their indigenous people. It feels like a great place to be retired in. Sometimes it feels like you are in America. Not Latin America. This does not feel like any country I have been in Latin America. I know this is a poor tale. Violent tale but I do not even wish to ever return here. There so many beautiful mountains all over the world. So many nice countries in Latin America. To those who search total peace and silence this is the country. I rather go to places where there are many tales… but that is just me and luckily Andre also wants to go there.

Love,

Jules

ps: There are still some days…. maybe it could all change 😉