Fehaciente

La prueba indiscutible de que leer (y hacer caso de ) noticias de forma compulsiva no es vida, es esta declaración de Ingrid Betancourt a The Guardian:

“She had an old radio which was a lifeline for the messages her mother regularly broadcast and for keeping up with news. She has said the biggest event was the war in Iraq, and described crying with emotion when she heard her friend Dominique de Villepin address the UN as French foreign minister, cautioning against the war. She also clung to any news on the BBC of the journalist Alan Johnston held in Gaza.

“I followed all his ordeal, every day. I remember the BBC transmitting messages to give him hope. I listened to his press conference and when I heard his words, I was thinking this guy has gone through what I’ve gone through. He knows perfectly what I’m feeling.”

Debe ser terrible asirse a la realidad por las pequeñas bocinas de una radio de pilas. Por eso a nosotros se nos olvida todo, nos vale madres todo: es más importante planear a dónde vamos a chupar o con quién vamos a dormir.

Cuando leí esta nota pensé que mis cuentas por pagar, la mala memoria para los nombres de los políticos (Mouriño era…secretario ¿de qué?, termino preguntándome siempre); esos compromisos sociales que detesto, las idas al supermercado y el tráfico a veces pueden ser vistos como prueba fehaciente de que estoy viva y semi-libre (no en el concepto de libertad filosófica, pues, nomás as opposed to not-kidnapped-in-the-jungle).

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