I loved Timo’s laughter when I told him that I thought the little videos that he was posting on his twitter, in relation to his recovery, after the open heart surgery he underwent a few days ago at the Shaio clinic in Bogotá, seemed very successful.
One sunny morning in October 1992, in a van that I boarded in the San Jorge neighborhood, south of Bogotá, I was driven by a peasant from the area to San Juan del Sumapaz.
This is my personal impression on what happened the other day in Armenia. I think that to a large extent what happened is a reflection of the poisoning that has been done to the country.
Last Saturday the electoral campaign of the FARC begun: the candidatures were launched to Congress of the Republic, Presidency and Vice Presidency.
An insurgent force fightings the State for more than half a century, which has to its credit an indeterminate number of combatants killed, crippled or disappeared because of the war, and to which an indeterminate number of casualties in the opposite ranks are also attributed, sign the peace, first of all, so that there are no more dead.
It starts in earnest this 2018, in the midst of the difficulties of the tropical country that we had to live in.
The propaganda today deals with describing the FARC as a kind of band subjected to the caprice of opulent and perverse leaders.
Last Wednesday I turned 59. Forty springs had already passed since I was 19, being a law student of the National University, when, emotionally destroyed by the loss of my first love, I met Aracelly one night, a 30-year-old prostitute, who introduced me to the other face of the world, in the happy nights we spent among cafés and motels in the Santa Fe neighborhood, in the capital of the country.