The time will come when the memories of 2024 will be as imprecise as those of other years. We will invent happy days and we will burn bad tricks, or what is not interesting, into oblivion. We will be capable of this because memory is fragile (over the years we know that more so) and that ductility is a balm to face the day after, but also to erase any trace of guilt or pain. We say goodbye to 2024 and if we say goodbye it is because we have survived it; At the end of the day, what counts is survival.
Survive “fucking reality,” said Mónica Naranjo’s song. A quarter of a century now. This 2024 has fed us up with fucking reality full of indifference and incompetence. Here I trace a disjointed thread, of what comes to my head and heart, of the daily tragedies such as that of Gaza, the DANA of Valencia, the immigrant minors from the Canary Islands overcrowded in shelters and the incessant drip of sexist crimes . They are not all that have been, and perhaps I connect them because of the uncertainty of 2025 with the rise of reactionary rulers: Donald Trump returns to the White House.
#Goodbye
