Status Updates From Piñen

El tercer capítulo es el más sutil, pero con un transfondo igual de importante.

El 2do capítulo es brutal; asco, perturbador, sensible.

El primer capítulo es una mezcla de sentimientos

Bastante bueno el inicio. Me hubiera gustado tener el significado de las palabras en mapudungun en notas al pie, pero detalles

Primer cuento: “¿HAS VISTO CÓMO BROTA LA MALEZA DE LA TIERRA SECA?” De mis cuentos favoritos !! 5/5 ⭐️❤️

‘—year of—water horse according to the Chinese horoscope—& the Mapuche horoscope—let’s say the year of the fire pudú—Now I can’t stop thinking about how—I’m part of a story that transcends me—a saline tale secreted by mammals of all sizes, creeds, & nationalities—I don’t know if I want to be part of this project—The greenhouse effect—hole in the ozone layer were our little childhood apocalypses—ways to—the future.’

‘—to shake off the disease of forgetting, to offer ourselves up as a sacrifice to memory—but there were children who bled more than others. You all know, you can see it in the way their letters weave together, in how their eyes—Fury is more noticeable than fear—just like those flowers—weeds. It’s as if we were all part of the same hedge, but with different roots. The weave of the stories those bodies unfold—history—’

‘The word piñen—from Mapudungun : dust—grime stuck to the skin. The only migrants who weren’t afraid—come live in this—place—as miserable as—ones they’d fled. It was strange how—a kind of communal minga took shape—Here, no time was wasted in profiting off the new renters. Every apartment—partitioned—at least 10 rooms—& they couldn’t complain—language was both a barrier & an ally—In any case, as far as the coke goes—’

‘—its name is Mapocho—To understand—its song, its language, its movement—perhaps we can translate tomorrow—Writing—to recover language, to revive community knowledge—continuity and exile. I carry the river’s voice inside me. My work is a translation of these experiences—of language, silence—diaspora—Perhaps we were just doing the same thing as our ancestors—A fabric of pulses—dormant energies—prayers, and offerings.’