Sometimes I imagine that we have become characters in a fictional series. Where from the sides of our bodies, imaginary lines are born that announce a price.
That from the wrists they report that my pulses cost seventy pesos four years ago and in red letters In parentheses, the calculation of their current cost appears, with the touch of inflation. That the dollar label comes out of my blouse and pants, if it is bought in Shein or perhaps in the great change of Russian clothes that they sold everywhere a while ago.
That the cost of my shampoo springs from my hair and the price of soles from my shoes. That a line comes out of my stomach where the numbers are in red and the calculation within the parenthesis of inflation never stops.
In this fictional series we are not people, but a set of prices. A sum to see who costs more and who costs less. The third place is given to those who own something on the other side of the ocean and they do not look much at those who carry their own, made of coincidences.
The second place is for the one who feeds on a news item the fastest and discards it the fastest. Accumulating it in the corner of the old, even if the label is still fresh. Special mention is given to the one who shows and sells the most of themselves on the walls, as if they were making a market of their being and of their memories, pieces.
To whoever buys and sells trends. To those who accept them and discard them without leaving a sensation in the body.
And the first place, to those who buy more and feel less in their hands.
In this fictional world there are no heads. Above the neck and where the ears and eyes should be to know well, the mouth to feel and the skin to kiss…, where the reflection of a heartbeat is supposed to be, there is only one price tag.
We present ourselves as the product of a fiction series. We abandon humanity and become cardboard characters that have created, perhaps, an excessive consumerism. A historical manipulation that owning is the greatest objective of living, that time is due to generate capital to access things that we will not have a moment to enjoy. Capitalism, consumerism, globalization. Even the opinion becomes a product. Knowledge does not matter. It can also be paid in a phone chat. And time doesn’t cost. We are led to believe that it is always running out.
Also the bad script of the apocalyptic series we became loses more and more meaning. Now, the price that comes out next to the head begins to lose value. And it doesn’t matter. No one is interested in the ears and eyes to know well, or the mouth and skin to kiss, nor the reflection of a heartbeat to feel. These characters are too busy calculating the price of the heart.
By: María Karla Lam González / Translated by Radio Angulo
- Ceproníquel Company Awarded National Vanguard Status - 1 de May de 2025
- Holguin residents celebrate World Proletariat Day - 1 de May de 2025
- Cuba Reaffirms Defense of Sovereignty and Rejects US Blockade - 1 de May de 2025