A few months ago, I went back to live at my mother’s apartment. I returned after a 16-year-marriage completely fell through, which gave birth to a 12-year-old son and a house that we had planned to remodel as our family home. But Life had other plans…
My son would spend the lockdown with his father: there he lives with his cousins and aunts and uncles, and they could better deal with the compulsory classes on TV, altogether.
I was alone. My house, my history, my memories and life all began again, in lockdown.
My kidneys were acting up and with medicine shortages and problems sleeping, herbal teas really helped.
Sitting out on my balcony became a routine and a privilege. Two of the most well-stocked stores in Santa Clara are located beneath my mother’s apartment. Shouting and wild gesticulations come up from the line both midday and in the early hours of the morning. I started taking photos outside of my four walls, of the things I saw and heard from my window.
The life I didn’t share with anyone.