domingo, 21 de abril de 2013

Texto "Un lugar" en inglés


Text for Theater Encounter, for Usera district, Madrid, Spain
Moisés Mato

I’m sure that there is a place in which I could be, at last, myself. I’m sure. I don’t want to get desperate. You know, I know that this place exists. Maybe it’s near, maybe it could even be here. I don’t know. The only thing that I know is that I haven’t arrived there yet.
It would be terrible to think that a place where a soul could rest, without a need for dying, doesn’t exist. A place, that I could call “home”, that could open its windows and doors. A place, under which roof I could lie back and throw away the key to the door forever, far away, as if saying to the people: ‘I am here. The door is open, come on in. Those who would like to sleep under the stars can go up the chimney. I reserved you some tiles by my side. I have some stories that have never been told before. The time has come to spit out of my throat that which has warmed my heart.’
Can you imagine?
Look. (Shows a map of the world that (s)he had in the pocket. It’s shabby.)
There are so many places. Here live the yellows. Here, the majority is black. Here, the whites and the mestizos. Colours. Here they are poorer, and here, richer. Some are miserable because they don’t have enough, and others are miserable because they have more than they need. Look at this: lines, borders… I was born here, now, I am here. Millions of people are moving without taking a break. Millions, every day. Maybe all of them are looking for a place. It’s hard to think that a place where one could be oneself doesn’t exist.
I would like to be like a child. Children don’t realise these things. They play, and they really play and they find themselves in playing. Just like this. With every play, they start a new life once again, and each new meeting becomes the most important. With their innocence, they could find humanity again. If we were like children, we would all find our place. Sure.
(Crumples up the map and throws it to the floor.)
But we are not. The look of our eyes gives us away. With the look of the eyes we label, we judge, we mark, we place ourselves between the rock of prejudice and the hard place of convention. The look of our eyes is not the one that children have. We preserve humanity from itself, we take no risks, do not play, we are not looking for a new sunshine.
However, I want to believe, I need to believe that there is a place. That a place where I could be, exists.
(Picks up the map, folds it well and keeps it.)
Thank you for listening. 

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