Venezuela

Venezuela

Jorge is born in '94
Maracaibo, Venezuela, Sagittarius Spring
A simple, thin mother with a solemn face
Small box, big brain

Heart of a first-world kid

As a kid, Jorge dreams of being a pilot
Or a soldier like Dad or a Pokémon master
He dreams big even though he's small, believes in his skills
In his drive, in his longing, in what he sees as virtues

Martín grows up with mom, in his house and with sisters
From Acarigua to Caracas, the Venezuelan homeland
He knows his father only through phrases and reproaches
He doesn't care to know him, he tells himself at night

Jorge watches his dad practice with a revolver
One afternoon, the father tells the son, "Let me explain, Jorge
A gun's not a toy, don’t take it lightly
It's for self-defense in emergencies, God forbid"

Jorge's young but understands almost instinctively
That life is defended with love, nails, and teeth
Martín, meanwhile, struggles miles away
To get ahead and enjoy his childhood

Just two stories among so many to tell
Among so many that have been told and so many that will be
As long as we prefer silence and comfort
Over truly questioning ourselves

Jorge turns 18 and celebrates with Dad
With life ahead, he finally feels encouraged
Even if luck's not on his side and the context isn't great
He does it partly for his father, to whom he owes so much love

Martín has perspective and solid ground to stand on
Dear entrepreneurship, the family treasure
The grandfather's pharmacy that his mother managed
He decides to take charge and put his heart into it

The clock doesn't stop and life's twists and turns
He dreamed of being a soldier, ended up a journalist
He graduates and works at a very local radio
Every now and then, he invites his dad to talk

Years pass slowly and things get worse
Martín thinks there's no money, his savings are melting
There's no work at the pharmacy, less and less action
Hope isn't for sale, but it's hard to get better

The Bolivarian hope continues its course
Claiming improvements, but things are getting worse
In the chaos, the leader dies, followed by his successor
A rough guy, stern face, a real dictator

Just two stories among so many to tell
Among so many that have been told and so many that will be
As long as we prefer silence and comfort
Over truly questioning ourselves

Two declared enemies, media and entrepreneurs
Bourgeoisie aligned with foreign interests
They harass and persecute anyone who thinks differently
Anyone who sells above the leader's law

Martín wants to operate but things get complicated
Buys for 10 and sells for 15, it's a crime, can't explain
With controlled prices, he can't maneuver anymore
If he sells for more, he's a criminal and they have to take him away

But what's his crime? Just wanting to negotiate?
A business only exists if it can be financed
Satisfying others, easing needs
Offering solutions that help their peers

Just two stories among so many to tell
Among so many that have been told and so many that will be
As long as we prefer silence and comfort
Over truly questioning ourselves

Jorge from the radio to home, one day he hears the worst
His father is very sick, they found a tumor
With tear-filled eyes, he can't process it
He only knows one thing, he has to help him

But it's complicated, there are lines even for bread
Finding medicine can be a nightmare
Consumed by hate and the official narrative
Jorge curses businessmen for not selling and stocking

Martín opens the pharmacy on another routine day
Even with obstacles, he puts his heart and soul into it

Jorge leaves the radio, didn't sleep all night
Always thinking of his father, heads to his car
He has his father's gun, hidden in the glove compartment
He puts it in his pants, knows what awaits him
Remembering his father and repeating in his own way
A gun's not a toy, don’t take it lightly

Jorge arrives, takes a breath, looks, and stops
He's ready, projecting, in his head the scene
The gun has a bullet, if things get complicated
It's not that he wants to use it, but he knows what it implies

Martín sees a man walk in, a bit disheveled
With deep dark circles and a prescription in hand
Jorge goes and shows it, and asks him *please*
No stock, says Martín, **it's been out for a while**

Jorge loses it, repeats his request
This time shouting, he demands to be seen
Martín echoes the same frustration
Says there's no stock, *go fuck yourself*

Jorge pulls the gun and points it at his chest
He says, "You fucking businessman, what do you think? This isn't right"
On the edge of collapse, while Martín stutters
"There's no stock, I swear, I'd sell if I could"

Jorge wants to shoot and end the misery
It's self-defense, in emergencies, God forbid
His father's words burned into his mind
Shoot for protection, not to kill without reason

Faced with such a dilemma, Jorge breaks down crying
He says, "Forgive me, Dad, I tried so hard"
He looks into Martín's eyes and asks for one last pardon
He brings the trigger to his mouth and pulls it with fear.