As I write this post, it’s just 8:00 p.m. in Caracas. I usually schedule my posts to go live in the early morning, so… by the time this post is published, it will already be July 24—a date that will remain in our memories forever. Because even though it’s just a number, it represents a truly catastrophic day that will always be etched in our memories from now on. Today marks one month since that afternoon when everything seemed normal, just another holiday—entire families gathered in their homes, some enjoying the start of a soccer game, others watching a movie, playing games, spending time with friends or family, or simply someone enjoying some solitude in the comfort of their home on a day off. In a matter of seconds, all of our lives were changed; in a matter of seconds, entire families, entire buildings, and nearly an entire city vanished… Anyone from Venezuela who reads this post will feel the same as I do: a deep sadness and a void that, even though 30 days have already passed, remains as present as if it had happened yesterday.
And I’ve been one of those people who always keeps up with the news, hoping that people will survive, and it’s been heartbreaking to think that so many people may have died while waiting for help—the worst kind of death, buried under rubble, slowly dying of hunger, thirst, and perhaps from the impact of the fall. Whenever I think about that, I imagine what would have happened if I were the one in that situation—my family and I fighting for our lives—and it makes me so sad… The thing is, over the last few weeks, no one else has been pulled out alive—at least no humans—but kittens and puppies have been rescued, and that makes me so happy too. It brings me such joy to see that these innocent little animals managed to survive in such extreme conditions for days and even weeks.
But over the past few weeks, we’ve also seen false positives that sometimes seem intentional— I don’t know—I’m not there—but from here it all looks so strange. We’ve lost sleep and filled our hearts with hope over supposed signs of life that in the end turned out to be “NOTHING.” The latest one was yesterday; I didn’t sleep a wink because on TikTok they were livestreaming a supposed rescue of two children. Many people were watching those livestreams; many of us didn’t sleep last night, and in the end it turned out to be a false positive, although at this hour (8:47 p.m.) some reliable journalists are saying there’s a slim chance that there might be people alive at that spot where everyone has been gathered since yesterday. But I don’t know what to think anymore. Still, it’s pretty crazy to think that someone could survive 29 days under the rubble, but life has shown me that anything is posible...
It fills me with anger and frustration every time there’s a false positive. It’s really quite strange to feel this way about people I don’t even know, but everything has been so intense that I can’t help but feel this way. La Guaira used to be a beautiful place where I’d visit my husband’s family on special occasions, and now it’s scary to even think about being there. My husband’s family told me that the smell in the areas where the collapsed buildings are is horrible; the number of flies is overwhelming. I even saw videos of people asking for the area to be fumigated because they’re trying to recover bodies that are still buried, and the flies and maggots are making it difficult for them. It’s a very harsh reality, and only those who are there risking their lives know what it means.