I wrote this, in Spanish, on December 20th, 2010, the 10th aniversery of the riots which outsted president Fernando de la Rua and caused him to flee in a helicopter, a marking day of the economic crisis which putt he entire country into chaos.

Ten years from December 20th, 2001, I must remember where I was. Where I was 10 years ago. I was in my house, I was safe, secure, awaiting the last day of school and Christmas. I was safe, and without a single worry. Safe while the White house was bombing and murdering innocent Afghanis. While millions in the U.S. didn ´t have access to health care  or proper nutrition. And, most relavent to that day, while my Argentine friends were living in crisis and uncertainty. For me, everything was fine ten years ago, and I must never be afraid to recognize this and say it, because ignoring it would be to forget the enormous difference between my reality, my life and the lives of others, of my friends here. The enormous difference between living inside the empire and living outside.

I am not Argentine, nor am I Latino, and as such I can not feel for the 20th of December as an Argentine nor understand how they feel. I have no intention of doing so, because that would be extremely disingenuous. Nor do I intend to be here in Argentina and pass today as though it were a normal day.

Many Americans are thankful that they have the luck and fortune that others don’t have. That fact I have more than others disgusts me. It disgusts me and it fills me with indignation. My classmates and friends here in Argentina didn ´t have a childhood like mine. Thinking about today, where I was 10 years ago, reminds me of reality and the walls. There are invisible walls everywhere in the U.S., and a very visible wall that seperates my reality from from Latin American reality, the Rio Grande. El Rio Bravo del Norte.