@mc5punk 9 September 2025 more from that month

Short story: Under the Same Sky

He sat in front of the screen, the post nearly finished. His fingers ran over the text one last time; the cursor blinked like a metronome marking the decision to share it with the world. He had chosen each sentence with the care of someone who measures the weight of their words, aware that what he would write would soon travel beyond his desk and reach others who were also debating whether to stay or leave. Before clicking “publish,” he decided to turn his reflection into an intimate letter addressed to those still searching for an answer amid the vertigo. He would sign with the pseudonym "A. Serrano." --- Dear reader, To find that answer you must first evaluate many things within the current situation in the country. When one considers whether to leave or remain, one is not simply choosing a destination; one is weighing an entire life: memories, responsibilities, fears, opportunities, and the way each of those pieces interacts with the surrounding environment. The decision therefore requires a broad view that includes both tangible and intangible factors, macro and micro, personal and collective. On the tangible side, there are a number of conditions that recur in everyday conversation and that deeply affect the possibility of building a stable life. Among them are **the deterioration of public services**: electricity that fails frequently, water that arrives in drips, garbage accumulating in the streets when collection systems collapse. These daily problems, besides being inconvenient, generate constant emotional and economic costs: altered daily schedules, the need to invest in alternative solutions (generators, tanks, filters), and a gradual erosion of quality of life. The economic sphere is another decisive aspect. **The lack of stable, formal employment** reduces opportunities for young people and for those who need stability to support a family. Along with this, **hyperinflation** —that inflation which not only consumes wages but makes medium-term planning impossible— transforms saving into a risky and diminished bet. Someone with a salary sees their purchasing power decline rapidly; someone with a small business struggles to keep it afloat amid unpredictable costs and difficulty accessing supplies. Health and food are unavoidable pillars: **the shortage of medicines and food** is not just a line in reports; it is the daily experience of families who must go from pharmacy to pharmacy, ask for favors, or postpone treatments. Food insecurity and limited access to essential medicines turn treatable illnesses into latent threats and frame many personal decisions within survival. Another element that weighs heavily is public safety. **Crime** affects everything from freedom of movement to the sense of belonging. Life in spaces that were once traversed without worry can become a set of precautionary protocols: alternate routes, restricted hours, caution when speaking aloud. That constant tension wears people down and conditions personal and community projects. The political dimension adds another layer of complexity. **Political instability** —when rules change frequently, institutions show weakness, and democratic coexistence seems threatened— generates uncertainty about the country’s future. Investment decisions, educational projects, and social reforms all depend on an institutional climate that, if unstable, discourages long-term planning and investment. These elements do not act in isolation; they combine and reinforce each other. The deterioration of services pushes additional costs onto households; hyperinflation erodes savings; insecurity limits job opportunities; shortages in health and food affect productivity and well-being. In that web of problems, many people have chosen to emigrate to nearby countries in our South American region seeking stability, job opportunities, and the possibility of rebuilding themselves in contexts with more reliable services and more predictable institutional frameworks. However, within the national territory, responses and decisions fragment into different strands with important nuances. A first strand is made up of those who believe the outlook will not change in the short term and yet cannot leave. Their reasons are usually practical: **they do not have money** to cover travel, paperwork, or settlement in another country; **they have nowhere to go**, either because they lack family networks abroad or because there are no concrete opportunities to justify the risk. For this group, frustration and a sense of being trapped are constant: they know the risks and limitations of the context, but real alternatives to leave are few or non-existent. Another strand consists of those who maintain hope for improvement. They may be people who, due to their age, community commitment, or political conviction, understand that social and structural processes take time and that betting on staying also means betting on transformation. For them, staying is a decision supported by the belief that by participating, resisting, and contributing from their own spaces they can influence the country’s course. That stance can also imply different planning: prioritizing education, participating in civic organizations, building local networks, or simply enduring day to day with the certainty that the effort will be worth it when the context changes. A third group is made up of those who, despite the difficulties, can still maintain some level of stability thanks to external economic supports. These supports include **remittances** sent by relatives from abroad, jobs in the public sector that provide regular income (even with eroded salaries), or **inherited patrimonial assets** that allow them to keep a roof overhead and soften the blow of the crisis. For these people, material resilience gives them room to plan personal projects, continue studies, or invest in small enterprises, although the same macroeconomic pressures remain. My personal case is embedded in that fabric with its own nuances: I have decided to stay because I feel I must take part in the struggle for a better country to hand on to future generations. This determination does not arise from an act of reckless bravery nor from a denial of reality; it is, rather, the result of weighing principles, responsibilities, and expectations. Being part of a generation that not only watches but acts implies accepting costs. I know I will have to postpone many of my dreams —travels, professional projects that require training abroad, certain immediate financial security— but I also believe that a life built with a sense of purpose has a value that transcends individual achievements. I want to be honest with you: the decision to stay involves nights of uncertainty. There are days when the question “what if I had done something else?” appears strongly, and the imagination sketches other possible lives in places that promise order and predictability. But there are also moments when the bond with the community, the memory of loved ones, and the conviction that small actions can add up anchor me. I accept that I may not see all the fruits of my efforts; perhaps the changes I promote will be seeds that germinate decades from now, in the hands of those who are not yet born. That, far from discouraging us, can be a compass: to work like someone who plants trees knowing that others will benefit from their shade. Part of my decision to remain is sustained by an ethic of collective responsibility. It is not only the abstract country that matters to me, but the schools where the neighborhood children learn, the mothers who struggle for daily sustenance, the neighbors who share knowledge and care. Staying sometimes means dedicating oneself to tasks that do not pay but preserve social fabric: organizing support networks, teaching, documenting stories, resisting demoralization. These tasks, although invisible to some, sustain the possibility of reconstruction when the political and economic cycle allows it. There is also a practical dimension to my decision: I try to diversify my efforts. While I work on community causes and participate in civic spaces, I invest in my education, maintain professional alliances, and take care of my finances as much as possible. I do not renounce prudence: I prepare contingency scenarios, keep contacts abroad, and if circumstances demanded it, I would consider leaving in the future. Staying today does not mean closing myself off to every other option; it is a conscious decision at a given moment. I do not want to romanticize staying nor demonize leaving. Emigrating is a legitimate, brave, and often necessary option: it means seeking security, opportunity, and well-being for oneself and one’s family. The diaspora has been, for many, a mechanism of survival and growth, and remittances, professional projects, and experiences abroad have enriched our communities in concrete ways. To those who leave, I acknowledge the courage and the capacity to start anew in unknown contexts; to those who stay, I value the resistance and the quiet work to sustain daily life and a possible future. Personally, the tranquility I seek is not the certainty of having made the “right” decision in absolute terms —that certainty does not exist;— it is the peace of conscience that comes from acting according to reflected convictions. If tomorrow the results of my effort were visible —tangible improvements in my community, concrete reforms, lives that change— I would feel satisfaction. If I do not live to see those results, I know I did what I could, and that also allows me to live with the serenity of someone who acted responsibly. In closing this letter, I would like to leave an invitation: whether you are thinking of leaving or considering staying, give yourself time to honestly evaluate your motives, resources, and limits. Talk with your people, design contingency plans, learn about concrete options, and do not underestimate the value of the communities you leave or those in which you decide to remain. The decision, in the end, will be intimate and complex, and there are no universal formulas that apply to everyone. With affection and hope,  A. Serrano Source of the images. Image created with Bing.