Destiny

Destiny at her home on an afternoon. Her aunt at the sewing machine. Destiny checks her phone. One look. On look directed to a portrait on the table. It is a portrait that has been always there, it is part of the routine. She looks at the portrait briefly and something inside her gets open, something breaks: it is her, her sister, and her family.

In destiny’s eyes there is something we can only imagine: her sister’s presence, the constant absence.

I imagine one day in the past. Maybe a call on an afternoon just like this one? Maybe somebody knock at the door? The bad news, the violence that will forever mark her, the constant pain despite of time, just with one look or a smell or a song.

What do you want to convey? I asked

I don’t know. She said.

Text by Luis Henao.

Part of a work in progress about domestic violence. 2017