To be, to seem. They are predicative verbs, of which they need a predicate, a continuation, a direct complement to understand each other and give each other meaning. I can’t just be, I can’t just look.
It looked like an oasis that island in the days that lasted the Glocal Camp. A parenthesis in daily life. As if, suddenly, we had to unlearn part of the vices acquired. As if it were much more than a meeting of like-minded people, of postmodern hippies who share their time between their love of beer or Autocad, and the desire to change the world.
The intelligences of many different people gathered together are capable of breaking even the worst walls. Even our own. That intelligence is not only presupposed to the mind; the body is wise, it has memory. All the bodies were those that constructed and gave physical form to this Glocal Camp.
Pieces of frayed images parade through my head.
I remember Irene’s linguistic coherence and ability to order ideas (and how well she does on camera). The strength with which Maje won the battle against the viruses that wanted to leave her locked in a bed. The sea of concepts in which Ioanna’s mind navigates and the desire to listen to her as soon as she begins to order them. Hulya’s freedom, her movement, her independence, her strength as a woman. Conchi’s body setting the rhythm to the music, and not the other way around. Laura beating the heteropatriarchy based on twerk and photographing each moment she climbed into the wardrobes. Pascual scrubbing, taking care of us and laughing. Virginia recording everything, talking everything, dancing everything down. Jonathan managing and organizing workshops during the day and at night becoming a bakalao route sugarcane grower. (All full of gerunds, as if it were a slow motion picture, one of those that you never want to finish).
Lila with his hip movement and his mane, without making much noise but being close, always. Sebastiano with his innate rhythm and his courage to question the privileges of his genre. Julie combining psychoanalysis with broccoli shakes and shots of rum, honey and lemon. Alfonso with a head full of data, ideas, a desire to share. The conversations with Pablo and the imaginary walks along the coast of Castellón and the baths in the Mediterranean music. Bentejuí dressed as host, always ready to lend a hand and boast of archipelago. Artemi with his smiles and his perfect organizational ability that has made so many people feel so good. Adrián was willing to tear down the walls of machism -with Toño’s help- with jokes and the social problem of housing based on cohousing. María and her head, that walks at a speed superior to that of the rest of the mortals, full of projects, of questions. Rachel -and Matilda- with her videos, told us about her life and we realized that she looked a lot like ours.
All of them were important because they gave meaning to the verb to belong, a verb that landed cluelessly on the beautiful island that was – and is – the Glocal Camp and became preaching as soon as he realized that he needed them to be, to be, to exist.