It’s 1824 all over again at the heart of Leipzig.
In my homeland of Brazil, known as Plastic Surgery Capital of the World, one of the worst things one can be – besides old, disabled and black – is fat. Worse still is being a fat woman. And perhaps even worse than that is being told so (nicely) by other women, when image matters so much in this society.
I now know what he meant, but it’d take me years to fully appreciate it.
I cannot touch it, but in the wind.
A little slice of Buenos Aires cultural life in a moment of reflection, fleeing the relentless rain.
I have known her well, as long as I’ve been conscious of my own existence.