For weeks, there are words like "ballot box," "votes," and "candidates" that persecute us everywhere. First, there were the elections in the United States and now the issue has been revived with what happened on Sunday in Venezuela. It's as if at the end of the year everything conspires to remind us of our condition as non-electors, our limited experience in deciding who leads us.
You become accustomed to not being able to choose what to put in your mouth, under which creed they will educate your children, or to whom to open the door, but that resignation shatters when you see someone else vote. Because of this, it has risen up, these days, the desire to fold the ballot, to push it into the slot and to know that with it goes my stentorian shout that demands: "to choose."