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Death is not the End

“Death is not the end,” my grandmother said to me, while watering the flowers of her garden.
“And what follows?” I asked naively when I was nine.

And my grandmother proceeded to tell me an old story. A legend of her people.

According to Guarani beliefs, after dying, the soul detaches from the body and hides inside a flower, waiting for a magical being to appear. The Mainimbú—the Guarani name for hummingbirds—, uses its long beak for taking the soul out of the flower and gently carries it to paradise.

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I did it my way

That afternoon, I felt like I needed a breath of fresh air, a breath away from the sometimes, suffocating city. I departed in search of a patch of green, stranded among a sea of concrete. When I trespassed to the oasis, the softness of the grass on my soles and the cold whisper of the trees restored my vitality.

As I wandered through, I realized I was not alone in my tiny paradise, and when I figured out who my companion was, I froze at mid step.

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The Man with the Thousand Names

“Since immemorial times the man has been aware of uncanny forces that surround him,” the presenter addressed the public cramming the theatre. “Forces imperceptible to the naked eye, but that nobody dares to refuse their existence—Magic!”—said raising his hand scenically—“It’s an honor for me to introduce to you the person whose name it’s synonymous of mystery.”

“My queue,” I muttered to myself standing behind the curtains at the backstage, making sure my bowtie was properly aligned.

The presenter stepped aside and waved his hand, “Please welcome, the magnificent Harvey and his fabulous magic show!!!”

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