Ganas de llorar ⁂ Just want to cry ⁂ ただ泣きたい


Yrene Yuhmi sketches Tangled Disney

Sólo ganas de llorar.

Ver cómo en nombre de la Libertad,
se blande la bandera de la violencia,

se hiere al prójimo,

se queman las calles,

se aterroriza a tu propia gente…

Ver cómo en nombre de la Libertad,

no soy libre,

porque tengo otra lengua,

tengo otro linaje,

otros rasgos, otro color.

Ver cómo en nombre de la Libertad

se arrebata la libertad misma.

Sólo ganas de llorar.

Sólo tristeza y abandono.
Soledad e impotencia.

Y seguir manteniendo las fuerzas

para luchar contra

la maldita enfermedad rara

que me tocó.

Porque hay que seguir viva,

hay que seguir mirando adelante.

Aunque delante de mi tenga

un muro de odio racial

que no comprendo, ni comprenderé jamás.
yrene yuhmi 18 octubre 2019


Just want to cry.

Seeing how in the name of Freedom,

the flag of violence is raised,

your neighbor is hurt,

the streets are burned,

your own people are terrified …

Seeing how in the name of Freedom,
I am not free,

because I have another language,

I have another lineage,

other features, another color.

Seeing how in the name of Freedom
Freedom itself is taken away.

Just want to cry.

Only sadness and abandonment.
Loneliness and helplessness.

And keep up the strength

To fight the damn

weird disease that genes gave me.

Because I have to stay alive,

I have to keep looking forward.

Although in front of me there is a wall of

Racism that

I do not understand,

nor will I ever understand.
yrene yuhmi October 18, 2019


scenic view of mount fuji

Photo by Tirachard Kumtanom on



































イレーネ優海  より 2019年10月18日

Yrene Yuhmi Bushido


Vivir sin miedo



yrene yuhmi garden


Si pudiera salir corriendo dejaría atrás hasta mis pasos.

Si pudiera salir huyendo

no podrían saber de mí ni las aves

que desde el cielo todo lo observan.

Si pudiera vivir sin miedo

no habría felicidad que no pudiera atrapar

con estas dos pequeñas manos.

Si pudiera vivir sin el control de sus grilletes

cuán ligero estaría me ha agotado corazón.

22 julio 2019

© Yrene Yuhmi


If I could run away

I would leave behind my own steps.

If I could run away,

nor even the birds

that observe everything from the sky

wouldn’t know about me.

If I could live without fear

there would be no happiness

that I couldn’t catch with

these two little hands.

If I could live without the control

of their shackles,

how light my exhausted heart would be!

Niños/Ancianos. Adivinanza alquímica.

Todos llevamos dentro a un niño y a un anciano.
Sólo unos pocos saben voltear ese tablero de doble espejo
 en el que se ven ambas caras.
Quizás porque es un desafío a las tres leyes del Tiempo. 
Quizás por exceso de miedo, o por falta de imaginación.
Pero ahí están ambos conviviendo en un mismo cuerpo.

Yrene Yuhmi 1 octubre 2019

We all carry a child and an old man inside.
Only a few know how to turn that double-mirror board on which both faces are seen, perhaps because it is a challenge to the three laws of Time.
Perhaps because of excessive fear, or lack of imagination.
But they are there, both living together in the same body.
yrene yuhmi October 1, 2019



私たちは皆、子供と老人を中に抱えていますが、両面が見えるダブルミラーボードを回す方法を知っている人はごくわずかです。 おそらく、過度の恐怖、または想像力の欠如のためです。



yrene yuhmi drawing beatrix pottter

Merry “Maries” alive Navidad 2018


Hoy, Navidad, no tengo que decirlo. Medio mundo se está gastando los duros
en aparentar ser felices…
Pero como soy cristiana, celebro que Nuestro Señor Jesus naciera,
en un pueblo pequeño, sin casa ni comida, en una noche que probablemente,
fuera en diciembre o en marzo, fue bien fría.

Voy a rezar por las mujeres, por las que han sido asesinadas,
por las que viven muriendo un poquito cada día, y por las que, por desgracia,
moriremos en un futuro cercano, si los políticos que llevan el país,
no cambian las leyes de una vez.
Muy ocupados están en tener el pandero en su ansiado puesto,
jugando a venerar banderas y a pelearse por los colores que cada cual idolatra…

Por ellos no rezo, pero sí por el pueblo, ese sí que es mi bandera. Ellas y ellos
sí que llevan el país, pero a hombros. Y cómo pesa…

Que Dios os bendiga con paz, que Budha os de sabiduría,
que Vishnu os ayude a unir lazos y Alah os calme el dolor de las heridas.

Que la música no falte en vuestras casas,
que los libros no vistan más de polvo.

Que los maridos no malmariden,

que las mujeres tengan libertad.
Que las hadas y los duendes velen por los niños,
y no haya monstruo que no se pueda derrotar.

Que no haya enfermedad que no se cure,
y que no tengamos que poner nombres raros y largos a las jugarretas de los genes.

Que no haya mesa sin pan ni cama sin techo,
que no haya poeta sin alma ni panadero sin paciencia,
que no olvidemos a la hermana que tenemos a cien pasos,
que no dejemos de dar abrazos, que es lo nuestro.
Y que no falte en ninguna casa la risa, porque sin reír,
la vida, casi que no merece la pena.
Feliz Navidad, Felices Pascuas, Merry Xmas.



yrene yuhmi 2018



Yes, Merry Xmas, Happy Holidays! I must say. Everybody spending a lot of money to

pretend we are happy together even if we are not.

But I am Christian so I celebrate that Our Lord Jesus came to this world,

born in a little town, without bread neither home, during a cold night,

(no matter His BirthDay was in December or in March, it had to be chilling right?)

I am going to pray for THE WOMEN. The ones who has been murdered, the ones who

are being murdered little by little day by day, and the ones who are going to be

murdered, sadly, if our politics don’t change the laws for good. But they are too busy

accommodating their butts on their so desired positions,

playing to worship flags, and fight over  the colors that each of them adores.

I don’t pray for them, but I pray for the People, women and men, who really

lead this country, carry it on their backs, not easy task, because it’s heavy, so heavy…


May God bless you with Peace, May Budha gives you wisdom,

May Vishnu help you keep the bonds, May Alah ease the pain of your wounds.


Wish you have music everyday all your life,

And that our books don’t dress with dust anymore.


Wish the fairies and elves, look after our children,

and all monsters can be defeated.


With not more disease can’t be incurable,

and that we would not have to put strange names to

the pranks of the gene.


Wish there is not table without bread,

Wish there is not poet without soul, and not baker without patience.


Wish we don’t forget the sister who lives just next door,

and that we don’t stop giving hugs, we are cut our for this!


And I wish every home has laughs, because without laughing,

this Life is not worth the effort.


Feliz Navidad, Merry Xmas, Happy Holdidays.

I mean it!!


yrene yuhmi 2018



This big teddy bear is as old as I am ^^ She has been with me until now…Memories of better times, childhood and dreams, innocency and laughs. I want to be a kid again!













Rapunzel de pelo corto (song poem)


Ya lo sé. Pero duele.

Que tú nunca serás mío,

que nunca podré darte este amor inmenso

Cautivo en mi pecho.

Ya lo sé, pero duele…

Rapunzel de pelo corto en una torre infinita,

Desde esa pequeña ventana

Veo pasar tu vida junto Ella.

Y como duele…

Y sin embargo no puedo dejar de quererte,

Porque cuando te conocí, supe que ya era tuya.

Tuya hasta que muera.

Y guardo este amor tan inmenso,

Y aunque duele,

Lo guardo bien, y es un amor tan puro y bello

como esas hadas en Utopía,

que me acompañan en mis días de

Rapunzel de pelo corto,

Transformando mis sueños en

Fantasías de tintas y colores.

Ya lo sé, que ni lo sabes, pero te quiero

como nadie te podrá querer jamás.

Y queriendo sin ser querida,

Esta Rapunzel que traza dibujos en el aire,

Te observará de lejos, sin molestar,

Deseando ser tuya y tú mío,

Y en deseo se quedará esta historia,

Pues tú ya eres de otra.

Yrene yuhmi 2017 mayo 15

I know it, but still hurts,

That you will never be mine.

That I will never be able to give you this huge love

captive deep inside my heart.

I know it but still hurts,

Rapunzel of short hair,

Alone, inside this infinite tower,

From that little window I drew myself,

I see you living your life with her.

And how much it hurts…

And even so, I can’t stop loving you,

Because when I met you I knew I was yours,

yours until I part away…

And I keep this huge intense love

And even hurting so much it hurts,

I keep it safe and treasure it,

it’s such a beautiful and pure love:

Like those fairies from Utopia,

who transform my dreams

in inked and colores fantasies,

making my tears disappear.

I know it, that you don’t have any clue,

That I am loving you as no one can ever love you.

And loving without being loved,

this who talks, self-called Rapunzel

who traces drawings in the air,

Will observe you from far away,

without bothering,

wishing to be yours and you to be hers…

but this story will no be more like a wish,

And as a wish will remain forever,

because you already belong to other love,

you already belong to Her.

Yrene Yuhmi May 5th 2017

ELLA no necesita un meme por WhatsApp


La familia, los amigos, los lazos, los conocidos…miles de memes y citas compartidas por WhatsApp o publicadas en Facebook. Qué fácil, ¿verdad? Muy fácil este tipo de compromiso humano y social.

Cuando en las noticias vemos que han matado a otra mujer en España, que su marido o pareja o ex la ha asesinado,

aparecen sus vecinos y hermanos, familiares indignados, con carteles y lagrimones, que no sé si creerme, por desgracia.

¿Cómo es posible que no sepa alguien que su hermana vive con un psicópata/un tipo agresivo sin alma ni principios?

La verdadera familia está siempre contigo, sabe qué te preocupa, qué te duele, qué te gusta, qué te hace feliz, te ayuda y se deja ayudar, sabe a qué hora te vas a dormir, y cuándo te levantas.

Sabe con quién vives: porque esa verdadera familia ha vivido también contigo y con esa persona que dice quererte.

Conoce a esa persona como tú misma.

Este país necesita menos hipócritas y más valientes si queremos cambiar la situación de horror que viven muchas mujeres, de todas las edades y nacionalidades.

Si queremos acabar con el abandono, la depresión, la incomprensión, la soledad del discapacitado, la tortura del sujeto sin nombre que aterroriza a diario a su mujer y a sus hijos….si queremos acabar con todo este infierno: demos la cara, hablemos directamente con quien queremos hablar, no finjamos que todo va bien porque me lo han contado.

Sí, en primera persona: que te lo expliquen ELLAS, qué tienen voz y derecho a levantarla. Pero si no estás con ella, si no la ves, ni sabes de su día a día, ¿qué porras vas a lograr?

Olvida el dibujo adorable de buenas noches en el WhatsApp y convive y actúa como quien eres: una hermana, una vecina, una amiga, una cuñada, una prima.

Si no te apetece, sal de su vida y miéntele a otra.

Pero no a ella: ya tiene a un gran enemigo pegado a su existencia, no necesita más intrusos que no la apoyen ni la crean.

A ellas: JUSTICIA, y una sencilla vida SIN grilletes ni abandono.

Rezo de corazón por ellas; lucho con mis palabras por ellas.

Yrene Yuhmi 2018 Agosto

The summer when Lady H.H.Holmes almost killed me

The summer when Lady H.H.Holmes almost killed me

Confesiones por email “Así nació Yrene Yuhmi”
— 読み進める

I’ve been thinking a lot these days, and I did not dare to write to you … I still have very bad memories of when I did not know what I was suffering from, and the anguish is very strong with those memories.

This is in my case, which is different, although each case is unique because there are many types of CF mutations, and that makes each patient different. Broadly speaking, CF is genetic, it produces a degeneration of the whole body, because it affects at cellular level. You can find a lot of information on CF federation site or at Wikipedia!

But to get to the point, and roughly, it’s diagnosed at birth, and affects the lungs greatly, and the digestive system, pancreas, liver, genital tract, skin, muscles, bones … In CF, there is an excess of excretion or mucus in all the organs, for example, our sweat is very salty, that’s why when we talk about CF we hear the expression “salty kisses”

we lose a lot of salt, so we need a supplement, mostly during summer. The pancreas does not produce enzymes, and sometimes, unfortunately, neither insulin (nor endocrine function nor exocrine) so you have diabetes in addition.

The liver is also tired and transaminases can be altered, the genital flow is constant, mucous; in men there is a high probability of being sterile … the malabsorption causes us to lose many kilos with great ease, and this is a problem above all in time of growth, that is why it is important to be diagnosed immediately.

A few years ago the CF test was added to the others tests that are done on the baby’s foot. But I was born in 1976! And whatever the reason was, I didn’t have a diagnose.

I was a healthy baby, but my mother tells me I had some episodes of being very thin, at age five, and then at 13, I started with constant diarrhea. They said that it was lactose intolerance (in CF you can have celiac disease and intolerances due to digestive problems, they are all secondary diseases due to the cystic fibrosis)

My mother fought hard to know why I was always sick, losing weight, with diarrhea, indigestion always, nausea but never vomiting, a state of eternal nausea … many years of struggle, going to different doctors, hospitals … Tarragona and Barcelona … finally, a doctor specialised in food allergies and paediatrician, working in Barcelona, ​​Dr. Jaume Botey and Sala, very old, wise, a man with a big and strong constitution, and ethical talking totally impartial, he made me “the test of sweat” and it gave positive.

I had CF, and only knowing what I was suffering from, despite being an incurable and mortal disease…

It made the whole family breathe easy!

The bad thing was the research stage, which many doctors believed I had anorexia (the 90s were the years of awareness and extension of what appeared to be this disease) and although all psychiatrists and professionals completely ruled out I had anorexia, a couple of doctors (no psychiatrists) did not want to budge.

During the year 2001 I had to be hospitalised because of cachexia, I weighed only 30 kilos: it was a hell for me… (I did not recognize myself, it hurt me to look at me in the mirror, I did not go out just because I was scared of my appearance, or of people whispering about me without dissimulation, to the point of making cry my little sister…I recall this situation was in a clothes shop called “Stradivarius”

I remember it because we mom and sisters, could almost never go out, and she was 13 or 14 years old, (the age of going with her big sister to shop and enjoy those times and that age …)

No matter how hard I tried to gain weight, I was plummeting. First the doctors thought it was an immune disease of the liver, but it was not like that.

In Barcelona, ​​the head of the plant, a big fish of Vall d’Hebrón hospital, was the digestologist who took my case.

She did not like the fact that Dr. Botey gave me the diagnosis…And who knows why, she always seemed angry with me and my mother. She was a mean and arrogant woman.

One day, fed up with my case, she told me that if I kept going like that (?)

she could not do anything.

I said: “I do not want to continue like this either, that’s why I’m here,

you have to help me”

she said there were more doctors in Spain,

and we made the consultation at two.

“If you do not save me, God will save me,” I replied, crying.

And she screamed with arrogance and despise, “well, so God do save you!”

I left crying and ran without knowing where inside the digestive plant,

and my mother did not know whether to follow me, or continue trying to talk to the

doctor, at that absurd and nightmare-like “end of the consultation”,

without further hope, she realised her period just came suddenly: and It was a

considerable hemorrhage.

Once in Tortosa, I was admitted to a clinic, and there they put me a tube to be fed by vein, do not know what is the correct name in English, but it was a tube that ran from the intravenous feeding machine, to the heart, from the back of the elbow.

In that clinic they could not treat CF, so they sent me to Vall d’Hebron on the condition (I asked for) of not even having to see “the evil female doctor” in question. The deal was established and they took us there by ambulance.

As soon as I arrived, a doctor and around ten interns came in, examined all my belongings, treated me like someone despicable … and so started our nightmare:

The plant manager M.D. did appear, they broke the deal…

The summer of 2001 was the most eternal and terrible season of our lives.

They did psychological tests to both of us, my mother did not have to go through that, but anyway they did it… instead of treating my CF, they were desperately looking for an eating disorder. The psychiatrists and psychologists continued to argue that it was not like that, that I was depressed by my physical condition and by being always sick.

They took me to the hardest Psychiatric area, the Pedopsychiatrists interrogated us both, in separate rooms, for a few hours. We had already gone through hard questions in Tortosa. It was as if I was to blame for what was happening to me.

In pedopsychiatrist area, the doctor, a well known eminence, determined that I did not have anorexia neither anything similar.

In any case, the digestive doctor did not want to hear it.

She came to the room at eleven o’clock or so, with a bunch of interns. Everyday.

One day I remember she taking my arm and squeezing it hard:

“Do you see “this”? She does not have muscle mass, as she does not eat, her body does not have any fat ”

“Sorry, but I do eat” I said, and I looked at them, trying to find someone to help me, someone who believed me.

“Leave her alone, don’t mind her, she’s crazy” the doctor replied without any doub, almost throwing my arm aside.

“She is crazy” words like those made me swallow the tears every single day, being aware that I wasn’t getting any better.

Then I got transferred to a “special room” where just one day before was hospitalised an old man who has lost his mind.

When I gained the nurses trust and friendship, one of them told me that there was a listening device there, and warned my mother and me about it…then we really realised things were really going so bad, and I understood that I wasn’t going to get well, I will never be cured, not on that room.

The other patients at the same plant didn’t eat too much, I remember one who always refused the hospital food and ate cocoa powder like a kitty.

Their intravenous machine was at full throttle not like mine, so they gained the weigh quickly and got out that horrible place in no time.

The treatment was really really different. I didn’t understand why. I couldn’t.

I asked forty voluntary discharge since the medical treatment wasn’t working and wasn’t the adequate. It was at half September. I wanted to be back home, I didn’t want to die there, if it was going to happen, I preferred to be at my own bed.

The struggle until beginning of spring of next year was strange, because I felt with such a will of living and getting over all that, and little by little I gained weigh, around March of 2002. But I was swelled like a balloon. My tummy was like a barrel, my skin hurt, there was a lot of liquids inside me. Doctors didn’t know the reason, or didn’t wanted to say it to me.

The point is that I was almost recovered around June. It was what I call

a miracle. (I know it’s not something people use to believe in, but I do)

But what happened? Now I have some idea.

During my stay in the hospital, we met an old lady, quite rich, who always praised the evil doctor who now, I call lady H.H.Holmes*

While she ask tacs and other tests on me, I listened to her egocentric talk with other doctors who looked like puppies liking her shoes to get a candy.

She was studying and trying to do a new pancreas transplant, something that would made her the top of the top on medicine. Or something like that.

I wondered why she was so sure I was going to die.

She really seemed she wanted me to fail on my recovery. Even gave me all pills or medicines with lactose or gluten on purpose, since I had the diagnose from a doctor she seemed to hate.

The important point is that f I died she could have a pancreas which could made insulin, so it was perfect for a transplant.

Perfect for her Plan? Of course, all of this is just a guess, a conjecture. I can’t be sure about it, just something seems to make the whole puzzle complete.

And now, right in this sadly socially and politically rotten Spain, I see all the xenophobia I have tasted since my childhood, become a finished canvas easily understanding. I lived in a region were Castilla and Andalusian emigrants were and still are hated and looked down.

I was in bad hands, but those hands were M.D.

That lady H.H. Holmes made my family suffer to an extreme you can’t imagine.

When I was almost recovered from liquids and new body changing (I was like a slime turning into a human!) I went to see the nurses who tried to know me and changed their mind about me, since they were told to do as I was a prison burglar or some kind of monster.

They saved me. I am so thankful!!

On the corridor of the same plant I was hospitalised, we chatted happily about my recover. Then, lady H.H.Holmes appeared from behind, and everybody face changed colours. I didn’t even turn out. I felt a chill all over my back.

She said, “oh, Irene, you look amazing” as if nothing had happened.

I just said “Thanks to God” keeping myself towards the nurses.

Lady H.H.Holmes vanished after being ignored.

Other patients had to pass through what we passed.

She just picked her victims for some strange reason only she knew.

I don’t know where is she, what she does, and I don’t care.

The past is filled with memories, but there is no room for her neither for the bad moments.

From bad moments I got good experiences. You can get some funny anecdote from terrible experiences.

It’s what I want to think, because it happens to us at home.

Now I keep the struggling!

And if our Lord gave me another chance, must be for some reason.

I want to keep it up, love and live!

And make some justice too, someday…

So then, I wrote a long letter my friend!

And it’s only a glimpse of the whole thing,

Thanks so much for reading my lines.

I hope you got an idea of what happened to me.

Thanks for your concern and interest about this disease Cystic fibrosis,

I wish more people were like you are!

And just how I always use to sign,

Love & Peace


Yrene Yuhmi (Ren)


Citas Yrene Yuhmi


「¿Por qué tienen que morir los niños para que la justicia cambie

Y no cambia la justicia para que los niños no mueran?」

「Why our kids have to die so the justice can change,

When it’s justice what must change so our kids doesn’t die?」




Pensando y rezando por Yeremi Vargas, Marta del Castillo, Diana Kerr, Gabriel “el pescaíto”, Mari Luz Cortés, y tantos otros futuros rotos que fueron arrebatados por monstruos asesin@s.

Thinking and praying for Yeremi Vargas, Marta del Castillo, Diana Kerr, Gabriel “the little fish”, Mari Luz Cortés, and sadly so many more futures that were robbed by monsters murderers.


想って、祈っていますよ。イェレミ ヴァルガス、マルタ デル カステイヨ、ガブリエル、あだ名「小魚」、マリー ルズ コルテス、そして、悲しいですが、数が多い被害者のご冥福を祈ります。





Catch your dreams / ¡Atrapa tus sueños!


Catch your dreams

Catch your dreams
— Read on

Hace mucho que no me dejo ver, que no me paro a escribir unos minutos en el blog…Querría tener algún cuento que contar, pero mi fábrica de historias es ahora como jaula de mil pájaros locos. Mucha imaginación dibujando bocetos en rincones y paredes de mi mente, una Brujilla que dirige sin ton ni son, y una total desorganización de capítulos comienzos y finales.

A la brujilla le digo, mientras procuro que los duendes de mis sueños no armen demasiado jaleo:

_ Ayúdame un poco y pon orden, ¡esto es un desastre!

Pero está demasiado ocupada echando de mis cajones de pensamientos a las pesadillas y los ogros del miedo.

La brujilla me suele mirar hastiada, pidiéndome que por favor deje de trazar sueños a ciegas, sin cumplirlos, y que me lance como solía hacer antes. Que me suelte la melena, que sea más loca; que mande al carajo a la frustración, a la impotencia y a la desilusión.

_ Tú no eres así – me reprocha la brujilla – ¡rompe esos muros y sal volando!

_ Ay Brujilla, pero mira cuántos dibujos, cuántos cuentos e historietas…podría empapelar con ellos un museo al que no iría nadie.

A lo que la Brujilla me contesta:

_ Sería un museo divertido, ¿por qué no empezamos ya a empapelar? Uno de esos museos aburridos que estén libres de cuadros famosos. Uno sin nombre ni dueño, sin mecenas ni publicidad.

Le sonrío, ella se arregla la moña baja que suele llevar, y se coloca bien el sombrero de margaritas. Me pasa un par de manuscritos y haciendo callar a los gorriones azules que suelen encargarse de producirme risas, me dice: “hay mucho que hacer; paso a paso, sin prisa pero sin pausa. Esta mente está hecha un lío, empecemos a empapelar”

Asiento, y mirando el gran atrapa sueños que viste el salón principal donde habitan mis hadas y musas, me propongo cumplir unos cuantos sueños.

Este atrapa sueños es especial porque lo hizo una de mis musas con tanto amor e ilusión que parece un trozo de cielo.

Y esta musa se llama Sara, es un poco de mi y yo un poco de ella. Porque somos hermanas. Si yo soy mente desorganizada, ella es como un hilandera imparable, constante y hacendosa.

Ay porras: algunos papeles están dibujados por ambos lados.

Brujilla, tendremos que pensar en un museo hecho de cristal…¿Se te ocurre algo mejor?

Será mejor que me inspire visitando el blog de Sara, las hermanas siempre son inspiración, ilusión y Alegría.

Y la mía es especialmente musa, desde que nació.

La brujilla se me ha adelantado ya y está ojeando las bonitas fotos de Sara lanzando gritillos de admiración.

Debería retratar a la Brujilla, es bastante pizpireta y comprensiva, creo que os caería bien.

Quizás no tarde en volver a dibujar, y tendré un papel más para seguir empapelando ese museo de vidrio, sin nombre, de nadie, sin mecenas ni promotores.

Pero al fin y al cabo, único y con mi huella y la de la Brujilla.

Yrene Yuhmi 2018

A Diego E. Salinas


Querido amigo Diego:
Me enteré ayer, viernes santo, de tu partida y aún no me lo creo.
Pusiste tanto empeño en tu vida, por ti y por todos nosotros, los que padecemos fibrosis quística…eres un luchador y estoy segura de que donde estés ahora, sigues luchando y velando por nosotros.
Aprendí mucho de ti. Todos lo hicimos.
Tus palabras son pura sabiduría y enorme ánimo para este camino tan duro que vamos haciendo paso tras paso, soñando con simplemente VIVIR.
Citándote: “yo solo quiero vivir”

Sólo queremos eso. No hay más superficial meta, no ansiamos un físico diez por fuera si no por dentro, no ansiamos una juventud eterna, si no eternizar los tiempos vividos caminando hacía esa vejez, que por desgracia, no todos alcanzamos.
Diego, tú siempre sonríes, sobrellevas el dolor y el sufrimiento a la par que apoyas a tod@s con tus profundas y veras palabras.
Acostumbrados (por desgracia) a las estupideces y nimiedades que abundan en las redes sociales, tú eres la luz y la belleza de la palabra, por eso llamaste mi atención al instante, atrapada por tus innumerables reflexiones, siempre asombrosas y certeras.
Si la enfermedad tuviera una buena delantera, o estuviera fichada por un equipo de fútbol famoso, o fuera una ideología, ya sería conocidísima y tendría cura, y hasta fans.
Disculpa mi cinismo, mi sarcasmo, como sabes Diego, siempre me sale el poner la puntilla al tema, sobretodo cuando más dolida estoy.
Y es que se te han llevado tan pronto…Qué injusto es todo.
No tengo ya más palabras si no un fuerte dolor, una rabia y decepción intensa, impotente ante todo y todos.

Pero sé que estás aquí, y por lo tanto, la lucha debe seguir y aún con más fuerza si cabe: tenemos que coger tu relevo y no abandonar la carrera.

La meta espera, y el triunfo también.

Los que luchamos contra la muerte, sabemos lo que vale la vida.
Y por seguir viviendo, amando, riendo, sintiendo, soñando y logrando,

nos dejaremos piel y huesos.

Y el alma viva de los que allí arriba se han ganado sus alas, como tú Diego,

nos acompañarán hasta el fin.
Y el fin no puede se otro que el logro y la cura de la fibrosis quística.

Tu sueño y mi sueño, los sueños de todos, no se perderán ni se borrarán,
lucharemos los que vamos quedando, para que se cumplan:
Porque los sueños están hechos para ser cumplidos.
Hasta que nos veamos allí donde te hayan llevado, descansa en paz, sonríe como siempre (y aún más) respira tranquilo y libre de todo dolor, sé feliz eternamente.
Te echo ya mucho de menos…
Tu amiga

Yrene Yuhmi
Diego E. Salinas guerrero contra fibrosis quística, filósofo y escritor, DEP (Diciembre del 2016) 


Foto tomada por Diego en Acapulco, unos meses antes de fallecer (fuente FB, @DiegoESalinas @MiVidaConFQ)