In a publication that I made a few months ago, and entitled Broken dreams: A personal reflection I tried to describe to some degree, the drama we live daily Venezuelans, in a country that until two decades ago, was the envy of their neighbors, not only because of their growing process of industrialization, which would allow an accelerated and uninterrupted economic growth for decades, which would bring as a consequence, that throughout across its territory, educational institutes of all levels were established, from which large numbers of men and women would benefit that would succeed in ascending the social scale, something unthinkable at that time in many other nations of the region; but also for his strong defense of democracy, conquered with the blood shed by many, and that served to help our Central American brothers in the processes of pacification and restitution of the constitutional thread in their respective countries. Even the Kingdom of Spain would benefit from the Venezuelan experience at the end of the 70s and the beginning of the 80s, when, after the death of the leader Francisco Franco, his nationals would seek to lay the foundations that would govern the destinies of his nation.

Unfortunately, a clique of criminals who seek to perpetuate themselves in power, at any cost, has resulted in one of the most prosperous nations on the continent becoming a sad and blurred cartoon of itself. Recently, dazzling images have traveled the entire world, showing people of all ages, eating from the trash before the difficulties to meet their needs due to the high cost of food, in addition, the brutal crisis of public services would be evidenced, where to access to electricity or drinking water, they have become feats worthy of being reviewed by the press or by social networks; or of the cold numbers of emigrants, who, given the impossibility of finding in the land that saw them born, the ideal conditions to develop as citizens living on the sweat of their fronts, venture outside our borders in a kind of human lottery, where chance and not reason will determine their lives.

To this tragic balance of misfortunes that Venezuelans suffer in their own flesh, another victim joins them rarely mentioned:

Yes, love, that noble feeling that unites two people with the uncertain promise of staying together for a whole life, of sharing a common project, the same home as they grow old side by side; He has also been a victim of what some have called "Socialism of the 21st Century." There are innumerable cases of sentimental ruptures and destroyed marriages among the members of Venezuelan immigration, many of them with long years of mutual coexistence, with stable relationships and even with children in common.

It is not known for sure what causes this phenomenon, I do not believe that there are studies in this regard, the truth is that it is occurring more frequently, mainly between couples who emigrate separately, that is, one of the members does it in advance with the purpose of getting a job and getting settled in the host country, then traveling the remaining member, but there are also cases where the couple emigrates together, and after a while, they separate for each one to take a different path than initially planned.

It is likely that loneliness, remoteness, long and exhausting working hours to which most foreigners in an irregular situation are subjected, and uncertainty about the long-awaited reunion with the loved one, contribute to weaken the ties that once united the couple. In other cases, the possibility of expediting the necessary documents to enter the labor market or obtain the residence of the country of adoption, leads many people to leave their partners to join other people who enjoy the debatable "privilege" of possessing nationality desired, which evidences the sad reality that represents these days, having a devalued Venezuelan passport.

At the beginning of February this year, the woman who was my partner during the last three years, emigrated to the paradise city of Palma de Mallorca in the Spanish Mediterranean, where her older sister, who had traveled a few years Behind, was waiting for her. Her decision was fundamentally due to health reasons, because in the final months of last year and the beginning of this year, she had presented a decay in his mood, coupled with an anemic picture resulting from a uterine fibroid that caused her great bleeding during her menstrual periods, in addition to preventing her from becoming pregnant with her first child, as was our greatest wish, even when I have two children from a failed first marriage.

Before the mosaic of the recently deceased Venezuelan plastic artist, Carlos Cruz-Diez, who adorns the floors and walls of the Simón Bolívar International Airport of Maiquetía (Caracas), and who has been a silent witness of bitter and sad farewells, we hugged and we we said goodbye, being my face, the last familiar face she would see when she left Venezuela.

During the following months while I managed the necessary documentation to emigrate with some chance of success, I explained to my children my decision to start a new life in a new destination, and also procure the necessary resources to pay for, not only the air tickets, but also the costs of leasing a room, food, transportation and services of both, while getting employment upon my arrival in Spain. During all this time, which seemed infinite to me, we kept in constant contact through social networks, where she shared with me large amounts of photos and videos of the city and its surroundings, a city that without having had the blessing from knowing, I learned to love it as if it were mine, to the point that I came to consider it "my home". I imagined walking through its narrow streets while the breeze hit my face, photographing its beautiful cathedral, bathing in its beaches, all next to the beloved woman. Somehow, my senses of taste and smell had developed in such a way that I was able to perceive in my imagination the flavors and fragrances of the place, which I would arrive in this month of August.

"To love is to find your happiness in the happiness of others."
Gottfried Leibniz

At the end of April, my partner gets a job as a waitress in a city that is about 20 minutes away from Palma de Mallorca. Her work days would last until late at night, so she arrived at the room she shared with her sister in the early hours of the morning, where through Social Networks, she made me part of her daily life, sharing her experiences, good or bad, day by day, through text or voice messages. In early June, the two sisters decide to rent each one in their separate individual rooms, closer to their respective workplaces, managing to rent a room in a house belonging to a Venezuelan woman who lived with her two daughters and some nieces, with which would have some inconvenience in its short stay.

In the middle of that fateful month of June, she would send me a text message on WhatsApp informing me that she would start dating another person she had just met in the vicinity of her new place of residence. A few days later, after useless attempts on my part to reconsider her decision, in my hasty and pointless opinion, she writes that it was too late for me, that my opportunity had passed and that she wanted to give herself a "new opportunity" to herself with this person, an Italian citizen with whom she would soon move. Needless to say, the audios or voice notes that were so common in the previous months, this time shone by their absence.

Without entering into conjecture about the right or wrong decision, and without knowing for sure, if at some point in the future, she will regret it, bringing her a new sentimental frustration, or on the contrary, it is of a plan conceived by God, who put the right person on his way to make her happy for the rest of her life, the truth is that this break he had not foreseen, brought me a deep and heartbreaking pain: in a way, my plans to start a new chapter in my life, were broken, however, even so, in the midst of insomnia and the inevitable, considering that we are separated more than 7000 kilometers from the Atlantic Ocean, I wrote the following letter that I would send by email, where far from expressing my anger or disappointment, typical of a person who has been abandoned by the loved one, I wanted to express my gratitude, and at the same time say goodbye to her.

The letter originally written in Spanish and which is far from being a literary jewel, I transcribe it textually below, reserving some names to preserve their identities: