Las Mercedes. Caracas 
Panama City. Panama. Occasionally the soul shows me a single name, occasionally beating my identity again looking back to his mother, the place where she was born, where I was born: Caracas .
This world is peaceful, is quiet, the air of peace and warmth a smile of any person here, end to suppress the enemy of fear and the abstention of a different life.
At night sleep I love to see Panama City, like breathing, and flowing, as its waters rise and fall in a hundred seconds to finish telling me that nothing is eternal, but in the meantime all is well and here I can protect.
How I love this city I was born again, but there are moments where the mother leans from Caracas my mind and without permission, claiming their share of nostalgia for me, this city of many shades, feelings , souls, thoughts, ideas, cultures, feelings and faces ... the city that may become a cradle of blessings as well as in a curtain of bullets, broken sighs of souls crying out for change and others clinging to life as the day and the street permits.
The Caracas disguise the real Caracas, the Caracas invaded the damaged Caracas, the Caracas resurrected the beautiful Caracas, the Caracas intensely silent, quietly passionate, so many faces, many challenging aspects of completing the destiny of this city.
The suspense, the fear, the memories of this beautiful and deadly that not a day goes that does not stop begging for Caracas recover her face, her light, only to have those who live there really live ...
