I remember really well when Pinochet died. That day I was at my boss´s house because the night before we had worked on an event until late. When I woke up and we turned the television I saw the news. In that moment I took my things, left and went to my cousin´s house in Providencia, I was living with her for a month.
The city was empty near her neighborhood because a lot of people was at the Military Hospital. I decided that my first stop had to be there. When I arrived it was a bit weird for me. I wasn't with “my people”, I wasn't crying or thinking why he died or about the good person he was in his life because that thoughts don’t exist in my mind (luckily)
I remember that people there, were really aggressive, uncontrolled and I was afraid of them. I wasn't there long and after I took a bus and went to the place where I really wanted to be: Plaza Italia.
All the people there were happy, really really happy. It was a street party, a carnival. And there were my people, my friends, my teachers, my world.
Was the first, and I think, the only time that I saw many people on the streets and almost no police. I was there many hours laughing, singing, and dancing all together as if we were friends. Was the best popular party I've been to in my life, for sure.
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