God's Ants

My family is made up mostly of strong women, big backsides, sturdy bodies, fiery spirits, but beneath it all, there are vulnerable hearts and delicate souls, who also know exactly how to cause pain. They’re like Colombian ants, unyielding, relentless. They were born with power, yet burdened by the weight of old traditions and rigid ideas of right and wrong. This twisted their sense of self, making them feel like victims of their circumstances. Drama, crucifixes, prayer beads, and soap opera plots became their way of escaping, if only for a moment, from the heaviness of it all. Their lives were shaped by wounded egos, drained breasts, thick skin, accepting mirrors in exchange for emeralds, without a clue as to how to define their true worth. Every transaction boiled down to blood, tears, and increasingly bitter coffee. Over time, they turned into a tangle of serpents, suffocating in their own hold.

But even through the chaos, there was always a flicker, a quiet defiance against their own shadows. In their darkest moments, something shifted. With every wound, with every tear, they bloomed, unfolding like flowers amidst the chaos. I watch, humbled, as they rise, stronger, more radiant than ever.

It will forever be an honour to remain the unseen witness, quietly watching as they rise from the ashes of their own stories.