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Vivian Pellas: Turning tears into smiles. Vivian Pellas
Читать онлайн.Название Vivian Pellas: Turning tears into smiles
Год выпуска 0
isbn 9789585532342
Автор произведения Vivian Pellas
Жанр Философия
Издательство Bookwire
I expressed what I was feeling. I didn’t say things at random or just because I had to say something. Perhaps at that moment, even though I was still a teenager, the strength and desire to help the less fortunate were manifesting in me.
El Plaza nightclub. Managua, Nicaragua, 1972.
Earthquake in Managua: 6.3 on the Richter Scale
All of a sudden, the earth awakened. In a fraction of a second, the old downtown center of Managua collapsed. An immense red trail took over the sky. The premonitions of superstitious grandmothers, who smelled disaster, were fulfilled. The clock of the old cathedral came to a stop when the calamity struck. The catastrophe crept silently in the night. While nightlife was just starting for some, it was slumber time for others. The illusion of Christmas vanished. People woke up surrounded by debris and were forced to walk on it. The radiance of the beautiful capital was eclipsed as taquezal, adobe, and concrete buildings were left in ruins.
Remains of a building in Managua after the earthquake. Managua, Nicaragua, 1972.
Shortly after midnight, at 12:35, on December 23, 1972, Managua succumbed to visited me in Miami an oscillating earthquake with a magnitude of 6.3 on the Richter Scale and two aftershocks. The earthquake was barely 3 miles deep. Nearly 20,000 people lost their lives. Only memories and destruction of our beloved Managua would remain.
That evening, Carlos, Alejandro, and I were at El Plaza nightclub, the same one that collapsed an hour later! We had left there to go to a party. The earthquake sloshed the water in the pool as we stood around it. Carlos had to support me so I wouldn’t fall from all the cuts on my feet after walking on the broken glass of some large windows. We rushed to our homes, panicked, to make sure that our families were alright.
On the way, Carlos told me we should go to my home first, because his was built to withstand an earthquake of that magnitude, but there might have been some issues where I lived. On the way we saw huge gaping holes in the ground, separated by deep fissures, from the strong movement. Fortunately, everyone was safe and my home was still standing, although it had some damage. After that, Carlos ran to his house, and to his surprise and horror, his house had collapsed. A few seconds saved Lucía, his sister, since the movement of the earth woke her up before the wall of the room fell on her bed. His parents and brothers were miraculously alive as well. Carlos’s parents were looking for Silvio, the youngest brother, because he couldn’t be found. Carlos asked them to calm down because he wasn’t home. He had snuck out that night. He was indeed out, partying. Carlos’s house had to be completely rebuilt.
Building in Managua after the earthquake. Managua, Nicaragua, 1972.
This was a terrible experience, especially for my parents and grandparents, because they never imagined an earthquake after all the adversity they had gone through. They were enjoying a party at a friend’s house. Sometime later, my mother, with her best Cuban style, would say that, after joyously dancing to the rhythm of an orchestra, they had to get out crawling on the floor.
In our house, the furniture and decorations were all out of place, glass was broken, and some minor cracks appeared in the walls. Because of the aftershocks, for several weeks we had to sleep on the couch and some beds that we brought out to the street. DIASA, Father’s company, was looted, as were all the buildings that were still standing.
Under these circumstances, my parents decided to send my grandparents to the United States because there were no hospitals and their situation was becoming critical as elderly people in delicate health who could not stay with us. Due to their condition, and with the assistance of some of my father’s Guatemalan friends, a plane was sent to take them abroad. Alejandro returned to Missouri to continue his studies, and I stayed at home for a while until I went to study in Miami because there were no schools standing in Managua. Once again, a separation.
The earthquake brought a new change to our lives and Managua was never the same. The country’s economic development was stymied, and Nicaragua regressed five years. Statistics reported 20,000 dead, 40,000 injured, and between 28,000 and 30,000 affected. The tragedy shocked the world. International aid mitigated part of the needs of the most vulnerable population, who lost everything. Little by little, these people came back with great effort to rebuild their lives and homes.
Once again, we were devastated by the tragedy and by the separation from our loved ones. My dad, with his ongoing entrepreneurial spirit, built a new home where we lived until 1979, when another story began for our family: the Sandinista Revolution.
Vivian at Colegio Americano Nicaraguënse at age seventeen. Managua, Nicaragua, 1971.
My life took a different path as I was determined to start my adult life on the right foot. Carlos insisted that I had to study a career, and that was the push I needed. So, I went to Miami’s Barry College in 1975, which was my choice after the earthquake crushed the American School floor to floor. Luckily, the earthquake happened after midnight. Otherwise, the death toll would have been considerably higher.
All my life I had been an art lover and that’s why I decided to enroll to study Interior Decoration. I loved decorating, but that department was closed down during my application process. Then I decided to enroll in Liberal Arts. I took classes in drawing and metal arts, as well as general classes in art history and painting techniques.
Dad visited me in Miami once and joined me in one of my classes at the university. As it so happens, right on that day, a male model attended the class in a bathrobe, which he took off with a flourish, leaving him as God sent him into this world before the astonished eyes of my father and me. I hadn’t expected such an activity that day, otherwise I wouldn’t have had my dad come with me! Upon his return, he indignantly told my mom, “How is it possible that your daughter is painting a naked man, when the hardest thing to draw is the hand of a man? Why do they need to make her draw a naked man?”
I was deeply attached to my mon. Being separated from her caused immense heartache for the both of us. I had spent a year at Barry College, but had to give up my studies, because Mom longed to see me so much and couldn’t stand our separation. I had created a deep-seated dependency with her and decided to return to her side. We both needed each other. However, this experience taught me that dependency is not good. Mom didn’t drive, and I, who was her “driver,” was always ready to take her to the shops. We both provided each other with a lot of companionship and spent our time very happily together. Those were beautiful moments!
I was admitted to Centro Americana University - UCA, the first private university in Central America. There I studied Humanities and History for three years, with great teachers that I remember with special admiration.
In the meantime, my relationship with Carlos continued. He was never a difficult man. He was never still; he was always on the go. He was lighthearted as well as tireless! However, he was dominant at times. The vision of what I wanted to do with my life was becoming stronger. I was not attracted to Carlos for his economic