Pain, the Brain, Aging, and Migración Colombia It’s 2 a.m., and I have to pee. That’s just about the simplest, least glamorous human problem imaginable for a 69-year-old man…except that my body has recently added a new rule: you don’t get to do simple things anymore without negotiating for them first. I reach for assistance…
Quick clarification (because this matters): This post is not about leaving Colombia or “moving back to the U.S.” This is a border run — a temporary exit required by visa timing — with a practical stop in Florida. From there, Michael continues on to Kansas City for a few weeks to house-sit and see friends…
Venezuela: Close enough. Far away. I’m watching Venezuela from northeastern Colombia, from a city called Bucaramanga, tucked into the eastern Andes. On a map, this looks close to the Venezuelan border, and it is. Close enough that one could be forgiven for assuming Caracas must be nearby. But maps lie. Or rather, they flatten things…
As I embark on this long-awaited launch and rebranding of myself, I have to get some things off my chest, starting with the obligatory AI disclosure. Habits, intentions, and resources. It’s 3 a.m. on a Sunday. This is the best time of the day for me. I don’t need a lot of hours of sleep…
This is the second installment of a two-part series. You can read Part 1 here. This story started only a few days ago, and already details are fading, so I better wrap this up today. Saturday was a grueling day at the ER… er, I mean VIP station of Hospital Internacional de Colombia, that included…
This is Part 1 of a two-part screed. You can read Part 2 here. What should I write about? I’ve been waiting for this moment, but there is nothing in my mind to write about. Oh, wait. No, there are too many things to write about. The problem is that I don’t know where to…
What happens when too many outsiders come looking for “cheap rent”? A personal look at gentrification, protest, and privilege from an immigrant in Colombia—asking not just what we owe, but what we displace.
As I embark on this long-awaited launch and rebranding of myself, I have to get some things off my chest. It’s 3 a.m. on a Sunday. This is the best time of day for me. I don’t need a lot of sleep to feel refreshed—but I also don’t need much awake time to get tired…
✍️ Welcome. From the ashes of Resistance Is Fruitful rises something quieter and more personal. Dispatches from Colombia and beyond. Stories worth holding. 🇺🇸 English (U.S.) After too many years, this story begins at a dining table in a new apartment in Bucaramanga, Colombia. The balcony will make an appearance once things settle a bit more….
