En ese momento, por fin lo captó. En lo más profundo de sí mismo,Tsukuru Tazaki lo comprendió: los corazones humanos no se unen sólo mediante la armonía. Se unen, mas bien, herida con herida. Dolor con dolor. Fragilidad con fragilidad. No existe silencio sin un grito desgarrador, no existe perdón sin que se derrame sangre, no existe aceptación sin pasar por un intenso sentimiento de pérdida. Ésos son los cimientos de la verdadera armonía.


And in that moment, he was finally able to accept it all. In the deepest recesses of his soul, Tsukuru Tazaki understood. One heart is not connected to another through harmony alone. They are, instead, linked deeply through their wounds. Pain linked to pain, fragility to fragility. There is no silence without a cry of grief, no forgiveness without bloodshed, no acceptance without a passage through acute loss. That is what lies at the root of true harmony.

― Haruki Murakami, Colorless Tsukuru Tazaki and His Years of Pilgrimage



Guanajuato, Mexico: It was unlike anything I could ever imagine.

This city with its colorful squares of life, Mondrian-like, all stacked up among the hills, separated yet connected by crumbly, cobblestone alleyways, some not any bigger than a few feet.

 A juxtaposition of tradition and technology. Mariachi and charro outfits, Chichimeca Indians, the momias, and Mexican hipsters playing Lil Wayne and Amy Winehouse in their cool mezcalerias. 

The streets full of people, all wandering to get lost. And underground, with its network of tunnels, teeming with travelers in cars.

When you travel alone, with heightened senses, you see so much more. People’s faces, the color of their shirts. You hear more conversations and you pick up inflections in all these voices. Songs become embedded as you move from place to place, and suddenly they begin to string along with all the faces, the voices, the colors and sounds to form the soundtrack of your days.

It’s the type of city you never can forget.

Que lindo eres, Guanajuato.