[Esp./Eng.] Más Allá de los UpVotes: ¿Quién Llora por Kendall? || Beyond the UpVotes: Who's Crying for Kendall?
If you prefer the English version, click on the following link 👉 HERE
Más Allá de los UpVotes:
¿Quién Llora por Kendall?
En el universo digital donde habitamos, específicamente en comunidades como #holos-lotus, nos sumergimos con frecuencia en diálogos elevados. Durante meses, hemos navegado las complejas aguas de la consciencia colectiva, grupal y cósmica. Publicamos, comentamos, analizamos y, sí, también obtenemos recompensas por ello. Pero, una duda incómoda y persistente emerge desde el fondo de esta marea de información: ¿qué queda cuando la monetización del post caduca? ¿Hemos logrado, realmente, sembrar una semilla de cambio en alguien, incluyéndonos a nosotros mismos? ¿O nuestras palabras son solo frases efímeras en un pasillo virtual, que se desvanecen tras siete días?
Kendall en su cumpleaños 7, diciembre 2024.
Esta pregunta deja de ser un ejercicio filosófico y se convierte en un golpe visceral cuando la realidad, en su forma más brutal, irrumpe sin pedir permiso. La realidad tiene un nombre: Kendall Miranda Matamoro. Un nombre que debería estar asociado a risas, juegos y cuadernos escolares, pero que hoy está grabado en una tarjeta fúnebre, testimonio de una tragedia que desnuda la fragilidad de nuestras discusiones teóricas.
La historia es un puñal en el corazón de cualquier ser humano. Un padre recoge a su hija de siete años del colegio, una escena cotidiana, teñida de la normalidad que precede a la catástrofe. Al cruzar una calle, el rugido de un motor y un impacto violento los arroja al asfalto. Una camioneta los embiste y, sin la más mínima traza de humanidad, se da a la fuga, dejando atrás un padre herido y a una niña luchando por su vida. La burocracia y la lentitud del sistema hacen el resto: las autoridades tardan, los separan en hospitales distintos. El padre, con el cuerpo roto, pero el espíritu de un león, escapa para buscar a su pequeña, solo para encontrarla en sus últimas horas. Kendall fallece a causa de un politraumatismo encéfalo craneal.
La sociedad sigue su curso. Hubo un velorio, un entierro. Lágrimas que aún no se secan en el rostro de sus padres. Y un silencio ensordecedor. El culpable es un fantasma. Los testigos, si los hubo, padecen de una amnesia colectiva. El caso, para el sistema, se enfría y se archiva en la pila de lo irresoluble. Para el mundo, es una noticia de ayer. Para sus padres, es un hoy perpetuo, un vacío que jamás se llenará.
Cortesía de los padres de Kendall.
Aquí es donde nuestras conversaciones sobre la “consciencia” se estrellan contra la “selva de concreto”. ¿Dónde estaba la consciencia del conductor que prefirió su impunidad a la vida de una niña? ¿Y la de sus posibles acompañantes? ¿Dónde reside la conciencia de una sociedad que mira para otro lado, que normaliza la tragedia y olvida con una facilidad pasmosa? ¿Dónde está esa “consciencia colectiva” que tanto analizamos, cuando en la práctica se manifiesta como una indiferencia colectiva?
El escritor y premio Nobel de la Paz, Elie Wiesel, sobreviviente del Holocausto, dijo una vez algo que resuena con una fuerza aterradora en este contexto: “Lo contrario del amor no es el odio, es la indiferencia. Lo contrario del arte no es la fealdad, es la indiferencia. Lo contrario de la fe no es la herejía, es la indiferencia. Y lo contrario de la vida no es la muerte, es la indiferencia.”
Esta es la cruda verdad que debemos enfrentar como creadores de contenido, como escritores, como participantes de una comunidad digital. ¿Estamos combatiendo la indiferencia o, sin quererlo, la estamos alimentando? Cuando nuestro principal motor es la recompensa inmediata, el “upvote”, los “míseros centavos”, corremos el riesgo de convertir nuestras plataformas en máquinas de contenido hueco. Escribimos sobre empatía sin sentirla, sobre justicia sin exigirla, sobre consciencia sin practicarla. Nos convertimos en parte del ruido, no de la solución.
La historia de Kendall no puede ser solo un dato estadístico para ilustrar un punto. Su memoria, honrada en esa imagen que nos parte el alma, debe ser un catalizador. Nos obliga a detenernos y preguntarnos: ¿Cuál es el propósito real de nuestra voz en este espacio? ¿Buscamos solo la validación efímera o aspiramos a encender una luz, por pequeña que sea, en la mente y el corazón de quienes nos leen?
Cortesía de los padres de Kendall.
Nuestra labor informativa, creadora y educativa adquiere un valor incalculable cuando trasciende el algoritmo. Cuando una publicación inspira a alguien a ser un mejor vecino, un conductor más prudente, un testigo valiente. Cuando nuestras palabras logran que una persona se detenga a pensar en el dolor ajeno, no como un espectáculo, sino como una responsabilidad compartida.
No se trata de dejar de escribir o de renunciar a las plataformas que nos dan un sustento. Se trata de infundirles un alma. Se trata de entender que cada artículo, cada poema, cada reflexión, es una oportunidad de construir un puente entre el mundo digital y el mundo real. Es la oportunidad de recordarle a nuestra comunidad que, más allá de las pantallas, hay vidas que sienten, que sufren y que merecen nuestra atención y respeto.
Que la memoria de Kendall no se pierda en el olvido digital. Que su nombre nos recuerde que la verdadera ganancia no se cuenta en criptomonedas, sino en el impacto humano que logramos generar. Su historia nos impulsa a escribir no solo para ser leídos o para ganar una iniciativa; sino para provocar que sintamos, pensemos y, sobre todo, actuemos con la consciencia que tanto pregonamos. Porque solo así nuestro trabajo tendrá un fin que supere, con creces, el valor de cualquier recompensa monetaria.
En el universo digital donde habitamos, específicamente en comunidades como #holos-lotus, nos sumergimos con frecuencia en diálogos elevados. Durante meses, hemos navegado las complejas aguas de la consciencia colectiva, grupal y cósmica. Publicamos, comentamos, analizamos y, sí, también obtenemos recompensas por ello. Pero, una duda incómoda y persistente emerge desde el fondo de esta marea de información: ¿qué queda cuando la monetización del post caduca? ¿Hemos logrado, realmente, sembrar una semilla de cambio en alguien, incluyéndonos a nosotros mismos? ¿O nuestras palabras son solo frases efímeras en un pasillo virtual, que se desvanecen tras siete días?
Kendall en su cumpleaños 7, diciembre 2024.
Esta pregunta deja de ser un ejercicio filosófico y se convierte en un golpe visceral cuando la realidad, en su forma más brutal, irrumpe sin pedir permiso. La realidad tiene un nombre: Kendall Miranda Matamoro. Un nombre que debería estar asociado a risas, juegos y cuadernos escolares, pero que hoy está grabado en una tarjeta fúnebre, testimonio de una tragedia que desnuda la fragilidad de nuestras discusiones teóricas.
La historia es un puñal en el corazón de cualquier ser humano. Un padre recoge a su hija de siete años del colegio, una escena cotidiana, teñida de la normalidad que precede a la catástrofe. Al cruzar una calle, el rugido de un motor y un impacto violento los arroja al asfalto. Una camioneta los embiste y, sin la más mínima traza de humanidad, se da a la fuga, dejando atrás un padre herido y a una niña luchando por su vida. La burocracia y la lentitud del sistema hacen el resto: las autoridades tardan, los separan en hospitales distintos. El padre, con el cuerpo roto, pero el espíritu de un león, escapa para buscar a su pequeña, solo para encontrarla en sus últimas horas. Kendall fallece a causa de un politraumatismo encéfalo craneal.
La sociedad sigue su curso. Hubo un velorio, un entierro. Lágrimas que aún no se secan en el rostro de sus padres. Y un silencio ensordecedor. El culpable es un fantasma. Los testigos, si los hubo, padecen de una amnesia colectiva. El caso, para el sistema, se enfría y se archiva en la pila de lo irresoluble. Para el mundo, es una noticia de ayer. Para sus padres, es un hoy perpetuo, un vacío que jamás se llenará.
Cortesía de los padres de Kendall.
Aquí es donde nuestras conversaciones sobre la “consciencia” se estrellan contra la “selva de concreto”. ¿Dónde estaba la consciencia del conductor que prefirió su impunidad a la vida de una niña? ¿Y la de sus posibles acompañantes? ¿Dónde reside la conciencia de una sociedad que mira para otro lado, que normaliza la tragedia y olvida con una facilidad pasmosa? ¿Dónde está esa “consciencia colectiva” que tanto analizamos, cuando en la práctica se manifiesta como una indiferencia colectiva?
El escritor y premio Nobel de la Paz, Elie Wiesel, sobreviviente del Holocausto, dijo una vez algo que resuena con una fuerza aterradora en este contexto: “Lo contrario del amor no es el odio, es la indiferencia. Lo contrario del arte no es la fealdad, es la indiferencia. Lo contrario de la fe no es la herejía, es la indiferencia. Y lo contrario de la vida no es la muerte, es la indiferencia.”
Esta es la cruda verdad que debemos enfrentar como creadores de contenido, como escritores, como participantes de una comunidad digital. ¿Estamos combatiendo la indiferencia o, sin quererlo, la estamos alimentando? Cuando nuestro principal motor es la recompensa inmediata, el “upvote”, los “míseros centavos”, corremos el riesgo de convertir nuestras plataformas en máquinas de contenido hueco. Escribimos sobre empatía sin sentirla, sobre justicia sin exigirla, sobre consciencia sin practicarla. Nos convertimos en parte del ruido, no de la solución.
La historia de Kendall no puede ser solo un dato estadístico para ilustrar un punto. Su memoria, honrada en esa imagen que nos parte el alma, debe ser un catalizador. Nos obliga a detenernos y preguntarnos: ¿Cuál es el propósito real de nuestra voz en este espacio? ¿Buscamos solo la validación efímera o aspiramos a encender una luz, por pequeña que sea, en la mente y el corazón de quienes nos leen?
Cortesía de los padres de Kendall.
Nuestra labor informativa, creadora y educativa adquiere un valor incalculable cuando trasciende el algoritmo. Cuando una publicación inspira a alguien a ser un mejor vecino, un conductor más prudente, un testigo valiente. Cuando nuestras palabras logran que una persona se detenga a pensar en el dolor ajeno, no como un espectáculo, sino como una responsabilidad compartida.
No se trata de dejar de escribir o de renunciar a las plataformas que nos dan un sustento. Se trata de infundirles un alma. Se trata de entender que cada artículo, cada poema, cada reflexión, es una oportunidad de construir un puente entre el mundo digital y el mundo real. Es la oportunidad de recordarle a nuestra comunidad que, más allá de las pantallas, hay vidas que sienten, que sufren y que merecen nuestra atención y respeto.
Que la memoria de Kendall no se pierda en el olvido digital. Que su nombre nos recuerde que la verdadera ganancia no se cuenta en criptomonedas, sino en el impacto humano que logramos generar. Su historia nos impulsa a escribir no solo para ser leídos o para ganar una iniciativa; sino para provocar que sintamos, pensemos y, sobre todo, actuemos con la consciencia que tanto pregonamos. Porque solo así nuestro trabajo tendrá un fin que supere, con creces, el valor de cualquier recompensa monetaria.
Creciendo como persona, busca y encuentra lo que necesitas para ser un mejor humano en la Comunidad Holos&Lotus. De seguro, hay un tema que te llamará la atención.
Infografía propia de la Comunidad Holos&Lotus
Dedicado a todos aquellos que, día a día, hacen del mundo un lugar mejor.
Beyond the UpVotes:
Who's Crying for Kendall?
In the digital universe we inhabit, specifically in communities like #holos-lotus, we frequently immerse ourselves in elevated dialogues. For months, we've navigated the complex waters of collective, group, and cosmic consciousness. We post, comment, analyze, and, yes, we also reap rewards for it. But an uncomfortable and persistent doubt emerges from the depths of this tidal wave of information: what remains when the monetization of the post expires? Have we truly managed to sow a seed of change in anyone, including ourselves? Or are our words just ephemeral phrases in a virtual hallway, vanishing after seven days?
Kendall on her 7th birthday, December 2024.
This question ceases to be a philosophical exercise and becomes a visceral blow when reality, in its most brutal form, erupts without asking permission. Reality has a name: Kendall Miranda Matamoro. A name that should be associated with laughter, games, and school notebooks, but today is engraved on a funeral card, a testament to a tragedy that lays bare the fragility of our theoretical discussions.
The story is a dagger in the heart of any human being. A father picks up his seven-year-old daughter from school, an everyday scene, tinged with the normalcy that precedes the catastrophe. As they cross a street, the roar of an engine and a violent impact throw them to the asphalt. A pickup truck hits them and, without the slightest trace of humanity, flees, leaving behind a wounded father and a little girl fighting for her life. Bureaucracy and the slowness of the system do the rest: the authorities delay, separating them in different hospitals. The father, his body broken but with the spirit of a lion, escapes to search for his little girl, only to find her in her final hours. Kendall dies of multiple brain injuries.
Society continues its course. There was a wake, a burial. Tears still lingering on the parents' faces. And a deafening silence. The culprit is a ghost. The witnesses, if there were any, suffer from collective amnesia. For the system, the case grows cold and is filed away in the pile of the unresolved. For the world, it's yesterday's news. For her parents, it's a perpetual today, a void that will never be filled.
Courtesy of Kendall's parents.
This is where our conversations about "conscience" crash against the "concrete jungle." Where was the conscience of the driver who preferred his impunity to the life of a girl? And that of her possible companions? Where lies the conscience of a society that looks the other way, that normalizes tragedy and forgets with astonishing ease? Where is that "collective conscience" that we analyze so much, when in practice it manifests itself as collective indifference?
The writer and Nobel Peace Prize winner, Holocaust survivor Elie Wiesel, once said something that resonates with terrifying force in this context: “The opposite of love is not hate, it's indifference. The opposite of art is not ugliness, it's indifference. The opposite of faith is not heresy, it's indifference. And the opposite of life is not death, it's indifference.”
This is the stark truth we must face as content creators, as writers, as participants in a digital community. Are we combating indifference or are we unwittingly fueling it? When our primary driver is immediate reward, upvotes, and pennies, we run the risk of turning our platforms into hollow content machines. We write about empathy without feeling it, about justice without demanding it, about awareness without practicing it. We become part of the noise, not the solution.
Courtesy of Kendall's parents.
Kendall's story can't just be a statistic to illustrate a point. Her memory, honored in that heartbreaking image, must be a catalyst. It forces us to pause and ask ourselves: What is the true purpose of our voice in this space? Do we seek only fleeting validation or do we aspire to light a light, however small, in the minds and hearts of those who read us?
Our informative, creative, and educational work becomes invaluable when it transcends the algorithm. When a post inspires someone to be a better neighbor, a more cautious driver, a courageous witness. When our words make someone stop and consider the pain of others, not as a spectacle, but as a shared responsibility.
It's not about stopping writing or giving up the platforms that provide us with a livelihood. It's about infusing them with a soul. It's about understanding that every article, every poem, every reflection, is an opportunity to build a bridge between the digital world and the real world. It's an opportunity to remind our community that, beyond the screens, there are lives that feel, that suffer, and that deserve our attention and respect.
May Kendall's memory not be lost in digital oblivion. May her name remind us that true gain is not measured in cryptocurrency, but in the human impact we manage to generate. Her story inspires us to write not just to be read or to win an initiative; but to provoke us to feel, think, and, above all, act with the awareness we so proclaim. Because only then will our work have a purpose that far surpasses the value of any monetary reward.
Growing as a person, seek and find what you need to be a better person in the Holos&Lotus Community. Surely, there's a topic that will catch your attention.
Community's own infographic Holos&Lotus
🔆+++🔆+++🔆+++🔆+++🔆+++🔆+++🔆+++🔆+++🔆+++🔆
Dedicated to all those who, day after day, make the world a better place.
Dedicado a todos aquellos que, día a día, hacen del mundo un lugar mejor.
Beyond the UpVotes:
Who's Crying for Kendall?
In the digital universe we inhabit, specifically in communities like #holos-lotus, we frequently immerse ourselves in elevated dialogues. For months, we've navigated the complex waters of collective, group, and cosmic consciousness. We post, comment, analyze, and, yes, we also reap rewards for it. But an uncomfortable and persistent doubt emerges from the depths of this tidal wave of information: what remains when the monetization of the post expires? Have we truly managed to sow a seed of change in anyone, including ourselves? Or are our words just ephemeral phrases in a virtual hallway, vanishing after seven days?
Kendall on her 7th birthday, December 2024.
This question ceases to be a philosophical exercise and becomes a visceral blow when reality, in its most brutal form, erupts without asking permission. Reality has a name: Kendall Miranda Matamoro. A name that should be associated with laughter, games, and school notebooks, but today is engraved on a funeral card, a testament to a tragedy that lays bare the fragility of our theoretical discussions.
The story is a dagger in the heart of any human being. A father picks up his seven-year-old daughter from school, an everyday scene, tinged with the normalcy that precedes the catastrophe. As they cross a street, the roar of an engine and a violent impact throw them to the asphalt. A pickup truck hits them and, without the slightest trace of humanity, flees, leaving behind a wounded father and a little girl fighting for her life. Bureaucracy and the slowness of the system do the rest: the authorities delay, separating them in different hospitals. The father, his body broken but with the spirit of a lion, escapes to search for his little girl, only to find her in her final hours. Kendall dies of multiple brain injuries.
Society continues its course. There was a wake, a burial. Tears still lingering on the parents' faces. And a deafening silence. The culprit is a ghost. The witnesses, if there were any, suffer from collective amnesia. For the system, the case grows cold and is filed away in the pile of the unresolved. For the world, it's yesterday's news. For her parents, it's a perpetual today, a void that will never be filled.
Courtesy of Kendall's parents.
This is where our conversations about "conscience" crash against the "concrete jungle." Where was the conscience of the driver who preferred his impunity to the life of a girl? And that of her possible companions? Where lies the conscience of a society that looks the other way, that normalizes tragedy and forgets with astonishing ease? Where is that "collective conscience" that we analyze so much, when in practice it manifests itself as collective indifference?
The writer and Nobel Peace Prize winner, Holocaust survivor Elie Wiesel, once said something that resonates with terrifying force in this context: “The opposite of love is not hate, it's indifference. The opposite of art is not ugliness, it's indifference. The opposite of faith is not heresy, it's indifference. And the opposite of life is not death, it's indifference.”
This is the stark truth we must face as content creators, as writers, as participants in a digital community. Are we combating indifference or are we unwittingly fueling it? When our primary driver is immediate reward, upvotes, and pennies, we run the risk of turning our platforms into hollow content machines. We write about empathy without feeling it, about justice without demanding it, about awareness without practicing it. We become part of the noise, not the solution.
Courtesy of Kendall's parents.
Kendall's story can't just be a statistic to illustrate a point. Her memory, honored in that heartbreaking image, must be a catalyst. It forces us to pause and ask ourselves: What is the true purpose of our voice in this space? Do we seek only fleeting validation or do we aspire to light a light, however small, in the minds and hearts of those who read us?
Our informative, creative, and educational work becomes invaluable when it transcends the algorithm. When a post inspires someone to be a better neighbor, a more cautious driver, a courageous witness. When our words make someone stop and consider the pain of others, not as a spectacle, but as a shared responsibility.
It's not about stopping writing or giving up the platforms that provide us with a livelihood. It's about infusing them with a soul. It's about understanding that every article, every poem, every reflection, is an opportunity to build a bridge between the digital world and the real world. It's an opportunity to remind our community that, beyond the screens, there are lives that feel, that suffer, and that deserve our attention and respect.
May Kendall's memory not be lost in digital oblivion. May her name remind us that true gain is not measured in cryptocurrency, but in the human impact we manage to generate. Her story inspires us to write not just to be read or to win an initiative; but to provoke us to feel, think, and, above all, act with the awareness we so proclaim. Because only then will our work have a purpose that far surpasses the value of any monetary reward.
In the digital universe we inhabit, specifically in communities like #holos-lotus, we frequently immerse ourselves in elevated dialogues. For months, we've navigated the complex waters of collective, group, and cosmic consciousness. We post, comment, analyze, and, yes, we also reap rewards for it. But an uncomfortable and persistent doubt emerges from the depths of this tidal wave of information: what remains when the monetization of the post expires? Have we truly managed to sow a seed of change in anyone, including ourselves? Or are our words just ephemeral phrases in a virtual hallway, vanishing after seven days?
Kendall on her 7th birthday, December 2024.
This question ceases to be a philosophical exercise and becomes a visceral blow when reality, in its most brutal form, erupts without asking permission. Reality has a name: Kendall Miranda Matamoro. A name that should be associated with laughter, games, and school notebooks, but today is engraved on a funeral card, a testament to a tragedy that lays bare the fragility of our theoretical discussions.
The story is a dagger in the heart of any human being. A father picks up his seven-year-old daughter from school, an everyday scene, tinged with the normalcy that precedes the catastrophe. As they cross a street, the roar of an engine and a violent impact throw them to the asphalt. A pickup truck hits them and, without the slightest trace of humanity, flees, leaving behind a wounded father and a little girl fighting for her life. Bureaucracy and the slowness of the system do the rest: the authorities delay, separating them in different hospitals. The father, his body broken but with the spirit of a lion, escapes to search for his little girl, only to find her in her final hours. Kendall dies of multiple brain injuries.
Society continues its course. There was a wake, a burial. Tears still lingering on the parents' faces. And a deafening silence. The culprit is a ghost. The witnesses, if there were any, suffer from collective amnesia. For the system, the case grows cold and is filed away in the pile of the unresolved. For the world, it's yesterday's news. For her parents, it's a perpetual today, a void that will never be filled.
Courtesy of Kendall's parents.
This is where our conversations about "conscience" crash against the "concrete jungle." Where was the conscience of the driver who preferred his impunity to the life of a girl? And that of her possible companions? Where lies the conscience of a society that looks the other way, that normalizes tragedy and forgets with astonishing ease? Where is that "collective conscience" that we analyze so much, when in practice it manifests itself as collective indifference?
The writer and Nobel Peace Prize winner, Holocaust survivor Elie Wiesel, once said something that resonates with terrifying force in this context: “The opposite of love is not hate, it's indifference. The opposite of art is not ugliness, it's indifference. The opposite of faith is not heresy, it's indifference. And the opposite of life is not death, it's indifference.”
This is the stark truth we must face as content creators, as writers, as participants in a digital community. Are we combating indifference or are we unwittingly fueling it? When our primary driver is immediate reward, upvotes, and pennies, we run the risk of turning our platforms into hollow content machines. We write about empathy without feeling it, about justice without demanding it, about awareness without practicing it. We become part of the noise, not the solution.
Courtesy of Kendall's parents.
Kendall's story can't just be a statistic to illustrate a point. Her memory, honored in that heartbreaking image, must be a catalyst. It forces us to pause and ask ourselves: What is the true purpose of our voice in this space? Do we seek only fleeting validation or do we aspire to light a light, however small, in the minds and hearts of those who read us?
Our informative, creative, and educational work becomes invaluable when it transcends the algorithm. When a post inspires someone to be a better neighbor, a more cautious driver, a courageous witness. When our words make someone stop and consider the pain of others, not as a spectacle, but as a shared responsibility.
It's not about stopping writing or giving up the platforms that provide us with a livelihood. It's about infusing them with a soul. It's about understanding that every article, every poem, every reflection, is an opportunity to build a bridge between the digital world and the real world. It's an opportunity to remind our community that, beyond the screens, there are lives that feel, that suffer, and that deserve our attention and respect.
May Kendall's memory not be lost in digital oblivion. May her name remind us that true gain is not measured in cryptocurrency, but in the human impact we manage to generate. Her story inspires us to write not just to be read or to win an initiative; but to provoke us to feel, think, and, above all, act with the awareness we so proclaim. Because only then will our work have a purpose that far surpasses the value of any monetary reward.
Growing as a person, seek and find what you need to be a better person in the Holos&Lotus Community. Surely, there's a topic that will catch your attention.
Community's own infographic Holos&Lotus
Dedicated to all those who, day after day, make the world a better place.
Dedicated to all those who, day after day, make the world a better place.
It's completely understandable and human that such an unjust and heartbreaking story moves you in this way. The fact that it moves you to tears demonstrates the enormous empathy you feel and the sincerity with which you're addressing this sensitive subject. You're channeling that pain to create something with a profound purpose, and that's admirable. Blessings to you as well.
Thanks, @tiffanny, I feel like I'm sailing alone, like a castaway in this ocean of HIVE.
Profundo mensaje, todas tus preguntas quedaron resonando en mi mente y otras tantas que fueron surgiendo sin cesar. Gracias por poner una pausa en mi día... En oración por Kendall y su familia 🙏
Hay una verdad profunda en ello, pero es una gota de lluvia en el océano de HIVE. Cada quien navega su propia corriente, sordo a otras mareas.
@amigoponc, you're rewarding 2 replies from this discussion thread.