I write these lines in the style of Juan Saramago, attempting to imitate his extensive prose, where the comma becomes a pause for thought and critical reflection makes its way before reaching the endpoint, which he used to unveil the human condition and power.Here lies the voice of someone born in a land that, from its origins, has been an obligatory passage for those seeking to decipher the mystery and benefits of this strategic point in the heart of Latin America, a place where history intertwines with memory and where the question about the direction of our humanity remains unanswered.The article «Traces» was first published in «La Verdad Panamá».Throughout my life, I have witnessed events difficult to explain, yet so real that they have led me to always decide in my own favor, never forgetting the one who walks beside us.Perhaps these words may seem hollow to ears that refuse to listen, but their echo reveals an uncomfortable truth: the unfulfilled promise, the one directed at a child, a young person, a woman, or an elder, becomes an affront that wounds more than silence.In a society where the image prevails, even if false, the daily work of those who uphold the social fabric is lost in a hall of the blind, deaf, and mute.All signs indicate that we are traversing a critical involution, a forced return to the origin.Where is the promised solidarity, where the pledged word, where the will that once defined us?These poetic traces are a reflection of a feeling we all should read and understand.Halt for a moment and ask yourself: where are you walking?What destiny are we heading towards?Today, however, it is painful to confirm that triumph is valued based on the least effort, that technology has displaced the need to think, to err, and to learn from our own failures.The inevitable question is what legacy we will leave to future generations: an uncertain future, marked by the banal and devoid of humanity.It seems that time has relegated values to the dust of history, while the ephemeral is exalted: the desire to be any creature before extending a hand, war as the only outlet instead of dialogue and understanding, love for one's neighbor replaced by obsession with the material.The human body, created to feel, is betrayed by lies: the one spoken to harm and the one said to console, both equally deceitful, both equally condemnable.Many relegate it to oblivion, but conscience—that intimate and inescapable voice—always remembers what has been done well and what has been done poorly.My grandparents, one born between Potuga and Monagrillo, the other from Orconcito, used to sit on their portals, behind the leather rocker, to repeat a lesson that today seems forgotten: that goals are not achieved with haste, but with aptitude, discipline, and perseverance, that success is not measured by the speed with which a task is executed, but by the resistance that patience and study grant at the end of the path.In these simple gestures, the memory of our family surnames, the history inscribed in our skin, is preserved.Did you greet your father or mother today with an «I love you», «I miss you», «I'm thinking of you»?By Edwin Cuevas RodríguezUniversity Professor and Career Diplomat.
