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When we are born we are arbitrarily assigned a homeland, a body, a gender. 

All these impositions are susceptible to migration. When we leave a country,

this gesture obliges us to let go of almost everything: the memories, the frequent places, embraces and the old idea of living definitively in a place, an identity,

a way of seeing. Migration is a specter, the image is surrounded by elements of childhood. This apparition is presented as a delirium of the past: the light of the mother's house, the window of the adolescent room or mother's favorite flowers.

When we emigrate, we go through a limbo in which

we are alive in some places and dead in others.

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