Smoko Acting School

English translations in order of the presentation

Sandra Gonzalez, Colombia

On my own

Pretending he's beside me

All alone

I walk with him 'til morning

Without him

I feel his arms around me

And when I lose my way I close my eyes

And he has found me

In the rain, the pavement shines like silver

All the lights are misty in the river

In the darkness, the trees are full of starlight

And all I see is him and me forever and forever

And I know it's only in my mind

That I'm talking to myself and not to him

And although I know that he is blind

Still I say, there's a way for us

I love him

But when the night is over

He is gone

The river's just a river

Without him

The world around me changes

The trees are bare and everywhere

The streets are full of strangers

I love him

But every day I'm learning

All my life

I've only been pretending

Without me

His world will go on turning

A world that's full of happiness

That I have never known

I love him

I love him

I love him

But only on my own

Gonzalo Gutierrez, Chile

It’s been some time now that I keep wondering…

how my parents chose my name.

(Pause)

Gonzalo.

Sounds pretty serious, doesn’t it?

(He smiles, softly ironic)

And that’s when I remember the stories they used to tell me when I was little.

That they had planned me carefully,

thought about everything — starting with my eyes,

my curly lashes,

and these thick eyebrows that stick out from the bone in my forehead.

I like them.

I think they give character to my face…

along with my full lips — those I got from my dad.

(He touches his face, tenderly)

The ears, the nose, the skin tone,

and all the freckles and moles on my body…

those are definitely from my mom.

(Pause, breathes)

When I was a kid, I was restless.

Always moving — something was always happening to me!

(Laughs softly)

Truth is, not much has changed.

I’m still restless, clumsy,

and sometimes… way too intense.

Like I’m still looking for something.

(Lowers his voice)

At first, they said I looked just like her.

(Pause)

Now they say I’m the living memory of my old man.

(Long silence. He laughs through a sigh, looking at something that’s no longer there.)

Must be the long hair and the glasses —

he used to wear them too.

(Pause. Quietly.)

Ah… my old man.

(Long pause. The tone shifts — deeper, more reflective.)

I grew up with this idea of being the “special kid” they had planned so lovingly.

As if that held together the image they had of me.

As if I was holding together a bond that didn’t work.

As if I was holding together a broken family dynamic

that almost always ended in violence.

(Voice rises suddenly)

VIOLENCE.

YELLING.

HITS.

AGGRESSION.

SLEEPLESS NIGHTS.

(He breathes deeply. Heavy silence.)

A lot of that — for many years.

And the truth is,

when something repeats itself over and over,

you start to think it’s normal.

That’s how it was for them —

a couple of weeks without talking,

then everything back to “normal.”

Like nothing had ever happened…

until it did.

(Pause. Tone calmer, deeper.)

The past can’t be forgotten.

And what you’ve lived through —

you can’t erase it from your story.

So I take it,

I accept it,

I try to understand it,

and I make it part of me.

A reminder that today, I can change.

That I can be the Gonzalo I want to be.

(Breathes, lighter tone — hopeful.)

So I replaced yelling with conversation,

fights with discussions,

and violence with emotional awareness.

It sounds cliché…

but it’s true.

(He starts walking slowly, with renewed energy.)

I’m still under construction —

but that’s what keeps me here today:

choosing myself,

traveling,

challenging myself,

meeting kind people,

and working in the craft that I fell in love with.

It’s been three years since I became a baker.

And through this work, I found passion —

the joy of giving love to people through food.

With something as humble and noble as bread,

made with my own hands…

I love it.

(Pause. Reflective, soft.)

I still deal with my past — always.

But not with resentment.

With compassion.

With love.

And with the understanding that if I want to break the pattern,

it’s up to me to give myself the chance to do it.

(Looks at the audience, firmly.)

One day, I was online looking up what my name meant.

I found out it comes from Germanic roots —

it means “ready for,”

“prepared for battle.”

(Pause)

I don’t know if my parents knew that.

I don’t know if they knew what we were going to live through.

But they named me that way.

(Smiles gently. Looks toward the distance.)

My name is Gonzalo…

and I’m ready.

Gabriela Bawarshi, Chile

No one holds my birthday cake.

It looks like a sad, almost pathetic scene,

But the truth is—it feels incredible.

In that house that isn’t mine,

they hand me a cake that I receive with both hands.

They watch with childlike joy

while the candles burn with a dancing fire,

as if they too wanted to sing the birthday tune.

I sing to myself, pronouncing my own name: Gabriela.

In the past, some people held my birthday cake.

I remember someone in particular.

It was three years ago—

Though I lose track of time;

Sometimes it feels longer, sometimes shorter.

And other times, I think it’s been five years and a day,

like the minimum prison sentence in my country.

I wish I could forget you forever.

And yet, you’ve left your mark.

Ecologists say that wild animals imprint on humans.

When they are fed, rescued, or excessively loved.

And yes… the imprint came toward you.

But you didn’t rescue me, nor did you love me—

You humiliated me and turned me into a rag

to clean and quiet your own filth.

I felt comfortable and important, being that rag,

a kind of divine cloth capable of healing everything.

(Brief silence)

You still occupy all my space,

like an echo that refuses to fade.

And so, I choose to walk away.

(She walks, changes tone.)

“Don’t cry!” my mother said during our last hug.

I wanted to cry,

And I cried with gratitude for every moment we shared.

I knew I was saying goodbye to her—

for a long time, maybe longer than planned—

When I accepted the scholarship that brought me here,

to the other side of the world.

I was also able to say goodbye to my friends,

little treasures in human form.

They gave me a heart,

a kind of relic with the image of their faces,

So I would never feel alone.

I’m changing faster than I thought.

The word metamorphosis echoes in me,

and I feel like a hybrid in every sense.

I’m building myself as I follow the change.

I feel like I’m in everything and nothing at once—

And that’s how I get lost.

I used to get lost easily.

“Gabriela, you’re silly, distracted,

as if you were always high.”

And yes, I was:

one ochre-colored pill each day

to bear my own sorrows

and those of the world that cut through me.

One day, a strange woman, with a crazy face, told me:

“You and I are misanthropes.”

I didn’t know what that word meant,

but once I found out, I knew she was right.

I secretly hated humanity—

not others, not you—

but myself, for having been born human.

No one asked me.

Did the stork make a mistake?

Or did the soul of a tadpole slip ahead

in the tunnel of karmic lives and steal my place?

(Long breath. Looks at the audience.)

Forgetting has become a habit,

and my identity has grown diffuse.

I feel increasingly made of air.

I forget what I was going to be, what I was going to say,

where I was going, my place, my purpose.

And sometimes, filled with fear, the thought slips away:

Yes, there’s so much forgetting…

What if one day I forget who I am?

What if I forget who I am?

What if I forget who I am?

Sandra Gonzalez, Colombia

I forced my eyes not to see reality

Creating excuses so I wouldn’t listen

I hid behind myself, I didn’t react

But sooner or later, I had to leave

And my mother helped me, she pushed me into the void

She said: My little girl, it’s with good intention

I’m your mother and I want to see you fly high

And you won’t do that if I keep you in my arms

And I said: How the hell do you do this?

Leaving my home, my family, and my loved ones

Leaving my land and my friends

Why can’t everyone just come with me?

And I cried, screamed, and kicked

But life made me understand

So I grabbed my guitar and my luggage

And said: Maduro, you son of a b***!*

And I left (I left, I left), I left (oh, I left)

With my head full of doubts, but I left

And here I am, believing in myself

Remembering everything I once was

Saying goodbye was hard at that terminal

I cried all the tears a year could hold

But I left for the border

Wait for it—this is where my odyssey begins

They robbed me, took one of my suitcases

But I kept my money ’cause it was in my hand

I kept moving forward, no turning back

If God gave me this, it’s because I can handle it

And so I went on, stopping night and day

Crossed four countries in five days

Running, eating little

Talking less and crying quietly

But I arrived, as everyone must know

’Cause word got around one way or another

I don’t know if this is now, I don’t know if it’s forever

I don’t know if it’s little, but for me it was enough

I don’t stop, I keep fighting

’Cause I keep making music, and people listen

Being an immigrant is no joke

And whoever says otherwise should say it from the outside

Now I walk the world shedding tears

Breathing deep, my flag in my hand

Why, if we are all brothers

And children of Latin America

I left, I left

With my head full of doubts, but I left

And here I am, believing in myself

Remembering everything I once was

I carry your light and your scent within me

I left (but I’ll be back)

I believe in me, I believe in you, I believe in the brave people.

Alonso Casanueva, Mexico

There is a forgotten place south of the South

which is closed like a coffin

there, the wind crosses the street seeking shelter

and there’s no witnesses south of the South

Don’t go, the path is not a good one

I’m told

“Don’t go, it’s not worth it”

Time south of the South

Has stopped

It’s become distracted

With I don’t know what

And the air is actually

Gelatine

So crystal clear

That you cannot see it

Don’t go, the road there doesn’t exist

Don’t complain later

“Why didn’t you warn me?”

Don’t lose your spot at the table

I’m told

Don’t go, who would even want to?

If there were two places in total

The second one would have to be

The end of the world

The South of the South

And suddenly gravity shuts you down

I want to fly, loosen my feet

Overcome the knot tying me to the ground

Everyone is too serious here

About knowing, wanting to shine

All I want to do is fall in love with a flight

Actually,

I can see a weird dragon at the tip of my telescope

How can I tease out what is here? Maybe hit it there?

I’m so close to flying the skies

Whatever is in me has loosened up,

And this evolution teaches me to dance with detachment

Not here though,

If I sit, a dog will come out to bite me

I came and I saw, I promise

The day floating around in my time

And I’ll go on a serene journey towards unlearning

Reality shouts, cruel news

And yet, I still felt engines in my spinal cord

A fan here, a spring there, to jump

Over my chart of accumulated chores

I have to take advantage of the lightness

Which has kept me on gear ‘til now

My world is not logical, I’ve recently philosophised with Yesterday

And the wind came to offer me the Key

See you later,

A needle just hit my tendons like a bullseye

I came and I saw, I promise

The day floating around in my time

And I’ll go on a serene journey towards unlearning

Yes

The day floating around in my time

And I’ll go on a serene journey towards unlearning

Fernanda Cotillo, Colombia

I never planned to stay, truly.

I came for just a few months, to breathe a different way of life,

to see what would unfold.

And it has unfolded… how long has it been?

Seventeen full cycles of seasons.

Two hundred and four full moons,

seventeen journeys around the sun.

The first time the plane touched down in Melbourne, the first thought that crossed my mind was:

Where are the mountains?

It wasn’t just any question, you know?

It was a question that came from deep within,

a question that spoke from the body,

because when you’re born with the Andes carving the horizon,

it changes the way you see the world.

You get used to something always there,

something vast, unmovable.

Here, everything was flat…

Flat and quiet.

A different kind of silence.

Not like the one back home, where the wind whispers messages from the hills,

where life is sung and cried to the rhythm of timbales, marimba, and bells…

My home:

The smell of freshly brewed coffee in the mornings.

My grandmother roasting arepas in the kitchen.

Nine people taking turns in a single bathroom.

My home:

The gleaming tiles with red arabesque patterns, the photo albums, the songs, my cousins,

the New Year’s celebrations with the neighbours.

My home:

The Sunday meals over a wood fire, cooked by my father.

The baths on the terrace, three little ones splashing in a basin,

my mother and grandmother, sponges in hand, ensuring we were spotless.

A warm vegetable soup, freshly made.

The three of us in a line, drying off in the sun...

So much love, so much care.

That was always my home.

The longing to return, to always go back there.

It took me five years, give or take,

before I began to feel that here,

this could also be that place.

Five years of learning a new language, new ways to make friends,

of laughing in new ways, filling spaces with what I’d learned.

Of sipping a flat white instead of black coffee at four in the afternoon,

with quick chats between siblings...

Because that, that’s what I missed.

Not being able to say:

“I’ll come by in a bit, let’s go for a walk.”

Not being able to have those spontaneous moments,

those conversations that only happen when you’re close.

Now, to see each other, we have to cross the Pacific.

Twenty-four hours of flight, a week of jet lag.

An eternity just for a cup of coffee.

And yet, here I am.

It wasn’t a single decision.

It was a collection of small yeses:

A job that worked.

A cat I adopted.

A love that appeared and surprised me.

Friends who became refuge for my heart and company.

A life that came together while I wasn’t looking.

And when I realized it, I had roots.

Not like the ones I had before, but roots, all the same.

Still, sometimes, when the plane touches down,

I ask myself: Where are the mountains?

And then I close my eyes,

and I see them within me.

Untouched, deep, silent.

The mountains, the land, and that house—

they’re never forgotten.

They stay with me, embedded in me,

like family, language, and the hugs still to be had.