During my first years of life we lived in El Triangulo, a nice residential area between that stretches between the two main highways in Manizales: la Santander y la 23. I used to call our place the blue house, though it wasn't literally so. My earliest memory comes from a strong earthquake we experienced in Manizales around that time. I felt the wind on my face as my mom ran out of our place and across the street, carrying me in her arms. A couple of my parents’ closest friends, a doctor and a nurse, lived there and it also must’ve seemed safer there because their house was newer and lower, with less floors and buildings surrounding it.
Their kids became good friends of mine, and many years later when my dad and mom were in the process of getting a divorce I also sought shelter there. As their own marriage dissolved, the doctor continued to be one of my dad's best friends and the nurse remained one of my mom's. There was more than just the original friendship at work. It had been reinforced by the strong solidarity among the sexes and the kinship felt with those who undergo the same kind of trials and suffer the same pains.
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