Christian Catafago

2020 had just started and it already felt weird: after some unsuccessful attempts the year before, I got the hang of the car-mounted panoramic contraption in Buenos Aires that I had invented 22 years before in a suburb garage of Beirut.

Again, I had felt that tingling, that extended sense of danger, I had felt 22 years before in Beirut. My family was there and all seemed perfect and nice in this late summer of the southern hemisphere.

Yet, I had learned to respect this instinct and the murmur of concerns. Yet, one weekend before leaving, I took the x-pan for a spin around the city.

All that remained in my gaze from the city are those Jacaranda trees sheltering my passage as if mothering my before the years difficulties.