We are not unfamiliar with those faces that bear sadness. They kept passing us by as we walked through the city's bright streets. Their pain makes us ashamed, but we still just walk by with our heads down, thinking they don't exist if we don't look.
Our distance from them is like the river and the glove in the film, we isolate ourselves from them because of timidity, because of selfishness, because we want to show "compassion" in a condescending posture. Chezeng dragged his sick body across the river to complete his baptism. But what did those of us who stayed on this shore do other than cheer for him?
23-year-old Guevara is already on the road, where are we at 23?
Every day, with my shame on my back, I struggled and tried to escape in the brightly lit streets of the city, but fell deeper and deeper again and again...
At the end of the film, the elderly Alberto looked sadly at the plane carrying his friend far away. Go, as if to symbolize the ultimate disillusionment of that revolution... If given a second chance, would he choose to walk again with his friend?
We always waste our youth first, and then waste our life...
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