Music

A white sweater, jeans, and pointed brown boots (they were very trendy at that time), with a brown bag that fit my notebook perfectly and matched my shoes. Ready for university!

Mom warned me to be careful. That day, the Peruvian football team “Sporting Cristal”—a club from my district—was playing. Their extreme fans would gather in busy streets, rob stores, even carry weapons as they marched toward the stadium, intimidating everyone in their way. They were murderers pretending to be fans. In Peru, they’re called “barras bravas”.

To get from home to university, I had to take three buses. The route was dangerous, so I’d learned to hold my bag tightly so no one could snatch it.

It was exhausting going to class early on Saturdays, but I had to—midterms were approaching. After class, I lingered before heading out to catch the first bus home. A friend who was always running late (even though he had his own car) asked me to photocopy all my notes because they were complete with the professor’s exam tips and well-organized, in his words. I couldn’t say no, even though I really wanted to go home.

As usual, I listened to music during my long trip home. Though nervous about who might board the bus and hyper aware of the streets because of the football match, I couldn’t stop listening to Aventura. Romeo Santos’ voice kept me company and made the trip home feel nicer.

Finally, I arrived. I was not home yet, but getting to the nearby avenue meant safety to me—nothing bad could happen now. As I got off the third bus, “Mi Corazoncito” started playing—the live version from their Madison Square Garden concert! I was euphoric, lost in my love for Romeo Santos. I walked toward the road, looked for cars, and turned up the volume when Romeo started talking after the chorus. The street was empty. Everything felt peaceful.

And then—with the music, warm weather, empty streets, and feeling safe as I neared home it happened. It was the last day I ever listened to my favourite music with headphones.

I finished crossing the street and walked toward my house. At the corner near home, I noticed two men rounding it, heading straight for me. They looked suspicious, so I slowly took out one earbud—time to stop listening to Romeo and pay attention. As I discreetly looked for my keys, I kept walking. But when I turned the corner, I saw a big group of men wearing Sporting Cristal’s light blue colors. No doubt—those two men were dangerous, and they were with the barra brava.

I turned around, took off my headphones, and walked slowly. Running wouldn’t help. I thought I might die there.

After that, it was like waking from a nightmare.  I stood up from the pavement, disoriented, unsure where I was. My brown bag was still in my arms, held tight like I’d learned to do. I looked at my torn brown boots, felt the pain in my legs, and saw my ripped jeans – a raw reminder of the violence I’d survived.

The street I’d known my whole life looked strange. Then a man and woman in a car yelled, “Get in before they come back!”. I was scared—I didn’t know them—but I had no choice if I wanted to escape. Even though I was close to home, I didn’t feel safe anymore. Thankfully, they were good people. They saved me.

From that day on, I hated hearing people walk behind me. That was the day they stole the joy of blasting music without fear, the security I’d once felt near home. That day taught me: it doesn’t matter how much good you do—for yourself or others. You can still get hurt—even when you’re just coming home from studying.

Living in fear has been hard. But when my daughter was born, I was born again too. Now I can’t be afraid. I’m responsible for raising a child, giving her love and safety, letting her listen to her favorite music loudly without fear.

Good and bad will always exist, but today I’m fighting against fear. I’m teaching my daughter that no matter what happens, we must keep fighting—to live, to love, to be happy. To fight for yourself and everyone you love.