Muore suicida a 28 anni una delle scrittrici di Gentefied, Camila Maria Concepcion

Muore suicida a 28 anni una delle scrittrici di Gentefied, Camila Maria Concepcion

Stando a quanto riportato via Instagram da amici e colleghi e poi ripreso da Entertainment Weekly, la scrittrice e attivista latina per i diritti dei trans Camila Maria Concepcion si è tolta la vita a soli 28 anni lo scorso 21 febbraio, giorno esatto del debutto su Netflix della serie a cui aveva contribuito con la sua penna, Gentefied.

Oltre alla recente serie televisiva, la Concepcion aveva partecipato anche alla scrittura di Daybreak, altra serie Netflix purtroppo cancellata dopo appena una stagione, lo scorso anno. I rappresentanti di Gentefied e di Netflix hanno confermato la triste dipartita a EW, dichiarando in una nota stampa:

"Siamo profondamente rattristati di apprendere della tragica scomparsa di Camila Concepcion. Era una scrittrice di talento con una grande passione per la narrazione, capace di dare voce alle minoranze sottorappresentate e lottare per i loro diritti davanti e dietro la cinepresa. Ha dato contributi audaci e critici al nostro settore, come è possibile notare dal suo lavoro su Gentefied, e la sua eredità sopravviverà proprio grazie alle sue storie. I nostri pensieri vanno alla sua famiglia e ai suoi amici in questo doloroso momento di perdita".

La co-creatrice di Gentefied, Linda Yivette Chavez, ha voluto ricordare l'amica e collega via Instagram con un lungo e commovente post, definendola "una luce brillante che ha lottato strenuamente per farsi strada nell'oscurità di questo mondo". Il co-creatore Marvin Lemus, inoltre, ha aggiunto che la Concepcion era "il talento più naturale, puro e grezzo che avesse mai incontrato".

Condoglianze alla famiglia.

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Camila, mi amor, I can't seem to write these words without bursting into tears. I can't believe I'm writing these words at all. Because you're supposed to be here, Camila. You were supposed to be there Thursday and you weren't. And I texted you because I was worried. Because you were missing. A big part of this dream was missing and i should have known... I should have listened to that voice inside that said something was wrong... My love, you were brilliant. You were powerful. You were a creator Marvin and I were ready to champion to the ends of the earth. The first time you sat in that room with us a year and a half ago you were magnetic. You told story like you were spinning cotton candy. The sweetness enveloping the jagged edges of a woman looking to heal. My girl from El Monte who went to Yale who loved her girl from Norwalk who went to Stanford. And we trauma-bonded over being the only ones in a sea of whiteness. Over leaving our hoods and doing better and doing right by our mamis. You were an angel God sent me. I'll never forget the first text you sent me filled with so much love, respect, and adoration. You said you looked up to me but in words that felt like they were coming from the universe itself because you always seemed to send them when I needed them most. When I was struggling with making the show and was having a hard time believing in myself. You were this angel that would pop into my messages or into my office and say exactly what I needed to hear... and did I ever thank you for that? I thought I did but now I can't remember. And fuck I hope I did. You were a light. A brilliant light that struggled to shine in the midst of the darkness in this world. But I saw you, girl. I fucking saw you from the moment I laid eyes on you. I knew you were fucking magic and I wanted the world to devour your magnificence the way you deserved. Baby, you were going to have a show on HBO. I needed that show. I needed your voice. Your story. Your wisdom. Your fucking fierce wit and fearless IDGAF fervor. You should be here.

Un post condiviso da Linda Yvette Chávez (@lindayvettechavez) in data:

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I’ve been trying to avoid writing this post all day. Late last night the Gentefied family learned that we lost one of the brightest souls, not only on this show, but that I’ve ever met in my life. I’ve been trying my hardest to numb the hurt by focusing on the show and all the love coming in, waiting to get a phone call to let me know this was a sick joke. Camila, Im so mad at you right now. I’m so fucking pissed because I kept waiting to hear back about that coffee. I was excited to see what crazy outfit you were going to wear to the premiere. I’m mad that I don’t get to hear you ramble on and on about what you thought of your first episode of television. What I’m sure would be mostly talking about how fucking great you are. And you would be absolutely right. When Linda and I met you, we knew you were the most special, raw talent we’d ever fucking met. We knew you were going to be huge. You were going to be bigger than just our writer’s assistant. I’m so fucking mad at you because I’m one of your million adoring fans and I was going to make it my personal mission to make sure the fucking world knew your name. I was so excited thinking about being in the room again with you and being annoyed at how many fucking pictures you would ask me to take of you because you knew my conceited ass also wanted to get the best shot that made you look amazing. Mija, I knew just an inkling of the pain you were feeling and the hurt you had gone through. You inspired me every day with your perseverance and your ability to shorten very fucking word to fit into your schedule. Mija, I hope you’re at peace now. I’ll get over my anger. I’m not ready yet. Maybe it’s just my way of holding onto just a bit of the flame that made you so incredibly bright. The past 24 hours were supposed to be for all of us. Pero te lo juro que we’ll make every minute from now on count in your honor. Siempre. Rest in Power. Rest In Peace. Te amo. Your big brother, Marvinganoosh.

Un post condiviso da Marvin Lemus (@elmarvinlemus) in data: