Look at me. I’m 25 years old, Pancho. I’ve got my entire life ahead. I’ve got everything left to do. I want to… see my siblings again. See my mother, my father. I want to dance. Numa, you don’t dance. I know. But now I want to. I wanna do it all, Pancho. I want to laugh, I want to cry.
Something happened to me that I always talk about. I would say (to the survivors): "Hi, Enzo, I play Numa" and they would say 'Oof, Numa'. And they would give me a hug."
I would say, "But this person doesn't know me, he's not hugging me. He's hugging Numa through me."
And it was very powerful. You saw there what he was leaving. There is something inexplicable about Numa that he left in others, that they feel a weight. They feel an extra gratitude.
There was something very heavy there that you felt, and it left you with that responsibility. You would say: "Ah, look at this person, how special. How they remember him.
What is a person like to be remembered like that? What did he do? What did he leave?"