I was fortunate to grow up in the countryside, surrounded by plants and animals. My cousins and I would spend hours climbing trees, searching for insects under rocks, inventing games, and picking fruits to eat. We were like a tribe running through the garden of the small housing community where we grew up. We even had our own way of organizing ourselves to decide how to spend our time. We would form a circle, vote on the game each of us wanted to play, and—like a kind of rudimentary democracy—we would ultimately do what the majority decided. Even then, I sensed that nature had something mystical and mysterious about it. Many times, I saw and heard things that I couldn’t say for sure were real or just the product of the imagination of that restless child I was—and, in many ways, still am.

Due to life’s circumstances, I moved to the city of Bogotá during my adolescence. There, I had various experiences that turned into lessons and learning opportunities. However, I have never lost the feeling that the countryside is my place. At the age of twenty-one, after suffering a severe traffic accident, I decided to leave the city and move to the mountains. This decision has shaped my lifestyle and provided me with valuable lessons that have forged my path and my interests.

The mountain that chose me was the Páramo de Chingaza. I moved there with the goal of creating a space where I could live peacefully. At first, inhabiting that place was almost impossible, as the altitude and the cold always posed challenges. However, I attempted to plant my own vegetable garden and cultivate a small garden to sustain myself; I even left University for two years. It was from this experience that my ideas and work emerged, both guided by a deep connection with nature and a commitment to preserving the ecosystems that humans have continuously devastated.

I started out living in a small wooden cabin built with a stable-like structure which measured just six meters by two. At night, the fog storms would not only lift the roof tiles, keeping the paper constantly damp, and cause the wood to rot, but they also filled me with fear and unease—I felt watched, stalked, and like a stranger in the páramo. Of course, I had grown up in the countryside, but in a much more «domesticated» environment, with electricity, running water, and the company of family. Because of this, I constantly questioned myself: Why are you afraid? Are you scared that a serial killer might appear? Or that you might have an accident and there will be no one around to help you?

These questions lingered in my mind, unresolved and persistent. So, one early morning, I made the decision that I would either get closer to those voices or flee and never return. I walked for about an hour through the fog and cold; the sounds of the mountain filled me with fear, but little by little, I realized that my sensations were not caused by something evil. On the contrary, they came from something natural and wonderful. In that instant, I saw that the grass had a soul; then, I looked at the majestic Andean trees of the páramo and discovered that they, too, had one. The stones, the mist drifting in a gaseous state all the way from the sea, and the vibrations of the páramo made my heartbeat feel strange, but I came to understand that these presences were mystical beings protecting their land. So, I let go of my fear—almost even all of my consciousness—I immersed myself and became one with everything.

That was how I grasped the power and significance of water and air. I realized that we are not owners of nature but a part of it and that we breathe only because nature breathes. I asked myself: Where do these beings and energies that safeguard our ecosystems go when waste, pollution, mining, monocultures, and other harmful human activities invade their lands?

As I walked through the forest, surrounded by mist and sounds, I became aware of Los Malhechos: supernatural beings who are kind to those who protect ecosystems but the worst nightmare of those who destroy them or invade the land without preserving it. Los Malhechos are creators and guardians of nature. When they do not wish to be seen, they transform into different plants and animals, always watching over and protecting planet Earth.

I decided to create this story to give form and life to these beings. My purpose is to transmit their spirit so that their message of protection and love reaches as many people as possible, shaping a global movement that becomes a fundamental pillar of this revolution: the environmental revolution that seeks to raise awareness, encouraging people to return to the countryside to care for and regenerate it—understanding humanity as part of a whole, rather than assuming ourselves to be the center of the universe.

My experiences awakened both a motivation and a responsibility to share this knowledge and contribute to new sustainable alternatives that protect and preserve the environment. This is how and why this project was born—a project that aims to blend permaculture with the arts and transcend borders. It extends far beyond this blog; in reality, it is a lifelong project designed to benefit nature, humanity, and that inner child who once climbed trees and marveled at insects. The decision to return to the countryside—even under initially uncomfortable conditions—has been, in essence, a return to myself, my roots, and who I am as both a person and an artist.

To do something «a lo Malhecho» means to act according to one’s own convictions, regardless of how difficult it may be to stay true to one’s values and goals in a given context. It is about seeking the necessary tools to create in a way that ensures our work endures over time, transforming reality according to our abilities—even if that involves risks. Just as Toga did when he conceived the idea of creating humanity.

Before continuing, I must clarify something. The myth I have developed for this thesis— both in its artistic and literary aspects—is only the first of three that I have envisioned: the origin, the history of humanity, and the end of the current cycle (or the end of the world as we know it). For this reason, there are no human beings yet in the stories told by Los Malhechos, even though the letters are addressed to all members of our species.