Venezuelans are full of envy. But not in the way you might think. Let me explain.

Editorial Note: The author’s identity has been verified by our editorial team. Due to ongoing local safety concerns, we are publishing the author under a pseudonym.

I am Venezuelan, and I was barely a high school graduate when Hugo Chávez came to power in 1999. I never imagined those would be the last free elections I would witness for the next 27 years.

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In the civilized world, democracy means the rotation of power, independent institutions, and guaranteed basic freedoms for all citizens. For Venezuelans, however, this has been nothing more than a fantasy. A utopia.

Normal life feels unfamiliar to us. While the rest of the world changes governments, Venezuela watches with a quiet sense of envy, knowing how unlikely that is to happen here. Living in this country often feels like being permanently trapped in the Upside Down from Stranger Things.

From a young age, I loved writing and creating. Influenced by my parents, both journalists, I decided to follow in their footsteps. But under a regime with little tolerance for truth, my profession can be considered a crime, and practicing it, an act of treason against the nation.

I had no other choice. I put my university degree away and searched for alternative sources of income that would allow me to move forward in this very peculiar country.

I share this because I fully understand how difficult it is for anyone outside Venezuela to grasp our reality, one shaped by repression, hardship, fear, and violence.

Here, a president is not truly a president. A fabricated reality promoted by the government conceals a vast criminal apparatus that everyone knows exists, yet no one dares to speak about openly. None of this is easy to understand.

January 3 marked a new chapter, one in which the world finally turned its attention to Venezuela. Violently, as our rulers have always imagined.

That morning felt different from the moment I woke up. At 2:00 a.m., a powerful explosion jolted me out of bed. These were not New Year’s fireworks. It sounded different. More serious.

When I looked out my window, I saw a thick column of black smoke rising from where communication antennas once stood. At first, I thought it might be a routine electrical explosion. But as I heard additional blasts, equal or greater in magnitude, perfectly synchronized at 20 second intervals, I realized what many had long expected was finally happening. American troops had arrived in Caracas.

We witnessed a meticulously coordinated operation that dismantled the Maduro government’s defenses in under three hours. It was brutal. Yet the most devastating blow did not come from a missile. What truly collapsed was 27 years of belligerent, defiant, dictatorial, and supposedly invincible rhetoric. The same discourse that, just a year ago during the election campaign, openly declared that whatever they could not secure with votes, they would take with bullets.

The surge of adrenaline was both terrifying and hopeful in equal measure. Still, nothing could have prepared us for the capture of Nicolás Maduro and his wife.

The news stunned the world. But for those of us still living in Venezuela, its meaning is clear in practice. More repression, tighter control, and greater threats.

Living under a regime of terror for 27 years has taught us one thing. Celebrating anything that displeases the dictator is forbidden. Raising your voice against them can mean a police patrol at your door and your disappearance for an indefinite period of time.

Today, two days later, the battle over Caracas has ended. Without a doubt, we are a little closer to freedom.

The road ahead will be long and complex. We understand the implications. We are not naive. But more than 30 million Venezuelans are ready to hold on to this rare opportunity to be free, and I am certain we will do whatever it takes so that we, and our children, can finally breathe the air of freedom.

Tony Valera. Caracas, Venezuela.