I often start my day now hopping onto a motorcycle taxi and heading to the front lines where the tear gas is wafting and the projectiles are flying.

I’ve come to know some of the regular protesters, like Tyler, 22, a former government supporter who has become adept at dodging rubber bullets and buckshot behind a homemade shield painted blue, yellow and red to match the Venezuelan flag knotted around his neck. His eyes peek from the black T-shirt wrapped around his face to hide his identity.

We sat beside a burning barricade during a lull and he told me about his family.

Tyler said he was fighting because of medicine shortages that killed his mother, worsened his grandmother’s high blood pressure and left his asthmatic little sister gasping. He said his family could afford only one meal a day, usually just plain white rice.

“We are living with a hunger that we have never had before,” he said. “Things are already really ugly here, and we won’t take it anymore.”