When no one is around

Every time my mind detaches from the ordinary activities, I can’t help but thinking about my brother Horacio. I learned a few weeks ago he is my half brother. Learning about it was shocking but I knew right there that nothing was going to change our brotherhood. My mom was also worried for what my older brother or even my sister would think about her. Truth is we cannot judge her for her mistakes; we have our own ghost to deal with.

However, there is something that has been bugging me for a while. If you asked me what my brother likes or dislikes are I wouldn’t have a straight answer. Sad as it may sound, I don’t even know what his favorite food is, the music he listens to or what type of car he likes, if there is one. I can’t believe something like this had to happen for me to realize he was not part of my life. I know during his adolescence my older brother became his role model, but I don’t recall a time when I have tried to spend some quality time with him.

After finding out the truth, we had a short conversation. I felt horrible because I realized his heart has been hardened so many times that he can’t or he doesn’t want to pursue happiness any more. I wish he could see life the way I see it now. We both walked the same path. We both had to go through the same pain. I just want him to see that I couldn’t have made it without God.
My only hope is that he is able to see the same too.

Stationed in Vietman

I just finished reading “ Dear America Letters Home from Vietman”. My heart is torn. My first reaction after closing the book was to thank them for what they did for me…for us. The first letters were too painful for me to deal with and so I decided to read no more than a couple of them per week. During this time I felt I was closed to each one of these soldiers. Every word, every line, every letter had a voice that perhaps was unheard not by family or friends but for the world.

Through those words I sensed, I heard, I felt…I suffered. Every page was loaded with fear, passion, hatred, hope… resignation. I pictured them in their barracks, their tents, their ambushes, their trenches and their moments of solitude. Moments used to escape, at least for a few minutes from the horror around them and transport themselves back home. George O., John C., Hector R., James R., Sharon L., among thousands of others were my father, my brother, my son, my uncle, my sister, my friend, or me myself. I got to know them for what they were. I guess war portraits you for what you really are. Men scared and sometimes horrified for what they were witnessing but also men with courage and convinced of what they were fighting for.

I know there is so much history in the lives of the one who survived, but I was wondering what is the untold story behind the ones who never made it home. For they had dreams, ambitions, desires, hopes. They were men, young guys and even kids. Was it worthy? I don’t know much about politics but the world they left us is a free world or at least it seems to be. Borrowing some words from Rodney B.: “…the war we are fighting in South Vietnam is a war against communist aggression, which is an ever-present threat to the free world today.” I wonder if I had been ready to live in a world oppressed by a dictator, a tyrant, or ruled by some kind of religious lunatic or by someone telling me how to live my life in order to worship them. My answer is: No. And I will never be.