La Libertad
I met a boy in 1961. He was around 18 years old. He was a communist by heart. We were the best friends. I met him when I was in Latin America for 3 months. He was the most handsome guy I have ever seen. He had light brown hair and eyes. He was tall and skinny. Even the most successful painter in the world cannot draw his awesomeness. You have to see him with your own eyes. He always saw the perfect side of people not faulty sides.
One day I asked him “Why communism?”. He said, “My entire family is communist, I can’t deceive my roots.”. I began to wonder more because I was sure that the real reason was not this. His job was drawing some sketches to a local newspaper. I was in love with his sketches. Our relationship was nearly like lovers but we never told each other our feelings. He had outstanding books, we would go to the sea side and read them all day long. Other than reading, his passion was hiking. He made me go to hiking for several times. There was a mountain called “La Libertad” which means “Freedom”. He liked the view of the city from there and he always mentioned that he should be buried in there when he died. His favourite poem was “Trente ans déjà” which means “30 years ago” . I had no idea what it was about , I didn’t understand the content of the poem. The situation in the city was becoming worse and worse every day. Opposed movement members were killing and were killed. My family decided to leave the city immediately. My farewell to him was so short and he explained me everything. He said “ I would like to have no opinion but I’m poor. I want to help poor people because I understand them. If you think wise, communism is the nearest idea to mine. I see no reason for you to cry. Thanks for understanding me and being my friend. We will definitely send letters to each other. Take care yourself my fellow friend.” . It was a really touchy moment. I had no other choices. I left the city. In next 2 years, we kept in touch. I was so glad because I had a feeling that I was going to meet with him in near future. I was wrong. He didn’t send me any letters later because he was killed by one of the opposed activists.
After 30 years, now I’m in this city. I feel nothing. I return to my adolescence years, broken hearted years. He is buried in the mountain, where he spent his most of the time. Sea is so calm, it melts my heart. I don’t want to see it calm because he does not deserve calmness, he deserves storms. Here by myself, I’m reading “30 years ago” poem to you. I understand now…
One day I asked him “Why communism?”. He said, “My entire family is communist, I can’t deceive my roots.”. I began to wonder more because I was sure that the real reason was not this. His job was drawing some sketches to a local newspaper. I was in love with his sketches. Our relationship was nearly like lovers but we never told each other our feelings. He had outstanding books, we would go to the sea side and read them all day long. Other than reading, his passion was hiking. He made me go to hiking for several times. There was a mountain called “La Libertad” which means “Freedom”. He liked the view of the city from there and he always mentioned that he should be buried in there when he died. His favourite poem was “Trente ans déjà” which means “30 years ago” . I had no idea what it was about , I didn’t understand the content of the poem. The situation in the city was becoming worse and worse every day. Opposed movement members were killing and were killed. My family decided to leave the city immediately. My farewell to him was so short and he explained me everything. He said “ I would like to have no opinion but I’m poor. I want to help poor people because I understand them. If you think wise, communism is the nearest idea to mine. I see no reason for you to cry. Thanks for understanding me and being my friend. We will definitely send letters to each other. Take care yourself my fellow friend.” . It was a really touchy moment. I had no other choices. I left the city. In next 2 years, we kept in touch. I was so glad because I had a feeling that I was going to meet with him in near future. I was wrong. He didn’t send me any letters later because he was killed by one of the opposed activists.
After 30 years, now I’m in this city. I feel nothing. I return to my adolescence years, broken hearted years. He is buried in the mountain, where he spent his most of the time. Sea is so calm, it melts my heart. I don’t want to see it calm because he does not deserve calmness, he deserves storms. Here by myself, I’m reading “30 years ago” poem to you. I understand now…
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