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martes, 16 de marzo de 2010

IN MEMORY OF CAMILO - The rebel without a rifle.

IN MEMORY OF CAMILO
The rebel without a rifle.



Sitting, staring at the other side. He remembered the cool wind crashing on my face and in that time. Since the years passed, but had no regrets, just sad. For those friends in my youth that leave. And that death had robbed me. We met the promise of not dying if not fulfilled what we believed as truth. And there was watching the river, which crossed many times with Connor, his friend since we had our youth to battle as we put the world Quixote. It gave us longing to leave our land, well at least where I grew up and did my studies. But what is most real when we met at us disappointed by a speech that seemed more emboldened, but in essence it was only words of someone who never even dare to look out the window of his house. We thought that this guy Rolando, for all its verbiage, we found him just a brabucón like those guys in the Chap stick to that offered us after school for not having let one of her companions to teach college entrance. We could not leave. Nobody at school had permitted it. As Cameron laughed when he remembered that the idea was to lower the skirt that teacher who bear wanting to enter our classrooms, knowing it was one of the most representative of the ranks of the APRA. From there we was born to do what was in our power to make our people development. At the end of high school made us take different paths in life, but would only be for the moment because the future we would have booked other tasks very beautiful, always remembering our youth.
We missed several years and when heading into the parish where he would spend my time in ministry in this way we are and we recognized. We had passed a stage in our life, you'd no longer drive trucks, and you had to sacrifice for the rest of your brothers might be raised. But what they really wanted to do in the classroom with young adolescents thought they looked with enthusiasm Mariategui readings or accounts of the professor of political economy over the legendary social activist Luis de la Puente. Our minds were absorbed in listening to the stories the teacher and we were touring our nations and to make justice our flag.
I invitastes lunch and decided to do what our young minds planned at that stage. We went first to create schools that work for free so we did. Traveling through the land of migrants who took possession of the lands of the Bracamoros. There in full high forest, with forest start working without asking the sun to the old state, but that if we ask for recognition. But we were not from the ranks of government, after we chose to continue teaching those children who were born in the new lands. Whenever we discussed our ideas, as without frankly disgusted by our differences. Only an understanding of the ideas of his friend. He chose a different path, but I knew, for you had already fallen in love with a half-breed, having had your little offspring. Maybe your partner would not have understood that you had taken the decision to follow what I did. Do not bother me. But it was the first goodbye to a friend so dear. That never succumbed to disavow his friendship and succor in the worst times that the friend had to face the decisions of their ideas. As I recall the farewell, as if it were yesterday. Your in the house of your father and your partner, prepare the best meal to say goodbye to friends. We sat and talked at length about childhood, friends from school. Of our city where he spent our adolescence. Of the books that opened a beam of light, to understand things that we could now see clearly. We felt that we would no longer sure. The decision meant that only my back in a coffin or triumphant line of my ideas. We embrace all, your family, who already felt like mine. As the sadness of leaving such beautiful land, where I is the smell of coffee. His morning when I woke up with the hiss of all animals announcing a new day. Or the small schoolhouse, with its poorly done all folders for your improvised carpenter, so that our students not to sit on the floor, like children in other communities. Or the board, so heavy that you had made one of the largest thallus community logs to make furniture of the school. And as I laughed at your desk famous professor, who seemed to have done by a sculptor's apprentice.



When I left you, my brother, it was a beautiful time in my life, passing at home with Mama Herlinda, school, school will never forget. Nor forget the day you die. Looking at your face and emaciated by disease, without hope of life and the final goodbye. Farewell peace guerrilla brother, who sought peace without a gun.

Tupac Isaac II
Juan Esteban Villalobos Yupanqui
http://juanestebanyupanqui.blogspot.com

Here I am...