A Lingering Memory

Two years ago, when I was just a month into my senior year of high school, my stepfather's brother was killed in a van rollover.

He was riding in a van with 9 others traveling through San Diego after successfully (and illegally) crossing the Mexican border into the United States.

He was 20 years old.

My stepfather heard the news when he was driving me home from school. He had been in contact with the 'coyote' for a number of days, tracking each move the group was making toward America. He received a call on his cell phone as he drove. I wasn't really listening to what he was saying, but I distinctly remember hearing him gasp at some point in the conversation.

When he got off the phone, I asked if it was about his brother. He said yes. I asked how close he was to arriving.
"Fallecio."
He's dead.

I couldn't understand what I was hearing. The past few days it had sounded like things were going well, like he was on track to arrive soon and be reunited with his siblings, and meet his nieces and nephews.

How could this happen when he was so close to his destination? The van was in San Diego. They had crossed the border, that was the hardest part. Apparently the van was traveling at high velocity.

My stepfather's brother was the only fatality in the accident.

My stepdad didn't cry at all during that car ride home. He didn't cry when we got home and saw his older brother outside working on one of their cars. He broke the news to him calmly.

He later walked into our apartment, sat down at the dinner table, told my mother, and finally began to cry. He put his head down and wept so loudly. It still haunts me. Maybe that's why I'm writing this.

The next few hours only increased the agony. My stepfather's sister, brother-in-law, and two older brothers all sat around our dinner table. Pati, his sister, sat in utter shock and with a few spontaneous tears streaming. My stepfather still sat with his head down. His brothers sat in shock as well.

My twin brothers were napping at the time, but as soon as Henry woke up, Higinio (stepdad, their dad) wanted to hold him close. He silently sobbed as my baby brother sat on his lap.

Even more painful was the fact that none of the siblings could travel to Mexico for the funeral, it would cost too much to pay a coyote to go there and back. And why risk another tragedy?

They spent the next few days going to the Mexican consulate in Santa Ana. A picture of the young man was faxed to the consulate, and he was positively identified. Higinio kept the 8 x 11 photograph in a small folder. He wanted me to look at it, he wanted me to see his brother. It was the only way I'd ever 'meet' him.

After spending months arguing with Higinio over trivial things, I regretted everything. As much of a sexist pig as I thought (and still think) he was, this death finally humanized him. He was no longer the evil man influencing my mother into making my life extremely difficult. He was finally someone I could empathize with.

Two years have passed and I still have my issues with him, but I'll never forget the side of him I saw when his brother died. Everyone's human, it just takes time to uncover.

His baby brother died trying to make it to the so-called land of dreams. He was only miles away.

Heart-shaped Potato

Me: I wanna blog, but I don't know what to blog about.
Becky: Blog about me sleeping. *goes to sleep*

Becky is now sleeping. She went to sleep before 11! Crazy stuff. She and I were both really exhausted today. I don't know if fatigue is contagious or what, but it's spreading like crazy. I got a decent amount of sleep last night but was still really tired all day. I even took a nap in the afternoon.

Now I'm up watching Obama on Letterman. Our president is so charming.

Tomorrow is Tuesday. It should be quite a long day. Usually my Wednesdays are awful, but this week it looks like Tuesday is gonna suck. I have to wake up early to pack a lunch. My first class is at 9:30 until 10:50. Then I'm going to a Daily Trojan Copy Editing Workshop. A business editor from the LA Times is coming in to give a tutorial, it should be pretty cool. Then at 12:30 I have class until 2 pm. After class I'll have my only break of the day until 3:45... band practice. At 6 we get a dinner break, then at 7 its back to sectionals. At 9 pm I'll finally be able to go home... and probably sleep.

Hectic days are always bad when you're actually going through them, but then at the end of it you feel so accomplished. I always think I'll never get through them, but when I do, I'm proud of myself. At this time tomorrow I'll be so happy knowing how much I got done in a day.

My dad was supposed to come to the football game this Saturday, but he can't now for reasons unknown. I'm actually relieved about this though. He's been acting like, to steal from Obama's rhetoric, a jackass. I wasn't looking forward to him possibly getting involved with tailgating.

I realized that I probably won't be going home until the weekend of October 9th. That's about 3 weeks away. I can't wait to see my brothers. I wonder what mischief they're getting into these days.

In October I'll be traveling to Berkeley, Oregon, and Chicago/Indiana, all with the Marching Band! I'm so excited for Chicago, I've never traveled that far east.

Okay. Time for bed.

Goodnight and Fight On!

Annoying

I get so anxious all the time now.

Aleatorio

Music is music. Why should we have to pay for something that should be a natural right? Artists can make plenty of money off of the use of their images, videos, radio play, concerts, merch, etc. The music should be a gift they choose to share with listeners, not a privilege that they want us to pay for.



The other day a friend told me that they think they understand how I like my friendships to work. I think the person was right. I value each of my friendships, I hate the ones that consist of pure artificiality. I want real conversations, I want nothing to be off limits. I want honesty. I don't like when I'm talking with someone and I'm overly hesitant to say what I really want to say. I shouldn't have to be scared, I should just let it out. But I still struggle with this. I'm not a perfect friend, but I want to be the best friend possible.

I think part of the reason I value my close friends so much is because I grew up alone for a long time in my life. At home I was always with my parents or grandparents, I was hardly around people my age, only at school. I matured at a very young age. Maybe that's why I'm not afraid to ask personal questions. Mature topics are appealing, not taboo, to me.



Fight On. I love this phrase so much. People who aren't Trojans think it's funny when I say it randomly, but everyone at school gets it. Fight On. Persist. Overcome. Don't stop. Don't quit.



I really love being back at school. Some of the classes are tedious, but in the scheme of things, I know I'm working my way up to something bigger and better. Years from now, hopefully, I'll know that all these random GE courses did have a purpose, even if only to fulfill some requirements created by administrators who I'll never meet or care to meet. I've got to do what's necessary to get to where I want to be.

The independence is the best part. I was independent for most of my life before I got here, but in a different way. I lived with family all my life, but they weren't the ideal family. My parents weren't involved, they didn't treat me the same way other kids were treated. They didn't ever punish me, but they didn't ever tell me they loved me either. I know they loved me, but we just weren't the type to blurt it out loud. Plus, the things I endured with my father hardened me in a way. He made me numb. This is a numbness I've tried to rid myself of, but it's difficult.



I miss my brothers. I say this all the time, but I really do. Everyday they're learning new things, developing and developing, but I'm missing it all. The past weekend, when I got to see them after not seeing them for 4 weeks, they brightened everything around me. Their innocent mischief and sincere curiosity makes me so incredibly happy. I want to do good for them. They don't deserve to live in that shabby one-bedroom house. They deserve the world, and I want to help provide them with it someday.



For now, we all Fight On.