Today was a beautiful day; the sun was shining so bright it
could almost melt away my troubles. The ground had a fresh layer of snow, like
the wings of angels they framed every building of the city. Again, I sat in my
usual place and watched everyone pass by. I watched old woman Natasha haul her
lauds of flour from the factory to the nearby bakery, I watched Rolvitch sell
his potatoes on the corner, and I watched the hungry mothers spend their last
few coins on food for their families. While watching the police officers walk
around, stomachs full and faces shining, I realized that everyone around me has
been poisoned by ideas which they have no idea about. I doubt the man who beat
my mother had read anything by Marx his whole entire life, and yet, there he
was, seeing it perfectly just to do anything he wished in the name of something
someone had half-heartedly explained to him. All anyone was told was that with
communism they would have no more troubles, all they had to do was just follow
their orders and they would get anything they wanted. We were told we would
never be hungry or cold again. No one was educated in the villages, and more
than religion a distorted vision of communism was used as opium against the
people.
Maybe that was why I did nothing to save that man. Maybe
under everything I had the belief that if I was to go against this perverted
system, I to would be sent back to the bottom, loose everything I had to sell
myself for during all of these years. I’m just so confused about my identity,
about what I am. I was never pushed to this point by force, I always turned my
back to those that warned me that if I played the games of the devil, I to
would soon become one. Here it all is, spread out in front of me like a
festival banquet, everything I’ve done to come here, all summarized during that
one moment I witnessed less that 10 hours ago. It is the definition of my life,
proof of my never ending cowardice I had never acknowledged until then. All of
my friends used to say that if anyone was born to be a warrior it was me. They
would say that it’s obvious from my face, from the way I look at people when I’m
talking. Where is the warrior now? Who is he fighting for? Again, all I can say
is, I don’t know.
Other than my usual bouts of confusion though out the day, I
can’t say I’ve done anything productive except going to class. We had physics
but I spent the whole time looking out the window at the wall that is right in
front of it. There is a hole in it, inside which some sparrows have made a
nest. I watched them methodically bring in little trinkets and branches,
protecting themselves from the harsh winter outside. It was beautiful to watch,
and I found it much more interesting than the methodical drone of my professor’s
voice. I know I’ve come here to get a better education, but I can’t seem to get
myself to concentrate on most of my classes. Yet another thing I cannot
understand.
Still no news from Chinh and his miraculous plan, but he is
no longer sick. They say the evil never die.
Still no letters from home either.
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