The Letter: The Archives Vol. 3

Dear Brother,

I know it has been a long time since we've talked. The last conversation I remember having with you was an argument on your wedding night. Things didn't end so great for us. Our words said nothing less than how much we abhorred each other. But, due to recent events, I decided it would be a good idea to get back in touch with you. I guess you could say I've had a bit of a revelation. I've been through a lot, and realized a lot too. So, with no further comment, here's what happened.

After the wedding, I was fed up with our family. I decided I wouldn't take their annoying nonsense and inquiries anymore. I wanted my own life, with no authority or clinging leaches of family members. I was tired emotionally, and tired from not sleeping enough at night. I lay awake most nights trying to figure out what I should do and how I should do it. I decided to leave, but not just the family, and not just the city; I decided to leave the country. There were too many sour memories associated with our culture in Tampico, Mexico.

I needed a fresh start, a new city and a new country, and America seemed to call to me as the country of freedom. I'd heard a lot of stories about the land of the USA. I'd even heard that so rich were the poor that even the streets were made of gold. I wanted to see that and live with that wealth, to be my own boss and my own parents, and with nobody to keep accountable to.

I didn't have much to pack and I had enough money saved up to get me my visa, flight, pay for registration fees, and some cheap lodging in the "states." I took a bus up to Mexico City and then flew up to New York City to start the registration for a green card. The flight was OK, but I kept mostly to myself for the whole flight. When the plane landed, I remember the excitement that rose in me at the sight of a new country and the smell of new soil.

Each color and noise seemed so new to me. I'd seen most of the city in pictures, but never heard such noise. The never ending noise, compared to our low key city, it was thrillingly frightening, like a roller coaster. But, this 'roller coaster' never came out of its drop.

The registration office was a large stone building near the edge of the center of the city. The lines seemed to go on forever, like the stripes on the nation's flag. Though the building seemed to be friendly enough, the people inside were far from it. My English was good enough to carry on a basic conversation, but fortunately the receptionist spoke Spanish. Intermingling Spanish and English, she started getting my information and informed me the overall process would take me a few months to be audited. In those three months, I had to prove that I would be a useful addition to the society. I had already lined up a job with an old friend, only to find out his business had failed only a few weeks before my arrival.

After visiting the office, I found a small, grungy apartment to rent out. The rent was just a little over four hundred a month, which I could afford with no problem. After settling in and trying to sleep through the night, I set out to look for a job. After a few days of searching, I found a grocery store that would hire me to do some boring manual labor. My job was basically to take the loose carts from all over the parking lot and move them in front of the store. The manager seemed to think I couldn't do anything else, and just watched me from time to time during the day. I got paid about 6.50 an hour which worked out to be very good. Since I wasn't a citizen, I couldn't open a banking account but my boss was kind enough to pay me in cash.

This went on for a few months, nothing changing except the people around me. The months went by very fast, and finally I received a letter in the mail saying I was approved for a green card. I was now a citizen of the United States. Unfortunately, that's not as wonderful as it's made out to be. The government suddenly took about forty percent of my income to "fund endeavors to improve the city." The only improvements I ever saw were nicer cars for the rich and more items to buy in stores. Never once did I see any improvements being made to the ragged buildings like I lived in. The part of the city I lived in was considered the slums, or the third class. Crime was high, and I never went out past 6 pm. Sometimes I'd hear shots and screams every once and a while.

At first the violent sounds of the city frightened me and made me scared, but I was determined to not cry, and not long for home. But, the more I got used to the city, and this "Land of the Free," I just missed home more and more.

I missed the smells of Mom's cooking, and the grit on kitchen counter top caused by Dad not cleaning off before coming in to eat lunch. I missed the sound of all the family together; I missed the laughter, the debates, and the quirks. I missed the friendliness of strangers, and how everyone knew each other. But the US, seemed like Hell in comparison.

Even though I had a green card, finding a good job was nearly impossible. Either the owners and managers didn't believe that my papers were real (they never said this, but their eyes revealed their thoughts), or they would not even look at them and just tell me to get a day worker job. This made me angry and I couldn't believe that this so called, nonracial and peaceful nation was so hatefully racist. Even my own kind would treat me with disrespect because they were afraid they'd be found out. Most were not legal citizens, and trusted no one. They made those who came in the right way look awful. Because they lied, the citizens indict us and think we all lie and that we all are deceptive.

Over time, this treatment hardened me. I became as hateful as the demerited spawn of this land. Unaccepted, and looked down upon because of the wrong of those who had come before me. I was fed up with America. It was neither friendly nor welcoming. You were thought of as an illegal, illiterate, or unable to comprehend anything. It sickened me, and only two years into my life in the America, I left. I wanted to leave to the only place I knew would accept me: my own country.

I realized something big over there in the "land of the free." I realized that nothing matters more than family. I realized that my family loved me and accepted me because of who I am, and not my color or race. They didn't care if I was a citizen or not. They cared about me. What I took as interrogation, was loving questions. My stubbornness and stupidity had blinded me and I hadn't been able to see the truth.

Brother, forgive me. I beg of you, forgive my hateful and prideful words. I had to be despised in order to see that I was a fool. I looked down on you all these years, but I never should have. You are my brother. You need to be my friend. Brother, please forgive me. Please let me come home, to my family.

Sincerely,

Your brother, Bruno