The Letters

"Dear Mum," I wrote, as I tried to recall the various events of interest that had happened in the past week. "How is the weather fairing? I hope you and the girls are doing well." Of course, why wouldn't they be? The two-year long war of the twenty-seventh century drew to a close not two months ago, and the remaining brave soldiers were awaiting to be shipped home. Among these individuals, I was one of them. News of the victory must have spread to the North, so I saw no reason as to why my family would not be elated. "Soon I shall return to the farm, and we can resume our yearly harvest." My pen twitched as I wrote finished the sentence. In reality, I had wished to become independent, and someday move away from the old shack to a more urban area. How lucky was I to be deported to fight alongside the troops of the United States of America! The chance to work in the town presented itself to me. All across the street, many shops were offering increased pay for veterans of the war. Even menial jobs, such as making coffee or working the cash register promised almost the same paycheck as the one I received back home. The states also offered many incentives to work here. Living conditions seemed more comfortable, and the sights. Oh my, the sights. Ever since I was a child, I had always imagined standing among tall skyscrapers, but I had never thought that I would see them with my own eyes. I crossed out the last sentence of my letter.

Unsure of what to write, I decided to tell my family about my current situation. However, I meticulously avoided hinting at any evidence of my possibility of staying in the States. I slipped in the monthly $500 check and dropped it off in the mailbox. $500 was not much, but it was all I could afford to send my family. The war veteran's pay was my primary source of income at the moment. How was I supposed to achieve my dreams? With father long gone, I had to make enough money to support myself and my family. Having been brought up as a farmer, I lacked the intelligence for higher class jobs, but I was sure that I could find a decent paying profession with my experience concerning physical work.

Wishing to clear my mind, I decided to take a walk through town. The night life was like none that I have ever seen before. It was as if the sun had never set at all. People were going to social gatherings, and even starting work shifts as late as 11 P.M. All these bright lights were alien to me; back at home, the days were usually dark after 9 P.M. It soon occurred to me that I felt fear. Yes, fear was the appropriate emotion to describe what I was feeling. It seemed almost impossible for a sheltered person such as myself to comprehend the lives of the Americans. Yet, I was determined to follow my dream. I walked around looking for potential job opportunities in the cold, November breeze.

A month passed, and the final boat heading home arrived. I stepped on the pier, and let out a heavy sigh as I watched the new friends I had made disappear forever. Truly, I was alone now, but the month had not been spent in vain. I managed to afford a relatively cheap room with the help of a bank loan, and to find a job as a metal factory worker. I admit that at first glance it seemed selfish of me to abandon my family for my own needs, but I swore that I would make it up to them. Days later, at my new apartment room, I reached for a piece of paper on the table, the only piece of furniture I had at the moment. "It seems as if I would not be returning home," I started off. "I have a great plan for our family. For the time being, I will work in the well-paying country of the United States, and send even greater sums of money to our family than I had before." The rest of my letter followed suit. Sending this letter meant breaking off most ties with my family, but I knew that this would help them more than if I was to return home. I loved them, I truly did, and I wished they would write back, but I understand that the manual labor of farming must make them weary. Dropping in almost $1500 into the envelope, I walked out of my room towards the mailbox. At this point I knew that I've decided to spend the rest of my life here.

On the one hand, life here was tough. The work at the factory was as tiring as farming, but the thought of my family drove me to weather the hardships. However, on the other hand, it would be a lie to say that my new life was not enjoyable. I made friends, who listened in awe to my stories of war. I also managed to try out new foods, and buy new clothes. I now had the opportunities to indulge in all the luxuries the city offered. Back at home, I never would have had the chance to play a musical instrument, or surf the Internet. The advancements of the urban city amazed me. All these I recapped in my letters in full detail. I wanted them to know that I was safe and doing well by myself. The idea of having my family live here with me crossed my mind. Never again would they have to deal with dry spells, or blame lousy soil. I could bring them out of the past and introduce them to the lives of the common man. In my opinion, the city life was infinitely more comfortable than the one we had back home. As much as I wished for my idea to come to fruition, I still lacked the money. I began working harder for a promotion, so that someday I would be able to afford tickets for them to come here. It sure was exhausting work. As a result, the consistency with which I wrote my letters suffered. Weekly letters became monthly, and soon, I found myself in a situation where I was only writing to them during the holidays. Feeling shameful, I decided to use my next Christmas bonus to visit my family and tell them then of my plan. I could imagine the joy on their faces after not seeing me for almost five years. Yes, that is what I would do.

I had almost forgot how cold it could get up in the North. In my heavy jacket and wool scarf, I stepped off of the train and began the long walk towards the farmlands. Thankfully, I recall that our shack was not too far from the station. I made my way through the piercing winds, head down, lugging my suitcase in one hand. What surprised me was the barrenness of the land. The juxtaposition of the flat land with the foggy, grey sky instilled a feeling of mystery. How ironic that the flat lands of Alberta now seemed unfamiliar to me. I arrived at where I remembered our house was, resting my hand on the familiar rusted mailbox that welcomed my touch with its rough texture. However, no buildings were in sight, only the occasional pile of wood chips littered the area. Yet, I noticed that some of the larger pieces were painted a different bright red and white. "How peculiar," I thought at first, but then the disturbing idea of the origins of these pieces entered my mind. The wind strewed the wood in all directions, as well as something I couldn't quite make out in the fog. I chased after it, praying that my morbid thoughts would not become reality. Paper. It was paper that I now held in my hand. I dropped to the ground in agony. The wind cackled as it blew through me, as if mocking my pathetic state. My desperate eyes filled with tears as they painfully read the first words written on the sheet in that familiar handwriting, "Dear Mum."

True Love

A beating heart hides more

Than the mechanics which it thrives on
Our brains tease us
To believe what we think is right
but our hearts speak the truth
For love cannot be solved
With an equation, or a law
Therefore, it remains mysterious to the mind.

However, within us we have gone beyond intelligence
Our hearts have solved something we cannot comprehend
Yet their pride is disgusting.
They will not tell us who we love
But instead incite warmth, safety
They tease us with these feelings
So that we may know what true love feels like.

Love makes us act in ways the brain will never understand.
It memorizes smiles and voices
Better than we do with information.
A single greeting from the one you love
Can be imprinted in your mind longer than any fact.
What a shame that such power, from the heart
Can never be adopted by the brain.

Alas, the rhythmic thumping in our chests
Act as a reminder
To remind us in times of shaking faith
That love exists
Even if you do not experience it.