When I was a little girl
My dad would sit me on his lap and teach me about our country.
He was warning me of what led to the revolution.
I didn't really understand back then, it was just scary stories to me.
But he'd tell me what our national bird was, and about our great men and women prior to the revolution.
About everything that we invented and cultivated as a culture in our brief reign as a Republic.
Growing up, I would hear more and more about the evils that we fled from.
I'd hear him exclaim in anger when the news on our country was the same old same old.
He talked about what we faced and why we left.
He told me not to forget who I was, that perhaps, one day we could go back when the regime finally falls.
My dad dreamt out loud about what he missed. His siblings, his childhood home, his upbringing.
Over the years, it's all been lost to time. His siblings have mostly passed on, his childhood home no longer exists.
You can see the sadness in his eyes as he mentions the country. It's rage mixed with sadness.
It's rencor for what was violently taken from innocents. From entire generations after.
My dad was born 15 years after the revolution took place.