The Stolen Memory

It was summer of 2009. I was living between Mexico and Somerton, Arizona because my husband had been deported. My three children and I traveled across the border on weekends to keep their father in our lives. It was a very difficult and stressful time for my children and I. We lived by the seat of our pants.

My husband called me and exclaimed, "I found your father's car. I needed a shovel so I went to my friend's house. The guy I was working with all last week. Do you remember? Anyway, he didn't open the door, so I went to the back. There was a makeshift car port and I looked inside. There was your father's car! I found your father's car, but I can't go with you because they'll know I told." my husband's voice quivered with fear. "What? Who? You found my father's car?" I held the phone crying, because I thought my dad's car was gone for good. I felt moronic because I had the car in my care when it was stolen.

I walked out the door one morning to take my father's car to the shop and it was gone. I had parked it right in front of our door. Holy shit! My father's car was gone. I was in Mexico. What would I tell him? My husband had gone out to work and had seen a couple of men knocking next door, so he said. I was sure his brother was somehow involved in the theft, because he lived right next door. I named my husband's brother as the main suspect in my police report.

As soon as I got off the phone with my husband, I rushed to Mexico, only 10 or so miles from my home in the U.S.  I went to pick up my husband so he could go to the police department and give them the location of the car. He was adamant he was not going. I swore to him if he didn't go with me, he would never see me again.  I had balls of steel all of a sudden. I was going to recover my father's car. My father was seventy-five-years-old and getting his car stolen was the greatest injustice. I was personally going to see to it that I took his car back in one piece. I called dispatch and noone answered. I was growing anxious, so I drove around the streets of San Luis R. C. Sonora until I ran into a unit. He quickly dispatched the car theft unit and we met at the end of the culprit's street. I drove through the back road escorted by a unit, and several units approached through the front. I heard the radio transmits saying there was no car on the premises. My heart sank. Then I heard them say the owner was waiting at the front of the property. I jumped in my car and met the officers. I urged my husband to get off the car but he refused. I went over and asked the officers if they had found my car. "You should know!" said one officer. "The owner of the house is claiming your husband brought the car to her home, placed it in the back and had been dismantling it. She states you were in on the plan and you would be reporting it stolen in the United States." The officer looked sternly at me while I reacted. I must have turned white as a ghost and I felt my muscles disappear from my legs. I was needing to barf. All I could think was I needed to barf. I grabbed on to a tree next to me and out came everything I had in my stomache. I asked fervently if they had found my father's car. Their answer was affirmative. They brought over some lights as it was pitch dark and the detective walked me to the back of the house. As soon as they opened the make-shift car port, I about fell to my knees. My father's car, the only memory he had left that reminded him of my mother, was in pieces staring me in the face. I approached the car, held on to something and started crying. I was crying because I would not be returning my father's car to him, and I was crying because I knew my husband had plotted this from the start.

The detective pulled me aside and all of a sudden started talking to me like a social worker or a counselor.  He spoke about my forgiving him before, my covering his mistakes, my taking financial responsibility for his wrongdoings. It was all true. I looked at this man wondering if he could read my mind. I was in so much pain, but his words were so clear. "We have arrested your husband. My officers just placed him in the patrol car. You can either follow us to the station and pay to let him out or you can walk straight to your car, not turning to look at him, and be free from him for good. Let go now maam before he destroys you."
I thanked the detective for his time, walked to the front without turning to look at my husband, got in my car and left. That was the last time I was with him. I picked up the broken pieces of my heart from the floor, placed them in my hand and walked away.

Placing the pieces back together is cumbersome. It's 2014, one month away from 2015. Darn crazy glue does not stick like it used to in the 90's. My heart glues together for a few days and then I have to pick up some pieces off the floor. However, that's a story for another time. For another day. As for now, I bid you good night.

My Daughter Emillia

When I was pregnant with my first child in 1994, I so wanted a little girl. My thoughts were always of a little girl. At about 6 months pregnant,  I was told that I was having a boy. Nineteen years later, I go into my first-born transgender daughter Emilia's first surgery. God has spared me the nerves and the worry until now. She will be going in to have her tonsils (a painful and grueling recovery) plus her uvula removed. I know God will bring her through the surgery. However, I know the pain of recovery that lies ahead for my dear daughter. Emilia wants them out because they have been obstructing her breathing for much too long. They are so swollen, she stops breathing over 500 times a night and kicks and wails like a dying fish when she's asleep.

At 9:30 a.m. she goes into surgery. Everybody on the outside sees her as my brave oldest son. I, on the other hand, see her as my strong but fragile oldest child. The doctors will be there to fix Jose, while I will be there to nurture Emillia. She so wishes she could be on the outside what she is on the inside. Does anyone understand? Honestly, I don't think even she understands. She doesn't understand why she was born a boy.  "Mom, I want to change my name to Emilia and change my birth certificate to show I am a girl." Let's find out how.

Emilia was about 3-years-old when I knew she was a girl trapped in the body of a boy. She ran to the girls section at the stores, she loved carrying purses, and she fought her younger sister for Barbie everything. Now, I am heterosexual and I love tools and mechanics. So, I'm not categorizing her based on likes. I can't quite put it into words. I just knew Jose would grow up to be Emillia. I let him grow up to be who he wanted to be. Emillia is Emillia, boy or girl. I love her either way. She is my oldest, my first and none of them came with an instruction manual.

My daughter has suffered through the growing pains of knowing who she is and wants to be. Emillia started by thinking she was gay. However, she wanted to wear dresses, make-up, long hair. Through self-discovery she identified herself as a girl. She has spent nineteen years finding herself. Emillia still has a long way to go. The journey has just begun. For most of us, though, self-acceptance is a life-long process. I just try to remind her that we are family and we love and accept her decisions. Out there she may have to fight to be accepted. Here, in the comfort of her mother's arms, she is my beautiful daughter no matter what is on the surface.

While Sleeping...

There are two things that are guaranteed to us in this world. Those two things are set on total opposites of the spectrum. What are they, you might ask? Can you guess? Let me spare you the agony of having to figure it out. We as human beings come into this world through birth and leave this world through death. Yes, indeed,  I can guarantee that all of us share these two experiences.
What one does with the time in between, does not come with an instruction manual.

In God's word it is said that all our lives are written even before we are born. Yet, the Holy Bible also explains that God gave us free will. So, which is it? Do we have free will or are we pre-destined to make every choice, every decision, as it was written? Can we assume that we are just following some scripted lines, and we stay on this Earth until our last scene. Those are quite interesting questions to ponder. I am owner of my own opinion, but I cannot, will not, say for definite what is true. I am human. I am on this Earth. I have completed my first task, birth. I so would love to remember the experience, but I do not. Not one second of my adventurous birth can I recollect.

It was an event to remember,  from what I hear. My siblings explained how my mother was dying giving birth to me. She had what now sounds like pre-eclampsia. In 1973 there was probably no such term to explain my mother's agony. The doctors also lost my heart beat. They took my mother into surgery to extract a still-born baby. Instead, here I am today with three children of my own. Was I dead? Inside my mother's protective womb, had my heart stopped beating? Did I live and die before I was born?

Whatever may have happened,  I ended up being the last of eight children. However, as I lay here writing, it seems I was born an only child. None of my brothers and sisters are in my life. They all have families to tend. Of course, so do I.  Is it my fault that I am so distant from my family? If I knew the answer to that question, it would make things so much easier. I finally accepted that I am the runt. I am the plus 1. Nine years span between myself and my older sister. I lived like an only child with my mother and father. Well, enough of that.

I started writing sometime in the wee hours of the night. I woke up, picked up my phone, and I had written part of a new post. I went to sleep angry so I must of had things to say. So, my thoughts were turned into a post. Funny, I actually make sense writing while I sleep. I just don't remember the point of my writing. Nonetheless less, I'm  posting.

My Reader, thank you

I am ever so sorry that I haven't come to visit much. I have been thinking about you every day. I read what you send me. I just can't seem to have the time or the energy to write. Usually, writing consumes me. Lately, however, I sense or fear that nobody really cares what I say. Do I make sense? Do I bore you? I take all the clutter that gets cramped in my mind and attempt to make sense of it to try and get my point across. I understand that if it wasn't for you, I would not exist. The words would just fade away into nothingness. It is because of you that I am somebody. You see, when there is no one, I sit and I share my deepest thoughts one word at a time. I scribble away into the morning sunset. Then, there you are. You listen, observe, bring my words to fruition. So you see, I have not forgotten you. You are so very important in my life. I have so much to catch up on in my little books of secrets. Yes, the words will come. They will fill the pages and you will be there to share in my insanity. Thank you for being patient and for hearing my voice, though it may be as quiet as a word on a paper.

Don't Look Back

I started to write a short story about you, then I realized you don't matter anymore. I had accomplished quite a bit on the piece. I suppose I could have kept going. After all, your cowardice and lies make for a great novela. I have grown up. As I read it, I laughed at myself for being so naieve at over thirty. I wasted time with you, but thank you. I never went back to my ex-husband. You were a distraction. I have found love now. I have found a man who loves me and can't be compared with anyone in my past. So, I'm grateful for your lies. I know things are a bit hard for you right now. I suppose you have to lay in the bed you made for yourself. Good bye.

In my thoughts, mother

I'm scared of life now, mother. You left me here without you. You left me here alone. I'm scared to love, mother. So many broken promises, scars slashed across my heart. Two-thousand-six, two-thousand-six replays in my head. Can we skip that year and have you here instead? I'm scared for my children, mother. What will become of them when I am gone? Will they ache for me silently at night like I ache for you? You were my strength, mother. Now I live the life of a hermit, afraid to roam too far. I lay in your bed, all broken and tattered. Yet, when I lay on it after so many years, I still feel your presence. I'm afraid to write, mother. Writing opens my heart and my mind to the void in my life. How dare you bring me here and then leave me? How dare I bring them here for I will one day leave them! Will they be hollow when I am gone? I am hollow. Knock, knock, knock...I can hear the echo in my soul. Knock, knock, knock...I can hear the echo in my heart. Life is not the same. The colors are dull. The sun's rays ache. Smiles seem fake and laughter is painful to hear. When will I heal, mother? I gave birth to my children before you departed. I never imagined losing you would leave a crater in my life. What love I can still bare to give, I give to them. I hope it is enough so that when I leave, they don't ask why.

I Miss You so...Mother of Mine

We are in 2010 and the holidays are over now... As Christmas started to rear its head around the corner, I found myself feeling the longing, feeling the loss...I wanted time to slip by, for January to come and go..But the days were slow to pass...I live in her house now, I breathe a little of her every day...Sometimes I am walking into my room, that used to be hers, and I see her laying there waiting for me to come over and lay next to her...I spent so many hours talking to her about life, my problems, my children, my fears, my hopes...She never wanted for her.

She always wanted more for us, her children..Noone knows this but I am about to blurt it out to the whole world, because she is gone and I miss her very much. She was my best friend, she was my critic and she was unconditionally in love with me no matter what my flaws.. I was her baby...my brothers and sisters, seven of them, saw my flaws, criticized my choices, wanted to have input in my life, but my mother always loved me just the way I was, broken and all...

Four years ago, when I realized I was going to lose her in this lonely world, I cried...Cried does not even explain what I did when I was told she was gone. I howled in pain, I squirmed in agony because the woman who brought me into this world was gone, would never touch me again, would never touch my forehead to see if I had a fever, would never again ask me if I wanted a taco or would get angry at me when I yelled at my children..I wanted all of that back...I wanted all of that with me, I wanted her to be forever..I could not understand why God thought seventy years was enough time for us to have her, that he wanted her with him..I was angry at God for taking her, I would yell into the air thinking that somehow he would hear me and he would send her back.. The day she was to die, I was at home resting, when a strong wind storm came out of nowhere and ravaged the windows, the door, sand everywhere, the whistling of the wind talking to me, letting me know that the angels had come to pick up my mother from this Earth...a white dove stood outside her home when she passed away..when she went to sleep... The doctors said she couldn't hear me anymore because she had a heart attack and she had been without oxygen for seven minutes or more, but when I talked to her when I asked her a question, I saw the tears roll down her cheeks.. My mother, she was a fighter, a woman to be admired...I always think that when I grow up I want to be just like her...she raised us, all her children, protected us like a mother hen, went out everyday to bring back what she could to provide for us...she would have given her life for any of us in a blink of an eye... there will never be another woman like her...she was my superwoman...

As I sit here right now, I want her to come sit next to me so I can lay my head on her lap...I want to stand behind her and unwind her hair and put my fingers through her tossled curls..I want to see her eyes glimmer as her grandchldren go to her and give her hugs and kisses.. My heart still doesn't understand that she is gone, my heart still desires her love like it did in my first memory of my love for my mother...My mother, my love, my angel...I miss you with every breathe I take...You will always be alive in my heart...Te amo madre mia...

Sombra de Ayer

La passion que siento al mirar tu rostro 

el ardor que existe dentro de mi 

tus caricias, tus encantos 

nunca encontrare algo comparable 

cuando ya no estes 

cuando ya no seas 

que sera de mi 

porque seguire necesitando 

tu presencia, tu calor 

me despierto a encontrar 

que mi almohada a recibido 

las lagrimas de mi dolor 

me duermo para olvidar 

o simplemente para sonar 

que sigues siendo mio 

amandome ijual 

donde estas amado mio 

quien me a robado tu tiempo 

donde estas que no te encuentro 

que no te puedo olvidar 

Photograph by Anais Zaragoza

No Escape

Even if I cry a thousand tears for a thousand days, you will never be mine. You have other plans. I wanted you to be my lover, my friend. I don't want to go on without you. I refuse to go on in this world void of you. I think, what statement of my undying love can I make as I end my life. If I send you a letter telling you that I'm gone, will you cry? Will you fall to your knees and regret?

I remember the day I saw you in the campus lawn, leaning against a huge oak tree. I pretended to be lost just to get your attention. I recall being flustered because you didn't notice me. No matter, it gave me an opportunity to look at your stern but beautiful brown eyes. I saw how your lips puckered with a tinge of red. It made me want to run and kiss you. Of course, you would think I was a total lunatic. I re-plotted and decided to walk by the tree and accidentally fall. You couldn't ignore me then because a gentleman must always help a beautiful student in distress.

So, I activated my plan, not suspecting I would slip and fall, no acting needed. I landed bum first on his legs, my books splattering everywhere.  I'm not sure who was in more pain. Although I am quite sure it was him because he had broken my fall. I apologized frantically for my stupidity regretting I had even thought of walking by in the first place. He slowly helped both of us to our feet, picked up my books and groaned a quiet groan, trying to save face. Once everything was in its place, he stood and looked right in my eyes as I apologized. I knew him as one of the smartest, if not the smartest person on campus. He apologized even though it was clear that I was at fault. Then out of nowhere we both started to laugh.

I knew he was the one for me a year ago;  I was right. I didn't need to look any further. I was already thinking of our wedding day as he was asking me my name.  "Oh, my name is Mariana and you, of course, are Andrew." It surprised him a bit how I knew his name but we just kept talking. By this time Andrew had to go to class so he quickly asked me if I wanted to attend the Senior Bash he was throwing at his house. Everybody was talking about this party, and he was inviting me personally. It was one month before graduation, but Andrew knew he wouldn't have time closer to the end of term because of cramming for finals.  She gave him her number never really expecting him to call.

Mariana went on with her usual week, trying to keep up with school and a part-time job to help pay tuition.  Her parents helped where they could. Andrew was always in her thoughts. Early Thursday she got a call from Andrew. He was wondering if she could come to his house and help everyone with decorating. She rapidly agreed to be there by 10 pm after work.  Mariana sat in class and imagined him holding her and giving her a passionate kiss, a scene she had replayed in her mind hundreds of times. Then she worried he might not like how she kissed. She had never kissed a boy before. She had never had a boyfriend. She had so much going through her head she barely did any homework that week. She went to work and it kept her occupied. It helped her make it through the week as minutes seemed like hours.

Thursday finally came and she was able to get to his house on time. She was let in right as the last person was leaving. They had finished decorating before she got there so they sat in the living room talking and he grabbed her a coke and some pizza. The decorations were fabulous and half the campus was expected to be there.

Andrew asked Mariana if she wanted to go up to his room for a bit to listen to music and show her his acceptance letters, yes with an s. Sure, she thought as she followed him up the stairs to his room. He said casually, "I have to be at the dorms by midnight. That gives us some time to talk." He put on some music and she sat on his bed feeling butterflies in her stomach. The minute he sat next to her both of them knew Mariana should leave. Mariana felt like her heart was going to explode out of her chest. She stayed knowing they were in for the night of their lives. Mariana was so impressed by Andrew's presence that all she thought was about pleasing him. They made love the entire night;  curfew, parents, everything out the window. They fell asleep only out of exhaustion. In the morning they sneaked Mariana out of the house. She called her mom and said she had stayed at her besties because she had to cram for an exam. She was exhausted but finished the day. She went home and crashed until early evening when her mom woke her up for dinner.

She got a call from Andrew about an hour later. He said he hoped she could be at the party, that he had a great time and then he slipped in a question. "Are, are you on birth control? I'm going to medical school and all." Mariana's heart stopped. She took a deep breathe because for the first time she realized they had not used protection. "Yes, of course." Shit Mariana...what had she done? She didn't go to the party that night and avoided Andrew like the plague because she wanted to know. He was going off to med school. His plans were clear. It wasn't until three days after missing her period, test after test, that she knew her life was over. She took the test for reassurance but she already knew.

There was no way out of this one. Mariana's parents would be so disappointed at her. She figured out the way she would die, nothing else mattered. She wrote a little note which she planned on quickly giving Andrew and walking away. When Marians saw him, she would not speak.  She would simply hand him the note.

Instead, two days before graduation, they found her body splattered outside Andrew's dorm building. In her pocket she had a note that said, I'm pregnant. She had wanted to give it to him a thousand times and a thousand times she failed. While he was in class she had text him the words "I'm sorry."  He didn't understand what she meant until he got back to his dorms.

Where I Found Myself...

I stood outside the van, looking into the smokey colored passenger window.  I could see a piece of aluminum foil in his left hand and a home-made cut straw in the other.  I could see the white smoke floating into the air like a cloud covering his face.  I stood outside the door with my hands holding the window pane, my hands stretched and pushing in as if I could break the window with my mere strength.  Tears rolled down my cheeks as I cried incessantly begging him to stop.  I yelled, "You mother fucker, don't you care about anyone but yourself? Don't you care that your children need you?  I'm here looking at you use that fucken' shit and you sit there sucking it up as if I were not standing here in front of you."  "Stop, stop, stop, let me in, stop what you are doing, for God's sake let me in the fucken' door!"  I thought of breaking the window but then I thought, if I break the window the neighbors will call the police and I will get arrested.  Then this monster will be left with my children or worse, both of us will go to jail and the children will end up with my family or with social services.  Either option sounded horrid to me.

I went into the trailer and closed the door as I slipped slowly onto the floor with no reason to live, no desire to be.  I fell to the ground crying as I leaned on the door banging softly and asking God why I had to be here, why I had to be me. Then I realized it would not be long before he came in the door and then I would see the wrath of the devil before me.  I got up, not really wanting to keep this farce going but I could not  open the doors of my home to anyone.  I could not lose my children;  I could not face the world as they realized what a lie I had been living for so many years.

I stood for a moment and wondered what my next step should be.  I went to my room, grabbed a chair and locked myself in the room with my little one, now two-years-old.  His pudgy little face was looking at me as if understanding that his mother feared for not only her life but his as well.  I waited quietly, almost afraid to breathe.  Nothing came, no door opening, no yelling, no banging on the door.  I must have waited for hours before I finally fell asleep, my child having slept now for some time.  We woke up a few hours later and I dared to peek out the door. Then I slowly crept into the kitchen to find no one.

There were no noises in the house.  I stood there quietly trying to see if I heard anything outside; I looked out the window and I could not see my husband.  I went outside and found that he was nowhere to be seen.  I knew that he had left.  He had the strength of his high, the strength of that poison that so often controlled his body and mind.  He had chosen to leave and I was relieved.  At least for now we were safe from the monster that took over his body, the contorted monster that so often said things that made no sense, called me a demon, a daughter of Satan, a puta (whore).  I could hear the resonance of the threats, one being more clear in my mind than others.  "You fucken' whore, I'm gonna kill you. I'm gonna use this knife and I am going to slit your throat."


One might ask why I didn't call the police.  One might also ask how long its takes for the police to arrive at a home.  I knew that before someone came to help he would be there holding a knife to my throat leaving my body life-less.  At least that was what was in my mind.  I didn't understand then that the only power my husband had over me was that which I allowed him to have.  All those vulgarities, the stealing, the lying, the pawning our lives away could have all stopped if I didn't want to keep up an appearance, if I was not embarrassed to be the victim, that woman that could not hold her home together.  I could not call for help because that would mean defeat and I was bound and determined to beat this illness.  I was sure that if I willed it to be, that I could make my husband change from a monster to a responsible human being.  I wanted my children to have a father, I wanted to have a husband and most importantly I desired to have a normal life.  What I mean by normal, now I really don't know.  Even now that he is gone, I don't feel that I have a normal life.

The distortion of my mind, the memories of the horrid near-death experiences don't leave me.  The knife at my throat, the fist in my face, the times when I was knocked down to the floor, the smearing of mayonnaise on my face, the beer dripping down my face as he called me names.  How can anyone be normal after that?  Even now when I look at my children I realize what I sacrificed, what they sacrificed and wonder if they are still in time to understand the normalcy of life, to dream, to hope and to fulfill their dreams.

My dreams have long since died along with the love for myself and for my husband.  I was disappointed in myself for allowing the death of my soul, I was disappointed for allowing the destruction of my home.

We survived him. Now, it was time to rebuild, to bring life and joy back into the life of my children.  The problem was I no longer knew what joy was like, I no longer knew how to repair those walls with so many holes, my soul that had grown hollow from the pain and the suffering.  My children sitting in the living room doing their homework, my mind traveled through time, to a place where this would have never been possible.  With that in mind I thought to myself, we have begun to heal.

How Do you Love?

I received this letter by Robert Faz after a long argument about my passion in writing. I could not believe that an artist like him (pencil drawing, poetry, rap) was asking me to curb my inspiration. I ended our argument by falling asleep. I was saddened. I was numb.

Robert Faz said...
(How do I love?)
I, once upon a time, loved my father, but he soon passed away followed by my two brothers and recently my mother....my world was torn into pieces like a love letter found by an elementary school teacher read out loud as to embarrass the love birds that were caught passing it during class innocently in love with one another...
(How do I love?)
My first love betrayed me , if I deserved to be played or not,she played me....
(How do I love?).....My child's mother, whom I thought was the love that I was looking for my whole life, which I planned on marrying..was good to me but by that time I had found another love called Crystal(the drug)Why did i go astray?? ...
(How do I love?)  It's not the person that I don't trust, it's LOVE that i don't trust for all those I loved dearly passed, affected me and infected me by a disease that's stereo-typically known as drugs and dysfunctional upbringing.
(How do I love?) I now have a very special person in my life but...I've been nothing but a disappointment based on my actions. My words are excellent, but the outcome of my deeds are never to the satisfaction of how it ought to be for my heart has been crushed and molested long before and the way I should love, I don't know.  Lord knows I wanna learn to love not just by words but by actions, I want that more than anything...
(How do I love?)...and I cannot lie, I've failed her with my words plenty of times so that being said...Lord have mercy on me.........

My response...
I cannot tell you how to love others, but I can tell you how to love me. You can't hold me in a cage like a bird. You can't put side-blinders on me like a horse. You can't tie me up like a dog. Love is freedom to be me. Love is freedom for me to stay by your side willingly. You cannot mold me, you cannot shape me. My maker did that long ago. Life molded me until this day. I cannot teach you how to trust. I cannot teach you how to stop hurting me with your words. All I can do is love you, hoping that how you learned to be hurt by love, you will learn to trust love. Trusting love takes will. Please give love a try. It keeps knocking at your door.


THE END OF TIME

Time was nearing the end. The end of my life, the end of the world, the end of time. The clocks all sped up, moving forward uncontrollably. The world was at war, food was scarce, and there was no mercy. Satan himself had taken control of the world, corruption and heathenism with no limits. Bilzabub stood before the people rejoicing in the sin and avaricious man. Everywhere there was man against man, nation against nation. Believers of God were being slaughtered in all corners of the land. Gunfire could be heard and there was no peace.

They had caught me preaching the coming of Christ and about the heavans being prepared for our arrival. I spoke about a time when we would praise God, with no worldly clocks. A time when we would rejoice in God's love. We would feel no more sadness or pain.

"Do you renounce your God?", said the monstrous voice. I looked over to his soul-less eyes. I felt my body quiver from his evil presence. Again louder, "Renounce your God or you shall die!" "Satan you have no dominion over my soul. Do what you must! I exalt my God over everything." They placed my physical body over the guillotine block and I felt no fear of death." A slicing of flesh, my head severed from my body. My soul released from this Earth.

Story by Susana Zaragoza