Valentina del Callejon
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- Posted: Tue, 21 Oct 2014 14:35:12 +0000
Dear Robert,
We have never spoken. Before you received this letter, you’d probably never even heard of me, let alone met me. Maybe, one day that will change. And maybe it won’t. Only time will tell. But as always, time will do so at its own discretion. On its own terms.
Yet, I’m sending you this letter. Because, even without having ever met or spoken, I feel like I know you. A little, at least. Through the tiny bits and small anecdotes your brother cared to share with me. Even if he seems to have developed an unswerving dislike of talking about anything home or family related. It’s only when he’s utterly worn down by my endless wheedling and pestering, that he reluctantly shares some crumbs from his past with me. Leaving me with an idea of what his life must have been like that’s barely more than a collection of snippets.
On the few occasions that he does talk about home, he mainly talks about you. Which is why I'm sending you this letter. And also because, whatever may have happened, I feel you are entitled to know how your brother is fairing.
Please don’t think that he doesn’t miss you. Because he does. Even if that's another thing he would never admit. It just simply shows on his face. And there is also that soft note of hurt on the back of his voice when he talks about you. Like a creeping traitor causing his words to stutter on an unsteady tongue. And now and again fills his eyes with a furtive hint of moisture that betrays sorrows kept veiled for too long. At times like these, he abruptly averts his eyes and goes stubbornly silent for hours in a row. Days even. As if he’d failed to meet some obvious standard and displayed an unforgivable weakness.
It's at times like these that he often turns to his little desk and writes in his copybooks.
One time, I asked him what he was writing. He simply said it was so people would know his side of the story. Should something ever happen to him.
"To let people know why I did what I did," he said.
I clearly sensed that there was no point in asking him any further about it.
Still, even if he’s very reluctant to talk about the past, you’d have to be utterly blind to not understand that something happened back home. Something that made him leave. Whether that was a really bad thing, or just a whim of youth blown out of all proportion by one of life's treacherous twists? I don’t have the first clue.
I know he would be mad as hell if he found out that I was sending you a copy of his first notebook. But then, sometimes we have to do things just because there is no other choice. Whatever the consequences. Making sure that you get his diary feels like one of these things. Anyway, it’s plainly obvious that it’s primarily intended for you.
You have to believe me when I say that I’ve never read what's in his journal. But I do trust that it will provide you the peace of mind every man deserves as to the fate of his brother.
So for now, I hope this letter will find you well.
Con amor,
Valentina
A copy of the diary of Robert’s brother can be found here
We have never spoken. Before you received this letter, you’d probably never even heard of me, let alone met me. Maybe, one day that will change. And maybe it won’t. Only time will tell. But as always, time will do so at its own discretion. On its own terms.
Yet, I’m sending you this letter. Because, even without having ever met or spoken, I feel like I know you. A little, at least. Through the tiny bits and small anecdotes your brother cared to share with me. Even if he seems to have developed an unswerving dislike of talking about anything home or family related. It’s only when he’s utterly worn down by my endless wheedling and pestering, that he reluctantly shares some crumbs from his past with me. Leaving me with an idea of what his life must have been like that’s barely more than a collection of snippets.
On the few occasions that he does talk about home, he mainly talks about you. Which is why I'm sending you this letter. And also because, whatever may have happened, I feel you are entitled to know how your brother is fairing.
Please don’t think that he doesn’t miss you. Because he does. Even if that's another thing he would never admit. It just simply shows on his face. And there is also that soft note of hurt on the back of his voice when he talks about you. Like a creeping traitor causing his words to stutter on an unsteady tongue. And now and again fills his eyes with a furtive hint of moisture that betrays sorrows kept veiled for too long. At times like these, he abruptly averts his eyes and goes stubbornly silent for hours in a row. Days even. As if he’d failed to meet some obvious standard and displayed an unforgivable weakness.
It's at times like these that he often turns to his little desk and writes in his copybooks.
One time, I asked him what he was writing. He simply said it was so people would know his side of the story. Should something ever happen to him.
"To let people know why I did what I did," he said.
I clearly sensed that there was no point in asking him any further about it.
Still, even if he’s very reluctant to talk about the past, you’d have to be utterly blind to not understand that something happened back home. Something that made him leave. Whether that was a really bad thing, or just a whim of youth blown out of all proportion by one of life's treacherous twists? I don’t have the first clue.
I know he would be mad as hell if he found out that I was sending you a copy of his first notebook. But then, sometimes we have to do things just because there is no other choice. Whatever the consequences. Making sure that you get his diary feels like one of these things. Anyway, it’s plainly obvious that it’s primarily intended for you.
You have to believe me when I say that I’ve never read what's in his journal. But I do trust that it will provide you the peace of mind every man deserves as to the fate of his brother.
So for now, I hope this letter will find you well.
Con amor,
Valentina
A copy of the diary of Robert’s brother can be found here
