 The great book written by Louis Lowry: "The Giver". It tells about a fixed society (sort of like the movie "The Island") in where every person that is born is placed accordingly to certain jobs. There is the Giver position, which is the most wise person in the community. Then next in line would be the "Receiver" who inputs all the information passed down from the Giver. The truth is, that the Giver is the only one who knows how sick their society is. I do not want to ruin it, but HIGHLY recommend reading it.
Years ago a student asked me to "Give" some of my most insightful thoughts, in honor of the great book. A sort of "The Giver", if you will. This is what I wrote. Year : 1981 Dear Receiver, Pain is love. Throughout your life you will receive hardships, downfalls, breakthroughs, successes, failures, love, hate, revelations, life and death. Just like Jonas in the The Giver, our pain makes us only appreciate life in its integrity. But we must understand and embrace pain as life's ultimate Giver, for the events that we endure, reconcile justice and love. As I ponder my deepest devastations, I realize that it is my sincerest pleasure to transmit to you 3 of my most intimate memories. Keep in mind that they are mere events that have molded me into what I am today. What do you think your memories will withhold for you? My first memory is my hardest. It is actually collection of times that helped me earn a degree from an accredited university. My times (about seven years worth) throughout my BA was one of the hardest things I have ever had to produce. In 2000 I was accepted into the University of Puerto Rico. From then on, personal misguidance deviated me from graduating. I was more focused on hanging out with my friends rather than studying even though I knew it was getting out of hand. Nonetheless, I seemed to have had an innate sense that told me that I was destined to graduate. The nights of partying almost took a toll on me during college. Imagine: no mommy or daddy to tell you not to do “this or that”. Well I did all of it. Some of it was fun, but most was frightening. College is supposed to help make you a dignified person in society, not to break your will. You may think that a night out on the town “never hurt anybody”. True. But it's when you decide to go out almost every night, drink until you vomit, go to class drunk, people trying to mug you, fail easy tests and classes, lose college money (money is everything in college) for tuition, get your laptop stolen, traffic tickets, and don't even let me get started with love drama. But I had no one to blame but myself. I promised myself to finish. And I did. My second memory is my most rebellious (mentally). It is also a collection of times. It happened while still an innocent child, though I did not realize it until a mature adult. My father did not treat my mother how a woman should be treated. Though he never lay a hand on her, his actions spoke more than words. His alcoholism detoured many of his obligations as a husband and father. Some of my most marked memories are those fierce arguments they used to have. He taught me many things that I must not do. Yet he told me what was correct. And even though they are still together, I know that my mother has scars for the rest of her life. It breaks me to the core when I think of what she has gone through. My mother’s memories are far much more severe than mine. She has endured far much more than I will ever. She is my Giver. My third memory is my most grievous. Violence in my country took over one I truly loved. My brother (literally from another mother) was shot in the head through his mouth on a February 29. Me, myself, and I have never gotten over the loss. Tomas Melendez was an angel on earth. He used to look up to me as a role model. Little did I know that I should have looked up to him (I was involved in my own ego). The truth is that I still think about what “Bebo” would do every time I'm in a tight situation. Reciever, I write this memory as I weep. Please do not take life for granted. When Bebo died, that same night he came to me as an angel that I knew he always was. Over his heart he had the last name “DeSoto”. I said to him, “Pero Bebo tu eres Melendez (but Bebo your a Melendez)”. He said, “Melendez was my name on earth. DeSoto is who I protect now”. My brother had become a guardian angel. It was his calling upon his release. Thousands of miles and a few years later (today), I reside next to the town of DeSoto, Texas. It (the town) is my Elsewhere. What does it hold for me? Receiver this memory is the deepest wound in my soul. A loss of a love one only leaves memories to recollect. Leave it at that. Love is pain. The hardships are pleasures, That leave us waiting in vain. Listen to the Givers of society, They bring messages, Held true by the almighty. All of your questions will not be answered. But above all else, Never let truth be tampered. -JBS-
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