Spring 1999

Page 1

Brown/UwCvesryCty LcvtOvto Lit&rcwy M SprOvi%> 199
Somos Editors:
D. Ferrer '01
A. Diaz '00



SOMOS is a space for las voces (the voices) of Latino students at Brown and surrounding communities. It is a venue to express ourselves in the literary, social, political, and academic realms of our experience as Latinos. Continuing to uphold its commitment from its first issue in 1996, Somos strives to:

• Provide a literary forum for the appreciation, expression and presentation of Latin American and Latino cultureand identity.

• Foster the growth of creativity inherent in Latino Culture

• Establish a presence as a permanent organization at Brown University.

SOMOS is dedicated to the spiritual memory of three Latinas Karina de Lago, Kathy De Leon, and Dr. Maria Teresa Otoya and their commitment to the Third World Community.

Somos A LatinoLiteraryMagazine

table of contents

written pieces from mother to womb Elizabeth Irizarry ...pagel

us Grismaldy Laboy ...page 2

PodreVivir SinTi Norma Dominguez ...page3

Mongrel got a D Jorge Ignacio Cortinas

Gabriel Rudy Sagastume



Heaven Vicente Diaz

...page 4 ...page5

The Battle Ana Escrogima Movimento Grismaldy Laboy Untitled Gustavo Eicon Indigenous Joyce Reyes

...page8 ...page 9 ...page11 ...page12 ...page13

Mi Ave Maria Ana Escrogima ...page16 ... Pensamientos Ana Escrogima Bubbles Ivonne Ferrer

...page17 ...page18

I am Proud and I will Rise Pablo Quintanilla "Mitzli" ... page19 Fin ... page 20

Marlene Hernandez ...pagel

Ana Maria Marisa Catalina Casey

Untitled Ivonne Ferrer Enchanted Girl Marlene Hernandez ...page 2

Untitled Marlene Hernandez Yesenia Santana ...page 2

Artwork 2

Artwork 3

Marlene Hernandez Marlene Hernandez ...page3

Untitled Ivonne Ferrer

Artwork 4

Artwork 5 Marlene Hernandez

...page 7 ...page8 ...page 4 ..page11 ..page12


Alambre deespino Marisa Catalina Casey ...page17

America Vidal Torres & Vicente Diaz ... page 20


Marlene Hernandez Motion Ivonne Ferrer

Stress Marlene Hernandez ...page 4

... page 20 ... page 20

Spring 1999

from mother to womb

i cursethese hips like i'm sure my mother did i curse thesestretch marks i gave herso many and a scar down her belly i'd admire it birthed me

i cursehormones and nausea swollenfeet and a lower back that creakslike the rocking chair did when itwas not too lowfor me to sitin

i curse those whostand with ease who walkswiftly past without craving at 3in the morning coiled around the toilet just barely fitting breastsfull hips wider self weary

i cursehim for not having understood integrity is responsibility not some quick fixnext town overcheck in at8 AM paper dressings pay firsthave acracker go home and forget that itsnever easy

it wasn'tfor my mother just sitting here trying to remember i'm choosmg you she chose me hechose to leave and this life keeps on

i curse these hips i pray you are comfortable


He has mademe weak.

They have made mescared.

I will become strong.

I will not despair.

She has become tolerant. We have becomefollowers.

I aman individual.

I amnot of power.

It isconformity. It isconspiracy.

I shallovercome it. I shall not beof it.

You shall become one. All shall understand.

I canmake a difference.

I can notbe damned.


Podre Vivir sin ti?

Nose cuandovine a comprenderel amor que tienes por ml. Cuando logrever todolo bueno que viene con tu mirada Esos ojos cafe claros,que por anosme han gulado

Fueron tusabrazos y besosque me hicieron fuerte de nina fuistestu la que nos dava amor cuando mimadre noestava fuistes tu la que te hacias a unlado cuando ellallegava

Me has ensenadotanto de lavida, delamor, lafamilia, nuestro idioma,la querida cultura me has ensenadocomo sonreir ala vida cuando todoaparece mal como llorar enalegria y endolor como alzar la caracon orgullo con la mirada que solo tu dominas

Me hasvisto crecer a lo quehoy soy a lo quesiempre supiste que podria lograr tu has sidola primera en proclamar mis triunfos y hasta mis momentos deagonla

Todos quien te conocen pueden vertu juventud en tu manera de hablar,de reir, debromiar tu, solo tu,puedesllenar nuestras vidas en una manera inexplicable

Cuando estoylejos de ti,sufro escucho tu vozdebil, triste se queme extrahas,y yoa ti le preguntoa mama 'ue eslo quetienes? y me contestaque yaeres mayor,ya estas cansada, ya hasvivido

No puedoimaginar mivida sinti cuando piensoen el dlade miboda, tu estas ahl en elnacimiento de mishijos, eres la primera en lobueno y enlo maloque me traira la vida, estas para acompanarme

He aprendido tantoen laescuela, en los trabajos, enmicorta vida pero nohe aprendidoa vivir sin ti ni como pensaren vivirsin ti

Tu, Luz Maria Castillo,abuela, nuestra "Tita" has sidonuesta luz,nuestra alegria ese dia sera la prueba demifuerza y de mife en Dios Podre vivir sinti? •

Mongrel got a D

Jorge Ignacio Cortinas in geography

cause ahis creative approach Said Spain ispart of Africa saw the Pilipineson a map of the Antilles spells Tejas with a jota and won't tell you where New York iscause he says Depends on your neighbor hood Mongrel shoplifts poetry

Mongrel says day comesfor him to turn his cologneinto a MolotovCocktail he will but I don't believe him

In his nightmaresMongrel sees students and minerswho disappeared inSantiago insidehis sleep soldiers push students and minersinto the soccer stadium the goal postsand bleachers filled with students and miners— (Mongrel bolts up opens hiseyes and his Nana is gone)

Mongrel leans over me sweatingin singleshared mattress kisses my mouth says, Zapatista. para joel barraquiel tan

plus her piece

Mongrel says Irony isfor white people Mongrel yelps every time he hears a Ranchera has indigestionevery election night he hasspent in California

Mongrel's favorite word is census

Mongrel married his ownsecond cousin so she could get a green card now we all squeezed together in Washington Heights me and Mongrel / hiscousin and all the memories wegot from our parents and the TV 4 j

I remember that fora while I was down. That's allI could seeand feel. Almost everyday no matter how good Ifelt, atone point or another I would come back to feeling downabout something. It was at this time thatI began talking to God. Don't get me wrong,I wasn't praying,I was just having straight conversationswith him. Of course He didn'tanswer because, after all,He's God. Sometimes I would ask Himabout how things were in heavenand how hefelt about how things were turning out here onEarth. Other times we'd just talk about myself and my childhood and how much I missed those days. I kind of thanked Him for having thosefond memories.

Most of the time, however, the conversations alwaysseemed to come back to somethingspecific. I would make a good point: afterall I had done in my past I really wasn't that bad of a person. I truly believed that to myself, alone,when nobody else wasaround and I could walk at night, talking to God.

"I mean I know that you can't come down and talk to me personally," I would say,"I know thereare others in the world who deserve it more. I know. But can't you justsend me something? Somethingsmall? I mean come on."

Then one nightit hit me. I had a drawn out conversation witha very religious friend of mine about thissubject and when wewere through we both seemed to havemore questions than westarted with. So I decided toask God aboutit.

"So what'sthe deal withangels," I started asking,"I mean whatis the extent of their powers? What exactlydo they do?" As Icrossed thestreet in deep thoughtI found ita funthing to think about and let it go.

I didn't notice himat firstas anything special. I crossed thestreet and kept walking like so many lonelynights I had had in my life. I probably wouldn't havestopped at all if it weren'tfor him introducing himself to me.

"Hello, I'mGabriel."

I just kept walking thinkingit wasa shame thatsome people areso lonely that they'll just introduce themselves to total strangers. Then I wentback to thinking aboutangels and how niceit would be to meet one. I wouldn't even ask a favor of the angel. I would just talk with him-it would be enough just to havea conversation withan angel. At this point I was a block awayfrom my dorm andfeeling sadwhen I thought aboutthe lonelyfellow who introduced himself to mea bit ago. I walked back hurriedly to the spotwhere I saw him and he wasn't there. I put my head down and when I picked it up he was there again.

"Oh,I'm sorry," hesaid in a cool voice,"I thought you weren'tcoming back soI went to get somePepsi." I couldn't believe it.

"I knowyou can't," hesaid. I was always aquick learner sodidn't need toask.

"So howare things" I asked him.

"Not too bad,Rudy, not toobad," he said. "I hear you're going through some tough timesthough."

"Yup. That's aboutright," I responded in a chuckle. "So you can read my mind then?"

"Man,I wish. No we can'tdo that. See, whatwe cando is geta general sense of your emotions. I can basically feel or understand what you're feeling. Like I know you've been down abouta lot of things lately, you know,with the things you've donein the past. I know you feel bad about how you treated people and dealt withrelationships." He had me confused.

"Well you better know thatangels are very intelligent. That's about the best wayI can say it. Up inheaven it's a whole differentballpark sowe operate on differentlevels and mindsets and whatnot. That means we useall of our enhancements to our advantage. See, I can glean that you'refeeling really down, but not

only that, wecan tell specifically what kind of sadness you'reexperiencing. In your case guilt." I was really impressed.

"Can I havesome of your Pepsi?" He said sure andI took a longswig. I hadn't had Pepsiin afew daysand it felt good. We made our way over to this coffeeshop on Mass. Ave.. We talked for a whileabout meand how I was doing. He really seemed to be interested in me and thatfelt good. Then I could tellhe wassurprised because I asked him how he wasdoing.

"You know I've done thisonly afew times," hesaid. "And usually the person I talk to is sointo talkingabout his personal problems. Don't get me wrong Iknow that comeswith the territory but I think it's cool thatyou're actually interested in me and that's not your job. You're a real stand-up guy."

"What job," I said. "Forget about it. I'm just honored that wecan sitdown and talk over somecoffee." We both took our coffee thesame way,lots of cream, lots of sugar. I then went on toask him how heaven was,and I asked him to be honest. We werehaving a good talk so far so be straightwith me I told him. Don't start tellingme that heaven is heaven and there's nothinglike it because I can get thatfrom any priest in the neighborhood.

"Okay, here's the truth. Heaven is heaven and there's nothinglike it." We

both started to laugh. I thought that if heaven was full of angels like him it really must be likea paradise. "No really, heaven is all it'scracked up to be, for you that is."

"What do you mean?"

"Well your mortal-a human, you know. So when you guys goto heaven it's a better deal than what you had here on Earth. So in thatsense heaven is heaven -for you." I could almost understand what he was tellingme. It's just hard to accept somethinglike an angel telling you the deal with heaven through his perspective. "It's like a poor immigrant comingto the United Statesfrom destitute conditionsin the homeland. He comeshere with nothing and a few yearsgo by and he has something. To you and me, well I guess to you,it isn't much because you were born here, but to him it'ssomething he could never dream of having. Get it?"

"What something are wetalking about?"

"Oh I don't know. Maybe it's a steady income. Maybe it's politicalfreedom. Maybe it'sa newspaper delivered to his dooreverySunday. It doesn't really matter. Because to someone like you -someone who was born here - things havealways been like this. To you the United

States isno bigdeal, but tothat poor immigrant it's...wellit's-"

"Heaven," I said. He smiled atme.

"That's right," he said as he pointed at me. "That's exactly right."


Like aman returningfrom analmost endless Odyssey I finally found my way home Scarred, battered and bruised I stumbled Into you arms,my sweetabode My residence forever Your embrace thegreatest treasure That I haveever known And your smile my prized possession more preciousthat anythingI own and youreyes, my linkto yourinner world

I canread your everythought, Through thoseojitos bellos y esos besosmio, con sabora caramelo cada vesmas dulce y massincero algun diatu sabras lo tantoque yo tequiero Tu siempreviveenmis pensamientos Even inmy sleep I'm thinkingof you Yo puedotocar elcielo Cada vesque medices, "Ilove you"

The Battle

"She committed suicide, Peter. She's mine. Unequivocally."

Lucifer took a deep drag of his sweetsmelling cigarette and smiled condescendingly. He had arrived at the bargaining table in his white pin-striped victory suit. His timing was impeccable, as always. He sat at his end of the ivory bargaining table with poise and confidence. This soul was an easy win, a no-brainer. Except of course, for that one catch...

"Considering her reasons for the suicide, and the life she led, Lucifer, it's not so clear cut. She's definitely purgatory or outer gates of heaven material." Peter looked directly into the eyes of his once best-friend turned immortal foe. His eyes were filled with the wisdom of eternity, and for a millisecond he noticed a flicker of fear in his opponent's eye. Peter was not one to give up so easily... Besides, the gatekeeper had grown especially attached to the soulin question.

Lucifer flicked his cigarette ashes towards the sky and laughed. "She was a prostitute! A petty whore, and a good one at that. She made no positive mark on the world, and probably infected half the population of Guayaquil with some disease or other. Why would you want her? What Peter...do you have a thing for her or something? In that case, I would be willing to work out a deal, you sly dog, you!"

Peter laughed, displaying more confidence than he felt. He did not enjoy bargaining sessions with Lucifer. In fact, this mission was not his idea; he did not want to be heaven's envoy in this

particular instance. Dealing with Lucifer was Gabriel's forte. Protest was futile, however. "This is something you need to do,"She had insisted.

Peter drew up allhis strengthsand shot back, "Oh, Lucifer. You were always the creative one...you know very well she was a kindhearted woman. She only prostituted her body out of desperation, and never out of greed. She only made enough to survive on. And there is the matter of the hundreds of orphans she housed and fed throughout her life. And what of the savings she had put together to begin her seamstress enterprise?"

Lucifer narrowed his eyes and folded his arms across his chest. "What of that crackpot seamstress idea? It never happened. And as for those kids, how do you explain the last six months of her life, when she was so preoccupied with her own problems that she turned away each child that came to her door? Her sporadic acts of kindness do not change who she is, and how she lived her life. Most of all, they don't change the fact that she's mine. She died fair and square. And I want her. I want her because I know for some reason or other, you have a soft spot for this tramp. And I'm just curious as to how you plan to justify keeping her without overturning every law in the book. I'm surprised at you Peter. You're usually such a stickler. I must say, however, that I am quite amused by your efforts. Amuse me further, Gatekeeper...Tell me, whatdo you suggest? I know your God would not tolerate her presence among the just and righteous folk in heaven."

Peter knew he was treading on dangerous ground here. He also knew

his next suggestions were acceptable to God because She had allowed the forthcoming inspiration to enter his mind. "She's not completely gone yet. We both know the angels of death are waiting her door. I want them sent away. I want to revive the glimmering spark of life that burns within her, sothat shemay have a secondchance.

I want her to be able to fulfill the destiny for which she was created. I'll wager that, given the appropriate circumstances, her heart will be freed from its prison and she will turn away from her life as a prostitute. She is young yet, only twenty-five. She will have her business, start a family, and bear ten beautiful,healthy children;one of which, as you well know, if allowed to be born, will discover the cure for the ravishing disease which kill mostof the pop-"

Lucifer slammed his hands on the ivory altar. "Yes, yes, yes Peter! That's all wonderful, but get to what happens if you lose the wager. ..."

Patience, Lucifer, patience."

Lucifer laughed. "Why, that's my best virtue...I am perfectly willing to wait all eternity for just the right soul, as you well know. I apologize for the effort; however I must admit at times your tendency to circumvent the point aggravates me so. Now please, continue."

"If she does not break all ties with her former life within a month of her recovery, you have full rights to her soul with no protest from heaven."

Lucifer stood quiet for a moment. He stared into Peter's eyes, and believed his sincerity. His old friend, oaf that he was, never told a lie. Getting her back shouldn't be a problem. Throw a couple of irresistible temptations in her path, and there she'd be. He'd taken on the project himself,it wouldbe fun

"One more thing, Lucifer. You can't work on her yourself. I know you; you'd throw ridiculous obstaclesin her path. It has to be one of your lesser beings."

Minor complication. "By the same token, I don't wantGabriel or Michael her., be floatingon bed of clouds and It has to a rookie angel or something."

"So we are in agreement then, •? Any of contract ave tostart

all over again."


Both rose and simultaneously disappeared into the atmosphere, a flurry of details to be attended to; for the battlehad only just begun.


Grismaldy Laboy

iNinita, Ninita dondeesta? Growing up. Seeing. Hearing.Feeling. Ups. Downs. Where areyou little girl? Crawling.

iSenorita, Sefiorita dondeesta? Rising to thechallenge. Struggling.Smiling.Sleeping. Right. Left. Whereare you young lady? Standing.

iMujer, Mujer dondeesta? Living up to the world. Loving. Understanding. Working. Above. Below. Where are you woman? Walking.

iViejita, Viejita donde esta? Resting from theworld. Praying. Remembering. Teaching. Backwards. Forwards. Where are you old lady? Running.


Una ave soared throughthe air, even thoughhe wasscared, he dared.

In whatdirection he flew, no oneknew.

With noone insight hecontinued withall his might.

He knew he was destinedfor the quest, but when put tothe test, he desired his nest.

Hefelt alone,confused,and upset, and some timeseven regret.

While in despair, he felt warmthin the air, looked ahead and saw el sol, and he left behind all thecold.

He found a newstrength inhissoul, now he wasnot alone, he had elsol.


At the age of three... waking up to Spanishsongs thatsoon became the hymns with which I would saluteeach day. Those lyricsembody the tales of my existence. The tunes that everyone hummed in theshower and drummed while at the table... This music, that had been composed by people long before my parents, would then entwine with thealways-ontime dog bark,calling us to an earlySaturday breakfast that would consist of two huevos rancheros that delightfully laid over a corn tortilla just like thetourists extranjeras in the month of June wearing tiny bright swim wear and layingout flat on the sand en Las Playas de Acapulco bronzing there pail skinfor hours and hours at a time.

At the age of four... sitting ona swing crying uncontrollably and weeping for my Mami to return and llevarme a casa... Just to beconsoled by Mrs. Teresa, my Preschool's T.A., and the only one there whospoke my language. I sat muteon the reading rugas I watched my classmates bake cookies during an open house. Icouldn't understand the instructionsand Mrs. Teresa was absent thatday. It wasn't until the last day that I was granted the privilege to join the rest of the chamacos in the kitchen, so I baked the most beautiful cookie for my mother whose proud facial expression made her stand out from the rest

of the parentsin theaudience.

At the ageof five... learning how to write myname...The first name that had always been too difficultfor my grandparentsto pronounce, and the last namethat had always made me blush inclass, while my teacherstook roll, because my name; Joyce Reyes made peoplewonder whyI had been blessed with an"American"first name and condemned with a "non-American" last name. Going through life with the mispronouncing of my name and the mystification of my essence.

At the ageof nine... visiting Mexico for the fourthtime...The children played with sticksused as guns and mazorcas as dolls. My sister and Iwere not allowed to walk around bear foot, yet theother childrenweren't allowed to wear their schoolshoes unless the time wasappropriate (they were alsotheir dress shoes, church shoes,working shoesand their siblings' futureshoes once the present ownercouldn'tfit intothem). I would complain becausemy mother would make my sisterand me sleep with her on the same bed, but Isoon stopped. I realized that the others had to sleep oncold floors with three sisters to the right and four brothers along with their pregnant mother on the left.

At the age of ten...

I noticed how much Ihad. My home was notlike the houses that Ihad seen in Mexico,con los pinches moscitos that would always invade thehouse,entering from every crack and opening in thewalls. Ugly, were the brown and yellow sheets (some thatIwouldn'teven darewash my car with)that were hanging allover my abuela's house. They were used asdoors to separate"un cuarto del otro," my abuela would say. Quartos? She called a wooden bed at thecorner of the house with thehorrible sheetthat spread from the end of thewall to the edge of the twenty year old buro (that had been through hurricane after hurricane and was stillstanding) a room? Yet I realized that Iwas, after all, theblessed child-era del Norte... I wasonly on vacationwith my family and our home; withstrong walls,electricity, running water, wooden doors,and comfortable beds wassimply theplace that wehad abandoned for two months...two longmonths

At the ageof eleven... Iwas to goto school all by myself, without having my older sister there to defendme. I still hadn't began to menstruate.

A year later ithappened on June17, 1990, a day before I began Junior HighSchool, and ten days after my birthday. Llore... because Icouldn't remember what I had to do. Mami and I had already had"the conversation" before, in theend she asked whether or not I had understood todo and I lied... thatwas the reason why I was crying- because Ihad lied.

The words,"No Mami, no entiendo." kept haunting me until mom saw my tears and lifted me. She explained everything oncemoreand she didn'tmake mefeel incomoda.

At theage of fifteen... wecelebrated my Quinceahera. I, in the center all dressed inwhite with one muchacho to my left and six of my cousins dressed in forest green standingaround me. El baile de Las Mariposas something likea flower blooming in spring, Irose from themiddle and everyoneclapped. Mi primer primavera and we danced we ate and disfrutamos all night. Muchos regalos and invitados so the nightended and itwas the next day. Without realizing another day of my life had passed me by and Iwas still reminiscing on whathad happened years before.


At the ageof sixteen... the beginning of the everlasting ringing of the phone and listening tomy Apa yell from one end of the house to the other, "Joyce, te hablan!" Yes, the entire school knewmeI was my older sister's pet muneca,la preferida, not tomention la unica.

At the ageof seventeen... applying to college- "Pa que te vas?" people would ask, not understanding whyI had to get out of my happy home fora while. Doing bien en la escuela having wonderful friendsand Mami as my only hero. And now,

At the age of eighteen... living away from home,writing poetry behind closed doors, keeping all I feel recorded on paper. Having toanswer for thefirst time, "iQuien eres?" and I think before answering: "Soy de la raza indigena, la daughter de mi padre, el orgullo de mi mother, mejor amiga de mi sister, primer maestra de mis brothers, dear mamma de mis friends, la preferida de mis teachers, valedictorian de mi school, the firstin my comunidad d to attend an Ivy, one of the few Chicanas que se van para volver." Yet, as I open my mouth to say itthe only sounds thatescape my mouth are: -Soy Joyce...


Mi Ave Maria

Ana Escrogima

Es Verdad,que hace tiempoque tengo en el olvido, queni rezo Ni me acuerdo, dellevarte Rosas alaltar Es Verdad,que tu nombre no lo digodesde nino Pero ahora yonecesito queme ayudes y te olvides loque hesido

Ave Maria, escuchame Ave Maria, Ave Maria TuSabes que yola quiero, y eres todolo quetengo

Ave Maria,escuchame Ave Maria, Ave Maria Te pido queno terminenuestro amor

Recordaras aquellasflores que adornaban tuscapillas eran mias,solo mias Las robaba por lasnoches para ti Recordaras cuantas veces te rezabas de rodillas Mis amigosse reian,al mirarme se reian. Se reian.

Ave Maria escuchame Ave Maria, Ave Maria Tu sabes que yola queiro, y eres todolo quetengo

Ave Maria,escuchame Ave Maria, Ave Maria Te pidoque no termines

Nuestro Amor.... Nuestro Amor.... Nuestro Amor....



An anguished heart releases itswrath in dreams whenit knowsmind and body can't escape it,can't ignore it... What do you do whensleep gives you no respitefrom your pain?

Instead it creeps intoyour consciousnessand hurts you in a new manner altogether...quietly, deeply, indelibly. You awake with scarson your soul,and you can't rememberhow or why...


I see bubbles, People inbubbles, I'm riding onone myself... Itswiggles andtickles myskin.

But you...

You are riding thepink elephant, Free totrample overthe bubbles.

I wonder if you can seeme, distinguish mefrom therest.

They have trapped mein thisbubble, leading metobelieve thisis it.

Life offers nothing moreoutside these walls But I know

They lie.

I can'tremember butI oncerode anelephant, a long timeago I rodebeside you

And now...

a «

Now I have beenbrainwashed intobelieving thereare limits, But you taughtme otherwise.

Will you save me,or will you continue toride, \J Sooner or latter you willforget meand my bubble willnolonger exist. Destroy it, in thatcase, a blissful deathinstead of knowing thetruth, shackles to thisforsaken place, my mind tormenting mewith ghostly images of the forgotten.

Unrecognizable, I ride...

I am Proud and I will Rise

I am as tall as thesky, but don't know it.

I have Montezuma's pride, but for some reasonfeel ashamed

I am stronglike the Aztec warrior, butfeel defeated. I have two histories, but have been taught to despiseone, And am excluded from another.

My skin is beautifullike the brown land, butfor somereason I hide it.


All of a sudden, as if reaching down fromheaven,fierce Lightning wakes me up. Its brief light isenough to conquer the darkand giveme A glimpse of who I am.

I then realize that I am tall, I am proud, I am powerful, That I have both Quetzacoatland theStatue of Liberty.

I am a giant who has beendormant. Twelve million strongand growing, I am ready to hold my head up and askfor what I deserve.

I have worked for thiscountry, I have fought for this country, And I have suffered for this country. It belongs to meas muchas it does toanybody else.

I am proud and I will rise.




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