was six years old on 20 December 1989. Maybe I was not sure what happened to the country at the time, but if he heard much the theme of the crisis. My dad paid Bond King, heard the sound of the pans with echoes across the neighborhood and knew Noriega in a sweet shop selling his name.
This morning when I woke up at my house in San Miguelito, I remember being surprised because I was sleeping next to my cousin Aracelys, today my midwife. She, my uncles and the rest of my cousins \u200b\u200bhad come to take refuge in the house. Like many of his neighbors, they were evicted from where they lived near a barracks building is now the Mayor of San Miguelito, by bombing. In my house we went from being four to about fifteen people.
was much talk of everything. I remember being worried about not being able to go to school and that scared me on the radio many a man who proclaimed "children can be happy now because their parents leave the prison." In our black and white TV could not see "Little Lulu" and only tuned to Channel 8 messages in English that no one understood.
Since my house was passing helicopters, planes and on the path to batalloneros running. One of them, years then became a representative of our district. Some nights we went to sleep several of the residents in one house, it was said they were coming to kill men and rape the women, so men barricaded with sheets of zinc and were alert with machetes and other sharp objects to prevent any attempt of such a threat. Even I have the image of my father with a wooden bat in hand, just in case. Fortunately none of that happened.
the day we sent the children to take refuge under the bed, but I never wanted, wanted to see what was happening and listen when they sounded the "gas pumps." Gradually the fear passed. My house came looting, Jamonilla boxes and Pork and beans. That ate every day. My Christmas gift this year was a robot that fired a few coins, I think he got the sack. My uncles told of as the store Strong had killed several, and as the Americans seized goods.
As a child, the best thing that happened at that time were the gringos' food bags. They brought cookies, chocolate, cheese and culei. I grew up
While tying ropes. I remember that the invasion was a required subject in school. I always heard the same stories every year with different details. Now I understand better, but still remain many confusing things for me. It hurts to know he died many innocent people, but then I am glad I grew up in a free country where my career is not a threat for my life. At least until now.
The invasion left indelible footprints in which we live. I wish there had been another way of achieving what motivated her. I wish we had had rulers honored that we avoid this bitter pill. Would that be after-effects today. But fortunately today we can say we overcome those injuries and get ahead, through hard work and tears, but we did. When we look at the wounds can not help crying, but that does not let us fall.
Yesterday, when returning from the Causeway to celebrate the birthday of my friend Denise, we by El Chorrillo, when they just say all the attacks started: 11:50 pm. I lowered the volume on my radio, and I told my friends to observe a minute's silence for the innocent victims of that day. Everything was silent, as if we agreed, but almost finalizing the minute they heard an "example". - Is it a light bulb? - Said out loud. We had no answer. These are the wounds that we never let heal, and we should strive to heal.
This morning when I woke up at my house in San Miguelito, I remember being surprised because I was sleeping next to my cousin Aracelys, today my midwife. She, my uncles and the rest of my cousins \u200b\u200bhad come to take refuge in the house. Like many of his neighbors, they were evicted from where they lived near a barracks building is now the Mayor of San Miguelito, by bombing. In my house we went from being four to about fifteen people.
was much talk of everything. I remember being worried about not being able to go to school and that scared me on the radio many a man who proclaimed "children can be happy now because their parents leave the prison." In our black and white TV could not see "Little Lulu" and only tuned to Channel 8 messages in English that no one understood.
Since my house was passing helicopters, planes and on the path to batalloneros running. One of them, years then became a representative of our district. Some nights we went to sleep several of the residents in one house, it was said they were coming to kill men and rape the women, so men barricaded with sheets of zinc and were alert with machetes and other sharp objects to prevent any attempt of such a threat. Even I have the image of my father with a wooden bat in hand, just in case. Fortunately none of that happened.
the day we sent the children to take refuge under the bed, but I never wanted, wanted to see what was happening and listen when they sounded the "gas pumps." Gradually the fear passed. My house came looting, Jamonilla boxes and Pork and beans. That ate every day. My Christmas gift this year was a robot that fired a few coins, I think he got the sack. My uncles told of as the store Strong had killed several, and as the Americans seized goods.
As a child, the best thing that happened at that time were the gringos' food bags. They brought cookies, chocolate, cheese and culei. I grew up
While tying ropes. I remember that the invasion was a required subject in school. I always heard the same stories every year with different details. Now I understand better, but still remain many confusing things for me. It hurts to know he died many innocent people, but then I am glad I grew up in a free country where my career is not a threat for my life. At least until now.
The invasion left indelible footprints in which we live. I wish there had been another way of achieving what motivated her. I wish we had had rulers honored that we avoid this bitter pill. Would that be after-effects today. But fortunately today we can say we overcome those injuries and get ahead, through hard work and tears, but we did. When we look at the wounds can not help crying, but that does not let us fall.
Yesterday, when returning from the Causeway to celebrate the birthday of my friend Denise, we by El Chorrillo, when they just say all the attacks started: 11:50 pm. I lowered the volume on my radio, and I told my friends to observe a minute's silence for the innocent victims of that day. Everything was silent, as if we agreed, but almost finalizing the minute they heard an "example". - Is it a light bulb? - Said out loud. We had no answer. These are the wounds that we never let heal, and we should strive to heal.
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