Dear Susana,

The winters in the city still carry that sharp chill that would send your hands into mine for warmth, though it doesn't seem to stay any longer. I am afraid, too, that the snowfall seems much less than it was, like when we were young. Is that just because I was shorter then, and the snowbanks taller? More’s a fret that the environment of the city is changing, and even the world. Is the changing air due to worsen in the coming days with the relaxation of laws surrounding what factories can dump into rivers, and the sky?

Like the day you had me drop you off at the airport for your travels, and it rained – surely it was the rain outside, clouding my vision – the news of late always seems dour. Politicians are putting forth a bill to almost totally halt people from immigrating to the U.S., while those who can afford it can buy a golden card for a million dollars. How strange is that? Ain’t this a country founded on those looking to live free, away from the tyranny of some man who uses jackbooted thugs to throw his own citizens or political opponents into prison? That sort of thing always happened across the Atlantic, where you went.

Listen to me write on, about the gray clouds over our home. Though you asked for news of home, as involved in politics as you were, it might be just me rambling. Ha. Honest Susana, I’ve been spending all the time in my car before work in the morning, wonderin’ if you really did find someplace free of all the stupid, all the anger of mankind. You remember how, before cellphones, when it got tough at home, we’d go run to the creek and follow it until it got dark? And nothin’ mattered ‘cept not steppin’ in the mud as we hopped between rocks in the water? It’s impossible anymore to get away from it – from anyone, from politics, from the deep winter chill without the fun and soft snow.

Cellphones are a worse anchor than that mud was, or our hearts ever were.

I do keep asking if you did end up going to Asia, but that is because I worry over you still. Thousands of flights between China and Japan have been canceled over some politicians' comments around Taiwan, and recently, the U.S. flew bombers alongside Japanese fighters. Here in the States, people seem salivating for anyone in Washington they don’t like to make some bad mistake that they can jump on. But it’s bad out there, too.

Maybe it's writing letters to you at my grandfather’s old sturdy desk, just days away from Christmas, which teases out hope. No, I suppose not hope – at least not in that way that a teenage boy has when he stands with flowers and a borrowed suit that doesn't fit all that well before your door. Kindled on the threshing floor of love lost and a life lived long, that which is no longer hope is now some form of adult pragmatism. 

What good would it do to stomp and throw curses at those who have wronged, or will wrong others? The perpetual hypothetical, which is democracy, is not saved by rage, subjugation of a rival, or punishment. Nor is any good and noble end reached by the sharing of images that make one quick to anger. As I write you, I recognize as it always was, that in your company my mind is made clearer. This lit fireplace next to me and late-night coffee might also aid me in that respect, and maybe they make me feel like an old writer with important things to say.

Sorrow is sown among the many by many petty minds; thus is counter to the harmony which we always sought; that which I feel you will always be chasing. In what used to be an American fashion, this Christmas I should strive to build bridges between all the people I meet, even the petty ones. Who knows, Susana? Maybe just one more heart like yours out there, fighting the good fight for peace and love, might just be the domino that may turn bitter folk warm.

In earnest and with pragmatic hope,

-Austin

Austin Petak is an aspiring novelist and freelance journalist who loves seeking stories and the quiet passions of the soul. If you are interested in reaching out to him to cover a story, you may find him at austinpetak@gmail.com.

Opinions expressed by columnists in The Daily Record are not necessarily those of its management or staff, and do not constitute an endorsement or recommendation. Any errors or omissions should be called to our attention so that they may be corrected. Contact us at news@omahadailyrecord.com.