Entry Date: march 30th, 1969. While I was at work the other day, trying to write yet another cookie cutter article, I had the urge to write something different. Not to anyone in particular necessarily, I just have felt a restless need lately to get my thoughts out, so here I am writing this journal.
I suppose that on the off chance that someone finds this in the future, I should introduce myself. My name is Francisco Araya Perez, I was born on July 3rd, 1940 in Copapió. My Father name is Joaquin Araya. Back in Copapio he had a job as an accountant in a copper mine. He was a hard worker; I remember when I was little he would always come home with bags under his eyes. But he would still pick me up and put me on his shoulders, running around the living room, and then mom would say “Ay dos moi!” half rolling her eyes with a smile lingering on the corner of her mouth. My mother is called Valentina Perez, she was a teacher at a local high school. As the world around her was descending into chaos, whether it be rowdy students in her classrooms, or tumultuous circumstances in our life, she remained strong, composed, persistent, the one cool yet firm voice in the room.
I am very proud of my parents; I learned so much from them. They were such crucial role models for me. My father taught me practicalities such as how to play chess, how to fix things, and later on how to do accounting work. My mother really helped mold me from a young age too. She homeschooled me, teaching me how to read and write, how to balance on a bike, and how to keep trying when it was not working. When she was younger she taught herself to read and write; to this day she still has the old notebook that she first used to practice writing letters. Both of them always stressed that you should never take things for granted, to appreciate and pay attention to the world around you, to never make assumptions; that you never truly can know the thoughts of others, and thus empathy is crucial in avoiding assumptions that lead us to act selfishly, or even violently. I owe so much to them and I love them very much.
After I had graduated from highschool, Father got me an entry level job in his accounting office. From there I was fortunate enough to attend university to learn journalism, and now I am currently living in Santiago working at a publication for the Christian Democratic Party newspaper. I am blessed with a beautiful wife named Maria, and also with a child on the way. I met Maria at a student demonstration almost two years ago. We have a small place in Santiago, but it is nicely located close to the center of town.
At my job, I am tired of writing what I am told to write. Everything here is so polarized, and it feels like no one can express an opinion different from those around them without immediately feeling sparks of passion and anger. Things have been picking up in the streets lately: more unrest, more violence, I fear for the future both of Chile and of my child.