When finally the Sahara-like dust-storms subsided, the passersby saw, to their amazement, that a few palm trees had survived intact. Solitary, denuded, with their scruffy manes and air of ashy beggars, they awaited their end.Instead of the feared executioner, however, sweaty workmen carrying picks and shovels appeared and, working like an army of ants, dug trenches around each tree, loosening them from the earth. Those slender trees held handfuls of soil in their threadlike roots. Cranes bore the wounded giants to deep holes gardeners has prepared in a different spot and planted them there. The trunks moaned quietly, the leaves drooped in yellow strands and for a while it seemed that nothing could save them from their agony, but they were tenacious. A slow sub-terranean rebellion fought to preserve life, vegetal tentacles spread out, blending clumps of dirt from Calle Cueto with new soil. With the inevitable arrival of spring, the alms awoke, swaying from their waist, shaking their hair, rejuvenated despite the trauma. The image of these trees from the home of my ancestors often comes to ming when I think of my destiny as an expatriate. It is my fate to wander from place to place and to adapt to new soils. I believe I will be able to because handfuls of Chilean soil are caught in my roots, U carry them with me always.

Social climbing is a middle-class phenomena, the poor never gave it a thought, they were too busy trying to survive.

I can understand them because they are as adamant regarding their beliefs as I am mine.

War is the most beautiful profession there is. And what is War? The continuation of peace in which all the things peace does not allow are achieved, in order to lead man to the perfect dialectic, which is the extinction of the enemy.

Admiral Jose Toribio Merino