I miss Yasica.

Life was simpler in Yasica. We were free to run around anywhere we like, whenever we like. Caoba seeds drizzled along the ranchos de cana. We played hide and seek through the tobacco and corn fields. Like in quixote, our trees became dragons. We climbed mango trees, closed our eyes and pretended we were monkeys like the ones in the "Casan El cazador," a novel we listened to on the radio everynight, my first Indiana Jones. We discovered locust shells, bees, bats, feral chickens and cocks. We sometimes wished we were Jack Veneno, Bruce Lee or Super Man. On rainy days we used mud to build toy soldiers and set them to dry in the sun before playing out battles. Sometimes we'd have mud fights and lay in the sun to dry out. Then walk aroung like mummies and push eachother into the creek. You see, in Yasica when the rain came, we ran out naked in our underwear. We took baths together in the rain, boys and girls, didn't matter. We were lucky. We didn't have to worry about food or anything else, we were the luckiest kids in the world.