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  1. Jorge Torres and he lived at the center of Tlaxcala, right underneath the rays of the sun kissing him on the surface of the sun-bathed hills. Stories of his ancestors’ toughness etched on aged faces withered by time could be heard among murmurs of the village but Jorge’s journey was significantly more difficult than that. It seemed like these winds whispered a message about fate, which translated into suffering and endurance and that characterized his destiny since he was born. Jorge’s family represented a mixture of poverty and resistance. Worn out the farm where Maria and Carlos worked for a living that seems like it bared the brunt of history. The stains on their hands – hardened by generations spent working in that very same soil told a story of thousands of years tied together. However, love grew fiercely within their humble adobe house in spite of poverty. His father spoke of distant lands where there were no limitations, and in turn, he described it as a field without end. On the other hand, his mother spoke of stars that danced above their heads, yet they could not see any moon. However, Tlaxcala was not just a myth. Cartel war strands entailed all across town like thick ropes of danger that were hard to avoid. As Jorge became a man, his innocence eroded into what was brutally true. Long ago people whispered on the streets, and unknown words were heard in the shadows. This was as each year, the menace came closer and the cartel’s power encroached on them. However, they remained steadfast, even with the turbulence. They sought shelter in their ancestors’ past, a dialect referred to as Nauthall which was spoken only within their homes. As they worked together, farm hands bartered some part of this second language with Jorge. It was a whispered gold that strengthened their bond as they faced challenges together. At the age of twenty-one, the weight of destiny was put on the shoulders of Jorge because deep within he felt that his life transcended the confines of his country. A rumor borne by the wind reached his ears, spreading stories of opportunity beyond the border, in the land of dreams and steel: United States of America, Los Santos. The promises made by a coyote were riddled with danger but its spark was stronger than any fears. Travel down the tunnel passage was an unveiling of what they knew nothing about in their entire lives, a cord woven with fear and wonderment. On the other side of Los Santos was Jorge who walked along a spacious area consisting of colorful skyscrapers. However, Jorge's journey was filled with thorns since dreams come at a price. He was fate-tied to a group of crooks who were like-minded in their misfortune like him. They helped him navigate the twisted channels of profit, peril, and life. He found out that his agony was born of the same land and also the fervent fondness in that society for kindred spirit and culture. It was sweat and sacrifices, which made Jorge climb up the rungs of this new world's ladder. Stories can be read between the grits in his fists which denoted his hours sweating out a way of life through hard labor adversities. In every step forward, he shed a slice of his soul to help hold onto life at home for his people in the wake of their loss.
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