I've never kept a journal or a log or diary or whatever you want to call this before, but those people said it can help with dealing with everything and they seemed like good people. At the very least, maybe someone can carry this on to Este if something ends up happening to me on the way there. I sort of doubt it, considering the distance and, let's face it, what stranger would walk all the way to Brazil to give a potentially living person a book? I mean, I get the feeling that one of the guys would, but not a stranger, that's for sure. Anyways, I guess I'll start this on the day that everything had happened. May eighth, 2009. One of the days that will forever be burned into my memory.

  My day, on May eighth, 2009, started off as a normal day, just like everyone else. Wake up at 5am, walk a few blocks to my bus stop, get on the bus and ride it for twenty odd minutes. Walk to work, clock in, get coveralls on, then sit and wait until 6am to start working with the rest of my crew. I work, well, worked at a paint manufacturing pnt in Calgary, Alberta, making a few different paints from base chemicals. I had been there for four years, and I had learned almost everything there was to know about it. The job itself was easy. Working with some of the people there? Hardest thing I had ever had to do.

  Tyler Munsch was our lead supervisor in the manufacturing side and, to be frank, he was a piece of shit. He had been there for twenty years and he knew everything there was to know about the pce. I’ll give him that. He was a crusty old white guy, somewhere over fifty years old, had no friends outside of work, and only smiled when he tried telling a joke. Any minute of any day, he could just blow up and start screaming and shouting at anyone who did anything -wrong or not- that he set his eyes on. Working under him felt oppressive and made everybody’s moods drop.

  Then there was Miguel Santos. He and I used to be extremely close. As a Chilean immigrant, he had done well for himself and had bagged himself a great wife, which he had two kids with. I knew his wife and kids and had been there for a couple of his birthdays and even some of his kids birthdays. We had gone to the shooting range, on hikes, and hung out outside of work fairly often. He was a decent guy who took most things to heart, good or bad, and would be there for almost anyone In a pinch. I considered him my best friend in the city of Calgary. Unfortunately, he and I had a falling out when I caught him talking shit behind my back, and then when I subsequently did the same. I know, it was not the right thing for me to do. I should have talked to him about it and tried to work it out, but instead, I let my anger and insecurities get the better of me, and allowed my pettiness to show. It had been about a year since he and I had that falling out, and every day, I wished I had done things differently.

  Stan Walce. Man, he was an amazing guy. He had been the pnt manager for over twenty-five years. He’d go and fix issues at other pnts, at some pces that received our products, pretty much anywhere he was called. For me, he felt like a father figure. He always treated me with such respect, listened when I had a problem or even an idea to make the pnt safer or better or more efficient. He taught me more than Tyler ever did, and I had been around him barely a portion of the time I had been around Tyler. He was older, I’d say around sixty years old, and had his health issues. What I'll remember most is his hearty ugh.

  I didn't really have much of a strong opinion on my other coworkers. Tommy Chen, a Chinese immigrant who had been working there for over ten years. A devoted father, his life revolved around his kids. They were everything to him. Dustin Parson, a young white guy who had the brain capacity of a walnut. Matt Tamer, a Vietnamese man, born and raised in Canada. I always enjoyed joking around with him and he seemed to always keep a good mood. Harsukhdev Singh, or Harry, as we called him, was an East Indian man. He started working there about six months after me and was probably one of the smartest guys I’ve ever known.

  Then we had Yusuf Sazar, an Afghan man, born and raised in Alberta, one of the newest members of the crew. Young and green behind the ears, but he had this constant good mood emanating from him. Lastly, there was Ab Ahmed, the newest guy. From a country I had never heard of called Eritrea. He was new in Canada but that didn’t stop him from trying to learn anything and everything that he possibly could. In the little time he had been there, I believed he would go far.

  These people. I had spent so much time with them before everything happened. I had spent more time with them in those four years than even my own family. I never really cared much for many of them, but now, I can't stop thinking about each and every one of them. I carry them all with me, though it's a heavy burden.

  That just leaves me, Brad Falk. Fan of guns and fan of video games, board games, and card games. Games in general. When I wasn’t busy working my ass off, I’d be gaming my ass off. When I had enough money, I would go to the range and fire around two hundred rounds of 9mm through my handgun. I had a few guns, but my favourite was my Taurus PT92. It was just one of the many things that called me to Brazil in the old world. Every weekend, I would be on a Skype call with my girlfriend, Este Oliviera Barros, who lives in Brazil with her family.

  I had been with Este for a few years, and we had travelled and met in Italy for the first time. We chose Italy because it was new to both of us, which made it neutral ground for us both. It was also both of our first times leaving our countries. Everything was perfect. She got to see the churches and their architecture, I got to try the food and finally get to see how another culture lives. The second, and only other time, that we got to meet was in Fortaleza, Brazil. Her home. I met her friends and family, experienced so many new things, and tried so many new foods. She had shown me around her city, named Fortaleza, Fortress in English, had brought me to see the original fortress, the beach, an old sunken ship that was never cleaned up, so many pces, so many things.

  All in all, I was just some regur guy trying to make enough money to survive in the old world. Now, I’m a man on a mission. I need to get down to Brazil, so I can be with, and protect, my girl and her family.