Portuguese Explorer

by Brunocarlo Carlinhoso

The Portuguese were the first Europeans to arrive in Japan, and now they will do it again. This is the story of the world embracing their second yet official male IS pilot, sent into a world he had never seen or prepared for in his life. He is the voyager that will sail where no man has gone before, discovering new places, people, and phenomenons for the future of mankind...

1. Prologue

-(Prologue)-

The one thing that I can't stand about high school is not the long class hours, nor is it the homework and classwork. I can do all that, and I cherish education like they were the sacred teachings of god. With all due respect, what I'm going say next is going to be the most hateful thing I ever said about high school, and perhaps everything in general.

I hate people.

Não há mais nada nisso. Sim, you read that correctly if you understand Portuguese. In English, there is nothing else to it, and it's my biggest problem.

Currently, I'm going through my last class, which is history, and it's my favorite subject. The thing about history is that it's more than just a written recording of the past. There are innumerable lessons that history teaches us; however, despite all these lessons, it seems that we always forget something, and mind you, history is a brutal teacher.

Now, one of the things that constantly annoys me in history and people is drama. There are many things that people complain and cry about, and that can either be a good thing or a bad thing. I assure you, however, I'm not a hateful person, and complaining just the right amount can get you going, but too much and you'll end up being ignored.

For me, I go away from the people. You know how like on the first day of school when you come into the classroom and you see all the empty desks in the room? Naturally, you want to go and sit down before everyone else starts taking the seats; however, personality is a very critical factor in deciding where you'll be seating yourself.

If you're like me, the best place to sit is somewhere at the back of the room, but close enough to reach the exit. As an early bird, I'm one of the first people to arrive and leave. I don't know how some of you people do it, but sitting too far at the front or back is a death sentence; the former has nowhere to hide while the latter makes you look shady.

I should note, however, that I'm a Portuguese exchange student. Sim, this is an American classroom, but it's not in New York, Boston, DC, LA, or any other major American centers. This classroom is apart of a place called Chico High School, which is located in a Californian town by the name, City of Chico.

Don't ask me why the Spanish speakers here call a town 'Boy' - only the Americans know that. Speaking of Americans, one of the things that I can't stand whatsoever is the Americans here calling me an 'Hispanic'. Sometimes, I get called a 'Mexican', but the worst offense that I got was some people coming up to me and speaking Spanish.

I know, the US has a terrible immigration problem, and from what my American friends tell me, that's a sorry understatement. In Europe, we have some instances of being ethnically generalized, like in Switzerland, England, and Spain, but never this bad. But the fact that I get misidentified is one of the biggest reasons I hate living in the USA.

The ethnic diversity and the problems they bring is dizzying ... at least for a Portuguese person like me. Luckily for me, people don't bother me that much nor do they help out, but it's okay, and I intend to keep it that way. I rather be lonely and depressed than paranoid and insane; you constantly need to look and sound good to keep your head on your shoulders.

When I say that, I don't mean people killing each other. Oh meu Deus, espero que não se resume a isso. But rather, I'm saying that good looks mean everything; the sexy dumb bimbo is going to be chosen over an experienced humble woman. Speaking of girls, I think I should explain to you all that our history here in this universe had took a strange shift.

Ten years ago, a brilliant mind created a powered exoskeleton that would've allowed astronauts to explore the vastness of outer space. But a month after it was unveiled, some hacker thought the brilliant idea of launching all the world's missiles at Japan. Unsurprisingly, a weaponized version of that exoskeleton appeared, and came to the rescue.

I'm very grateful that Japan was never nuked ... at least not since 1945. Plus, I'm very glad that this Filho Da Puta was stopped, and peace was returned to the world again via the Tratado Do Alasca (or in English, Alaska Treaty). Unfortunately, the world that emerged out of this incident would never be the same as it was before it.

For some, quote-on-quote, BOA RAZÃO, this machine, later known as an Estratos Infinitos (Infinite Stratos), could only be operated by women. When I say that, I'm not saying it because a woman made it, but I'm saying that the machines were feminine by default. I'm no scientist, but something tells me that this was by design, not by coincidence.

Nobody will ever know who really invented this thing, and neither will I know any better. If it was a man who made this machine, I really want to ask why he done this, and show him what had became of humanity's future. I will still do the same if the inventor was a female, and I will have no fear or regret when I hear and learn the truth from them.

As history has shown us, you can hide something, but it will eventually reemerge, and the story it tells will also be revealed and understood. The Mayan, Aztec, and Olmec civilizations may have been destroyed, but their legacies are hidden somewhere in the jungles. Give a curious mind enough time to find it, a mystery will eventually be explained and understood.

This is the lesson that we were taught today in class, and this concludes the school day.

Swiftly and humbly, I became the fourth person to leave the classroom, trailing behind two Americans, and a Chinese exchange student. They minded their own business like everyone else, and I was safely on my way, obtaining my bike and petaled down what the natives call, The Esplanade. It was a long stretch of road that had four lanes, and so many stoplights.

Now if you ever live in Chico, you're probably thinking that I live nearby in a rental or at a friend's house. Unfortunately, that's not the case. I'm actually living at a rental all the way on the other side of town at a duplex, located on a stretch of road called, Baltar Loop.

Using the streets, however, I make it back home every day in about 20 minutes. Aside from getting my daily workout, I live all the way on this side of town to get away from the town center; however, I also wanted to live where there weren't other students or young people like myself. Like I said, I go away from the people, and this duplex was affordable and ideal.

Baltar, and its neighboring half, Morgan, had quiet and quaint homes. Pedaling a right turn from Joshua Tree Road, I walked the rest of the way onto Baltar Loop, where I came up the last driveway. Up ahead, the right garage was open as usual, and I entered to park and secure my bike, where I could then close the garage and relax at last.

When I entered the house, I didn't hear my roommate greet me. So, I figured that he was kicking back on the couch after his long day at school at Fairview; however, when I went in the living room, kitchen, and dining room, he wasn't there. But before I had a chance to look for him, I heard his voice upstairs, "You want me tell him WHAT?!"

Oh Deus, that did not sound good at all.

Thus, upon putting my backpack on the couch, I quietly walked up the stairs to see what was happening. But as I made my way upstairs, my roommate sounded more furious and confused than earlier.

"I-I'll tell him as soon as he gets home, but he ain't goin' to take it well." My roommate reluctantly spoke, although it was clear from his low tone that he was being told some troubling information, "Fine, fine. I'm going to miss him, though. It's just ... as of upcoming spring break, you having him return to Portugal is a bit abrupt. Don't you think?"

Whoa, wait a ... que diablos?! That stopped me right there, just when I was about to take the last step up the stairs. There is no way I misheard that, especially that coming from my roommate!

I was going back home to Portugal within a week's time? How come my roommate is hearing of this first before I do? There are not only many questions I needed answered, but I'm overwhelmed by the eavesdropping.

"It is my goddamn business, because I've been in school with him for the last two years!" My roommate cursed on the phone, "I'm the only person that he trusts with his life. So, I demand to know why he's going back home. Otherwise, I coming with him, whether or-"

He stopped abruptly, whom I assume the speaker on the phone had spoke over him. I awaited at the near top of the stairs, awaiting for my roommate to start speaking again, but this was unusually the longest silence I ever endured. It was a very distant yet suspenseful silence, like if I was watching someone through a telescope.

Out of my own stupid curiosity, I stealthily poked my head into the main bedroom to the left, and I saw my roommate, whom had the phone to his left ear. He was a half-Italian and half-Jewish person boy my age, with black hair and hazel brown eyes to complement his white skin color. Luckily for me, his back was facing me.

Sim, I know it was a very stupid thing for me to do. What if he were to be facing the door, and then what would I do? I think you can call that dumb luck, or just being outright stupid, but I'll admit that my curiosity gets the best of me in almost everything. Why wouldn't an explorer like me not get curious? It's how we humans find and learn new things ... albeit at the expense of discretion and safety.

In a case like this, however, I'm just what wondering who was talking to my roommate on the phone. Certainly, it wasn't just the immigration board or some friends pulling an elaborate prank on him. I know for a fact from the tone of his voice and his contorted frown that this is a serious call.

"Mr Tavaris, you can't be serious..." My roommate uttered, formally calling my father's name, and that instantly changed everything, "That's impossible."

What the hell is my father doing calling my roommate and not me? Usually, he would never talk to someone who would not only be informal, but non-Portuguese. There are so many things that I serious can't understand at the moment, and I'm dying to know why he's calling in such awkward circumstances.

"Well ... I'll be fuckin' damn'd." The half-European boy lowly gasped as he sat down on the bed, although there was a hint of astonishment hidden in his voice, "So ... you guys did it."

Reeling my head away from the corner, I stood there at the stairs, contemplating to what my roommate was talking about.

"B-But ... with all due respect, how the fuck is that ... possible?" My roommate frowned, but he was still dumbfounded, scantily stuttering in his voice; however, after a moment, that frown morphed into a few humble nods, "Okay, okay, we'll keep it that way. I'll tell him as soon as he can."

Oh merda, here he comes.

Quietly rushing back downstairs, I opened the door leading to the garage, pretending like I just came home just now. As I then shut the door, I greeted out loud to my roommate, "Hey, Nikobi!"

I half expected him to not greet back immediately, since he would still be on the phone at the moment. So, when I shut the door, I stealthily yet hastily went to the living room and plopped down on the couch. But what I didn't expect was to hear Nikobi's thumping footsteps from the stairs - somebody is definitely excited to see me.

"Yo, Bruno," Nikobi called out to me from the staircase, but when he appeared into view in the hallway and stopped at the entryway of the living room, he looked to be in a panic, "Your old man was on the phone. I don't think you'll like what I'mma 'bout to say."

Of course, I already knew the conversation he and my father had on the phone. But what I didn't know was what transpired before I actually came home. Thus, I was still interested to hear what Nikobi needed to say me, and I exhaled to him, exhausted as 'usual', "Oh Deus, what does he want now...?"

"You're going back to Portugal."

"Oh, like ... for the spring break?"

"No, you're going home for good. Y-You're not coming back."

Sim, I'm not surprised whatsoever; I already heard this information moments ago. Although Nikobi didn't know that I had eavesdropped on the conversation, I can't let it be known that I knew if this already. But honestly, I was still a bit exhausted from school and my usual bike ride home, and I decided to exploit my exhaustion to the fullest.

"He has no right to do that." I 'scoffed', leaning my head against my right fist as if I was a king on the throne, "I'm in no position to pass with failing grades, especially in this country."

Now, I did say that I had to pretend like I've never heard of this information until now; however, I wasn't lying when I said that I didn't want to have F and D grades. In the US, there are so many people here, and to top it all off, it's a massively diverse population. Thus, it's extremely competitive and difficult to get a job, especially in the State of California (which is the epicenter of the American immigration problem).

"Yo, bra, I ... I think you misunderstood." Nikobi stutter-sighed, "He's not asking you. It's a direct order."

Ovviamente!

My father is a Vice-Almirante of the Marinha Portuguesa, and it's his job to command anyway. The only people he responds to is the Almirante, the Almirante da Armada, and the Portuguese government. Nobody commands him aside from these three, and I'm no exception from this.

"May his orders be damned." I halfheartedly joked as he stood up and walked over to the kitchen, "He thinks I'll be Americanized and stay in the US forever. Not saying that I like it here, but he's a paranoid man."

"But that's not the real reason why he called." Nikobi snapped back as I opened the fridge and reached for a plastic Tupperware, which had some leftover codfish balls I made yesterday.

"Oh ... certamente." I sarcastically chuckled in my Portuguese tongue, all the while as I put the Tupperware on the counter, opened it, and got a fork.

"Do you ever take anything seriously?" The Italian Jew frowned sharply at me, although it came more like a half-baked joke than pure scrutiny.

"Oh si, I do." I nodded lowly as he scooped and ate a piece of a codfish ball, although I waited to chew and swallow it before I spoke again, "There are very few things I take seriously, however, and my padre is one of them."

"Oh yeah? What if I were to tell you that your country had found a male IS pilot?"

"Mmm, I'm not surprised, actually." I shrugged with a mouthful, but I finished chewing and spoke anyway, "I'm sure every country has made such a claim before."

I was nonchalant and unfazed when I said that, partially because it had happened before, and partly because I already overheard the information via the phone call. I did not want to hear that today, knowing very well that my country had found someone that can pilot what is essentially a female-only object.

So, I continued eating.

"But you know what, who did they pick?" I asked, appeasing to my curiosity with a bit of a treat, "I'm sure some other lucky Filho da Puta got to become the first man to pilot an IS unit."

I went ahead and used my fork to slice another bit of a codfish ball, and I scooped it up. Then, I took another bite afterwards; however, that was plenty of time for Nikobi to answer back to me. So, noticing the silence as I was getting ready for my third scoop, I looked up at him.

But when I did, instead of his signature tomcat frown, he had a blank expression on him as if he watched somebody get murdered. I didn't smell or see fear on him, however, and it was certainly not a surprised gasp. What I did see was a confused and conflicted gaze, and that caught my attention.

"Hey." I whispered at him, putting my fork down and trying to analysis the source of his troubles.

He was no daydreamer or philosopher, which were my specialties and faults. If I had words to describe his personality, he was a short-tempered tomcat in a human form. He's not too bright, but he'll get the job done, and if he fails, he'll endure whatever punishment you throw at him, fearlessly accepting responsibility for his actions.

But right now, I saw an internal argument brewing within him.

He was about to twitch his lips, but the words were struggling to leave his throat. If I was a hot-blooded person, I would immediately tell him to spit the worms out of his throat. But in all seriousness, I looked at him and waited, anticipating for the reply that I really wasn't going to care much about.

Though as I continue to look at him, a minute barely transpired when I felt the ambiance turn cold. The City of Chico is a hot place, and we usually turn on the AC; however, it was comfortably warm today, which was an intolerable temperature for someone like Nikobi. But the AC was never on, and I knew because I saw at it when I was upstairs earlier.

But that's not the kind of cold I'm talking about. It was more like a curtain had been reeled open, generating gusts of air that subsequently blown into us.

Oh merda...

That was when I realized the full extent of his unsettling expression.

And it was that moment that I blinked and a frown creepily crinkled onto me.

"Não pode ser..." I uttered, allowing dread to covertly seep from my voice.

With a brief hesitation, Nikobi gave me a few consecutive curt nods, slowly bobbing his head every so slightly.

Oh meu Deus, não pode ser verdade...

"Ah shit..." I sighed heavily and deeply accented, now realizing the deadly hesitation in Nikobi.

"It's ... you." The Italian Jew confirmed.

That was when my whole turned upside down.

When I say that, however, I don't mean that in a good way. I forever dreaded the day that I would be chosen to be the pilot of an Infinite Stratos Unit. If I was a female, I would maybe freak out and cheer that I be given such a 'privilege' to commandeer such a machine. But not me. This was beyond bad news.

As the Americans informally put it, I'm scared shitless.

"Nick..." I murmured, drooping my head and looking at the partially eaten codfish balls in the textbook-size plastic container, "Tell me ... this isn't true."

Por favor diga, não.

"You can ask your old man. He'll tell you the same thing."

Eu tomo isso como um ... 'sim'.

I really didn't know what to do. I mean ... how the hell am I suppose to take and process such information? This was something I never anticipated, never mind undergone anything similar to it.

Gripping my fork tightly, I scooped the last codfish ball and ate it before I let the container and fork soak in hot water and dish-washing liquid.

Nikobi was still standing behind the counter in the living room, looking at me with a worrisome gaze on his face. I knew from his mannerisms that he was about to ask me 'what the hell is your problem'. But I was in no position to answer questions or explain myself. I'm about to go berserk, and nobody was to get in my way.

Thus...

"I'm going for a walk." I simply groaned, walking out of the kitchen and I shoved past the Jew. But before I opened the front door, I grabbed my Fedora Marrom hanging on the coat rack.

"Yo?! W-Where?" He called to me urgently as I put my hat on.

I wouldn't say a word to him as I walked through the front door, closed it, and locked it. Whatever curse or words that came out of his mouth, I didn't want to hear it, even if he was to come out and chase after me. I didn't care whatsoever. All I want right now is to be left alone.

Outside, it was a bright clear day, and it was just the way how I like it. Now the biggest thing people have about Chico is that it's extremely hot, and there's no doubt about that for its 90 to 110 degree weather in the summer. Even the winters here are hot; it would still be sunny and dry even in November and January.

It gets hot in Portugal too, but the cool Atlantic breeze would counterbalance it and make the heat tolerable. So when I walked away from the porch, the sun was beaming down upon me like a searchlight. But since I was going to be walking away from the sun, I had my fedora positioned all the way back on my head, that way the back of my neck and nape were shielded.

I was wearing nothing but a pair of black Vans shoes and socks, but when considering Chico's light vegetation and dusty-like dirt, it was comfortable footwear for long distance walking. The only other things I was wearing was khaki trousers with suspenders, a dark green and black striped shirt, a black Patagonia sweater vest, and the fedora on my head.

So, I took a right turn onto Godman Avenue and I walked down the road, where there was a Chevrons on the left. Here is one rule of thumb about any petrol station over here in the US: do not pump gas at night. While this petrol station in particular always closes at 11:30pm, you're still going to get loiterers and stragglers in the neighbourhood.

We all have our petrol stations that we go to. It's your primary one, you go there and that's your one. But when you go out of your neighbourhood, and you got to pull into some weird unknown one at night, you got to be on high alert.

While I don't own a car, you got to ask yourself whenever you get out of your car, 'Where's the murder coming from tonight?'

The weird thing I learned from Nikobi was that you never give yourself a full tank at night; you give yourself just enough, like two US dollars, a couple squirts to be exact. It's weird how Americans do this sort of thing, but can you really blame them? I mean, this thing happens all over the world, even Portugal, but it seems that it's the worst in the US ... at least from what I learned.

But today, I wasn't planning on getting anything there. So, I took a left onto East Lassen Avenue, and I proceeded walk down that long stretch of road. When I say long, East Lassen is just the beginning of the journey.

Across the street from the petrol station, there was this large patch of grass that sat in between the Lassen Mini Storage, some low end apartment complex, and Mobile Home complex called, Casa De Flores (Spanish for 'House of Flowers'). The thing about Lassen Avenue is that it is one of the longest stretches of two-lane roads I've ever seen, one that is not in a desert. It's as straight as a line.

If you're a native to Chico, you are probably wondering why I'm not taking El Paso and going on East Avenue. While it is true that East Avenue is way shorter, it's a highly trafficked and populated thoroughfare in town. I know that because Nikobi goes down there to meet up with his friends from Pleasant Valley High School. Thus, I continued walking on East Lassen Avenue.

Along this road, there are so many homes, and it stays that way until I get to Northgate Drive, where businesses and a storage complex begin to appear. Nearby, there's a plaza, but I don't go there, not because of the food, but ... again ... people. The Vietnamese service over there at Pho C&C is lukewarm; they don't even greet you or be apologetic to any mistakes they make.

Now up ahead, there's this four-lane thoroughfare called, Mangrove Avenue. This is one of the longest stretches of road in town that's not a highway/freeway, and it keeps going southward before it becomes Mangrove Avenue, where it eventually disappears into Bidwell Park. It's even longer up north, where it eventually splits into Ponderosa Way and Campbell Ridge Road.

Luckily, I'm only crossing the road and continue onto East Lassen. There's a bunch of government service buildings over here, including this infamous one called, the Chico Social Security Office. Now, I've never been inside a social security office before, but lots of people talk badly about it, and all has to do with the kind of people who sign up for social security services.

Nikobi is on social welfare, and from what he told me, going over to the social security office is one of the worst things he has to do. The workers over there act super bored, and when not bored out of their mind, they act like complete babacas. But here is the thing with every government: They say they want to help you, but they do whatever they can to avoid you.

In Portugal, we can never get anything done with our government. Even if we could, the red tape is hopelessly endless if not confusingly unorganized and misleading. Over here in the US, it's not that different; however, when you add in the dizzying cultural diversity here, the government is virtually useless, and that's mostly because they'll favor one ethnicity over everything else.

For someone like me, who grew up in a homogeneous culture, there's no such thing as racism; you either keep your mouth shut and mind your own business, or you're best friends on first sight. We Portuguese people keep to ourselves; we don't allow outsiders to come and mix with our own. But I get it, the USA is the land of the free and opportunity, but that can only go so far.

Once I walked past those buildings, I then took this right turn at East Eaton Road, which is another long road; however, I don't mind the long walk.

Here's one thing you should know about me. I love going to places, and what better way to do that than to walk there. But you're probably thinking, 'Bruno, why can't you just get your lazy self into a car and drive there?'

Okay, let me ask you this. Would you rather spend a few or tens of Dollars/Euros on petrol, or would you rather walk or cycle over there for free? If you're smart, you'll reasonably say that you want to drive there, which I have nothing against that; however, if you're smart and healthy, you would say walking or cycling.

For you drivers out there, I can understand the practicality of driving over walking/cycling; you get there sooner and can carry more. But when you're single and simple as me, you don't have much to worry about, especially time. This walk I'm doing right now is approximately 90 minutes, and that's because there's a particular park I like to visit called, Hooker Oak Park.

This place is apart of Bidwell Park, with the lower half located southeast. For somebody like me, it's not a very big place, but size is not why I like it. The real reason why I like Hooker Oak Park was because it was far away, and the Big Chico Creek kept going into Upper Bidwell Park and beyond until it got up to Butte Meadows and Camp Lassen.

Now just before I get to the park, there's this roundabout, whom I walked across and went straight ahead to Manzanita Avenue. It's really weird that I find a roundabout here in the US, because there is not that many of them here. Over in Europe, it's the complete opposite; roundabouts are everywhere. I don't know what Americans have with roundabouts, but they're rare over here.

So I continue my journey by walking down this path off to the side of Manzanita Avenue, and when I get to the parking lot up ahead, there's another roundabout. I'm not saying that I like roundabouts, but they're a lot better than traffic lights. There's only a few points where things can go wrong, and roundabouts don't need electricity to work; the drivers are the signalers.

At last, I made it to the park, and luckily for me, there is not that many people around.

There's a couple families with their kids at the playground nearby, along with some young guys at the basketball court adjacent to the playground. These men were around my age as well, obviously blowing off some steam like they usually do. I always see these four to five guys every week except the weekends and monday, and they mind their own business as much as I do - this is just how I like it.

Beyond the baseball and softball fields, however, there was a path that lead to the Big Chico Creek and the Five Mile Recreation Area. Unfortunately, there were lots of people hang out in this area, both adults and kids alike, which is why I kept walking and crossed the creek. Sim, I literally walked into the shallowest part of the water, and crossed the water; the bridge had a bunch of people on it, and I didn't want to be around them.

Aside from getting wet up to my ankles, I trudged a short distance through the trees before I came onto '5 Mile Road'. Afterwards, I walked along the road before I came upon Wildwood Avenue, whom I crossed and traveled onto the North Rim Trail. If I can't get peace and quiet in the park, I might as will wear myself on a little walk.

Now you are probably wondering why I'm talking about all this absurdo, and I'm not worrying about being the pilot of an Infinite Stratos unit. Well, let me say this, and it makes me feel better to say so:

I don't want to think about and I need to defuse my anxiety.

Não, I'm not trying to run away from my problems. I'm no coward, but I cannot be in a negative mood with anything, even if there comes a time for me to kill or love somebody. With the parking lot fading behind me, I think it's time that I tell you who I am as we take this little journey up the North Rim Trail.

My name is Bruno Tavaris.

I was born in Portugal, and I grew up in Porto. Sadly, the only things I remember in most of my childhood was the orphanage and the streets. I'll never know what was going through the heads of my biological parents, but what I can tell you is that they were desperate people; I couldn't blame them for being unable to care for a child ... at least now that I understand as a teenager.

Contrary to what tourists and foreigners say about Portugal, it's not a glamorous place. The country has one of the lowest wages in Europe, and for a child vagabond like me in those days, life was rougher than the average Portuguese. Luckily, Porto is a beautiful and colorful city; however, when I say this in regards to the city, I'm not including the people.

Because I was without a home or parents, I could go anywhere and see anything. I was free to do whatever I wanted, and I had the whole city at my fingertips. When I was a kid, I always thought that freedom is free, being able to go and do whatever you wanted without consequences, and I truly believed that this was how freedom worked.

If I was hungry or thirsty, I would steal from anybody if I was given the chance and opportunity. Truthfully, I had my close calls with the law, and I be a liar to say that I was never afraid to get caught. It should be noted that I was a stupid little kid back then, treating the city like his personal playground; I was like a little mouse in a giant mansion.

Sometimes, I would find cash and I would go buy myself something to eat or drink. But one of the best things I love to get whenever I had money were tickets to see concerts, shows, movies, and even tourist boat rides to see the Portuguese coastline. Of course, I had to be around some stranger if I were to enter, but those were one of the funnest times I had as a kid.

But I should note, however, that I had enjoyed all these things back then as a loner. Partly, I wasn't a very sociable person, which didn't help with the fact that other vagabonds and orphans shut me out of their little groups and social circles. But most importantly, I hate people, and I be a liar to say that all began when I began breaking the rules.

Sim senhor, I began life as a law-breaking explorer.

You're probably thinking that this is a shameful thing, and that I'm suppose not to talk about such a taboo subject. But I'll be honest with you, and I assure you that I'm afraid when I admit this. Certamente, those days were one of the best parts of my life, and looking back on it as a teen, perhaps one of the most dangerous as well.

Could I have been kidnapped, molested, and dumped in the garbage or river? Sim.

Could I have been arrested, sent to juvenile hall, and become a prison wife? Sim.

Could I have been found and adopted by a church and grew up as a monk or priest? Sim.

Could I have been adopted by abusive and/or worthless parents? Sim.

Could I have been able to continue this life forever and remain a vagabond? Eh ... eu acho que não.

In hindsight, even if I could continue that life, I believe I would've became something worse. And I also believe that if things stayed that way, I wouldn't have considered Portugal to be my home anymore. It would've been a memory of the past, and nothing more.

But that would all changed when I was six years old - the year the Infinite Stratos was debuted and the White Knight Incident.

The whole world had stood up and then fell down on its head that year. When the world finally recovered and stood back up, the face of the planet had turned from a man to a woman. Society around the world swiftly and unexpectedly changed overnight, and the changes that arrived made me hate people even more.

Those fun days were slowly beginning to turn bitter. It wasn't the fact that the world was in shock and it got harder to make a living. If you want to get by in the world, there are so many different ways to do it, and if you're a child vagabond like me in those days, anything is possible. I can handle poverty, and even if I don't have anything, I'll still be happy as long as I can go anywhere.

What really transformed those days into a nightmare were the people. Overnight, the dominant gender went from male to female, and it really skyrocketed in liberal countries. To our 'luck', Portugal is one of them.

I have nothing against being a gentleman, and it is natural for a man to be kind and cordial to the opposite gender. But what I do mind, however, is abuse and exploitation. Just because you are the superior gender doesn't mean that you can do whatever you want without consequences.

There was this one boy I knew in the orphanage, Gabriel, whom was an 'A' student in school. Until I was six years old, he was one of the brightest boys we ever known in our orphanage, and I sometimes looked up to him. In an alternate universe, this would've probably been me, but I rather go out and explore the world than to read about it from a book.

But a few months after I turned seven years old, things started to turn sour for Gabriel. He didn't mind the work, whether it was from class or for home. But what really became hard for him was trying to cope and compete with his classmates, especially the females.

Now rest assured, however, I'm not misogynistic! The biggest problem I have is that the young population misinterprets the importance and breakthrough of the Infinite Stratos. It was never suppose to be a gender-empowering icon - that was never the point!

Infinite Stratos is a war machine with an unsolved problem. When it became clear that females can only use the Infinite Stratos, it became all the rage for every young woman across the world to welcome the changes. Sarcastically, since we Portuguese are so 'progressive', much of the young female population under the age of 30 began to embrace the newfound power like no tomorrow.

As expected, Gabriel began to come home almost everyday like he had been chased by dogs. Only on Sundays was he perfectly fine, since he and the few other decent boys would go to church mass. But whenever he was at school, he was coming back increasingly more evasive and quiet.

Eventually, six months after my eighth birthday, it got so bad that it was almost impossible to see him throughout the day. In fact, he began to sit alone in the congregation, avoiding all kinds of social interactions with anyone. For a loner like myself, I can understand and respect Gabriel's silence; however, I sometimes blame myself for not being there for him, even if he already had friends.

But a few weeks after New Years Eve, this rich couple comes along and they thought Gabriel was cute to them. But when you're somebody like me, who is always looking out for people, you gain this sixth sense and look for the worst in somebody. In my opinion, they only wanted him because of his clear Caucasian complexion and shy mannerisms; he was a perfect kid to them.

Some of you may call me jealous for saying that, so let me tell you something. Back then, and even today, I have a slight tan due to my near constant venturing and exploration; some people don't like that. But most importantly, I hate attention, and I do whatever I can to be subtle and ordinary.

So as strange as it sounds, I'm glad that Gabriel was chosen over me.

Don't get me wrong, however, I like Gabriel, and I seriously miss him. He was almost everything that I was not, but I can only pray that his soul treated well and he doesn't come out as a different person. There are so many things I can see him becoming, and it be too painful for me to tell you any of them.

Although he wasn't the first kid to be adopted from our orphanage, I thought I wouldn't think about him much after he was adopted. But as the months went by, I watched as more and more of the kids from the orphanage began to be adopted, and it got to a point where it was only a handful of boys. All the girls had been adapted, and only me and some 15 boys were left out of 64.

If I was like a normal kid, I would either become bitter, lonely, and/or depressed. Thankfully, I was neither. That was because I was reaching the end of the road.

Two weeks after my ninth birthday, I was sneaking around at the Mercado do Bolhão, or sometimes the Feira de Produtos Biológicos do Porto. There, I stole pieces of fruit, vegetables, bread, or whatever I could take in my little dry palms. This was the lowest point of my life, partly because all of my friends had moved on; however, most importantly, I had a terrible fever.

I had no money to visit the doctors, and even if I could, I didn't have a verified address to provide. Plus, the orphanage had closed down recently, and to my dumb luck, some of the boys I knew had badmouthed me about some unrelated vandalism charges. Eu juro! I didn't damage or desecrate anybody's home or business, but I did frequently walk by those places often.

Now, here I was one day stealing stuff in Bolhão, when a strong hand clasped onto my left shoulder from behind, and turned me around. For a moment, I thought one of the vendors had saw me or the police had been called by someone. But what I didn't expect was to be face-to-face with the man that would change my life forever.

His name was Vice-Almirante Dom Henrique Tavaris.

I didn't know who he was at first, but the only thing I was wondering at the moment was whether or not he was going to kidnap me. Instead, he took me to the hospital. On that day, I was malnourished and stuck with my fever, and Dom Henrique knew it, which is why he rushed me to the hospital for diagnosis.

I spent a month in the hospital regaining my strength, but on the second week, Henrique came to visit me after being gone for a week. He came and he asked me if I would like to be his son. Initially, I wanted to say no, that way I kept my freedom and get him away from me. But when he told me that he was the Vice-Almirante of the Marinha Portuguesa, I was conflicted.

At the time, I was getting increasingly tired of the world around me and the people that inhabited it. My life felt cold, hollow, and directionless, yet I couldn't take the swiftness of a fast death. I was at my lowest at this time of my life, and I didn't have anything to live for now that Porto had became all too familiar, and everyone I knew moved on.

But here was this man before me, a Vice-Almirante of the Marinha Portuguesa, offering me a way out.

What were the chances of me being adopted by a man of reverent power and influence? Better yet, it was a top official in one of the most important institutions of our country. What did I do to earn such importance from someone who only saw men and machine as statistics on paper or a map?

I still ask myself that, even today.

Everyday, since he first visited me in the hospital, and asked me if I wanted to be his son, I kept asking myself the same thing over and over again. Sometimes, I dread going to sleep, because I might fear of waking up in the hospital, thinking that this was all just a lucid dream. Oh Deus, I hate thinking about that, even as I walked the remaining quarter kilometer of the North Rim Trail.

My reason for walking down the North Rim Trail was to reside at a landmark called, Sentinel's View Point. It was the highest point within the City of Chico, and it offered a majestic scene that put Monkey Face View to shame. If you know this place, and/or you subsequently guessed it, Sentinel's View Point is far away, and that's exactly how I like it.

I eventually came to a stop in the middle of the trail, and I walked to the right, venturing off the trail, and scaling a tree and weed infested hill. Once I broke through the foliage, there was a narrow dirt path that lead up to the top of Sentinel's View Point. I walked onto the path and I turned right, making my way up the short remainder of the journey, and before I knew it, I was at the top.

I sat there at last, embracing the view as if I had discovered a new world. Down below, there was a sea of green, snaking around in the dusty yellow abyss of weeds and dust. Judging from the rightmost position of the sun, evening was beginning to approach, and it was at that moment I readjusted by fedora, where it was only protecting the top (front, side and back were now open).

I could see the entire city of Chico from here; however, most importantly, I saw the distant mountains. From left to right, I saw Sutter Buttes, Goat Mountain, Snow Mountain, St John Mountain, Sheetiron Mountain, Hull Mountain, Ocean View, Black Butte, Goat Hill, Ball Rock, Mount Linn, Tomhead Mountain, North Yola Bolly, Chanchelulla Peak, Bully Choop, and Shasta Bally.

Even though the journey was long, some of my anxiety had finally extinguished, but I still had two questions:

My lord, why did you choose a weak, lowly, humble man to lead our future?

Better yet, what did I do to deserve the attention of a Vice-Almirante?

These were two things I continued to ask since I was brought off the streets and hospitalized. But I feel nothing more than being a directionless wanderer who only thinks of the present, neither ashamed of the consequences from the past, nor afraid of the uncertain future that awaits me. Nobody had ever asked me if I feared anything, but I'm very much afraid of something.

In the beginning of my life, I knew nothing but freedom, and this was the only thing that kept me motivated despite poverty and starvation. Yet I continue to ask why my journey hadn't ended, and I was allowed a second chance at life. Sometimes, I thought it would've been best that a lowlife like me were to have perished, but here I was on a rock face reflecting on my past.

Seven years ago, I was in a hospital bed at the mercy of a fever and starvation, and here I am today as a 16-year-old teenager, afraid all over again. It is a terrible thing to live in fear, and I knew that as soon as I could say my first word at three years old. All I do anymore is to explore the world, find a place where I can finally settle down, and then, live a quiet little life.

But the tide of life is a hard truth to face. I guess some fish are not meant to swim forever; the world is only so big until it becomes a loop. When you do rest at last, the demons that you once left behind in the dust begin to catch up with you. Still, the place you lived in is that much smaller and crowded than the one you left long ago.

Chico won't be the same if I were to return here, but there are many other places out there just like it. I don't exactly like the people here, but the peace and quiet, and most especially, the natural wonders, are what made this place enjoyable. I guess there is nothing else I can do at this point, because a consequence of being in the military is that if you try to run, they'll find you.

On the day I was adopted by the Vice-Almirante, I threw away my freedom, and I exchanged it for security and privilege. Only when I was sent to the study abroad in the USA that I managed to embrace my freedom again; however, I guess it is now that time where I must say goodbye to it again. If god is the warden, then privilege had became my prison, and my father is its enforcer.

The sun was setting upon the City of Trees, and it was time for me to make my decision ... or at least the illusion of it.

Thus I reached into my pocket and I made a fateful call...

When my father came on the line, I told him, "Father, my roommate told me everything. If what you said is true, I have made my decision, and thus, I understand its importance. I'm coming home."