Until my seventh birthday I lived in a big city, the largest of Latin America actually. And one of my favorites things growing up was to lay down on the floor, or in the back sit of the car where I fit so perfectly back them, and look at the sky.
Watch the clouds moving around and changing its forms has always amazed me, but when you live in such a big city, you get buildings in the way of your sight every time, and as the clouds moved I thought they were slowing falling down.
I was so tiny, and they were so huge, people were huge, the ocean was infinity….
Looking at life like that it’s what made me realized how tiny I am, and how much of the world it’s out there to be explored.
I grew up impatient, nothing seemed to be enough but to travel, so when I turned 19th I decided I was going away, it took me a year to get to that dream, but I did, I moved to New York, I met people from all over the world, I got to visit four other countries, some American states and many many cities around the Globe.
I laughed, I loved, I hated, I experienced so much more than I could ever imagine, I missed home a lot too, and then went away, and I took some classes, did some more road trips, move to another city, lived by the ocean, and lived by the mountains. I was as much fulfill as I was empty, I was missing something, I was missing the heat, and the smell of my moms clothes, college, old friends and new friends, I missed the food and the freedom, missed speaking my own language…
After almost two years my time was over, and everything was packed, flight tickets were in hands, a was full of anxiety, happiness, doubt, fear all at once, but when I had to say goodbye it was when life got me back, as if I was getting breath after a long time, couldn’t handle the look in the eyes of my host family, almost died to hear my host kid crying because of me. I knew it was time to put all behind, but at the moment I wasn’t sure I couldn’t.
Almost a year after and I miss my host family as much as I missed my family back then, call them as often too. Half of me seems to be back there still, and my other half doesn’t seem open to let it go, almost like if wanted me to go find it.
When I first moved I was afraid of not being able to fit in my new life, little did I know how easy was that compared trying to fit in my old life. Cause the thing is: back then I had a white board to pain my story in it, back here I already have a painted of myself in everybody’s mind, including mine. All this time away, life shaped me in a different form, that is farm from fitting the old one, and life continues to shape me as I grow, so that means I no longer fit my version from a year ago, and with that thought I get the exhausted feelings of never belonging, at the same pace as the I am made of the moments I lived and the places I’ve been.
It’s a constant desire of being at both places, of having everything at once, or to keep switching both lives. But deep down I know that what calms my heart it’s the adventure, the butterflies in the stomach, the inconsistency, the new. My belonging is to not belong to a specific places, but to the memories to hold on to my had, to the scars and the sound of my laugh and the knowing that I always have somewhere new to find myself
The bigger I get, the bigger the world seems to be. And I pray God to able to get to know as much as I can of the earth He created.