Red Room Where the Writers Are

Not living in Bogotá is going to mean a lot of things.  It is going to mean, first and foremost, not living around mountains.  I know before I leave that I will miss the mountains of Latin America, but I always underestimate how lonely it can feel without them.  Mountains breathe and hold you close in Latin America; they burst up through sidewalks and even in the middle of certain Embassy compounds.  I go to sleep to them outside my window, and I wake up to them in the sun.  The wind comes to me through them.

Not living in South America is going to mean no more ghosts, no more Jesus and His holy mother in everyday conversations.  Here they are fact.  Ghosts in Bogotá are known to grab you by the feet at night, startling you awake.  Requests are made to Mary for everyday matters, like the lines at the bakery taking too long; larger matters, like car accidents, require the attention of Jesucristo Himself.

Not living here is going to mean no more taxis.  In Ecuador it is a sharp, almost impatient flick of the hand, here it is a lazy wave.  No more cabs to the Embassy, that gorgeous 20-minute ride through the backroads that leap and curve with the geography of the land.  No more cold wind through the window, no more bricks.  No more vendors walking through the cars in traffic, offering their wares or tricks for some pesos.  No more brilliant flowers spilling over white walls and fences.

It's going to mean English everywhere, at store counters and restaurants and out in the streets.  No more Spanish around me, the easy South American Spanish that sounds so much better to me than the Mexican or Central American accents.

It will mean Mexico again.  Proper tortillas again, fluffy flour ones for butter and salt and corn ones to tear into pieces and use as spoons for spicy shredded meat.  It's going to mean spices in my food again- Colombians are allergic to anything hotter than Tapatillo.

I wrote that a few days before leaving.  I tried to end it with something about how people perceive me, but I couldn't find the right words.  Then on Tuesday morning, after nearly a dozen hours of travel logged, I went to check in for my final flight, from Los Angeles to Sacramento.  The woman behind the counter was very friendly, and as she entered my passport information she said she'd been a bit surprised when I came up and greeted her in English: "I wasn't sure what language you were going to speak!"

I like being like this.  Sometimes it is a little lonely, but mostly I like being in between.  It pushes me to go as far as I can.

California is tripping me out, man.  Mami and my little sister picked me up from the airport and on the drive home I was like a puppy with my nose against the window: "Look at how green the grass is!  Look at how far away everything is!  I can see the SKY, there aren't any clouds!  It's blue!  This road is so flat!  Those houses are so fancy!  Are we really in [my hometown]?  Has it always been this fancy?  Look at how square everything is!"  I think they may have thought I was exaggerating- I wasn't.  This is all incredibly surprising.

 It is in my nature to do everything at once and immediately, but my younger sister is sick and so I am making a conscious effort to slow down and learn how to be at home for a few days before I go relearn this place.