Is interesting the feeling of belonging to a place, the feeling of belonging to a certain flag and nationality and the feeling of wanting to be there and knowing that you can't live there anymore. It is like something is missing but you don't know what. Blurs of thoughts come into your head and leave you longing to go back in time and be a child again living among your family and friends. Leaving my home country involuntarily was one of the hardest things I have done and one emotion that I will never get over of. Is like that scar that is in your body that you cannot see but you know is there, and that reminds you that you are not the same after that. The feeling of missing your family and the first place you ever called home never goes away, the days and years pass by and I still think of my memories there, my culture, my family and the land. Looking back at childhood photos makes my heart beat faster, heat rises in my skin and under my armpits and my lungs fill up with air and slowly help me release that emotion that you get when you really really miss something so intangible and priceless. Miami never felt like my home and will never will, I never felt like nesting in my room as I would have in Colombia, or play in the yard like the air was part of me or walk in the streets like everyone around me felt connected by current events. I realize this as I ponder of the time in the near future when I will love to bring Holland to the place where I grew up. All my thoughts point to Colombia, my unique homeland.
My parents did everything I parent would do to make our immigrant reality feel like home but it was not, it cannot be. For over years now, my parents have dealt with the tedious task of dealing with a home that we can't go back to and work out the details of transferring and maintaining the material things that my dad in particular has kept from his travels from 60 years ago. Strange artifacts that once were familiar to me that held so much history line the walls of the house my parents have rented for over 10 years. I get weird flashbacks from when they were hung in my childhood home, I can picture myself being young and looking at them and always hearing the story that came with entire collections of things (for lack of a better word) from all over the world. My dad sits and plays that record that he has played for years and I get melancholic because it brings me back to being in Colombia without a care in the world. On the other hand, my mom cooks traditional meals that smell and look legitimate but don't capture the essence and the taste of local ingredients and the feeling of joy that accompanies sitting down and eating with your family and speaking your native language. My parents are great people and I love them so much, they finished bringing us up in a foreign country. I wonder how they feel about that and if they miss our home as much as I do. I am so grateful for all their sacrifices and years of devotion to me and my sister and will always be thankful for our home wherever we were.
I will do the same for my daughter in hopes that she will appreciate it one day. My wish is that she knows my roots, my story and that one day she will rejoice in the fact that she is Colombian too. I want her to know that it was the best place for me to grow up and that I still love it and that there was once a home so special and dear to my heart. I want her to know she has family that loves her and wishes they could hold her and nurture her. There will be a home that one day that I want her to remember, love and go back to. A home full of great memories, hung artwork and delicious food. We are sad to let the cabin in the woods part ways, in the same way I loved my childhood home. We will search for a special place again and hope to regain that feeling of belonging in a land nested in rolling hills, wild animals, lush mushrooms, clear water streams and precious earth under our feet.
