And it’s been 12 years since I boarded that one-way flight—12 years living far from my country and my family.
Twelve years ago, at that airport in Bogotá—and without knowing it—it would be the last time I hugged my grandparents. I haven’t been able to say goodbye to them either, although I always carry them in my heart.
Back then, I had no idea what would happen when I arrived. I didn’t know the language. I didn’t know anyone. I was alone on the other side of the Atlantic.
And well, here I am—still unsure about many things, but at least now I can say “Hello, how are you?” in Russian. I have a lot of stories—some good, some not so much. Over these years, I’ve also had the chance to see many places in this country and discover that, despite everything, there are good people here.
Lately, I’ve been thinking a lot about the person who arrived back then and the person I am now. I’ve also been thinking about the people who stayed back home and carried on with their lives. The family has grown, and there are new members I haven’t been able to hug either. That reminds me of the stories I used to hear as a child about the family member who lived abroad—but I never imagined I’d become that person. Funny, isn’t it?
Along the way, I’ve gained a lot and lost a bit too—so many birthdays and celebrations I’ve only seen through the pixels of a screen. Early morning phone calls leave that bitter feeling of not being there with them. I told someone recently how much I miss being home because—for some reason—that’s where I feel I truly rest, where I recharge my energy… even though I know I no longer connect with many things in that place where I grew up.
I hate clichés, but I’ve become one: that person who, despite everything, will never fully fit into another country, but who also feels like a stranger when going back home.
Twelve years ago, the day before my trip, I was with a group of people who, at the time, were the closest to me. Some are still in my life, others are not—and well, that’s part of the process. Everyone has their reasons for staying (or leaving). There’s nothing worse than forcing someone to do something they don’t want to do. All of this has also, in some way, taught me to accept change (and people) a little differently. I tend to assume they’re around for a while and then they’ll disappear, because that’s the cycle of things.
Some have told me that’s a horrible way to build friendships, but it has saved me more than once. Am I right to think that way? I have no idea. I prefer not to dwell on it.
I also remember that at that farewell party, several people told me: “You’re not coming back—this is a one-way trip.”
They must have seen something I didn’t at the time.
As a non-religious person, I sometimes envy those who practice a faith—because they have someone to talk to at any moment. At least, that’s how my mother (and my grandmother) made me believe it worked. Maybe I’m wrong. Having someone who’s willing to listen is also important. My problem is that sometimes I talk too much, and I think I bore people—and that’s why they leave.
So, why am I saying all this?
Well, emotionally (and maybe mentally), I’m not doing great. I think I know the reasons. But I’m allowing myself to be a bit more open about it, because I also believe it’s important to give these things a voice.
It’s not the first time, and it probably won’t be the last—so yeah… just trying to navigate it.
Now, I won’t lie—I’m tired, and a bit frustrated.
The past few months especially have tested me in many ways, and honestly, I’ve reached a point where I no longer want to justify myself to anyone. I’m tired of people thinking it’s okay to question why I still live where I live.
I’m tired of being told that my silence on certain issues is somehow—directly or indirectly—a way of justifying everything that’s happening. I’m tired of being told how I’m in danger. I know the risks better than anyone, and maybe those people should just keep their comments to themselves.
But the frustration also comes from the other side—where sometimes I get comments, whether as jokes or not, that remind me that even after these 12 years, I’m “not good enough.”
Though honestly, I don’t even understand what that’s supposed to mean.
What frustrates me most is hearing things like “You HAVE to do this.”
You people can’t imagine how much I hate that sentence.
It’s exhausting to live up to expectations and ideals that people from this side of the world have.
And just because of that, sometimes I think I’d rather live in a forest—or a Hobbit hole—with my cat.
And I hope to do that one day.
There’s a lot more to say, but I’ll leave it for another time.
If you made it this far—thank you for reading.
Also, sorry for the messy thoughts; it’s been a while since I last wrote, but I might start again.
I miss writing somewhere, even if few will read (or comment on) it.
That’s all for now.
Ciao