Encontrándome

There are times when you learn about someone whose life a sido tan cagada as yours, si no peor, and there is this strange sense of normalcy that comes over todo tu ser. Most of the time, I feel as if I’m living en un plano lejos from most people. Sometimes, es como si las palabras son en un idioma diferente from those around me, como si estuviese desconectada – like a type of dissociation. There is a desesperación that comes over my entire being cuando me veo frente al precipicio between myself and the rest of the world. It is not necessarily a bad thing, a little lonely perhaps, not entirely bad. Mostly, apredí a aceptarlo a long time ago. I have spent most of my life con la creencia que there’s something wrong with me. That there’s no place donde puedo sentir que I’m home. Cuando en realidad es that I’m perfectly normal. A veces, I come across others que también sienten esa falta de conexión and the social awkwardness brota. These are the moments when I have felt menos rara.

En estos momentos, I am sitting in a crowded coffee shop overlooking El Rio de la Plata en Uruguay. I have traveled a bit over 24 hours to get here. For the first time in a very long time, I feel connected to people around me. Everyone is speaking un lenguage que entiendo. More than Español, the conversations feel genuine. Nadie trata de impresionar a nadie. The couple next to me is discussing their concern global warming is having in their country and the efforts the government is taking to help. Una simple plática; there is no arguing no hatred for their leaders – no lealtad ciega. They are simply having a discussion about lo que les preocupa. There’s a woman about my age teaching her mother how to download apps on her phone. A young woman who appears to be some sort of artist is reviewing her website design with a website designer. He’s not trying to oversell; he’s actually encouraging her to not select more expensive options. A todo mi alrededor gente are having real conversations about life. No showmanship, no one-upping, sin juzgar. I have spoken to conservative Uber drivers who confess to their initial concern that they now have a left leaning government, and though they don’t agree with everything, they recognized how it has helped their country. There’s no vitriol, no rabid hatred, no dehumanizing of others. I’m walking around all bald headed, tattooed, face pierced wearing a Kaftan and no one gives me the side eye. I don’t feel judged. I feel safe. A nadie le importo.

Also, reconozco algo que I would never have acknowledged before. Está gente look like me: mixed. Nadie with whom I have interacted has asked me where I’m from. My accent is noticeably non-Uruguayan, and people don’t seem to notice or care. When I ask about life here because I’m considering moving, todos me han dicho openly what they love about their country and encourage me to move here. I tell them, “I’m Salvadoran living in the US, in Minnesota” y entienden why I’m considering moving. Saben lo que hemos sufrido in Minnesota. People are informed. Everyone with whom I have discussed what it feels like to live in the US as a Latina immigrant tells me, “aquí no te sentirás así.” Maybe I just haven’t met any bigots yet. Tal vez mienten. What I do know es que me siento magnifica sitting in a coffee shop, overlooking el Rio de la Plata, escuchando español all around me.

Most of my life I have lived in fear. Sometimes, the fear has been externally driven by civil unrest, abuse, and unsafe living conditions. A big portion of external fear has come simply from living as a woman in a world dominated by maleness and their belief que tienen derecho a querer and possess my body, make decisions for me, and imponer como I should behave. During the last twenty or so years, as my desirability as a woman has diminished, the fear embarrando mi cuerpo nace from the awareness of my vulnerabilidad. Ultimamente, el miedo comes from being who I am, or rather, who I am not. I live in a country que me grita that I don’t belong here. Que mi gente y yo are not wanted. The forty-six years que he vivido in this country I have felt out of step. But honestamente, I have never felt part of the world in which I live. Como hija de un Español and a Salvadoreña, there’s never been a time que me sentido aceptada or that I belong. Always, la soledad that comes from being “other”, not quite one ni tanto del otro, has draped over me. Never quite comfortable. Never muy en paz. Siempre un poco avergonzada. Siempre con un poco de temor.

No siento temor aquí. Por la primera vez in my life, I feel safe y my instinct me jala y empuja to chose living mi mejor vida en talvez en Uruguay?