Wednesday, March 20, 2013
When I was very little my world were my grand-parents, my hard-working mother and my toys.
We lived very modestly but I had tons of love and I never felt like I missed out.
My mother spoiled me, she bought me everything I wanted most of the time and she even dressed me until I was 10 or 11. Yes, I was that kind of spoiled kid.
Don't judge me, this is not even the point of this post.
The point is, my world was very small, but it was mine.
When I was nine and I came to the US for the first time I learned that there was more to the world than Peru.
I mean obviously, I knew there were other countries out there and oceans and mountains and tons of things, but since I never visited, my world remained small.
As I got older I yearned to go back to Peru to see my family. The older I got, the more I missed it. I would cry at night when nobody could listen to me and pour out my soul with those tears until I became exhausted. My heart ached for my country, my food and my family.
When summer came around each year it was a celebration, I got to go back and enjoy a couple of months with my family.
As far as I knew, Peru was happiness for me.
When it was time to go back to the US, I would cry some more. My grand-mother and I would come up with plans for me to run away or hide for a couple of days so I could miss my flight back and the mysteriously resurface afterwards making it impossible to return.
It sounded good in theory but it was just wishful thinking.
It wasn't until my grand-mother passed away that I understood where my obsession for my country came from.
It was her, it was my grand-mother and everything she meant to me that pulled me towards Peru.
After she died, the idea of Peru wasn't as enticing. Yes, I love visiting, but in the recent years when I have visited, I haven't been jumping for joy yearning for the date to travel. When I am in Peru I go through a mini depression period where all I want to do is sleep and go back home. After a week or so I'm all better and I can enjoy my vacation but the difference is obvious.
I loved going to Peru as a child because I knew my grand-mother would wait for me with tears of happiness in her eyes and all of the wet kisses a little girl could tolerate. She would always ask me what I wanted to be my first meal when I arrived and she would cook it, just for me.
She took me out to do errands, or just ask me to sit with her on the front step of our door to look out at the neighbors. That was true happiness for me. I could sit there for hours with her and not get bored. God I miss that so much, it brings me to tears just thinking about it.
Now when I go to Peru, I sometimes dread going by the house. My mother lives in another house now is more tolerable to be there. But going to my grand-mother's house is like receiving a stab at the heart. I don't talk about this in front of my family often because they won't get it. Yes, I know they miss her too, but the connection I had with her, nobody had and that's one thing I am proud to have had. We were a team, a secret society that functioned underground. Nobody knew what we were up to, just us and it suited us just fine.
So Dear Peru, forgive me if I don't appreciate you enough lately. It's not that I'm not proud of being a Peruvian, but you see, my grand-mother was my Peru. Now that she's gone, I have no real reason to be there. My mother and my sisters can travel to see me if they feel like it, so it's not like I'm never going to see them again if I don't go back. But my grand-mother is gone, so what's left for me over there?
Nothing really, and it's sad.
We lived very modestly but I had tons of love and I never felt like I missed out.
My mother spoiled me, she bought me everything I wanted most of the time and she even dressed me until I was 10 or 11. Yes, I was that kind of spoiled kid.
Don't judge me, this is not even the point of this post.
The point is, my world was very small, but it was mine.
When I was nine and I came to the US for the first time I learned that there was more to the world than Peru.
I mean obviously, I knew there were other countries out there and oceans and mountains and tons of things, but since I never visited, my world remained small.
As I got older I yearned to go back to Peru to see my family. The older I got, the more I missed it. I would cry at night when nobody could listen to me and pour out my soul with those tears until I became exhausted. My heart ached for my country, my food and my family.
When summer came around each year it was a celebration, I got to go back and enjoy a couple of months with my family.
As far as I knew, Peru was happiness for me.
When it was time to go back to the US, I would cry some more. My grand-mother and I would come up with plans for me to run away or hide for a couple of days so I could miss my flight back and the mysteriously resurface afterwards making it impossible to return.
It sounded good in theory but it was just wishful thinking.
It wasn't until my grand-mother passed away that I understood where my obsession for my country came from.
It was her, it was my grand-mother and everything she meant to me that pulled me towards Peru.
After she died, the idea of Peru wasn't as enticing. Yes, I love visiting, but in the recent years when I have visited, I haven't been jumping for joy yearning for the date to travel. When I am in Peru I go through a mini depression period where all I want to do is sleep and go back home. After a week or so I'm all better and I can enjoy my vacation but the difference is obvious.
I loved going to Peru as a child because I knew my grand-mother would wait for me with tears of happiness in her eyes and all of the wet kisses a little girl could tolerate. She would always ask me what I wanted to be my first meal when I arrived and she would cook it, just for me.
She took me out to do errands, or just ask me to sit with her on the front step of our door to look out at the neighbors. That was true happiness for me. I could sit there for hours with her and not get bored. God I miss that so much, it brings me to tears just thinking about it.
Now when I go to Peru, I sometimes dread going by the house. My mother lives in another house now is more tolerable to be there. But going to my grand-mother's house is like receiving a stab at the heart. I don't talk about this in front of my family often because they won't get it. Yes, I know they miss her too, but the connection I had with her, nobody had and that's one thing I am proud to have had. We were a team, a secret society that functioned underground. Nobody knew what we were up to, just us and it suited us just fine.
So Dear Peru, forgive me if I don't appreciate you enough lately. It's not that I'm not proud of being a Peruvian, but you see, my grand-mother was my Peru. Now that she's gone, I have no real reason to be there. My mother and my sisters can travel to see me if they feel like it, so it's not like I'm never going to see them again if I don't go back. But my grand-mother is gone, so what's left for me over there?
Nothing really, and it's sad.
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