Have you ever lived some months in a non-European Country, far away, very far away from home, with the feeling to belong inexplicably to those lands? Perhaps in another life I was a Latin-American woman, or maybe I was simply born to set foot in that so coloured, damned, overwhelming, and cursed continent that is Latin America. It is a matter of DNA!
And it is not “fault” of my studies, of Spanish (and Portuguese) lessons, or of the music that makes your hips and your rear end move. I am talking about that dumb smile that remains imprinted in my face every time I tell about my months alone in Latin America, in Cono Sur. Everybody tells me: “your eyes light up”. This is what I call true love and, as every great sentiment, it is not easy to explain in words.
Yet, I like words very much, but how you can convey to someone the feeling of being home even if overseas, alone in Latin America? There, in an Argentinean city that melts into a Spanish one due to homonymy? There, where I finally found myself as I am: a bit more rebel, perhaps freak, simple and chatty, wild but sweet, brave and independent..[bctt tweet=”Is it not this the ultimate aim of a travel, to make us change and to make us find ourselves?” username=”vdsp_”]
My Bachelor’s degree dissertation talked about magic realism, which is a Latin-American literary movement that tells the continent as it is, an unexpected mix of crude, bloody, unfair, colonized reality, together with magic and folkloristic rituals, superstitions, and the supernatural. Do you remember García Márquez’s works or Allende’s ones (to mention the most famous)? Here, Latin America is Colonel Aureliano Buendía, who fights in civil wars and is also Remedios la bella, who ascends the sky among a thousand yellow butterflies.
It is the continent where certain things are like this and that does it; it is useless to ask yourself questions.
It is the continent where you dance even if you cannot do it, you move automatically because it is forbidden to stop, although very soon you learn that every action you take daily must be marked slowly (that is to say: live intensely, but enjoy every moment taking your time). It is the continent where you need to share everything, and, as a matter of fact, “compartir” is my favourite verb. It is the continent where Italians are so much loved since the first moment, because after all we have a very Latin character, too.
I am not inviting you to book a flight for Argentina, this article aims to be a bulb lighting up in your head (or in your heart?) and urging you to ask yourself: “Where do I come from? Which land of this world is made for me, so that my feet could walk safe?” It is hard to give a confident answer when you are only 26 years old, perhaps tomorrow I will find that Morocco fits me like a glove or Bosnia wraps around me so well like a wool blanket in winter. I cannot know it and, in the meantime, I live to search for the perfect place for me. Maybe when I become ninety years old, I will understand to be, or perhaps I am already, a citizen of the world.