Wrapping Up 2024
Snippets of stories, missing my home country, and more
It feels like winter already. The trees outside my window stand naked and damp. Almost like a scene from a black-and-white picture. The tint always gray as the clouds darken the sky. On a pile of books lies Milo the cat, tender and pensive. His pupils follow my every moment as I write, paint, and ponder. My winter days recorded in his big, round eyes. I miss lighter clothes and the sun on my skin, squinting to shelter my eyes as I step outside into a bright, lively city. I reminisce. I'm missing home. Once every two years, I go back home. Across the continent, I reach summer's new residence. The ocean awaits on the opposite side. It goes by a different name. Atlantic they say. The streets are full of life. The temperatures are high. But it's not the sun that warms the air, it's the words it carries. Because everyone sounds like me and I can't get enough of it.
A snippet of my mood these days as the year comes to its end.
I’ve been living in Vancouver, Canada, for ten years now and the last time I was back home in Argentina was around this time last year. I came to this country alone, having lived here for a year when I was 17 as an exchange student. Something kept pulling me back to Canada even after more than a decade of residing in Argentina. But my family remains home and now I only see them once every two years.
There’s so much that can take place in two years. Every time I get back to Argentina, I have to undergo an unstated process of reintroduction. Not only do I have to relearn what I thought I knew about the country but also I have to be reminded of who I am and where I come from. It’s harder with my family though. Every time we reunite, we are meeting each other’s new versions. Some elements of familiarity always remain, but as we interact, I uncover bit and pieces that I’ve never seen before. Their lives have continued in my absence and so has mine. The passing of time changes people. However, grief has changed me even more and I don’t know if my family realizes how much. By the time they got to see me in person, I had already lost my partner Alex to suicide and our beloved cat Nimbus to a brain tumor.
My last visit to Argentina inspired another snippet of a story, which is posted at the end of this blog post. I figured it would be a good way to wrap up this year and say goodbye before taking a break for the holidays and resuming my blog in January 2025. I hope that you have enjoyed my writing so far, that you have learned something new, that it has offered you a different perspective, and that you have found some inspiration, hope, and courage to navigate this messy human experience of ours. Thank you for joining me on this journey. I greatly appreciate your support and knowing that you are there on the other side of the screen reading along and connecting to this experience in this very virtual space.
Once every two years, I go back home. Another summer day is reaching the end. The ocean lies inverted like looking in a mirror. Sunset colors bleed behind tall buildings. The water is glass. There are two cities now, one depicted on the glaring sand. I played in the ocean all day, my dad took the lead like when I was a kid. They are happy I'm here, I must not feel real away for so long. The night comes alive, dinnertime bustle. We like to eat late right next to each other, exchanging long stories to feed our own hearts. There are more of us now, some bonds born from love and blood of my blood. They are growing so fast, have minds of their own. I look mostly the same but they know I have changed after mourning two deaths in a land far away. Once every two years, I go back home.
Happy holidays and have a restful end of the year! I’ll see you in 2025.
Tengo que decirlo en nuestro idioma, porque tal como mencionas, es reconfortante saber que un otro que te entiende. Amé este post, su añoranza y todo. Gracias por escribir 🌊💕