I was talking to a friend today, and I told him, "I never forget my roots". And so was born this idea that I should write a blog.
He asked, "Roots?"
I said, "Yea, they're the metaphorical extensions which ground me to this earth."
Why did I say that? I dont know, but thats how it came out. What grounds me? What roots, "GROUND" me?
I have to say that in my 23 years, I have never appreciated my roots more than what I do at this point in time. I have, for the second time in my life made a major migration to a land which although familiar is unknown. And you know what, it isn't that bad. When I was 18, living comfortably in my not so humble, quaint life, I thought, New York, WHY NOT?
LOL, turned out to be Long Island, and a much harder decision once it was made, then when I was contemplating said thing. Donde estan los Venezolanos? Mis panas? Donde esta mi familia, y los Latinos?!?!?
Like a fish out of water, I found myself suffocating for a few months, like I was a stranger, which I was.
You're from where? Venezuela? Sadly a lot of these people didnt know where I was from, and frankly...
I KNOW WHERE IM FROM PEOPLE! WHERE ARE YOU FROM?!
Where I'm from, i learned how to survive, I witnessed poverty and crime, and pain and suffering, corruption, lies, fraud, patriotism, sovereignty, or lack there-of.
En Venezuela, se sabe vivir. En Venezuela yo aprendi a apreciar la naturaleza, to think critically and look at the bigger picture and not the immediate 10 miles around me. And now that I'm here in the states, and Florida particularly, everytime I smell un cortadito from the cuban shop, or I hear the ever familiar language that I grew up with I remember...my roots.
In New York, I looked. I searched and I looked and I searched and I looked, and for a while I feared I made a terrible mistake. Pero NO! New York was the best thing that could've happened to me. Because in New York, I learned how to not just survive but to live. I had no ROOTS, no family, no friends. But in 2010 I left the Empire State, and I truly felt like I was leaving home. From that very first day, to the last day in which I said goodbye to my love, I felt that i had planted yet another tree.
My extensions may be metaphorical, but they run deep through me, and as I've gotten a little older, I realized that without my Roots in Venezuela, I wouldn't have been to harvest those in New York. There are many things which I wish I could've done, but theres no turning back....my ROOTS will run deep through this earth until I take my last breath, and when, and ONLY WHEN that floor cracks, will that beautiful tree be fully grown. Lets say its a mango tree, like the one that used to be in front of Malela's (my grandmother in Puerto Rico) house. Well I sure hope that tree grows to be that large and strong. And it will.
Learn your roots, and acknowledge, thank your parents (or whoever created your roots). Cuz I know that I wouldn't be here if it weren't for them. I love my roots, as invisible and as metaphorical as they may be.
