The world is on fire, mama

The world is on fire. You might already know. The fire comes before the embers and my mother can stick up for herself in two tongues. I just have the one. I just have the one I was born with and its riddled with doubt. One month ago, I was on a plane by myself to a place where my mother’s blood is from. My mother speaks two tongues. The first is her love. She has tan skin and people confused her for my nanny when I was a kid because I have aggressively pale skin and a sharper voice. But my mother is the one who took me to the hospital when I was 23 and when I had my tonsils removed. She listened to the voice I lost. How? you might ask. She just knows. My mother’s second language is fuego.

One month ago, I was on a plane to a continent I’ve never been to before on my own. I was stripped of my voice there. I spoke in mismatched conjugated verbs. I gave verbs to the wrong owner. I went. Yo fue. No, that’s wrong. Yo fui. Fui. 

I didn’t like Bogotá very much. Most people you meet traveling through Colombia will tell you that too. But you don’t know anything about a place until you go somewhere and that’s why I want to go everywhere. I’ll go anywhere. It’s true. Take me anywhere, I’ll go. I'm scared of nothing except that I haven’t seen enough. I’m scared I won’t see enough. I’m scared I won’t have the right words.

Anyway, I got on the plane and I made it to Bogotá. And I met the family I had only met once before as a baby. I did not like Bogotá because of the traffic. Everyone drives haphazardly, the highways are clustered arteries. It takes too long to get anywhere and I am impatient. I want everything now. Colombia and Ecuador have a system called pico y placa. It restricts when people are allowed to drive their cars based on their license plate. It was set up to control traffic but it has forced families to own more than one car. I asked my tia and tio if it has helped. No, el tráfico es horrible. They have one car. My tia is in her seventies. She yells carajo at the other drivers.

I don’t like places based on how I feel when I am there. I did not feel strong in Bogotá. It was not Bogotá's fault. No, Bogotá is where I spent my 26th birthday and I was not strong yet. I did not understand why there weren’t proper bus stops. I was still scared of the city because people told me to be scared and I listen to what people say. I left my phone in my pocket so that I could listen to everything. I never do that; I always drown out the noise in LA. Bogotá is where I started to speak to my mother in my second tongue. My mother has the most beautiful voice. I haven’t inherited her grace. I wasn’t strong until Cartagena. I flew there a few days after Bogotá. That’s where I learned the stories. That’s where I spoke to a man who grew up during the guerrilla wars and the cartel wars. He spoke like my abuelo. I didn’t know anything before. That’s where I walked by myself and I did not feel alone. It's where I ate pizza and wrote and drank Aguila by myself. When you’re a woman walking alone, the world wants to stare. 

You think you know a place because the news tells you things, but the truth is in the people. I liked Cartagena because I got lost on those streets and I am only free when I am lost. It’s the only time my brain can’t steal me away and take me to the bad places it likes to go. My ex-boyfriend called me in Colombia and asked me if I ever think about us getting back together. But the girl he dated was lost and I am not that girl anymore. I want to go to all the places still. If you give someone too much time, they’ll fly away. 

My mother is the most honest person I know and I always tell the truth. She and I disagree a lot. Because I make my life harder for myself than I need. Maybe it’s the depression. Depression is a nasty liar. Depression wears itself on everything. It thinks it looks good on sunsets. Depression squeezes its way in between cuddles with people you are falling in love with and the places you've run away to. She’s seen me with depression my whole life and disapproves of the relationship. I haven’t always liked my mother. That’s why I never bothered practicing another tongue. I didn’t like that life made her poor. I didn’t like that life made her kind when it was cruel. I did not like that she did not go to other places like me. But I did not understand other languages. 

The day I left for Colombia, my mother was the only one who believed in me. The media says Colombia is too dangerous for a woman alone. My family thought Colombia was too dangerous for a girl with anxiety. But my mama speaks languages that other people do not speak. She always told me to listen to myself. Maybe that’s what has gotten me into trouble. I got on the plane because I am stubborn. I got on the plane because I like to see things. I got on the plane because my mother speaks two tongues and two is better than one. 

I hate flying but you have to do uncomfortable things all the time. I had eight flights in three weeks because I had to see the places. I had to be there in Colombia and Ecuador. I went to the places. I went to Bogotá with the blocked arteries for highways, I went to Cartagena with the music in the streets, I went to Medellin with the mountains and the clouds, I went to Quito and it took my breath away because my body wasn’t built for the high. I spoke to every voice I could get a hold of. I wanted to hear all the words, I wanted Spanish and French, German and Dutch. If you don’t feel strong in one tongue, you can change. You can be anything you want. 

My mother’s parents are from the coast. My abuelo played on the Caribbean streets of Cartagena as a kid. Cartagena does not look real. The streets are colorful. There is music all the time. It’s everywhere. My abuela is from Guayaquil, Ecuador. I never made it there. There wasn’t time. My grandparents are from warm climates and they are hot-tempered people. Son fuego.

I am from a big city. But my city is tiny from the plane. I have a game that I play with people I like. “Where do you think that plane is going?” I ask them. “There’s a man that loves a woman and he is flying to Charlotte, South Carolina to tell her after years of keeping their love a secret. He’ll finally tell her,” I hypothesize. The man I like kissed me on the beach a few months ago in LA. We could see the planes as they left LAX. I played that game with him, I pointed at the sky at a plane that carried a hundred different kinds of people. I could feel him inhale as he thought of his response. I drove to him because I always follow my heart. And I don’t want anyone to say that I did not try. He and I kissed on a blanket on the sand and I pretended that I was the only girl he did that with; I pretended I was special. I always pretend that I’m special when I’m with him. I drove back at 3 am. My mother waited in the car for me while I looked for parking that night in the summer. We live in LA and the city can’t fit us all in but we try. We all try to shine bright in LA. I was with him that night. She knew. My mom and I always fight because I make life harder for my heart than I need. “Why do you hurt yourself,” she asked. She looked at me. My mama has a voice that is fire; two tongues are better than one. I spoke only one tongue and that tongue was pain. 

I did not like Bogotá but I love Colombia. I love the music and the people and the life. I watched families dance with one another in the street. I watched Miss Universe in a shop in Medellín with a family and the two Belgian girls I met. My Spanish was broken and fuzzy and Colombia is stunning. I went to Ecuador where I became sick. I have never been sick in Spanish before. Tengo dolor de garganta. The doctor gave me medicine and I lay in bed and saw the mountains from my window. I will go anywhere. I am not scared. My mother is with me everywhere. 

The city of LA set on fire the day I came back. 

The world is on fire, mama. You’re the most powerful woman I know. Somos fuego