After a month of wretched indecision, I have made up my mind.
I shall take my return flight as planned.
Colombia has been a beautiful home for a wonderful six months. But so much of a home, in fact, that these wandering feet are itching again. New adventures are calling, and an extraño, queasy homesickness is telling me to to hop back to England.
My unfinished business is not yet finished. I still want to perfect my Spanish and to master the tropical beats of salsa and merengue. And so this matter is not closed, rather postponed.
“Where to next?” Perhaps I’ll go to Italy and study and the art of flirting in yet another language. Or I’ll train to be a diving instructor in the Caribbean. No, seriously. I found a job advert yesterday and I quite fancy myself as a Dominican Republic water babe. Glowing sun, turquoise seas and a resounding tang of cultura latina.
Of course, falling short of olympic swimming skills and fearing the dreaded sand-in-knickers situation, problems might abound.
But pah to those: why not?
Filed under: colombia, dance, language, love, medellin, music, spanish, unfinished business
In the indulgence of a fortnightly massage (life is good), my masseuse (and now dear friend) asked me for how much longer I was here. I told her: “solo cuatro semanitas“.
“Semanita” is a Latin American variation of “semana“, the translation of “week”. The “ita” belittles the word, somewhat. A lady can be called “señora” (madam) or “señorita” (miss, or little miss). So what I infact told her was: “just four, little weeks”.
A month before I left my life in Chennai, India, my feet were itching. For the comforts of home, for the Christmas that would be had there, for ovens and microwaves. (Better still, Mum-cooked food.) But here, my thoughts are of a different, anxious nature.
As I type this the sky is a glorious pale blue and the clouds are big and white and fluffy. (Let’s forget the monsoon-like rain shower earlier.) I am sat in my modern flat, where I get to sleep in a giant double bed with a pink duvet cover. And yes, we even have an oven and a microwave.
A feeling of ‘unfinished business’ feels me with a dread, a hope, an overwhelming felicidad. I am strong in my language, but not quite yet done. I am yet to try every exotic fruit that fills the market I strolled past earlier. Yet to guess correctly whether the downstairs shop will once again put Air Supply’s “All Out of Love” on repeat.
Unbeknown to me, I had been making a life here. Building a home. And this home is one full of music and dance, language and love. I am not yet ready to file this away, tuck this under my pillow of yesterdays, yesteryear.
“Stay a few more months”, my masseuse advised. “Work here and perfect your language, then go get that job that’s on offer at home in January.” Not such bad advice.
The tiny detail is that “non-exchangable” word written on my airline tickets. Well, I shall use all of my philosopher training to fight with the agency until I am blue in the face.
Please, deséame suerte.
