Lima (Parte 3)

I gave a last look around my big, empty house. Downstairs, the clamor of my family vibrated through the house as usual. Along with their voices, I heard my footsteps echoing, bouncing from one wall to the other, approaching those rooms full of memories and sounds. I did not have time to realize what was happening; I was too busy to get sad, too busy to give everyone around me the attention they expected.

As I was going downstairs, where all the fuss was, I looked back and realized I was already missing that room heat that had kept me comfortable and warm for almost all my life. The sound was now the uncomfortable silence of realization. I looked at my grandparents, then at the ground. My hands started sweating; my eyes got watery; I stopped breathing. I hugged my grandparents trying to be positive, trying to replace those negatives thoughts and expressions with an “I’ll see you soon, I love you” and a smile. My grandparents are strong figures in my life; they inculcated in me the rules of social etiquette and elegance so that, wherever I would go, I would represent the family name as it deserved. I had always secretly admired their accomplishments and had always been proud of carrying their prestigious last name and family history in Peruvian politics, however, I had not acknowledged this until this precise moment in which I took them and their teachings in my heart as I left them with their ungrateful hips and legs at an empty house. The rest of my family and I were heading to the airport now.

At the airport, the people I loved the most surrounded me; it was both the happiest and saddest moment of my life. I did not want to admit how nervous I was. I thought about the days in the schoolyard as I admired my friends: twelve girls I had shared five years of my life with, five guys that were always there for me. My girlfriends and I had blindly supported each other for a long time; we had shared all sorts of things: from chewed unflavored gum, to boys, to obscure and embarrassing secrets; we had cried on each other's shoulders plenty of times, talked about our dreams, and held up each other's hair after long nights of underage drinking; we had lied, fought, and rioted for each other: we had an unspoken pact of sticking together forever. Unfortunately, we grew up and hit reality. My mother's hard work got her a job that gave us the opportunity to move to America and, in search of bigger things we could not accomplish in Perú, we did so. Later that year, four of my friends moved out of that third world country that had kept us happy through our entire lives. I finally said goodbye to my soul mates in a sea of teenage-girl desperation and confusion and a false teenage-boy indifference who tried to cover their sadness by giving me sexual advice for my life in America. Seventeen different people, seventeen stories, seventeen experiences; seventeen rivers all coming to me: I was drowning and so were they.

Time to say goodbye to my family. They were giving me their Saturday night, their tears and hearts, their wise advice, their luck and hope along with their support. Two caring aunts who were there for me unconditionally, two uncles who enjoy bullying every member of the family for the sole purpose of making fun of unbearable truths, provoking loud laughters at family gatherings because our masochistic beings enjoy their so-called heavy jokes and stupidity. Six cousins around my age who had been my friends, confidants, and my healthy, sober type of fun (well, most times anyway, particularly during our short years of innocence). My older sister crying in her accompanied solitude for the departure of the last member of her immediate family; anticipating being left alone for she did not have the desire of giving up the privileged life Perú had spoiled her with. Giving each one of them a last hug and kiss, and waving as I walked away with tears rolling down my cheeks, was my way of telling them I would miss them every day from that time on. I entered a cabin full of unknown souls and faces. All those overwhelming memories in my head, sobs, blurry vision, strangers staring with compassion but not understanding the reason for a group of people being so emotional about the departure of one of the world's sextillion souls, had me dizzy. After twenty minutes of flying, my cheeks and eyes were still burning. I felt I was on a transition of falling asleep without dreaming, somewhere where darkness shines if you want it to. I arrived 7 hours later and by then I was ready to put my sadness behind and begin to adventure in this successful world of money I had seen in the movies where happiness, parties, beautiful people, diversity, and most of all, freedom reigned.