Blogging From : San Salvador, El Salvador
A little over ten years ago, my family made the decision to move to the United States. Crime in El Salvador slowly worsen and my mom wanted to give us a better future.
What we left, I thought, were friends and neighbors, but I failed to realize they were all I had ever known. They were family; somehow, they are still family.
On June 2, 2017, I arrived in El Salvador for the first time since I moved to the U.S. I was nervous; anxious. One of my childhood friends had insisted I stayed with her during my time in the country to spend time with her and our friends like old times. While it was a very nice gesture, I was not one hundred percent convinced; after all, my friend is now married and with a child. Things are not exactly the same.
She sent someone to pick me up from the airport: a trusted friend. While on our way to my friend's house, the driver filled me in on the current situation in the country, something I am very aware of. After a short drive, we arrived at my friend's house. She and her husband were waiting outside the house for me. In that moment, all the meals, soccer games, hide and seek games, arguments, every birthday party, every Christmas and New Year's party we shared together rushed to my mind.
She was welcoming, a Salvadoran trait I am proud of. She immediately made me feel at home and spent a few hours with me catching me up on all the drama in the neighborhood. She filled me in on who is married to who, who has child, the assholes, the people that have changed, and those that have sadly become victims of the gang violence in the country. After talking for hours, I decided to give her a break and let her go to sleep.
One important piece of information: about 95% of all the people I grew up with still live in the neighborhood. No one left.
The next morning, we started the "Welcome Back" tour. First, we met with her mom and older sister. Her older sister babysat my siblings and I multiple times and she treated us like her own siblings. She saw me across the street and waved at me uncontrollably. I did the same. She screamed "Taty" and I went in for a big hug. Those hugs you give the people you love but you don't know how much until you finally see them again. She interrogated me about my stay in El Salvador and my family; questions I am already tired of answering.
Then, we walked to her brother's house, a legendary human in our family. He was my mom's best friend for many years, but I was not a fan of him, to word it nicely.
While walking to him, we walked through my old neighborhood, which it's still her neighborhood. We walked through all those buildings, streets, parks that saw me grow up. The craziest thing is that nothing has changed. While we were walking to her brother's, she asked "do you want to walk by la niña Santos?" I said YES! Who is this person you might wonder. Well, la niña Santos is the person that sells tortillas in the neighborhood. She is a very kind but serious person. She yelled at me so many times because I would ask her for $25 cents worth of tortillas but I was never ready when she wanted to hand them to me.
As we walked by the shack, my friend said "Hola niña Santos! Do you remember her"? At the same time, I looked up and asked the same thing to her, "do you remember me?" In a very calm, not-a-big-deal kind of way she responded "Of course I remember you. How are you? How is your family?" We talked for a few minutes and then she told me "send my love to your mom, please."
Later that night, I went to see the rest of my friend's family. Her mother, and younger sister who happened to be my little sister's best friend back in the day. Everyone looks the same; everyone has kids.
My friend's older sister and I went to the little store I visited for many years. There, I ran into another one of my close friends. We both saw each other and we could not contain the excitement. We hugged, and then hugged, and then hugged another six times. He began telling everyone around us that he remembers coming to my house and asking if I wanted to play soccer. He remembers watching me play outside of the house, and how I always had soccer ball in my hand. He also told everyone my nickname back then was Puyol, a Barcelona defender with big curly hair. That was my nickname because of my big curly hair. He also told me we needed to go play soccer before I leave.
It is such a strange feeling to think that I grew up with all these people; and while everyone has their own lives and have different things going on, there is a part of my childhood that seems to be frozen in time. I have always said that It wasn't weird moving to the United States at such a young age because I didn't have that many friends or long lasting friendships, I was fourteen after all. Yet, I think I was wrong. There are so many people that care not only about me but about the rest of my family, and have kept all those great memories alive. It is crazy for me to admit this because I never intended to, but I think I'm home.
