My name is Alexa. I am from Venezuela and live in the United States. I initially moved here to attend College in Florida. People ask me if I was nervous moving to a new country by myself at eighteen, but at the time I was more excited than nervous. I remember my first roommate when she saw me, told me she expected a tan girl with curly black hair.
My parents who are currently in their early sixties also moved to the US. The change has been harder for them work-wise. My dad left a self-owned advertising company to work in an hourly job. And my mom had to start working full time again after a long time. But in all honesty, even though we live in the "esclavos unidos" (united slaves) as my mom says, we all value the freedom of movement and security the country has provided us in comparison to the violence and scarcity we've seen in the last 20 years back home.
My childhood and teenage years, in all honesty, were wonderful. I remember swinging in a hammock on a sunny day at my family's ranch. Laying on a gray couch in my home's living room with a soft breeze coming in from a big window overlooking the garden on a lazy afternoon. Watching the FIFA world cup with my family on my godmother's big screen. Playing soccer every afternoon after school with my friends. Going to the beach at 'Playa Azul' and stopping to eat 'golfeados' on the way over. Going up to the mountain at 'Galipan' to eat strawberries with cream and my mother reminding me to bring a sweater. My dad telling me to get back up on my motorcycle after a fall. My neatly wrapped notebooks and my school uniform on the first day of class. I attended an all-girls bi-lingual catholic school which more than prepped me for college classes. Visiting my grandma "Yaya" every Sunday, we would bring Chinese food for lunch and play card games. It was normal for family gatherings to include at least thirty people.
Those memories are tainted by moments that took the air out of my lungs. All to show a country in decline. My boyfriend calling me to tell me he has been kidnapped the day before and was now back home. An unknown man yelling 'They killed her!' in the corner of a graduation party. My dad stocking up our pantry whenever he found milk. My boyfriend calling me to tell me his family has been robbed as they were getting back home. Hearing on a family party that my uncle appeared in the news because he was shot multiple times by the police in a protest with a pellet.
I visited Venezuela after 10 years of not going. The feeling was of opposites. I felt at home but a stranger. Everything looked the same but different. People asked me how I saw the country after all that time away. I said it has not changed. Locals expected to show me a better city: "everything is fixed now, you can find everything in the supermarket" (a basic thing every country should have). But after the hard decade they had with power outages, water scarcity and political uprising, for me, it looked the same as when I left. I've forgotten the state of the streets, with holes so large my boyfriend calls them moon craters (everyone's car seems to go to the workshop once a month to keep up); and how when you go into a public bathroom (if you are lucky) they have toilet paper being handed in pieces by a hostess who expects a tip. One thing that is different from when I left in 2011 though, the airport sign says: aeropuerto (spanish), then in russian, then airport in english and then in chinese. I think that tells you who's coming to the country now at days.
I would not change my childhood in Caracas. But now that I was back, even if the city does have the perfect weather, I felt like a princess trapped in a castle on top of the mountain being driven through bubbles (what we call the known-neighborhoods). Don't get me wrong, I was happy to see my family and eat. Oh, the food: cachitos, cachapas, arepas, empanadas, chupe, tequeños, pasticho, hallaca. And the cheese.
If you want to dance, listen to my favorite venezuelan singers: 'Voz Veis', 'Guaco' and 'Caramelos de Cianuro'.
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