Sep 10, 2008


Most North Americans think we immigrants are all dying to get here. They don't seem to understand that for me, coming here was never a possibility, never a thought that crossed my mind. Leaving home was not something I had considered before and only Chavez and the beautiful promise of Spain (and Paris a train away) would make me consider leaving home.

If my sister hadn't been to Spain I doubt there was anything that would've convinced me to leave the country, as bad as it was I loved it, I loved home I still love home. I love the familiar smells and the places I knew how to get to, the mountains and the air they breathed in the valley, the chilly Christmases and the perfect weather, the baseball season and the passionate arguing it brought with it, the traffic laws that no one respected. Sigh.

Most people don't believe me or rather; refuse to believe me when I say that nothing about North America appealed to me. I wasn't intrigued by their people or the culture. Aside from an obsession with Disney movies and sit-coms I was totally and utterly indifferent to the country.

My brother was another case; he loved the US and had made New York City his home since January 2001. It is a testament of how little the US appealed to us that not even to remain together as a family did we consider moving here. North America was to me like leggings; I appreciate them on other people, but would never consider them for myself. If you had asked me then, about North America my first thought would've been McDonald's and my annoyance of the country having a "World Series" where only U.S. teams played.

Our move to Europe was far away still; we had settled for the end of summer for our departure and then decided to move it until after New Year’s, the thoughts of that first lonely Christmas at a foreign country way too scary. Unknown to me, however, my dear dad was having second thoughts about our new destination, we had no relatives or friends in Spain, and it was so far away, the time change so big and other silly reasons kept bothering him. Let me translate that for you, it was too expensive and he didn’t feel like paying for it (go ahead and call me ungrateful).

While I dreamed of my Italian count his evil mind plotted. When he finally voiced his concerns my sister was outraged by the idea. We were NOT going to the U.S. end of sentence, end of discussion, period.

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