#31. Nostalgia

Longing for my tropical roots

Every now and then, I find myself eagerly awaiting a parcel.

A small box that carries with it a piece of the place where I grew up.

Guacamayas in acrylic, painted for my son’s nursery, a little piece of Caracas brought to life, where tropical color and childhood wonder meet on the wall.

Most of the things inside it have migrated too. Many are no longer made there. And yet, when the box arrives, and I open it, the smell and taste of those foods bring back a flood of memories. It’s funny how something as simple as food can hold so many souvenirs.

I try to embrace impermanence. I try to accept that we are constantly changing. But sometimes it’s hard to accept that I’m part of that change too.

Who am I now?
Have I changed so much?
What parts of me still reflect my true self?
And which ones have I, or should I, let go?

The more I resist it, the more I cling to it. And the more I realize I might be holding on to thin air… souvenirs turned into nostalgia.

A cockatoo that commands the wall. Bold, tropical, and impossible to ignore.

Sometimes I imagine that if I were a plant, I would be one with aerial roots, carrying everything I need with me wherever I go. Or maybe I’m more like a mixed-breed dog, made of many places and influences. And maybe that’s okay. Maybe it’s exactly that diversity that enriches my life, and perhaps the lives of others, too.

Every feather tells a story. A close-up celebration of the guacamaya's extraordinary colors.

I never truly belonged there. And most likely, I don’t completely belong here either.

And I guess that’s okay.

So while I reminisce about my sister’s cooking, about people and places, I’ll keep waiting for the next parcel.

The full wall, finally complete. A little tropical world built piece by piece for my son <3