Who Do I Think I Am?

*be warned. the only purpose of this post is of a cathartic spewing of feelings, thoughts and moods. no need for pity. really. life is good.*

Me on that life-changing day as I left for the airport, back in 1996

Life has a way of taking you places and weaving itself in ways you don't notice until you take the time to look back and retrace your steps. But looking back brings a certain self-awareness that evokes an array of emotions.

You might realize that you have been in a slump for years without noticing, or maybe you will see that you have truly outdone yourself and done a bang up job with your time and talents, or you might have a great feeling of gratitude for all the blessings that are now evident. Maybe you'll find out that there are certain areas in your life that could use improvement, or perhaps you will realize that in the middle of your extenuating efforts to do your best, you might have lost yourself. Even if just a little. And I find it safe to say that in such moment, most of us would have a mixture of all of the above, and maybe more.

I had such a "looking-back" moment a couple of weeks ago.

I went to Chile to visit my mother who is battling cancer, and to reunite our family after many years. Having left my home country at the age of 19, the story of my life and its weavings are spread throughout, and are divided into two main stages: the before (leaving) and after.

Every time I go back home I am engulfed in memories brought on by sounds, smells, places, tastes, voices, people. All the memories of the experiences that made me part of who I am today come back to remind me that I am still their girl, and they ask me what I have done with her.

These questions haunted me even more this time, during a visit that was encompassed around the impending loss of someone who had most to do with my formation.

I realized that I had left too much behind, and forsaken things that used to be intrinsically me, and I found myself gasping for my identity, flapping my arms trying to hold on to everything within reach that could remind me of who I was before: family memories (the good ones), the love for my brothers (despite them), history, friends... oh, my dear friends.

There is something so precious about good old friends. Those to whom I need not explain how things were for me growing up. No need to explain, because they were there with me, they know me, and remember things about me that even I no longer do. You see, now in the "after" stage I spend a lot of time explaining myself to people: where I grew up, the foods I ate/eat, the kind of education I had, my family, my Spanish, my English, my skin color, my accent, my lack of accent, my height, the music "people down there" like, the weather, healthcare in a South American country, my customs, my thoughts (many times it's assumed that I think as a Chilean and not as an individual) and on and on and on.

I cherish my old friends more than I have shown. They allow me to rest, they get it. But when the time comes (if it comes) to talk to them about life nowadays and what my daily life at home is like, I find myself explaining again, and then all of a sudden, I don't belong anymore. Once more.

My grownup self has taken up residence somewhere strange and foreign.

So if I end up having to explain myself in both places, where do I belong? Who am I? What do I do when I long to come back home, but am left unsure whether it is still home?

I am bothered by the fact that my history is not a continuum. It is one part here, and the other there. I am also bothered by the fact that I have seemed unable, at least until now, to meld both together, so they are not two lives living within me without really knowing each other. Almost like strangers.

It was Friday night and I was sitting in the airplane that would take me away. We hadn't taken off yet when the pinnacle of my look-back moment began, coming in waves of tears that eventually became uncontrollable sobs. I am sure I was quite the spectacle, but I couldn't help it. It was long overdue and it had to be done. Too bad for the guy sitting next to me. At least he was nice enough to pretend to be asleep.

Sadness overcame me. I was so sad to leave "home", leave my mom, leave me. Then the sadness became anger. Why had my life taken me in such direction? how had I let this happen? what would my life be like if I had stayed? what was the use of wanting to be in one place, when I knew I had to be in another?

how had I become such a ridiculous dichotomy of beings? and why do I think it's a dichotomy? why can't I just be one whole? Why did I leave in the first place?

And then the guilt, of course. How could I ever overlook, even for one second, the marvelous wonder that has been my life "after leaving".

The experiences I have had in this second stage have only added on to the "before" and made me into someone I am mostly pleased with. I have found love, I have my own family that is my most precious treasure, and I have accomplished things here that I don't believe I could have anywhere else. I also have found new friends that enrich me and buoy me. My current life that I love, happens to be here, for now.

I have been tremendously blessed with the way my life has been woven. I believe that everything that has taken place has been for my benefit and has given me a great vantage point. I have learned however, that as a co-weaver (in partnership with God), I need to put greater effort towards the pattern that results from all this living so that I can recognize myself as a whole person and let go of the feeling of being torn in two. I want to be able to say, without hesitation, that I am the result of the interaction of many kinds of threads that have come together to make me unique and to make me a happy person.

So, who do I think I am?