Wednesday, September 8, 2010


The officer looked at my passport, then at me and softly said: -You're going home?
-Yes. I said.
-Where is your home? He asked.
-Chicago... Evanston.
He smiled. Handed me my passport and kindly said: Welcome home!
-Thank you. I said.

As I walked down the hallway to get to my flight to Portland, then Chicago, I repeated home...home...home...I'm going "HOME"...And my eyes were filled with tears...and I wanted to embrace all the American passengers who were walking beside me.

The next day as I came back from my grocery shopping, buying some fruits and vegetables, I noticed a woman in the street standing by her car, opening the driver side door. She stopped, smiled at me and looked with admiration, then said: What a lovely dress!
I had my orange dress on. My groceries were silently attentive inside a pink bag around my right arm.
-Thank you...Thank you so much! I said spontaneously with a happy tone.
Then I continued walking a few more blocks.
A man was smoking. I didn't see him smoking first. As he passed by, I felt his presence and the smell of cigarette. He almost whispered with confidence and vulnerability at the same time: Hi beautiful!
I turned to see who this man was. That was when I saw him smoking. A young man immersed in thoughts, yet aware of his surrounding. He looked back.
I continued walking. And repeated to myself: Home...home....home...

The trees seemed blurry. The street foggy. The sun...clear and glittering...
I love my "home". I really do!

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