As A Little Girl Growing Up In Colombia -

When I feel lost in a gray city far from the equator, I close my eyes and go back. I am six years old. I am barefoot on cool ceramic tiles. My abuela is humming a bambuco . The coffee is dripping. And the whole of Colombia—wild, wounded, and wildly beautiful—fits inside my small, open heart. To have grown up as a little girl growing up in Colombia is to carry a dual citizenship for life: one for the country on the map, and one for the country inside your bones. It is to know that joy and sorrow are not opposites but dance partners. It is to understand that the most revolutionary act is to laugh with your whole body after crying with your whole soul.

As a little girl growing up in Colombia , the world felt both impossibly vast and intimately small. Vast, because the Andes mountains stretched beyond the horizon, and the Amazon rainforest whispered secrets in a language I couldn’t yet understand. Small, because everything that mattered—family, faith, food, and the fierce rhythm of cumbia—happened within a few blocks of my grandmother’s tiled courtyard. as a little girl growing up in colombia

Every morning , I learned that comfort is not a temperature. It is a ritual. When I feel lost in a gray city